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Chapter one
Novo
I suppose it wasas good a day as any to get married. I’d spoken to Ricky and Calvin from the agency a couple of times and assured them I’d be here. I’d never spoken to Matthew, orMattyas Calvin called him. I didn’t want to. Let them think it was a business arrangement so Matthew could get his trust fund, and I could get the cool two million I’d been promised. One million for each of the two years I had to stick this out.
We even had a lawyered-up contract. Not that I cared about the spoiled little rich kid or even my two mill. Thanks to myPortuguese great-grandfather I had enough cash as a cushion, and I’d worked for my club ever since I left active service.
“You sure about this?”
I glanced back at Cruise, my uncle’s road captain and my best friend. My uncle Jono was the president of the Diamond Kings MC, and I had joined as a prospect fifteen years ago, much to my dad’s consternation. Mom and Dad had never been in the life, but Dad and my uncle had never fallen out about it.
“No option,” I said. And there wasn’t. We’d tried everything to take out old man Coombes but like most with more money than morals, he’d gotten away with everything.
And they said bikers were dirty.
Then three months ago, Digger had found the emails between the boy and the dating agency, orRent-a-Daddy, as it was called.
And the revenge plan was back on.
“Two years is a long time.”
“Not really.” It had been five since I buried my dad and four since Mom had followed him. Officially it was a stroke, but I knew better. She’d died of a broken heart.
The door to the small waiting room burst open in the Denver County Courthouse and Ricky bustled in followed by Calvin brandishing flowers to fix on my jacket. “Oh my God,” Ricky squeaked. “Matty’s won the lottery.” I sighed internally because I’d followed Ricky’s exact instructions and had to dress in a fucking kilt. Why, I had no idea, as I didn’t have so much as a dram of Scottish blood in me, but this was my last chance to get the scumbag who had as good as murdered my mom and dad, so if I’d needed to wear a fucking tutu I would have.
Cruise and I thanked them, then followed them out. I saw Matthew before he noticed me and took in the way he was nervously twisting his hands, which surprised me. I had quite a few friends in the lifestyle and had reached out to the club in Charlotte, and apparently Matthew was a mean little shit.
Didn't look that way right now, though. If anything, he seemed terrified, which didn't fit with what I'd been told about him at all. He was handsome enough, if you liked the pretty boy type. Small and slender with brown hair and highlights that probably cost more than my first bike. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were darting around like a cornered animal's.
When he spotted me, they widened even more. Guess the kilt made an impression after all. Or maybe it was the tattoos. Or the beard. Or the fact that I was about a foot taller than him and twice as wide. I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.
"Matthew," Calvin said, "this is Novo. Your... um... fiancé."
Matthew gave a tight nod but didn't speak. Up close, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles were white from gripping his own hands. Not at all what I expected from the spoiled brat I'd heard about. I watched the lump travel his throat as he swallowed.
"Hello," I said, keeping my voice neutral. No point in making this worse than it needed to be.
"Hi," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "Thank you for... doing this."
I raised an eyebrow. Gratitude wasn't what I'd expected either, considering this was a very well-paying gig. "Let's just get it done, Matthew."
His eyes widened slightly. "I—Novo," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before clearing his throat and standing straighter. "I prefer Matty."
"Matty, then." According to what I knew, he should be calling me Sir, and I would be calling him Boy.
An awkward silence fell between us. I could feel Cruise's eyes boring into my back, probably wondering if I was going to bolt. For a split second, I considered it. This was a lot of commitment for revenge, even if Harold Edward Coombes deserved everything coming to him and more.
"Your kilt looks nice," Matty finally said, his voice still quiet but with a hint of something else—maybe amusement? "Ricky insisted, didn't he?"
I nodded, surprised he'd picked up on that. "Yeah. Said it was non-negotiable.”
“Are we all ready?” a man said, opening the door to the judge’s chambers. I stood back to let Matty go in first, but caught the flash of panic on his face so as naturally as breathing, my hand fell to the small of his back to guide him through.
I wasn't expecting the small, shy smile that curved his lips as he nodded his thanks and stepped through the doorway. The courtroom was small, almost cramped, with wood paneling that had seen better days and fluorescent lighting that made everyone look sickly. Not exactly a romantic wedding venue, but then again, this wasn't a real wedding.
The judge was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She smiled at us as we arranged ourselves—Matty and me in front, Ricky, Calvin, and Cruise behind us like the world's most mismatched wedding party. I knew Ricky and Calvin had brought muscle with them as well, because their husbands—Daddies, whatever—were insanely protective. Not that I had a problem with that. I was just surprised pretty-boy didn't.
"Marriage is a sacred bond," the judge began, launching into the standard spiel about commitment and partnership.