Page 36 of Mason

My fingers trace the stitched emblem, the Iron Reapers' fiery wings spread across my back. Leather's more than a second skin; it's a testament, a damn creed that I wear over my heart. The brothers crowd around, their hoots and hollers echoing off the garage walls, but it's her face that's burning behind my eyes—Carlie, my soon-to-be old lady.

"Look at you, Pres," Tank slaps my shoulder, grinning like a lunatic under his bushy beard. "Cleaned up nice. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Neither did I, brother." My laugh's a low rumble as I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The man staring back isn't the same one who's spent a lifetime chasing the next thrill. He's got something to lose now, something worth fighting for.

"Suit up, boys. We ride for love today," I call out, feeling the weight of those words. It's a battle cry, a pledge, and every member in the room knows it.

We fall into formation, boots thumping a steady rhythm. My heart's pounding like a drum, each beat a call to the woman who turned my world on its head. Carlie Meadows, the beacon in my storm of chaos.

"Time to make her yours, Pres," Hawk nods, his dark eyes solemn yet fierce.

"Damn straight." I adjust the cuffs of my dress shirt, a small concession to the day's significance. But it's the leather that'll take me down the aisle because that's who I am. That's who she loves.

CARLIE

The fabric hugs my body, whispering promises of forever against my skin. It's a song of silk and lace, an aria for the love-struck and the daring. I stand before the mirror, the girl from before gone. In her place is a woman painted in strength, dressed in armor of white, ready for the ride of her life.

"Wow..." Jenny' voice barely a whisper, her hands frozen on the zipper.

"Too much?" My heart's a wild thing, caged ribs no match for its fierce fluttering.

"Girl, you're perfection." She steps back, tears glistening like morning dew. "Mason's gonna lose his mind."

"Good." I laugh, the sound mingling with my nerves, a cocktail of joy and jitters. "He should know what he's getting into."

Jenny helps me slide on the studded biker boots hidden beneath the layers. They're my touch of rebellion, a nod to the road I've chosen, the path that leads to him.

"Ready to ride, Carlie?" Her smile's a challenge, an echo of the one that first drew me to Mason.

"Born ready." My reply comes fierce and certain, a declaration. Every step I take from here on out is a step toward destiny, toward the man who's as much a part of me as the breath in my lungs.

"Then let's go get you hitched, babe." Jenny loops her arm through mine, steadying me as we head toward fate.

Together, we walk, the beat of our hearts urging us forward. Today, I'm not just becoming Mason Blackstone's wife. I'm claiming my place in a world where loyalty reigns supreme, where family isn't just blood—it's the bond forged on two wheels, under open skies.

And nothing, not a single force on this earth, can hold back the power of that ride.

MASON

The rumble of engines fades as the last of the bikes roll into the venue. Guests mill about, the scent of wildflowers mingling with the unmistakable tang of motor oil—a fitting bouquet for a biker's wedding. Iron Reapers in their patched vests swaphandshakes and backslaps, their gruff exteriors softened by the occasion.

"Never thought I'd see the day," one of them mutters, shaking his head with a grin that splits his weather-beaten face.

"Pres tying the knot," another echoes, disbelief lacing his tone like the laces on his boots.

I stand there, at the altar they've rigged up, feeling like a man on the edge of a cliff. The sun scorches down, but it's the heat inside me that's burning brighter. Love and nerves twist together in my gut.

"Steady, brother," a voice rumbles beside me. I glance at Dagger, his eyes hidden behind dark shades, but I know concern lurks there. He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, grounding me.

"Like riding a new route, Pres. Just gotta lean into the curves," he says, words meant to steel me.

"Damn right."

Her laugh echoes in my mind. The way she looks at me, like I'm more than just a biker with too many miles under my belt—it's like she sees straight through the ink and scars to the man I'm still learning to be.

"Where is she?" I growl low, scanning the sea of faces for one in particular. Each second she's out of sight feels like a mile of bad road stretching between us.

"Patience, Pres. She'll be here." But patience isn't exactly my strong suit.

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