Page 20
Rio
Three Weeks Later
My hands trembled as I smoothed down the front of my wedding dress. Not from fear, but from the weight of the moment. Outside, the rumble of motorcycles announced more arrivals to the compound. The Devil’s Boneyard MC didn’t do traditional weddings, but they did do family and today was about making official what we all already knew -- Rebel and I belonged to each other. I took a deep breath, the smell of the makeshift dressing room in the clubhouse strangely comforting as I prepared to walk out and bind my life to a man who lived as dangerously as his name suggested.
The dress wasn’t white. That would’ve been a joke. Instead, I’d chosen a pale blue that hugged my curves before falling in elegant folds to my ankles. The back dipped low, exposing the tattoo spanning my shoulders -- the club’s emblem intertwined with wildflowers, marking me as both fierce and feminine. Charming had given his permission before I’d gotten it. No veil, just my hair styled in loose waves that fell past my shoulders. My only concession to tradition was the pendant my mother had given me.
I stepped outside and squinted against the harsh sunlight. The compound had transformed. Rows of folding chairs faced a makeshift altar, all arranged in the open space where normally bikes were parked in haphazard formations. Today, dozens of motorcycles lined the perimeter instead, chrome gleaming in the sun, a steel fence protecting our gathering.
“Nervous?” a female voice asked behind me.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. I knew it was Josie. “Not about marrying him.”
“Just about doing it in front of everyone?”
I nodded, surveying the guests. Club members stood in clusters, leather cuts emblazoned with the Devil’s Boneyard patch on full display. Some had cleaned up -- trimmed beards and fresh T-shirts -- while others looked like they’d just rolled in from a week-long ride. Women in varying degrees of biker chic mingled among them, mostly old ladies, but two club girls had asked to attend after seeing the way I handled myself -- all part of this world that had become mine.
Allies from other clubs had shown up too. I recognized cuts from the Dixie Reapers, Devil’s Fury, and even a few from the Reckless Kings. I’d met some of them briefly before. In our world, alliances meant survival, and their presence meant respect -- both for the club and for Rebel.
My eyes found Charming at the front of the gathering. He stood on a raised wooden platform, his posture commanding attention even before he spoke. His cut looked freshly cleaned, and I’d have sworn he’d gotten a haircut. In his hands, incongruously, he held a clipboard. I couldn’t think of what he’d have on there except maybe a cheat sheet for presiding over this wedding. He’d gotten ordained online for the occasion. His eyes scanned the crowd, assessing, always the President even in celebration.
“Time to go,” the voice behind me said, and this time I turned to see one of the club girls giving me a knowing smile. “Your man’s waiting.”
I took another deep breath and began the walk. No wedding march played. Instead, the ambient sounds of the compound -- distant engines, low conversations, the whisper of wind through the surrounding trees -- created a soundtrack more fitting for who we were.
Rebel stood waiting, and the sight of him stole my breath. His cut was, for once, paired with a button-down shirt instead of his usual worn T-shirt or henley. His dark hair had been slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the intensity of his gaze as he watched me approach. Dixon Morreli -- Rebel to everyone else -- looked dangerous and beautiful, and entirely mine.
Scratch and Havoc flanked him like sentinels, both men nodding with approval as I approached. The old guard, showing their support for this union. Behind them stood Shade.
The crowd parted for me, some nodding, others offering brief smiles. I wasn’t just marrying Rebel; I was cementing my place in this family. The weight of that commitment pressed on me as heavily as the vows I was about to speak.
I reached Rebel, and his hand, warm and calloused, took mine. “You clean up nice,” I whispered.
“Speak for yourself,” he returned, his eyes darkening as they took in the dress. “Not sure I’ll have the patience to get you out of that properly later.”
“You’ll manage. If you tear it, you’ll spend our wedding night in the ER.” Rebel only grinned at me in response.
Charming cleared his throat, and the murmur of conversations died. He looked down at his clipboard, then surveyed the gathered crowd, his expression serious but with the hint of satisfaction that came from seeing his club strong and united.
“We don’t stand on ceremony here,” he began, his voice carrying easily across the compound. “But some things deserve marking. Today, we bind two warriors with a bond built on loyalty and the road we ride together.”
