Page 129 of Property of Rattler

‘Slash’ looks at me.

I swallow hard. Anything I prepared gets lost to the wind. “I hated you at first, Flynn, but you wormed your way into my heart. Showed me parts of you kept hidden from anyone else. Patience? Fuck, yeah, we needed that with each other. I need you, Flynn. I love you with all that I am.”

We stare at each other. The officiant could have been a circus clown for all that I cared. Almost by rote I say my ‘I dos’ as Flynn says his in return. When he slides a new wedding ring onto my finger my mind shoots back to a courthouse in another place, another time, and in such different circumstances, it’s hard to believe it had brought us to the here and now. This time I’ve no ring to give him, but he’s going to get a tattoo on the short stub that remains on his left hand.

And then we’re kissing, being presented to the world for the second time as Mr. and Mrs. Ellington, knowing this time is for real and forever.

The confetti is guitar picks, the cheers from his brothers loud and overwhelming. And the song Flynn had chosen for us to walk out to? Sweet Child of Mine. I punch him in the arm while laughing.

We pose for pictures, I’m grinning like a loon in each and every one. Especially when Slash pushes Flynn to the side and gets in between us, placing his arms around our shoulders for one of the shots — Flynn reclaims possession of me fast, but his glare fades when he’s given a guitar to pose with. There are sensible, candid, and stupid shots, with his brothers, and oneswith his whole club behind him. Then we’re hustled out, our time is up.

When we’re on our way back to the truck and the bikes, Bullseye’s phone rings. He holds his hand up for silence.

We all come to a halt, as he walks off to the side to take the call. When he finishes, he comes back, his face tight.

“That was Prowler. He’s invited us back to his clubhouse to celebrate your wedding.” Flynn’s arm tightens around me. We’d planned to go out on the strip to enjoy tonight, a good meal, maybe take in a show. Bullseye notices. “Sorry, Bro, but we’re in his territory. Can’t show disrespect and reject his offer.”

Flynn looks at me apologetically. I shrug. Can’t say I’m that enamoured to spend my wedding night in a club full of strangers, but I’ve married into the Kings. It comes with the territory.

Swallowing a gulp, I answer for us both. “That’s kind of him.”

But I don’t miss the way Flynn and his brothers look at their prez warily. Nor the way Bullseye looks uneasy.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

On arriving at the Nevada Chapter of the Kings of Anarchy, I can’t see anything amiss. Prowler introduces himself as the president, then Bulldog his VP. Ghoul steps forward telling us he’s the sergeant-at-arms, and a striking-looking man announces he’s called Monster, and is the road captain. We also meet Boogeyman, Chef, Golden and Cipher. Just when I’m getting nervous about all these strange men, three women step forward, Taylor, who’s apparently Prowler’s old lady, Cassidy, Prowler’s daughter, and Carys, who, lucky woman, has been claimed by Monster.

“Well, let’s get this party started!” Another man walks in, with a prospect behind him carrying some equipment.

“What the fuck?” The man I’ve just been introduced to as Ghoul snarls as he swings around and sees what’s being brought into their clubhouse.

“You lost the fuckin’ bet. Told you you’d be singing tonight.”

“Creed, I’m going to slap you around the head,” the sergeant-at-arms warns, as the other man begins assembling what looks suspiciously like a karaoke set up. “I’m not fuckin’ singing.”

“La di lah. You lost, fucker.”

Ghoul looks decidedly nervous.

My attention is suddenly caught by a strange flash of yellow in Prowler’s eyes. I blink fast, sure I must have imagined it. Then it’s gone, as he attempts to ease the tension. “Drinks all around. We’re celebrating tonight. Let’s raise our glasses to Rattler and his ol’ lady.”

Their prospect, whose name I hadn’t caught, or hadn’t been told, rushes around to fulfill the drinks orders and then Flynn and I are the centre of attention.

“We ordered food in,” Taylor, the woman who I recall is Prowler’s woman, tells me. “Sorry, it’s only pizzas, but we didn’t get much warning.” She frowns at her man, who literally growls. The sound sends shivers through me.

“Pizzas are good,” I tell her fast, though it’s a far cry from Flynn buying me a nice steak dinner in an upmarket restaurant in Vegas.

“How does this shit work?” their VP grunts in a deep tone, indicating the equipment that had been set up.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Ghoul states, almost vibrating with anger as he marches over to the jukebox and selects a few tunes.

Taylor links her arm with mine. “Don’t mind him. His growl is worse than his bite.” She chuckles softly. “Let me show you the clubhouse. What’s the Arizona place like?”

Happy to get away from the undercurrent of tension, I walk alongside her. “This is different to ours. Ours is an oldfarmhouse, with a clubroom, church, and kitchen downstairs, and the second floor has just five en-suite bedrooms. Supposedly for the officers, but Flynn and I have snagged one.” I chuckle, “Otherwise we’d be in the bunkhouse with the rest of the brothers, they only have shared bathrooms.” My grimace probably betrays what I think of that. “Though some have, or are already building houses on the compound. We’ve just agreed to the plan for ours. And there’s a proposal to build separate residences for all the brothers.”

She stops and stares at me. “That sounds amazing. You must have a lot of land.”

“Yeah, we have. We back onto forest.”