Page 88 of Wild Ride

She narrows her eyes, her innocent act slipping. I almost laugh at the sight of her but decide against it. Leaning forward, I smile as I think about how I’m going to kill her, but I don’t explain what I’m thinking to her.

“You drugged me,” I state.

Then, without another word, I take my knife out of the sheath at my side and walk up to her. I press the tip of my knife against the hollow of her throat. Her breath hitches, and again, I almost laugh.

“I just want you to be happy. She won’t make you happy.”

Her words fall on deaf ears. Leaning down slightly, I make it so that I’m face to face with her, close enough that she can hear every single word I’m saying and does not mistake anything.

“I am the president of the Vicious Reapers. You drug me. You sign your death wish. Betrayal is never acceptable, no matter what level, and this is betrayal.”

Then, without another word, I push the knife farther into her throat before I jerk it up, tearing her whole fucking throat to shreds. The sounds of her gurgling fill the room. Blood sprays everywhere, and I know I should feel bad because I’ve just taken a life, but I fucking don’t. I don’t feel bad in the slightest.

Exorcist crossed some unspoken threshold that she knew she shouldn’t have ever crossed, yet she did, and so she paid for her bullshit. Turning to Viking, I jerk my chin. “Have a prospect clean this shit up,” I order.

“Sucks. Thought she was a good one,” he murmurs. “But that cannot fly. Not even once.”

No. It cannot. Leaving them in the room, I go in search of a shower and my bed. I need to rinse the blood off my face and neck. Then I need to climb into bed with my woman. My old lady. My fiancée.

This has been the most stressful week since Shade died. Swear to fuck, I was not made for this brand of shit. I was made for riding, drinking, smoking, and fucking. But as I strip the clothes from my body, I realize that I wouldn't want it any other way.

Whatever drama it takes to have Dakota at my side, it’s fucking worth it because that woman is my life. My world. And I fucking refuse to compromise at all whatsoever when it comes to her. So if it’s drama, it’s worth it, no matter from what angles that shit comes flying toward me.

Once I’ve showered the blood from my body, I wrap a towel around my waist and walk into the bedroom. Dakota is there, and her eyes lock with mine from her place on the bed. She’s sitting cross-legged in the middle. A small smile plays on her lips as I move closer to her.

“You good, baby?” I ask.

She hums, tossing her phone on the nightstand as she rises to her knees. Walking over to the side of the bed, I dip my shin slightly as I look down at her. Dakota lifts her hand and presses her palm to the center of my chest.

“What do your tattoos mean?” she asks out of nowhere.

“This is the club logo,” I explain. “Every patched member has one. It’s earned.”

“My father had one,” she says. It’s not a question but rather a statement.

I hum, nodding once. “He did.”

“And me, when I’m your wife, do I get a tattoo?” she asks.

My cock twitches at the thought of her wearing something that represents me. Lifting my hand, I pinch her chin slightly, tugging it up so I can look directly into her eyes. “We can get you some ink, baby,” I say, my tone rough.

“I would like that,” she exhales.

I chuckle. “Not a fuckin’ hardship, baby.”

Lowering my head, I touch my lips to hers. I kiss her softly, then slip my tongue inside her mouth, and I taste her—fully and wholly. Releasing her chin, I slide my hand around the back of her neck and tangle my fingers in her hair.

When I break the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers and keep my eyes closed as I speak. “I fucking love you, Dakota. Sent to me straight from fucking heaven. I don’t deserve you, especially since I’m headed straight for hell. But I’m keeping you, baby. I’m fucking keeping you until I take my last goddamn breath.”

“Bishop,” she whimpers, her fingers gripping my biceps.

“Swear to fuck, baby. Made for me.”

When I kiss her again, my towel falls off, or maybe I tug it off. I’m not sure. It’s a blur. A perfect fucking blur of bodies, lips, tongues, teeth—anything and everything.

Tomorrow, we go on our next hopefully low-drama-filled adventure, but even if it’s full of fucking drama, I’m going to smile through the whole thing. Because I have her. She’s mine, and she’s not going anywhere ever again.

Fuck me, but I love this woman.

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