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“Then, there’s the fact that this…” I bit off the words ‘might mean nothing to you’ as I showed him my wedding ring. “…exists now. As you said, this changes everything on my end. This makes them look at me differently. It gives me a leg to stand on.”
“It could make them look down on you,” he warned. “They think they’re better than us. They might judge you for tying yourself to me.”
“Maybe they will, but it gives me a shield of defense from Bill Murphy.” I straightened my shoulders. “I have no desire for anyone in your club to get hurt on my behalf.” For the first time since I’d brought up brands—stupid, stupid, stupid, Mary Catherine—I looked at him. Stared him straight in the eye. “And there’s no way I’m going to let the Five Points hurt you when you’ve been so good to me.” I tipped up my chin. “I have to try.”
26
DIGGER
MY FAVOURITE FADED FANTASY - DAMIEN RICE
It didn’t sit rightwith me leaving her on the O’Donnelly compound defenseless, but there was no way in fuck the Five Points would let me in, not when there’d be red alerts out for any Sinners’ patches on their turf.
But, these were her people.
She knew them better than I ever could, ever fucking wanted to. So, maybe she could negotiate our way out of this problem…
What neither of us had said when she’d declared that her wedding ring ‘changed everything’ was that all it took was for me to have a bullet to my head for things to get real messy, real fast.
But I’d seen the hope in her eyes when she’d talked about brands, so I knew she was already thinking ten steps ahead.
Too many steps ahead.
Being with a Sinner for a handful of days was one thing.
Being with a Sinnerpermanentlywas another.
But one thing I knew about my wife was she was overeager—I wasn’t about to tie her into something that had more ramifications than a wedding vow when she didn’t know what she was getting herself into.
Even if that meant dealing with puppy-dog eyes that made me want to kiss all her woes away and sad smiles that made me want to punch someone.
The ride to Queens was awkward at first.
Her hurt at the perceived rejection made her want distance between us and that didn’t work on the back of a hog.
Sometimes, MC heard what she wanted to hear—got it.
She soon shifted into the position we’d grown accustomed to, however—her hand on my stomach, her thighs cupping mine, her torso curved around me.
One thing my brothers had never warned me about was that you could measure how pissed off your woman was by the distance she shoved between you on the back of your bike.
Maybe they hadn’t told me because it was obvious.
Or maybe they’d known I didn’t give a fuck if the woman didn’t matter, and they never had until her.
Around ten minutes away from the compound, she tugged on my waist.
I knew what that meant and rejected it with every fucking bone in my body, but I pulled over.
“I should walk the rest of the way.”
“There are serial killers out here,” I argued even though it was morning and the roads were busy with humdrum traffic.
Her gaze turned analytical. “There are technically serial killers everywhere. I’m actually going into the house of a serial killer, and am probably married to one, and am definitely the daughter of one… I think I’m safe from the saturation of serial killers in my life. Statistically speaking, I mean.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?” I groused, not mentioning that she was right about me too.
“Well, yes, but also to remind you of who and what I am,” she declared as she climbed off the back of the bike.
