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CHAPTERFIFTY-SEVEN
CHASE
“FUCK YEAH!” I shout, snagging her under her armpits and hauling her in the air.
I stamp her plump lips with a claiming kiss, swinging her around in a circle. She squeals with laughter between my kisses.
When I set her back on her feet, I whistle to get the team’s attention. “Wedding time. Let’s move.”
They cheer and throw back their drinks before joining us.
Quickly, I collect my earnings at the blackjack table. I’m going to need this cash for all the wedding things I have planned. I take Simone’s hand and jog toward the other end of the casino.
“Chase, slow down. I’m not built for running.”
There’s no way I’m slowing down, not when I finally have Simone right where I want her. She’ll have enough time to rest once I send her sweet ass in to get pampered.
We push through the entrance of the spa inside the casino. The staff members gasp as I barrel toward the reception desk and slap my credit card on the counter. “Give my woman whatever she wants. Hair, makeup, nails, the works.” I motion to Candy as well. “Give her maid of honor whatever she needs, too.”
“Shawn Brighton, stop being a demanding ass,” my fiancée scolds, with a hand on her hip.
“Oh, baby. I love it when you clap back. Makes me hard as stone.”
Before she can brat me some more, I clasp my hand around the back of Simone’s neck, bringing my lips down on hers. I kiss the sass right out of her, leaving her a panting mess.
Pressing my forehead to hers, I rasp, “I’ll be back in a few hours to pick you up. Be ready, future Missus Brighton.”
On a mission, I stalk out of the spa with the guys and go to cash out my winnings. The teller looks me over in my leather biker cut before he shrugs and pays me. Our crew chuckles quietly, knowing I played the casino. No one thinks I’m smart enough to count cards. They see a biker and assume I’m dumber than a rock.
Speaking of rocks…
The jeweler is my next stop. I demand the best, forking over sixty grand of my winnings for a five-carat, pear-shaped diamond engagement band. Another ten grand gets me pear-shaped diamond earrings to gift to my new bride, plus two wedding bands—one for her, and one for me. When I get home, I’m having Darnel tattoo a band on me like he did for Atlas, Gauge, and Ziggy.
“You know,” Punk says, leaning his hip against the glass jewelry showcase, “your best man could use some black diamond studs. It would make such a gracious gift for racing your bride to you.”
“Candy would love a pair, too,” Butch adds.
“And some of those swanky money clips for your two other guests,” Ziggy tacks on, with a waggle of his eyebrows. Butch grins, fist-bumping Ziggy.
Rolling my eyes, I end up buying everything. They helped bring me and Simone together, and it’s not like I don’t have the money. I have the jewelry sent over to the girls in the spa, minus Simone’s rings. The first time she sees them is when I put them on her finger.
“Sir?” A hotel concierge approaches me with a key card. “Compliments of Signore Bianchi. He said to say, ‘Congratulations on your engagement.’ The penthouse is yours for the rest of the week. Enjoy.”
Knowing Piero or one of his men is watching us, I look up at the camera in the corner of the jewelers’ shop and give a salute.
Ziggy whistles low between his teeth. “Is there anything the mobster doesn’t own?”
Butch snorts. “Yeah. Us.”
Punk plucks the keycard out of my hand. “Works out good. Gives you enough time to clean your ugly ass up before we pick up the ladies.”
“My ass is not ugly.” I laugh, shoving him teasingly in the chest. “And I’m not wearing a monkey suit. I’m a biker. I’ll wear my cut, and she’s finally going to wear my property patch.”
Punk gives me a mocking smile. “Think again, brother. Priss isn’t going to wear anything other than designer when she walks down the aisle to you.”
We’ll see about that. I’ll have her in the property-patched leather jacket I had customized for her months ago by the time we exchange vows. I’ll even wager the rest of my winnings.
We spend the next hour sending over a fashion stylist to dress the women, cleaning up our scruffy faces at the barbers, and fitting me in an edgy outfit that looks fucking good under my cut.
