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CHAPTERONE
Ruger “RJ” Fulton
“What kind of fair doesn’t have any rides?” I ask my brother, Barrett, as I remove my motorcycle helmet. Our Harleys are parked side by side in the dark lot of what I’m certain the sign said was a fairground.
“It’s not a fair. It’s a wedding,” he replies.
“Oh. Who got married?” I ask a few seconds before it dawns on me. “No! You don’t mean…” I turn around in a circle, looking for wedding bells or signs, hoping I’m wrong. “Where are we, Bear? Please tell me this isn’t your ex-wife’s wedding.” Oh shit. “Are you going to object when the preacher asks?”
“No, and even if I was, I think it’s too late for that.” He nods toward the big white tents surrounded by tons of twinkling lights that are set up on the other side of the chain-link fence. “The wedding has already happened. This is likely the reception going on now.”
Thank fuck.
I love my brother, but I didn’t want to get shot trying to stop a wedding. That probably wouldn’t be an issue for most weddings, but this one here is a wedding for the daughter of the president of the Devil Hounds MC. And Bear’s slutty ex-wife. Not that I would ever tell him that to his face.
“Then why in the world are we here?” I ask him. “You think you’re going to catch the garter?”
“I’m not sure why I wanted to come here,” he says softly as he stares at the tents. “I guess I just wanted closure, to see her one last time. And the man she married.”
“You’re not gonna make a scene?” I ask him. “You know I’ve got your back, but since Colt and Remy aren’t here, I feel like I need to tell you this is a bad idea just on principle.”
I’m not used to trying to be the voice of reason. Usually, it’s one of my three brothers talking me out of doing stupid shit. Remy is the oldest, the smartest. Colt is the fun, charming one. Bear is the military hero who always does the right thing. And me? Well, I’m the dumb screwup.
“No, I’m not going to make a scene,” Bear says, which is a relief. “If all goes well, nobody will even notice us. Come on.”
Oh shit. He’s not just here to stare longingly at the tents. He’s planning to go up in there.
“I don’t know, man.” I put my palm on the center of his chest to stop him. “Having the ex-husband show up at the reception might cause a problem.”
Bear’s face falls even more. “Fine. I’ll stay here, and you can go inside.”
“Me?” I don’t want to even be here in the parking lot, and he wants me to bust in and crash a wedding reception?
“Yeah, nobody will recognize you. Take your cut off, then walk through the gate, act normal, take a few photos, and then come back.”
“Ugh,” I groan because that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Sending me in alone is like guaranteeing I’ll fuck something up.
“The sooner you go, the sooner we can leave.”
“That’s all you want me to do? Take a few photos?” I ask to make damn sure I understand the assignment.
“Yes. Nobody will notice. Everyone else will be taking photos with their phones too.”
Taking a few photos doesn’t sound so bad. And I only met the Perry family a handful of times. I doubt they will remember me. “Okay,” I agree.
“For real? You’re going to do it?” Bear’s face lights up like this shit is damn important to him.
“If you really want me to, then I guess so,” I tell him as I slip off my leather Savage Kings MC cut and lay it on the seat of my bike.
“Thank you,” Bear replies. When he doesn’t provide me with any further instructions, I take off walking toward the party.
There are a few people hanging around just inside the front gate, talking, drinking, laughing. I smile and tip my chin up at them, then walk right past without getting stopped.
Inside the huge grassy area, people are dancing or sitting at tables in the biggest white tent. Another smaller tent has rows of food under it, and the third is what I’m guessing is a beverage tent since a golden liquid is literally flowing like a fountain. There’s even a beer keg.
Beer is great and all, but I’ve never had champagne before. A little alcohol in my system might loosen me up so I don’t look so paranoid wandering around in here. Everyone who isn’t dancing is holding some type of beverage.
Walking up to the tent, I smile at the young guy behind the long table full of glasses and bottles of booze, along with buckets of ice. He smiles back all warm and friendly because that’s what they’re paying him to do. “What can I get you?”
