Page 72 of King
“You gonna save her?” Priest asked as my woman roared as she body slammed Valerie to the floor.
“And have Bailey turn that anger on me. Fuck no.”
“That’s it Bailey!” Jess shouted. “Knock her teeth out!”
“Gotta say King, you sure picked a winner.”
Watching Bailey pile drive Valerie, I grinned. “Yeah, I sure did.”
Epilogue
A year later…
The whole day had been about as perfect as a sore tooth after biting into a caramel apple. I should have known my wedding day wouldn’t be painless.
Yes, I finally got Bailey to agree to marry me. It wasn’t easy and there were moments I seriously worried about my sanity, but after she wiped the floor with my ex, I knew there would never be another for me.
It started when my now wife flat out refused to wear the fucking wedding dress I bought for her. Something about she only agreed to the damn thing to shut me up. I didn’t give a fuck what she wore as long as she walked down that fucking aisle and said, ‘I do’. Instead of a white wedding dress, my pain in the ass wore a black leather miniskirt, a white lace corset, and black combat boots.
She looked fucking spectacular.
Then she got lippy when Scribe didn’t stick to the script. Motherfucker was still butt hurt about his little temporary tattoo my woman gave him on his face. Instead of doing what I asked him to do, the bastard went off the rails talking about how it went against the laws of nature for a tattoo artist not to have ink on them. Fucker called it a sacrilege but when the soon-to-be-dead asshole promised retribution by popping her ink cherry, I had to jump in between the two before Bailey killed her best friend.
In the end, Priest finished the ceremony, and I was officially married again. Things calmed down once everyone got some beer and food in them. The clubhouse was pumping with loud music, laughter, and family. But when the whores made their appearance, I knew my good fortune was over because murder was now on the menu.
“Dude,” Gunner walked over to me. “Are you trying to have the shortest marriage on record?”
“What?”
“Look,” my brother pointed, and I growled.
Holy shit. This was not good. If my wife saw those bitches, all hell was going to break loose. The entire club knew there was no love lost between Bailey and the cut-sluts. The hostility and animosity between them evoked a life of its own. My woman asked for only one thing from me. That I keep the whores away. Too easy, or so I thought.
“Fuck. What are they doing here? I thought they were told to stay away. Where is Bailey?” I asked, scanning the crowd for my wife.
“Saw her with Jess, Beth and my woman in the kitchen.”
“Good. You go keep them occupied while I get rid of those bitches.” I whispered as a loud whistle caught my attention. I turned to see Scribe running towards me, shouting. “Red Alert! Red Alert!”
“What?”
“The Ho’s are here!”
“I saw them, you idiot,” I groaned, ignoring him.
“No. Not those Ho’s,” Scribe huffed damn near out of breath. Ducking behind me as he pointed at the entrance to the clubhouse. There, scanning the room, stood three determined women. “Those ho’s! Whatever they say, it’s a damn lie!”
“What did you do?” I rounded on the cowering fucker, wide-eyed. Of all the people to show up at my wedding, those women were the last I ever wanted to see again.
Those women weren’t just any ho’s.
They were Scribe’s older sisters.
The three witches. The last time they showed up, I had to rebuild two fucking cabins because they burned them to the fucking ground.
“Nothing, I swear!”
“Man, grow some balls for fuck’s sake!” Gunner groaned as even he stepped back a few steps. The entire club knew of Scribe’s sisters. Beautiful, smart and devious, Scribe’s sisters were a force to be reckoned with. If ever there was an invasion from a foreign country, those women would be the ones I stood behind.