Page 19 of The Biker and His Bride

ROGUE

T he morning sun filtered through the blinds of our Vegas suite, catching the soft shimmer of her skin where the sheets had slipped low across her hips.

Riley lay beside me, lips parted, hair tangled from the night before, her breathing slow and steady.

I watched her sleep like a man watching salvation and tried to catch my damn breath.

She was mine now. Legally, spiritually, in every way that counted.

The ring on her finger sparkled as she shifted, fingers curling toward my side like she was drawn to me even in her dreams.

I lay back, one arm folded behind my head, staring at the ceiling. It still felt like a dream. The last few days had been a storm of blood, fire, and adrenaline. But in the middle of all that chaos, I’d found her. And I wasn’t letting go.

My mind drifted—back to that moment.

We’d raided the cabin like shadows, my boys flanking the perimeter, weapons drawn, hearts pounding.

I’d kicked the door in, gun first, and there she was—tied to a chair, eyes wide, lip bleeding.

My name tore out of her throat and I dropped the pistol before I even crossed the room.

The bastard guarding her didn’t even have time to blink before I cracked him across the jaw with my elbow and sent him flying into the wall.

“Riley,” I’d breathed, untying her with hands that shook.

“You came,” she whispered.

“Always.”

Now here we were. Vegas. Married. Safe—for now.

She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking into the morning light.

“Hey,” I said, leaning over her.

“Hi,” she murmured, voice scratchy from sleep. “What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She smiled, then stilled when she felt my hand skim along her waist, my fingers tracing the curve of her back.

“Again?” she asked softly.

I didn’t answer. Just kissed her slow, savoring every breath, every inch.

We made love like it was the first time all over again—unrushed, honest, tender.

I memorized every gasp, every sigh. When I finally pulled her close and held her there, I kissed her temple and whispered, “Thank you for marrying me.”

“I should be thanking you,” she whispered back.

Later, I helped her into a new dress—tight at the waist, soft gold satin that made her skin glow. I wore a black tux, no tie, jacket tailored. My cut hung over it like a crown. She ran her fingers through my beard, grinning.

“You clean up nice, Mr. Thorne.”

I kissed her hand. “Let’s go win some money, Mrs. Thorne.”

We hit the high rollers room at Caesar’s. The MC had taken over a corner, drinks flowing, laughter echoing. Diesel was charming some tourist in a sequined mini dress. Nash was already three fingers deep into top-shelf whiskey. Pitbull, shirtless, played poker like a goddamn professional.

Riley stood by my side like a queen. Eyes lit up, cheeks flushed, drink in hand. She leaned close. “This is insane.”

“You’re my wife now. You better get used to insane.”

She laughed, but then I saw her expression change. A flicker of thought passed through her eyes, soft and worried.

“What is it?” I asked.

She bit her lip, glancing around like she didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“I need to call my parents,” she finally said. “They don’t even know I’m married.”

I took a slow sip of bourbon, giving her the space to speak.

“I know they’ll freak out,” she said. “But… they deserve to know. And… I kind of want you to meet them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You want to bring me to Charleston? To your Country Club family?”

She gave me a nervous smile. “You’ll hate it.”

“I’ll go.”

“You will?”

“I’ll go,” I said again. “Because you’re mine now. And if they want to know the man who married their daughter… they can meet him.”

She blinked fast, getting emotional. “Just… maybe don’t tell them about the tattoos right away.”

I laughed and kissed her temple. “Baby, they’ll see them coming from a mile away.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s give them something to talk about.”

That night, we sat on the rooftop balcony of our suite, the lights of Vegas spread beneath us like a promise. I pulled her into my lap, the ring on her finger catching the neon glow.

She held it up and whispered, “It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect.”

And I meant it.

Because for all the fires we’d walked through, all the battles we’d fought, I knew one thing:

I’d ride into hell for this woman.

But for once, I was hoping heaven was next.