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“Thanks,” I say, turning to look at the club space. “It’s been fun putting it together.”
He nods. “You did a nice job. And your guys seem like they’re made of good stuff. A little green around the ears, maybe.”
I shrug. “I didn’t really want to start any territory wars by poaching riders with club experience.”
“I think that’s smart. You’ve done a nice job of making it legit. Mark’s happy with your work and what you’ve done for the club.”
It feels good to hear that. Mark’s never been one for compliments, and being this far away means that I’ve had to lead the expansion pretty much on my own. But if Jeremiah says Mark is happy, then I know it’s the truth.
“Gabriel, come on. The fighting ring is starting!” Knuckles calls from the back door.
“Shall we?” I ask Jeremiah with a grin.
“Hell yeah. I love watching you young bucks beat each other senseless.” He laughs and rises from his seat, following me and the steady stream of people heading out the door to watch the fights.
It’s no surprise that Knuckles is the first in the ring. He’s going up against Philip’s friend TJ, the one Knuckles has been playing pool with for the last hour. I can tell by TJ’s face that he has no idea what’s in store for him. TJ certainly has Knuckles beat in both height and weight. But Knuckles is a beast. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in speed and strength. And he loves fighting more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I don’t envy TJ this fight.
Philip’s taken on the role of referee as he calls the start to the match, and the boys begin circling, neither jumping right into the fray. Cheers erupt around the ring as TJ finally makes his move, closing the space with impressive speed. Knuckles responds in kind, his arms coming up to defend his face, and the two exchange several blows as their feet continue to dance.
“Fuck him up, TJ!” someone shouts, and Jeremiah chuckles darkly beside me.
“This guy has no clue what he’s gotten himself into, does he?” Jeremiah asks.
A devilish grin spreads across my face. “He’ll learn soon enough. You’re here for the best night since these boys don’t really know what Knuckles is capable of yet. They still think we’re full of hot air, but I’ve warned them not to fuck with him.”
It only takes another minute before I see Knuckles growing board with the back-and-forth. In an instant, his body shifts, and rather than skirting around TJ, he steps up close as he crouches beneath the larger man’s defenses. And then he goes to work, his fists hammering into TJ’s ribs, his jaw, and as the man’s arms drop, his face.
TJ drops like a rock, his body hitting the ground hard. A moment of stunned silence consumes the crowd, and then everyone bursts into raucous cheers. Knuckles helps Philip drag TJ’s unconscious body from the ring so the next fight can begin.
The rest of the night is just as rowdy and insane. Before the end, I’ve stepped into the ring a few times myself and watched a number of guys receive bloody lips and even a few broken noses. There’s no shortage of sex either, as I catch several of the guys fucking club girls in plain sight. I’m sure there’s more of that happening back on the residential side.
But it seems everyone knows better than to use my designated room for that. When I roll into bed around two a.m., my head foggy from the alcohol and my arms heavy from all the rounds in the fighting ring, I’m grateful to smell freshly cleaned sheets. Despite my early reservations, I have to admit the night was a success. It was fun to see my club come together for its first official party.
I don’t know how Mark’s done it all these years, surrounding himself with younger, rowdier men. And most of mine are still single, ready for action, and pumped full of energy that can only be released through fighting and sex. I’m going to have my hands full, but it’s nice to see this side of them. Until tonight, they’ve shown impressive discipline, putting business first and managing the crazies targeting me and our club without complaint. I’m glad Rico, Knuckles, and Dally put this night together, if not for me, then to treat them.
My final thoughts as I drift off to sleep are of Winter and whether she had fun with her girls. I hope so. She deserves a break from all the stress of moving, being pregnant, and having our lives threatened so many times after we had supposedly moved away from danger. If I were sober enough to drive, I would be sorely tempted to ride home and sneak into bed with her tonight. But that will have to wait until tomorrow when I plan on showing her just how much I’ve missed her tonight.
22
Winter
The dayof the wedding arrives in no time, and I feel like I haven’t quite caught my breath from all the planning and preparations before it’s the big day. Starla arrives a day early to help ensure everything is in place, and still, the night before, I can’t sleep. How Gabriel snores away, seeming completely at ease, I don’t know. It’s not nerves about marrying him that keeps me up, and I love knowing it with such confidence that just the thought of getting cold feet makes me chuckle involuntarily.
I want Gabriel for the rest of my life, without a shadow of a doubt. It must just be the overstimulation of trying to ensure I haven’t forgotten anything. I don’t know what I would have done without Starla by my side. She’s a planning master, and between her and Debbie, I hardly have to think about the catering.
Gabriel generously took on the task of managing drinks for the day. I’m sure most of that will entail beer and whiskey, rather than the wine and champagne that might have been served at a Blackmoor heir’s wedding. But seeing as I can’t partake, I find that I don’t even mind, and I’m sure the majority of Gabriel’s friends will appreciate the preferred drinks.
We’re keeping the wedding simple, using the chairs and tables from the clubhouse, which Gabriel and his boys will set up first thing in the morning in rows facing the beautiful New England trees behind the clubhouse. Between that and the quay just beyond, it will be a nice remote spot, far enough away from any street traffic to feel romantic. Neither of us is particularly religious, so we didn’t feel the need for a church.
Gabriel and Rico built our archway themselves, a solid cherrywood hexagonal that stands on a sturdy base. Only it will be decorated with fresh flowers aside from my and Starla’s bouquets, seeing as the cost of flower arrangements is obscene. But I don’t think the Devil’s Sons will notice anything missing.
After the ceremony, we’ll have the reception right in the clubhouse. With the smell of spring in the air, I’m hoping we just might be able to open the garage doors to make it feel more like a proper venue. Dally’s promised to have the space cleared out so we can fit all the folding tables we’ve rented inside. The Devil’s Sons’ old ladies have even pooled table cloths and brought them up to Whitfield to bring a bit more class to the occasion.
Debbie’s planned a taco bar for the food, which Starla assures me is the new thing at weddings. While I know that my wedding to Dean would have involved a five-course meal including caviar, oysters, and filet mignon, I think I prefer the casual atmosphere of tacos made to order. It suits my new family better anyway.
To my surprise and great relief, when I tried on my dress this week, it still fit quite nicely, and Linda hemmed it perfectly to barely brush my toes while I’m wearing my flats. At first, I’d insisted on heels, but my feet have started to swell so much that I can barely stand on them during the day, let alone wobble around on the stilettos I had initially picked out. Besides, since the ceremony will be taking place on the grass, I couldn’t see the point of wearing something that would simply sink into the ground as soon as I stopped moving.
Everything is in place and more than well thought out. I shouldn’t have to worry about a thing with Starla as my maid of honor—and my only bridesmaid. Still, I can’t get the nagging anxiety out of my chest. I feel as though I’ve forgotten something, and I know I’m going to remember it and panic halfway down the aisle.
