Her wedding day would be perfect if it was a snowy morning.
Being childlike, she stuck her tongue out and caught some fresh flakes. It was when she lowered her head her heart almost stopped in her chest.
It thumped hard, rolled over, and raced as a swell of sudden nausea gained momentum.
Across the street, through the sheets of snow, bustling people, and idling traffic, she saw a familiar leather jacket.
No, it couldn’t be.
She blinked, and the image disappeared behind a large school bus. When it moved by, the leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. And oh, Zara looked hard. Her feet carried her up and down the street until she was panting breathlessly.
Searching. Searching.
Old, yet familiar anxiety started to claw through her intestines.
No, it wasn’t, she told herself.
It wasn’t possible.
It was a trick of her eyes.
A horn honked, and she swerved to see Pretty-Boy stopped in the middle of the road with a trail of cars behind him. He didn’t give a fuck about stopping in traffic to pick her up.
She hurried across and climbed in.
Whatever he saw on her face made his brows bunch in the middle. “You okay, Z-girl? Saw you heading down the street.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” she replied, rushed, belting herself in.
She was cold all over, and it had nothing to do with the weather. It was down to the marrow, cold with fear.
Mace pulled away, the angrily blaring horns behind him stopping after he’d flipped the bird out of the window.
Her fun day melted away.
Trying to maintain a composed conversation on the ride home while Mace ate the sandwich, regaling her with a story of his nana and her current boyfriend.
She should have told him, so he could look around and put her rampant imagination to rest.
What could she say anyway?
It was not possible.
She knew this.
Rider and the boys killed them years ago.
But Zara, with her thumping heart and jangling nerves, would swear she saw a man wearing a Raging Rebels jacket.
The men who tortured her for three years.
The men who the Souls firebombed on the night of her rescue.
It was so fleeting, and she hadn’t recognized the man’s face. But she’d worked hard to push every face from her mind.
It wasn’t conceivable.
It was her wedding brain trying to self-sabotage her happiness, as her therapist would tell her.
Wasn’t it?
FOUR
“Breaking bread with the enemy.” – Rider
Wedding: T-minus 17 days.
Watching his father interact with Rex, it was easy for Rider to see how close the brothers used to be. And plausible enough to have a flicker of wonder about Ajax siding with Rex.
Ajax knew what was coming. He had his faults, Rider more than most knew that. But it seemed the family was Ajax’s hard limit. And trying to oust his son meant Rex severed their \loyalty.
Eyeing them across the bar, Rider would be forgiven to think they were as thick as thieves. Ajax had his instructions. Play nice with big bro while he was in town, don’t let him believe anything was wrong.
Rider’s kids had Ajax around their little fingers. He’d been different in the last few years. Not the same man Rider grew up with, that was for damn sure. So it was a hard pill to swallow to have an ounce of doubt that his dad might turn at the last second.
He took the back entrance out of the bar the Souls were thinking of buying. Rider climbed on his bike to head back to Armado Springs.
Heavy was the head that wears the crown so the saying goes. Nothing was truer lately.
Now all he had to do was put faith in his father to do the right thing.
Not so easy to do.
Ajax walked into Rider’s house that night behind Annie. He hugged his mom and caught the familiar pissed off look from his father. Rider left Annie with the kids in front of the box while Zara was getting ready, and he jutted his chin. Ajax followed him out to the garage.
“Problem?”
“Don’t appreciate you puttin’ one of your boys on me.”
Ah. Rider didn’t grin. He was impressed the old man clocked onto Coop, that prospect could hide in plain sight.
“Told ya to trust me.”
He could have said all number of shit to Ajax. Like it takes time to earn trust back. Instead, he went with. “I’m making sure Rex stays where he’s supposed to.”
“Bullshit. You had your boy on me, making sure I wasn’t feeding Rex nothing.”
Fine. It was true anyway. His silence told Ajax the same.
His father glowered and then ran a weathered hand over his face, his boots scuffed on the cement floor of the garage. “I wanted to plug him there and then. Gloatin’ bastard.”
“Is that so?”
“Only stopped myself when he started yapping about how much he’s gonna make on Tag’s next fight.”
“He’s your brother,” Rider tested.
“Not no more, he’s not.” The growled response. And then. “You don’t believe me.”
They shared the same color eyes, mannerisms and size, and because this man had raised Rider with an iron fist to take over the club, there had been little affection between them. When Ajax laid his hand on Rider’s shoulder, it was a toss-up who was more shocked about the gesture. “Rex is no longer my brother. He stopped being blood the second he conspired against you. You don’t have to trust me. I’ve given you no reason to. But try to believe I won’t ever side with that man again.”
Rider believed him.
Time would only show if he were right in placing that belief.
“He’s runnin’ out of options.” Ajax shared. “Remember, Son; a drowning man will hold on to his own hair.” Rider snorted, the
