I covered them with mine.
The Elvis officiant cleared his throat beneath the crooked arch of fake roses. “Y’all ready to get married?”
Sienna looked at him.
Then at me.
Then at the chapel full of Royal Bastards making bets on our wedding night.
Her mouth twitched.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
Then she started walking anyway.
Sienna was going to run.
I could feel it in the way her fingers kept flexing inside mine, like she was measuring the distance to the door, the odds of making it past Regan, Tank, River, Edge, and half the Royal Bastards before I caught her.
She wouldn’t make it.
Not because she wasn’t fast.
Because I’d burn the whole damn Strip down before I let her bolt into danger alone.
Still, I didn’t tighten my grip. Didn’t trap her. Didn’t make the mistake of thinking fear could be handled like a threat. Sienna wasn’t one of my brothers. She wasn’t club. She wasn’t used to solving problems with guns, blood, and paperwork done at two in the morning under neon lights.
She was a scientist who’d seen men die in the desert.
And now she was standing beside me in a white dress, about to become my wife because my world had reached out and sunk its teeth into hers. The club woman insisted on being included in this shotgun of a ceremony so Hacker rented the jet for them. Half even wore leather—the rest bridesmaid’s dresses they had just worn at Tank’s wedding not long ago.
The bodies were barely buried and here I was putting a ring on it.
Her hand trembled again.
I bent my head, keeping my voice low. “Still breathing?”
“Barely.”
“That’s enough.”
“No, Mason. Enough would be waking up tomorrow and realizing this was a fever dream brought on by dehydration and trauma.”
My mouth tugged despite everything. “You always this romantic at weddings?”
“I wouldn’t know. I usually attend weddings where the bride isn’t actively considering fleeing the jurisdiction.”
“Good thing you’ve got terrible odds.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “Excuse me?”
“You’d never make it past Regan.”
Sienna glanced toward Regan, who stood near the front row with her arms folded, veil emergency supplies tucked into one hand and a look on her face that said she’d personally tackle the bride if required.
Sienna’s shoulders eased by half an inch.
Good.
