Page 41 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)
I’ll Kill her
Cobra
“Riding boots, huh?” My daughter was climbing down the fire escape in her wedding dress to get out of the loft apartment without going through the inside of the barn where they were waiting for her grand reveal.
She’d literally girded her loins with the long tail of her lace dress. She jumped down the last three steps, landing on the dirt with an oomph.
“Hi Daddy,” she said with a laugh. “My God, dresses are inconvenient.”
She walked with me to the now closed barn doors, untying the lace at her hips.
“I don’t think anyone picks a wedding dress based on its utility,” I chuckled.
“If they did, they’d have more pockets,” she sighed.
As she tossed out her train, her bouquet fell out of the mass of fabric. She bent down to pick it up, dusting off dirt from some of the leaves of the autumn flowers.
Daria was at the door, her arms crossed. “Really?”
She looked disapprovingly at the lines Trinity's excursion down the ladder had made.
“I swear to God, Wifey, if you ruin this day for me, I will… I will…” She huffed out a breath. “To be honest, I’ll probably just give Griff shit about it on our next mission, then forget all about it. But I will be very, very mad!”
The music started, and Daria headed for the doors, bouquet in hand. She opened the doors, then closed them behind her as she made her entrance into the hall.
Trinity and I exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.
“My God, she’s more into this wedding than I am.” Trinity grabbed onto my arm as two Secret Service agents came out of nowhere, and stood at the door, their hands up, ready to open it for the bride’s big entrance.
“The Maid of Honor recruited us,” one of them said, when I lifted a brow in question. “She’s pretty persistent.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Trinity laughed. We waited for the music to change, cueing us in.
As we waited, she leaned to me and asked, “How’s Mom?”
She’s great. She is walking on a swollen knee, sprained ankle, fractured rib and is covered in bruises. She’s probably traumatized as shit after being assaulted by three fucking assholes, and she doesn’t want you to know a damn thing about it.
“She’s good, kiddo.” I leaned down to kiss her temple, careful not to disturb the floral crown on her head. “Told you she’d be here.”
“I’m surprised.” She put her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Dad.”
I placed my palm over the hand looped on my elbow as warmth bloomed over my chest. “You’re welcome.”
“And what are these rumors I hear about you and Mom spending the night together?”
I snorted. “Rumors, huh?”
“Dad…” She straightened, and looked at me. “Be careful.”
“I’m not going to hurt your mother.”
“No!” She suddenly lowered her voice. “It’s not that. Mom’s beautiful. But she’s not… she’s…”
The doors opened.
“She’s what, baby?”
“She’s not good with men. To men. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.” The music changed to the Battle of the Green Berets—my daughter’s chosen bridal march. “I don’t want you to leave again.”
“I’m not leaving, sweetheart.”
“You say that, but Mom… she…”
The Secret Service opened the doors. That was our signal to move, and the two of us walked, just as we’d rehearsed it, down the aisle. All the guests came to their feet.
The walk down the aisle was slow. Step, together, step, together, step, together.
It was both too long, and also, too short. All eyes were on my little girl, and how pretty she was. At the altar was the officiant. On the bride’s side was Daria and Vedder. On the groom’s was Goose, and the groom’s brother, Kaleb.
Aside from the brother, I think the two of them could have mixed and matched who was on what side of the aisle. My daughter had a tight-knit group around her. She had a family bound by more than blood in their veins, but on blood they’d spilled together.
Then, there was her groom. Kai Winchester Griffith. A spy, like me. A man who had already taken a bullet for her, twice.
Teri was right. If I knew nothing else about him but his family, I’d be fighting this marriage tooth and nail. But I couldn’t argue with the brass engagement ring on my kid’s finger. A ring he’d made from the bullets they’d pulled out of his body.
The boy was in love with my baby. He stared at her, his mouth open, his eyes teary as he clasped his hands in front of him. He smiled like a dope in love.
I’d worn that look once. Our ceremony had been far less dignified. We got married in jeans. She was in a white strapless halter, her hair in a messy pony tail. We held hands in a country parish church older than the United States with an obliging priest.
My eyes drifted to Teri in the front row. She was seated near the McClanahans. Charlotte was crying. Mack was one step from bawling himself.
But as for Mrs. Guerro… her eyes were on me. Stoic. Distant. And as closed off as ever.
