“We don’t have a family album,” I sneered.
Seeing Scribe next to Henley, I looked over at him and said, “Tell me you have everything she needs for when the wedding is over.”
“Yep.” The annoying fucker smirked as he checked the camera around his neck, making sure it was on and ready to go. “I made sure The Queen of Darkness has everything she will need. It’s in my van, ready to go.”
“All of you, put those cameras away,” I snarled, glaring about the room. “She sees you with those things and there won’t be a damn wedding because I will be planning your funerals. And where the hell are Banks and Laurel?”
“They left for the lodge with Aleksandr and the kids an hour ago. Said they would meet us there.” My brother Pyro grinned, slowly shaking his head as he looked me up and down. “Gotta say, Callum, never thought I’d see you in a monkey suit. What would Dad think?”
“Dad’s probably getting a damn good laugh,” I snarked, then added, “I’m serious. Put the fucking cameras—”
“Oh dear, God help us all!” Sarah gasped as everyone turned to the stairs and stood wide-eyed, mouths gaping as Bailey appeared.
“Not one motherfucking word,” my woman sneered venom as she slowly descended the stairs. Dressed in a soft winter-blue taffeta Southern Belle gown, right out ofGone With the Wind, I gulped and swallowed hard as I tried my damndest not to smile.
Holy fuck!
The room was deadly silent, save for the faint creak of the stairs under her deliberate steps. Every eye stayed glued to her, transfixed by the audacious flare of her gown and the defiance radiating from her every gesture. She was a vision, a temptress wrapped in silk and taffeta, and there wasn’t a soul brave enough to comment—except Scribe.
“Holy mother of God,” he muttered under his breath, though the sly grin playing at the corner of his lips betrayed his amusement. “It’s the devil in a blue dress.”
Before anyone could respond, Bailey stopped mid-step, her gaze sweeping over the room, daring anyone to open their mouths. The tension was thick, the kind of silence that felt like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. Then, with an elegant flick of her hand, she adjusted the oversized skirt of her gown andcontinued her descent, her chin held high as though she were a queen descending from her throne.
Her voice was smooth but laced with venom as she sneered, “If any of you so much as say one damn word, I will see to it that your lives end today.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded solemnly, though the twitch threatening to betray me at the corner of my lips probably didn’t help my case. “Noted.”
Scribe, bless his soul—or lack thereof—had less self-control.
A snicker escaped before he could stop it, and Bailey’s eyes narrowed on him like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.
“You got something to say, bestie?”
“Nope!” The smart man quickly shook his head. “Nuttin’ at all!”
With a true Southern Belle flourish, Bailey whipped her big ass dress behind her and marched toward the front door as if she were General Sherman getting ready to burn down the city of Atlanta. “Let’s get this shit show over with!”
Gator
Irish Rose Tavern...
“Hey, boss, you think there will be good vittles at this shindig?” Donut asked, leaning against the door as I combed back my hair.
“Don’ see why not.” I smiled, looking at myself in the mirror. “Why?”
Damn, I clean up fine!
“I mean, this is a real fancy place we’re goin’ to. I ain’t eatin’ no bland rubber chicken.”
“Donut’s got a point, boss,” Thore said, stepping up behind him. “We like our food seasoned, and these fancy folks ain’t never used anything but salt and pepper.”
Turning to look at the hulking man, I closed my eyes and counted to ten before I said another damn word.
Thore was eccentric on a good day. Hell, all my boys were, but I was pretty damn sure wearing no shirt to a classy wedding was against some rule or something. If that wasn’t bad enough, the brother had on a bear’s hide kilt with his family’s sword at his hip and calfskin boots up to his knees.
Now, I wasn’t up to date on wedding etiquette, but I was pretty damn sure what Thore and Donut were wearing wasn’t entirely appropriate. But then again, Thore did braid his hair and comb his beard, so that was a plus.
However, Donut totally missed the fucking memo because the brother was wearing a semi-white tank top, board shorts, flip-flops and a polka-dotted bow tie around his neck.
