Page 76 of Devil's Work: Dark

“Fuck yeah. I told you, baby, the days of you not getting what you want are over.”

This is the hard part. I have to tell him the truth, that I know things. Things about the club. “Dark, honey, I need to make a full disclosure here before we decide anything.”

His body grows rigid. “Okay.” His one word is hard and says so much.

“I overheard you talking to Reaper one day. I know about the pot farm.”

“Okay. You turning us in?”

I sigh. “Obviously not. But I didn’t know if that would impact me becoming an attorney.”

“You planning on prosecuting us?”

Now I get to laugh. “Of course not.”

“You got any opinions on it?”

“None.”

“Fuck, I love you, woman,” he says.

22

DARK

Seven years later…

The kids and I take our seats in the bleachers close enough to see the stage. All our family came to cheer her on. Rae’s the sexiest woman up there. Can’t see it through that black graduation gown, but she’s wearing a skintight, black pencil skirt that cups her ass and these kick-ass sex kitten heels that you can see, and I can’t wait to get her home and peel all of it off her. She still has the best body and I’m in love with every curve and stretch mark.

My woman’s a fucking lawyer exactly as she wanted to be. I’m so damn proud. The rest of the brothers and their women have been busy back at home setting up a surprise graduation party for her.

“Mumma,” Baby Girl says.

“Yeah, Sonny, that’s Mumma up there.” Sonny’s only two. Her real name is Crimson. Crimson Dela McMahon. Another fucking girl in the house to give me shit and wrap me around her finger.

Good thing I got my boys to even things out. Not long after I put my ring on Rae’s finger, we found out we were expecting Maverick. She fought me on the name because it “didn’t go with Ty and Lacy.”

I was like, “What goes with Ty and Lacy? What are we gonna do,BoworString?”

Mav’s five. He’s dressed just like his dad and older brother. Leather jackets, dress shirts, jeans, and boots. Ty’s twelve now and acts every bit of a twelve-year-old boy who has grown up in a biker club. My girls are in dresses, albeit badass biker-approved dresses.

“Ugh!” Lace grunts. “I hate dresses. I want my jeans.”

“Can’t wear jeans to your mom’s graduation.”

“Why not? You’re wearing jeans. Ty and even Mav’s wearing jeans and he’s five.”

“Your mom wanted you to dress nice. Shut the fuck up about it, yeah?” She’s wearing this blue baby-doll dress—apparently, those are back in style—and Docs. And it’s not sexist or any of that shit; she buys dresses all the fucking time. My credit card statement can attest to that. She’s just being Lacy.

Swear to god, that girl. I love her, but she’s nine going on nineteen and will fight me aboutanything. If I say it’s black, she swears it’s white. Rae just laughs. And if it’s bad enough, she takes me into the bedroom to fuck my bad mood away. That always works.

The kids are officially mine. Rae let me adopt them, but because Ty has memories of his dad that I didn’t want to fuck with, his official name became Ty James Conrad-McMahon. Lacy got the hyphenated name too. When we married, Rae hyphenated because she insisted on having the same last name as her kids to ease any confusion.

But Mav and Crimson are one hundred percent McMahon.

Speaker after speaker gets up to say shit that I don’t give two fucks about. I just want to see my woman cross that stage. This is just the formality, the ceremony. She earned her credits for graduation this semester and passed the bar exam two weeks ago.

The MC announces her name. “Rae Conrad-McMahon.” She struts across the stage—the finest piece of ass to ever grace this university, in my opinion. She receives her degree, shakes several peoples’ hands, then poses at the end to get her picture taken.

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