What the fuck’s happened now?
The ceremony went without a hitch. Our daughter looked beautiful. The bride and groom were elated, barely listening to the officiant as they stared into each other’s eyes.
I smiled, staring down at the black leather on her feet. My kid loved motorcycles, just like her old man. Score one for the nature category, because I knew that if Teri had her way, she would have nurtured the adrenaline-junky right out of our little girl.
The only fucking thorn in my side was the tension wafting from the mother of the bride.
Oh, sure, no one would have noticed. She looked serene, her posture ramrod straight.
Her face was impassive, with just the slightest tilt at the corners of her lips.
Regal. But it irked the hell out of me. She had her walls so high up, I’d have an easier time scaling Everest than getting past her defenses.
It was one step forward, two steps back, and anytime I squeezed her hand, she pulled away.
But I was fucking tired. So fucking tired.
She was cold. So I put my arm across the back of the pew, over her shoulders and pulled her into me.
She stiffened, and tried to hold her rigid posture before she eventually leaned into me, searching for my heat.
But the moment she relaxed into my embrace, the kids were saying “I do”.
The pews were removed, put against the wall by volunteers like yours truly, and banquet style tables laid out with burlap and lace, center pieces with mason jars full of fairy lights, and floral arrangements in a coordinated scene change that Daria made us rehearse over and over again.
By the time I got back to Teri, I’d taken off my blazer, trying not to overheat from the physical labor.
I was getting too old for this nonsense.
I found Teri and pulled her to the head table, where we were supposed to be seated.
“I should go.” She smiled, dipped her head, and turned to leave.
“No.” I grabbed her by the arm, and turned her face to me. “I’m not playing this game with you, Princess. Not right now. You want to play hot and cold, fine. Do it after the wedding.”
“I’m not a child to be scolded, Cobra Guerro.”
“Yes, you are, if you insist on acting childish.” I pulled her in close, leaning down to graze my lips against the shell of her ear. “Tell me what happened.”
She stiffened. “Nothing happened.”
“ Something happened.” I kept my voice low so we had a semblance of privacy.
I held her close until we molded together. She fit so perfectly against me, it was like we were two pieces put together to make a whole.
“Talk to me, Princess.” I bent down brushing my lips against her temple, whispering my words. I moved my palms down from her waist to her round hips.
If we were going to fight, I’d make it look like we were whispering sweet words.
“ Sonia has a proposition for you.” Unlike my sweetly whispered pleas, her voice was absolutely flat. “She seems to know you quite intimately , no?”
She tried to push me away, but I held on strong. Too strong. She winced when our little struggle agitated her injuries, and she froze. Her eyes glazed over with tears as she fought to hide the pain.
“Baby, I have never met Sonia Norkus in my life.” That was a half-truth.
I’d never met her in person , but to say that I wasn’t acquainted with her would be a lie. Spies tend to know other spies.
“Like I believe that,” she said through clenched teeth. “You should have seen how effectively she marked her territory.”
She clicked her tongue in a very scolding French way—I only say that because I’ve never met anyone not from France who could shake their head, click their tongue and make that disapproving noise.
I fought the smirk that tugged my lips because laughing at that moment—finding her adorable— would rightfully get me smacked, either literally, or metaphorically.
“Jealous, Princess?” I crooned.
I walked us from people’s view, where a pillar and bolts and bolts of lace and tulle created a backdrop for the festivities on the other side. This was far from private, but it was close enough.
“What do I have to be jealous of?” She glared at me, her blue eyes bright with that fire I loved so much. “I am not your wife. You are not my husband. What do I care who you’re intimate with?”
I chuckled. She was so jealous her cheeks turned pink.
“Ah, so she must have literally said the word intimate , then.” I tsked, and shook my head. “Do not doubt me, Princess. I’ve never met Sonia. At least not in person, and certainly not in an intimate way. I have no intention of being intimate with her professionally, or personally.”
I traced Teri’s jaw with the back of my knuckles, then swiped my thumb over her thick bottom lip.
“I am going to talk to her. One, for sowing discord between us. For implying that I’d cheat on you with her—”
“What is there to cheat on? We are nothing. We’re not married. We’re—”
I kissed her to shut her the hell up before she said something that would enrage us both.