Page 125 of Property of Rattler

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

RATTLER

“Congratulations, Brother.”

I walk into the church to the sounds of clapping and cheering. My face flashing red, I wave them off. Jayne has been showing her ring off around the clubhouse, but I wasn’t prepared for this kind of reception from my brothers.

At least Bullseye’s not far behind me, and when he picks up the gavel I know he’s going to shut this shit down, and get us back on track with normal club shit. I wait for the blessed silence and change of subject.

“First order of business,” Prez announces, “Is to congratulate Rattler for doing shit right this time. And the second is to decide when he and Jayne are getting married, and who the fuck is going to be the officiant.”

My eyes shoot to him in horror.

“I’ll do it,” Words raises his hand.

“You what?” Freak leans over the table to look down at him. “Like you did mine?”

Words holds up his hands. “Hey, I’ll do better now I’ve got some practise in.”

“I vote for Smooth. Now that was a fucking laugh.” Piston leans forward clutching his sides.

“No!” Both Short and Saint react together, and with exactly the same word.

“Hey, it’s our wedding. And we’ve already decided.” Words looks at me with such an expectant look on his face, that it’s hard to let him down. I soften my voice as I break it to him. “We’re going to Vegas.”

They all look stunned.

“You sure, Bro?” Saint asks. “You sure you don’t want all your brothers, and our nearest chapters and friends to attend?”

“After your example?” I bark a laugh. “I’m fuckin’ sure. Anyway, Jayne’s always wanted to go see what the city of sin is all about, and as I’ve not been before…”

“Road trip!” Paint slams his hand on the table. “Just what we need after all the fuckin’ business with the Mafia and Russians, we need to let our hair down.”

“You’ve not got any.”

Paint points at Piston. “You can talk.”

“At least mine’s longer than yours…”

The gavel bangs down loudly. “Christ, it’s like a fuckin’ school yard in here,” Prez remarks, dragging his hands down his face. “But maybe Paint’s got a good idea. We haven’t been on a long run for ages, and it will do us all good to get some wind in our hair.”

My jaw has dropped during their comments. I waggle my hand. “Hey, it’s our wedding, and we kind of assumed we’d be the only ones there.”

Woody leans into me. “Aww, Bro, you’d deny us all seeing you wed this time?”

“You were there before,” I object.

“But it wasn’t a real wedding.” He’s unrepentant.

Saint addresses the prez. “You think we ought to swing by the Nevada clubhouse while we’re there? They’re right there in Vegas.”

Bullseye draws in a deep breath. “At the very least I’ve got to have words with Prowler. Warn him that we’re heading his way.”

Tempest tilts his head to the side. “Something wrong with that, Prez?” Like the rest of us he’s picked up on a lack of enthusiasm from the top of the table.

Seeming to shake himself, Bullseye cracks an attempt at a smile. “Nah, it’s all good. There’s just something about Prowler that gives me the chills.”

“It’s his eyes,” Freak, who’s obviously met him, states. “Mostly they’re normal, but from time to time they seem to change to gold.”