Page 96 of Jett

“Yeah.” I step toward him, but before I can get closer, I’m swept up in his arms and over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you to bed, Angel.” He smacks my arse, hard. “We got a shitload of time to make up for.”

I giggle and rub at my tender rump. When we make it to the bedroom, there’s a bed already made, and Jett tosses me onto it, climbing on top and wedging himself between my sticky thighs. He cradles my head with his forearms and kisses me until my head spins, and I can no longer breathe.

“I wasn’t kidding about that sandwich, you know?”

His deep laugh resonates through his chest and mine. “Later, darlin’. You can have all the goddamn sandwiches you like. Right now, you’re about to get thoroughly fucked.”

EPILOGUE

JETT

ISTAND AT THE ENDof our makeshift altar under an arch of little white flowers that smell to me like they’re too fucking sweet. Fifty of our nearest and dearest club brothers, old ladies, and their families surround us. I never thought I’d be wearing a suit—or as close to a suit as a biker ever gets—and getting ready to say I do.

Hell, I never even wanted to get married a first time, but I was getting ready to go away for a good long while and I didn’t want Mia out in the world on her own without the protection of my last name. Now it’s all different, because the woman walking toward me is not only the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but she’s my soul mate. I never believed in any of that shit until her.

Music starts to play, and I can’t take my eyes off the love of my life. Her belly is swollen with my kid, her hair is out, falling over her shoulders in fat curls that I long to sink my fingers into, and her white gown trails across the ground. She looks perfect—sheisperfect.

Winston—the surly English bulldog belonging to the old biddy who’d saved her life—waddles in front of her, with a big bow tied around his wrinkled neck. It took me two months to find that bloody dog, and I’d scoured every goddamn pound and shelter between the clubhouse and Penrith to bring him home to her.

Dylan walks beside her, holding onto Raine’s hand for dear life. My bride-to-be moved him in with us around the same time I found the mutt, and the both of them are seriously encroaching on my snuggle time. The kid doesn’t say a word, he won’t even look at me, but every time I see those pale green eyes, I’m reminded of what I did that night—of who I became in my rage and grief—and I vow never to be that man again.

Raine’s eyes meet mine, and a smile lights her face. She floats down the aisle toward me and all I can do is wait and watch as she gets closer, and every thought I’ve ever had of another woman is erased. I can’t wait all day, and this aisle is too fucking long, so I start walking to her and then I catch her up in a huge hug. Everyone laughs, because apparently, it’s funny as fuck that I’m an impatient bastard.

“You’re supposed to wait for me to come to you.”

“Babe, when it comes to you, I’m done waitin’.”

We turn to Kick—our newly ordained minister—who’s got a fucking smug smile on his face that I wanna wipe clean off. “Dearly beloved.”

“You gonna draw this out, arsehole?”

“I just might, Prez.” He grins and addresses Raine, “You look like a million bucks, babe.”

I clear my throat.

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