Lies(60)

“Sure am.”

“This is what I keep telling you. I do know best. When are you going to believe it?”

“I believe it now.”

“Well, about time.”

“Pretty sure you just fucked good sense into me.”

“Nuh.” I grin. “You already had good sense. You’re a smart guy. You’re marrying me, aren’t you?”

“Kiss me,” he demands, raising his head.

I do as asked. It’s both a duty and pleasure. Something I intend to do for the rest of my natural life and beyond, if I can manage. “I better go fix my makeup. Then how about I see you downstairs?”

“You’re on.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Thoughts on marriage ceremonies. Here we go. So, it’s really weird to actually be walking into your own party without having welcomed anyone. Plus, there’s the everyone staring and smiling at you part. Like you’ve just done something really wondrous such as save the world to deserve this level of attention. When all you’ve really done is spent a bomb on a dress and heels. Normally, throwing money to the wind in this way on stuff you’d probably never wear again would earn you some small amount of censure. But when you’re a bride, it’s all fine.

None of this matters, however, in the face of Thom’s love-filled gaze and radiant smile. The blow job and cowgirl sure have loosened him up. He actually seems to be enjoying himself now. Can’t help but feel that we’re getting off to matrimony on the right foot.

Among those assembled, Crow smiles, Fox smirks, and Bear grins. My family and friends all seem pretty much generally delighted too. It’s lovely. But my gaze keeps returning to Thom, because he’s my everything. He reaches out as I move to the end of the aisle, his big warm hand gently holding mine. This is it. We’re really doing this.

“You okay?” whispers Thom, leaning closer.

I nod. “Yes.”

“No second thoughts?”

“Hell no.”

We both turn to face the lady celebrant, who stands tall and calm in her nice neat suit. She opens her mouth to speak—and that’s when it happens.

The horrible yet familiar bang of a gun going off.

People scream, the crowd scattering or falling to their knees.

A waitress stands on the other side of the deck, behind the wedding guests and back near the house. In her hands is a pistol, pointed straight at me. From this distance, all I can see is that she’s a brunette with a puffy face, but something about her feels all too familiar.

“Scorpion,” shouts Bear, reaching beneath his coat.

Her gun swings toward him, and he hits the ground ahead of her volley of shots. There’s no time to check if he’s okay. There’s no time for anything. And it’s so loud. The moment seems so fast yet so slow. I’d forgotten what this is like. But there’s a fucking good reason my dress has pockets. A reason beyond lipstick and Kleenex and all the other necessities.

I meant it when I told Thom I was serious about security. Both his and mine.

Scorpion turns back to me, hurriedly firing off another shot. And I swear the bullet is so close, I can feel it fly past. Close, but not close enough.

Now someone else is firing at Scorpion, forcing her to take cover behind the nearby bar. My ears are ringing from all the noise, people fighting to get back inside the house. To escape the violence and confusion.

So much for our beautiful wedding.

With everyone clearing out or keeping low, my line of sight is clear. I draw my gun and aim, hands steady. Another thing practice has improved. The small pistol is one I’ve taken to the shooting range often. My grip is good.

Meanwhile, Scorpion is so busy worrying about Crow and Fox, she doesn’t see me. Doesn’t think I’m a danger to her. Not yet. And the next time she appears above the top of the bar to return fire, I shoot.

Red splatters onto the sliding glass door behind her and her body tumbles back. Fox just turns to me and nods. Crow carefully approaches Scorpion’s position, bending down to check the body. But she’s dead. You’d have to be pretty damn lucky to take a hit to the head and live.

“Okay. Wow. That was unexpected.” I relax my shoulders and lower the gun. “Thom?”

His body is sprawled on the deck at my feet.

My heart stops. I swear it. Except then he blinks.

Oh, thank God, still alive. “Thom!” I gasp.

“Call an ambulance!” someone yells.

On my knees beside him, I push back his coat. There’s so much blood soaking into the fine cotton of his shirt, but it’s not in the region of his heart or lungs. At least, it seems a bit lower and to the side. I tug up his shirt, trying to get a clear look at the wound.

The bullet hit him in the back on an angle and came out just below his ribs. I use my big stupid flouncy skirt to apply pressure to the entry and exit wounds, to try to slow the bleeding. All I can see and smell is his blood, spreading out through the white cotton frighteningly fast. This is horrible.

Thom’s face is pale, his gaze pissed. “Babe. Hey. You okay?”

“Yes, and so are you.”

“Really? ’Cause it feels a shitload like I just got shot.”

“How can you make jokes?” My throat tightens, but I am not going to cry.

“I’m still alive. Why not make jokes?”