"Cobra." Shiver grins. "He's ordained. Real deal, not the internet bullshit. He's married half the Reapers Rejects at this point. He'll do it."
I nearly spit out my coffee. "Cobra? A guy named Cobra is going to marry us?"
Shiver's grin widens. "Ironic, right? Given you're running from guys named Venom and Rattler."
Shadow actually laughs. "Fuck. Yeah, okay. Cobra it is."
Shiver pulls out his phone. "I'll call him. He's probably still asleep, but he'll get up for this."
While Shiver steps outside to make the call, Banshee leans forward.
"So, what's the story? When people ask when you got married?"
Shadow's jaw tightens. "We tell them the truth. Today."
"Yeah, but Phantom and Copperhead Kings think you got married yesterday," Banshee points out. "You claimed it at the meet."
My stomach drops. "Right. We need to get our story straight."
Shadow thinks for a moment. "We say we did it yesterday morning. If your brother’s club has connections here, they might know someone who can backdate the marriage license. Before everything went to shit."
I stare at him. "Possibly, but what if they don’t?"
"Then we’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it, but I think we say we got married at," he checks his watch "—9:33 AM. Before the meet. Before Copperhead Kings made their move."
"Why 9:33 specifically?" I ask.
"Because specific details make lies believable. If we say 'yesterday morning,' it sounds vague. If we say 9:33, it sounds real. Plus, it needs to be on the marriage license anyway."
Banshee whistles low. "Jesus, you're good at this."
"I'm an enforcer. Was an enforcer." Shadow's jaw ticks. "Whatever. Point is, this is what I do. Make problems disappear."
Shiver returns, sliding back into the booth. "Cobra's in. He'll meet us at Little White Wedding Chapel at two PM."
I look around the table—my brother, my fiancé, Banshee.
"I'm getting married today," I say again, still not quite believing it.
Shadow leans over, kisses my temple. "Yeah, darlin'. You are."
After breakfast, we head to the Clark County Marriage Bureau.
The building is surprisingly normal—just a government office with fluorescent lights and bored clerks. We take a number, wait in plastic chairs.
Shadow's hand doesn't leave mine.
When our number is called, we approach the counter together.
The clerk is a middle-aged woman who looks like she's done this a thousand times. "IDs and license fee."
We hand over our driver's licenses. Shadow pays the $102 fee.
She types something into her computer, prints out forms. "Fill these out. Sign at the bottom."
I take the pen with shaking hands.
Bride's Full Legal Name: Grace Marie Dalton
