Page 97 of Jett

“Oh, you too, Prez. If I weren’t taken, I’d do you both.”

I’m seething, but everyone laughs as if Kick’s a fucking regular stand-up comic. “Get on with it before I shove her bouquet up your arse.”

“Sure thing, Prez.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite Raine Cole and Prez Jetthro King in holy matrimony.”

Kick says a bunch of other stuff that I want to beat his head in for, but I just grit my teeth and pray like hell he gets to the part where I get to kiss my old lady soon.

“If anyone should object to this un—”

“Nope, we’re skipping over this bit,” I say. Grim hasn’t made an appearance today—I haven’t seen him since I handed over his nomad patch last week—but I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to show up now and ruin everything. Maybe he knows he’d be one fucking dead nomad if he did.

Raine laughs, and I grin at my bride and quickly realise I’m fucked, because if she doesn’t say ‘I do’ today, or if she ever leaves me again, I won’t survive it.

“Right,” Kick says. “Okay then. Um ... rings?”

I glance at Tank. We didn’t bother with bridesmaids and groomsmen, but I did ask Tank to hold Raine’s ring for me. I don’t trust any of these other bastards. I narrow my eyes on my VP. He’s feeling around inside his cut, but he comes up empty.

“Tank, tell me you didn’t lose my bride’s wedding ring?”

“Of course I fuckin’ didn’t.” He crouches down to the dog and takes the rings off a froufrou pillow attached to Winston’s collar, then he hands me the ring in question and grins.

Tank, my VP, the man I call when I need some motherfucker dead is making jokes now? Christ, what happened to my club?

“You were this close to sending me to jail on my wedding day.”

“Nah, we’d never do that to you, Prez.”

“More like I could never kill you,” I mutter under my breath.

“That too.” He winks and presses the ring into my palm.

“Smarmy bastard.” I turn back to my bride.

“Repeat after me,” Kick says.

I wave him off because I already know exactly what to say. I’ve been practicing in my head since I put that fucking rock on her finger. “Angel, I, Jetthro King, promise to love you more than my club, more than my brothers, more than my leathers, and I promise to ride you as hard and as much as my bike.”

The guests cheer, but they’re all but forgotten when Raine grins at me.

“Raine,” Kick says. “You wanna fly solo too? Or can I do my fuckin’ job here?”

“Sorry, Kick, but I’m gonna wing this one.”

“Of course you are.” Kick pulls a flask from his cut, unscrews the cap, and takes a hearty swig.

“Jetthro, I, Raine Cole, promise to love and cherish you. I promise to remember the importance of trust when you come home from the clubhouse reeking of liquor. I promise to welcome you home with a kiss, to never go to bed angry, to raise your children right with love, patience, and acceptance.” Her wicked grin sends a bolt of need right to my dick. “And I vow to ride only you for the rest of our lives.”

I laugh as she squeezes my hands, and her blue eyes twinkle in the afternoon light. I wanna fuck her so bad that I don’t even care we have an audience. I grab her face in my hands and kiss her, hard.

“Hey, hey, hey. You’re not supposed to kiss her yet,” Kick complains, getting all up in our shit, and I shove his head away while I continue kissing my woman. “Fine. By the power vested in me from some stupid-arse government official, I now pronounce you biker and old lady. Kiss your fuckin’ bride.”

I slide my tongue deeper into her mouth, pull her body closer, and relish kissing my woman because there was a time when I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to again. Now, I got a rock on her finger, another baby in her belly, and I’m never letting go.