Page 53 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Rachel

The day I married Villain, the clouds finally parted.

Literally. It had rained every damn day for a week straight, thunder rolling in like bad omens.

But this morning? The sun showed up like it was invited.

The kind of golden, glowing warmth that hit the rolling hills of Royal Road’s compound like a spotlight from heaven.

Banners whipped in the breeze, bikes lined up like an army of thunder and chrome, and Mason jars filled with wildflowers dressed up the picnic tables.

The women wore white dresses and leather cuts. I wore mine too.

Property of Villain, stitched in bold red thread on my back.

I didn’t even cry as I walked down the makeshift aisle between the bikes, not until I saw him. Villain. My man. My storm. My home.

He wore a black cut over a crisp white shirt, his blond hair slicked back, beard trimmed just enough to make my thighs ache. His boots gleamed like he’d polished ‘em with blood and pride. But it was his eyes that undid me, intense, steady, like he’d already made a vow before opening his mouth.

“You sure?” he asked low as I stepped up beside him.

I nodded. “Ain’t never been more sure.”

Kingpin officiated, standing tall in his shades like a southern warlord preacher.

Irish was his best man that day, Pagan hovering nearby with Cece and Eve.

Our baby, three months old and full of sleepy innocence, snuggled in Cece’s arms. Eve dabbed at her eyes when she thought no one saw, but we all did.

“Forever ain’t just a promise. It’s a patch. A vow. A whole damn way of life,” Prez started poetic. “Do you, Villain, take this woman to be your Ol’ Lady, your ride or die?” Kingpin’s grin stretched beneath his beard.

“Already do,” Villain rumbled, eyes locked on mine.

“And do you, Rachel, take this man, this outlaw, to be your forever?”

“I do. Even if he snores,” I added, making the crowd laugh.

When Kingpin said, “You may kiss your Ol’ Lady,” Villain didn’t just kiss me.

He claimed me.

His mouth crushed mine, one hand sliding around my back, the other on my ass, lifting me clean off the ground. The roar of the club, cheers, whistles, howls, was deafening.

It felt like we burned the past behind us, right then and there.

The party was one for the books. Thorn strummed on his guitar while Ember sang a sultry ballad, her voice raw, honest, almost peaceful for the first time in forever. She didn’t say it out loud, but Thorn was hers now. Everyone knew it.

Rome? Long gone. Maybe he’d outlived his usefulness. Maybe he was dead. If Villain killed him, I didn’t want to know. That was club business. None of mine.

Thorn? Solid as stone, never leaving her side.

Before we cut the cake, Ember slipped me a folded note.

Thank you for making him better. He was always yours.

I kept it tucked in my boot the rest of the night like a damn talisman.

We didn’t go far. Just far enough.

A private cabin nestled high in the Smokies. No cell service. No brothers knocking. No Sweet Tea sticking her nose in. Just pine trees, mountain air, and the man who’d wrecked me, then rebuilt me with his bare hands.

He carried me over the threshold like a classic fairytale, slammed the door behind us with his boot, and tossed his cut over the antler coat rack.

“You ready to be ruined for life, wife?” he drawled.

I was already tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

“You gonna talk the whole time or…”

He kissed me mid-sentence, hands diving under my dress. I wasn’t wearing anything beneath it, hadn’t been all damn day.

His fingers found proof of that.

“Fuck,” he growled. “You tryna kill me?”

“Only if I get to go with you.”

He lifted me, walked me straight into the wall, pressing me against the wood with his body, hard and hungry.

“I waited too long for this,” he whispered into my throat. “Dreamed about this since you disappeared.”

“I’m here now,” I gasped. “So shut up and take me.”

He did.

Hours later, I was tangled with him on black satin sheets, my skin damp and glowing.

“I’m yours,” I told him, brushing sweat from his brow, still riding the aftershocks.

“You’ve always been mine,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ll spend every mile left in me proving it.”

He rolled to his side, pulling me against him like he couldn’t bear a single inch of space.

“Look,” I whispered, tapping his chest.

He had my name tattooed there, script in black and crimson, joining the one right over his heart. Still red and angry from the ink gun.

“You branded yourself,” I teased.

He cupped my face. “You branded my heart long before I got the ink.”

Just before we drifted off, he murmured. “We’ll build something real. A life. You, me, the baby. Both babies. Maybe more.”

“More?” I teased, eyes half-lidded.

“Two more,” he said with a smirk. “One with your sass, one with my bad attitude.”

I laughed. “You’ll never survive.”

“You’ll keep me alive,” he said, serious now. “Always have.”

I didn’t answer with words this time.

I climbed on top of him again, slow and sure.

And I made my forever promise with every kiss, every moan, every heartbeat we shared.

The road’s still rough, but I’ve got the only thing that matters now.

A man who chooses me.

A home built on fire, forgiveness, and leather.

The End For Now