Page 7

DIESEL

G rammy clearly has no intention of letting me escape again. Her grip on me is tighter than a boozehound on the last bottle of tequila.

I should have left while the leaving was good when I broke away after the ceremony.

But I went looking for Symphony to get some answers.

Now, I’m stuck.

The photographer lines us up around the couple. I pass Bailey and raise an eyebrow.

She simply gives me a big smile in return.

This was her doing. I just know it.

Grammy delivers me to my parents. “Hang on to this one. He’s trying to desert us again.”

Jesus Christ.

Mom holds onto my arm twice as tightly as Grammy did. “So, are you going to tell us how you ended up here?”

Anything I say will incriminate me, so I leave her question hanging.

They know Merrick and I are in Florida, but not where.

They’d be showing up at the Leaky Skull otherwise, and the last thing I need is Uncle Sherman bringing his business toadies into my biker bar and telling me how to “maximize profits” or “shore up my brand.”

He’d probably list it on his damn Pickle Media page, where he shows off all his delis, corporations, and other nepotism-drenched establishments.

I’m not a goddamn Pickle, and I never will be.

Dad steps in front of me to fix my tie. “You should answer your mother.”

Thankfully, the photographer gets our attention. “Right here, everybody! Say, ‘Happy Wedding!’”

I scowl in the general direction of the camera, wishing I’d worn leather rather than a suit. I only own the damn thing because I had to go before a county permit board to make changes to the bar.

Not that I’ve been able to actually start. Every contractor for a hundred miles requires permits, and the board is holding them hostage, probably in hopes we’ll go under before they have to acknowledge we’re legit.

“Okay,” the photographer chirps. “That’s the big group. Most of you are excused to the reception. Parents of the bride and groom, please stay for a few more.”

I’m ready to hightail it out of there, but Mom keeps her vice grip on my arm. “Diesel, sit with us.”

At least I have an excuse for that one. “Can’t. I’m escorting one of the bridesmaids.”

That gets them. Mom’s mouth is an O of surprise. “Really? Which one?”

I’m tempted to say, The hot one. The one I plan to ravage before this reception is over.

But Grammy is back and answers for me. “The lovely one in pink. I think her name was Symphony? What a beautiful name.”

Mom frowns that Grammy knows something she doesn’t. She glances over at the bride and groom. “I guess she’s one of Bailey’s friends, then?”

Dad rubs his hands together. “I didn’t know you were dating someone, particularly someone in Bailey and Rhett’s circle. I guess you’re turning into a family man after all.”

Like hell I am.

But unless I throw off my mother and act like more of an asshole than I prefer in front of my family, I’m stuck walking with them out a side door to an enormous garden in the back.

It’s grossly perfect. Soft green lawn. Round white tables scattered around with floral centerpieces that match the bridesmaids’ dresses. And roses everywhere. Trellises are lined all around the garden, exploding with flowers.

At the front are three tables, the middle one on a low riser for the bride and groom. My cousins have already headed for their seats to the right of the main table. I’m guessing the one on the left is for the bridesmaids.

And me.

I look for Symphony and spot her on the edge of a patio near a string quartet that is setting up to play. She has her back to me.

“So, are we going to see more of you now?” Dad asks. “How is Merrick? I assume he’s with you.”

Chit chat. The last thing I need. “He’s fine.”

“I heard you own a bar,” Mom says.

My head snaps in her direction. “Who told you that?”

She twirls a bit of loose hair from her updo around her finger. “Oh, a little birdie.”

Bailey. She knew about my bar somehow. But how? And why did she drag me here? She didn’t clue in her bridesmaids to the plan, or else Symphony lied her face off.

Fuck.

“Well?” Dad prompts.

“Merrick and I run a bar, yeah.”

“Is it far from here?” Dad asks. “We could come by and see it before we fly home.”

Like hell they would. “Hours away. And not open on Sundays.” A lie. “Or Mondays.” I throw in that there in case they’ve added a couple of days to their stay. Also a lie.

“Shoot,” Mom says. “Martin, maybe we could stay longer.”

“You wouldn’t like it,” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

Mom lets me go. I should have used that line sooner.

I stride through the tables like hell is on my heels. I need to know everything my family knows and how they know it. That little bachelorette party is obviously the key.

All three of the bridesmaids have homed in on me like I’m coming in for a kill. Maybe I am. I plan to get the information out of them and not nicely.

“Ladies,” I say, more of a growl than anything.

“Diesel,” Symphony says, her chin up. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

I don’t bother responding to that. “You better fucking ‘fess up right now, all of you.”

Symphony’s eyes get big, and I think maybe she’s scared. But then she says, “Bailey’s here.”

I turn. Rhett and Bailey have entered the space. Everyone claps.

Symphony steps close. “You promised you wouldn’t make a scene.”

“I haven’t been paid for that promise yet.”

She huffs. “I’m a woman of my word.”

I relax. Fucking fine. As long as I sit up front with the bridal party and avoid the Pickles, this might be endurable, especially if there is the promise of alone time with this woman.

“All right, then.” I drag her against me and put my arm firmly around her. “But don’t make me wait too long.”

I expect her to cower. She doesn’t know me, other than I have wicked skills with my Bowie knife.

But her chin tilts up like she’s the one in charge. “You’ll wait as long as I say.”

“Oh, really? You sure?”

“This is going to be good,” she insists.

“You trying to convince yourself, or do you know it ?” I ask.

She squares her shoulders. “You better be good or else .”

I laugh.

She’s got fire.

I like it.