His words resonated through me. Not the traditional “dearly beloved,” but something that spoke to who we really were -- fighters who had found each other in a world that demanded strength.
“Rio,” Charming continued, “came to us already carrying the spirit of the road. She proved herself worthy of our trust and our protection.”
I felt Rebel’s hand tighten around mine. We both knew what Charming meant. My path to the club hadn’t been easy, and the trials I’d faced had left scars both visible and hidden. Those same trials had brought me to Rebel’s attention, and eventually, to his side.
“Rebel has ridden with us through blood and fire. His loyalty has never wavered, his courage never faltered.”
Around us, several members nodded in agreement, some raising fists in salute. Rebel’s reputation in the club was solid -- not just for his fighting skills, but for his unwavering dedication to their brotherhood.
“Together,” Charming said, looking pointedly at us both, “they form something stronger than either alone. A partnership built on respect and a shared understanding of what matters in this life.”
Charming gestured for us to face each other. Rebel turned to me, his cockiness momentarily replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. I saw in his eyes the same mixture of disbelief and certainty that I felt -- disbelief that we’d found each other, certainty that this was right.
“Your vows,” Charming prompted.
Rebel spoke first, his voice low but steady. “Rio, I take you as my ride or die. In war and in peace. When the road is clear and when enemies close in. I pledge my protection, my loyalty, and my heart. No cage will ever hold us. No threat will ever separate us. You are my freedom and my home.”
Simple words, but they hit me like a physical force. In our world, these promises carried life-or-death weight. I blinked back unexpected moisture in my eyes before responding. “Rebel, I choose you above all others. I pledge to ride by your side through whatever comes. To face our enemies without flinching. To guard your back as you guard mine. To find joy in the freedom we defend. You are my warrior and my peace.”
Scratch stepped forward, producing two rings. Not gold bands, but silver rings engraved with the club’s emblem intertwined with symbols unique to us -- a reflection of the tattoo across my back. Rebel had asked to have them custom made. I’d already moved his grandmother’s ring to my right hand.
Rebel took one and slid it onto my finger, his touch lingering. I did the same for him, the metal warm from being carried close to Scratch’s body.
“By the power vested in me as President of the Devil’s Boneyard MC,” Charming said, a hint of humor touching his voice at the formality of the words, “and with the witness of your brothers and sisters of the road, I pronounce you husband and wife.” He paused, then added with a grin, “Kiss your woman, Rebel, before someone objects just to be an ass.”
Rebel didn’t need to be told twice. His hand came up to cup my face, and his kiss was both a claim and a promise. Around us, the compound erupted in cheers and catcalls, the solemnity of the moment giving way to the club’s more typical rowdiness.
When we broke apart, I found myself laughing, a release of tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. Rebel’s eyes locked with mine, and in that glance passed a thousand unspoken words -- pride, possession, partnership, and something deeper that neither of us needed to name.
“Mrs. Morreli,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across my lower lip.
“That’s still Rio to you,” I replied, but my smile betrayed my pleasure at hearing the name.
Havoc approached first, clapping Rebel on the shoulder before surprising me with a brief, fierce hug. “Welcome to the family,” he said, though we both knew I’d been family long before the ceremony. “Officially,” he added with a knowing look.
Scratch was next, his weathered face creasing in a rare smile. “You’ll do,” he said, which from him was high praise indeed.
All around us, club members and allies moved forward to offer congratulations and respect. But through it all, Rebel kept me anchored at his side, his hand at the small of my back or entwined with mine. We were tethered now, not just by choice but by oath, by the witnessed words that in our world carried the weight of blood promises.
As the crowd began to shift toward the clubhouse where the reception awaited, Rebel leaned close to my ear. “Any regrets?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability I rarely heard.
I turned to face him, taking in the man I’d just pledged my life to -- dangerous, complicated, and entirely mine. “Not one,” I answered truthfully.
His smile, slow and predatory, sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with anticipation. “Good,” he said. “Because this is just the beginning.” And as we walked toward the clubhouse, surrounded by leather-clad warriors who would kill or die for us as we would for them, I knew he was right. Whatever came next, we would face it together. Bound by choice, by vows, and by the road we rode together.