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Angelo decided to throw a surprise wedding for JB—Jessica—the Ducati Queen.
    And he enlisted the MC’s help.
    I sat slack-jawed while he laid out his plan to Tuck, Cole, Tail, Brodie, Handsome, and me.
    Brodie hunched forward. “Wait. You mean you haven’t even asked her yet?”
    “No. That’s bad, huh?” Hunter’s gold eyes turned black-dark as he cracked his knuckles.
    I skidded my chair closer to Hunter. “You know what? I think we’ve got just the right person for the job.” I glanced at Tucker who gave me the affirmative. “What else do you need us to do, my man?”
    Turned out he needed a venue.
    No brainer.
    The unofficial nuptials would take place at the Church of Retribution.
    He needed a party planner. Lucy was FaceTimed immediately and totally on board. Hell, if the lady could spend half her time in a Candy Crush face-off with Brodie, she could squander a few in-between hours wedding planning. Besides, she was good with the details, which was why we’d hired her in the first place.
    “She’ll need a dress.” Hunter shut his eyes, smiling wickedly. When he looked up, he stared at me. “Think Rayce would help take care of that?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “You contacting her, or me?”
    I gulped down a burning shot of whiskey. “Think you better.”
    “Why’s that?” he asked.
    “Boom stutters whenever he’s around her. That’s why.” Brodie stroked his goatee.
    I wrestled him from his chair and strong-armed him to the floor. “Say it again, bro.” I wrenched his neck in a headlock hold.
    Just like the old days.
    I grinned.
    Coletrane guffawed.
    “Some fucking wedding planners,” Hunter groaned.
    “Break it up, kids.” Only Tuck had the nerve to clutch me by the back of my neck and Brodie by the tip of his ear, hauling us to our feet.
    The barrel-bellied man with the wiry gray hair and the perfectly tipped handlebar mustache had been our father figure since our dad died. Cat, Brodie, and I had all been of legal age, but we’d still lost our way. He’d guided us with stern words, gruff love, a big heart. He’d been my dad’s best bud for more than two decades.
    Without him, without Retribution, I didn’t know how we would’ve turned out.
    Brodie and I straightened our shirts, wiped our mouths, sat back down.
    “You two cool?” Hunter asked.
    “As ice.” I daggered my icy blue eyes straight at Brodie’s identical ones. “Just a little sibling rivalry.”
    “Because I’m gettin’ some and Boomer isn’t,” Brodie returned.
    Aaaand the whole wedding discussion dissolved into more thinly veiled insults.
    Amazingly, we got it together, and in time.
    The date.
    The decorations.
    The dress.
    The deacon.
    Just a few days before Christmas it was Surprise-You’re-Getting-Married Day, and almost everything was in place. One little detail Hunter forgot to nail down was in the Retribution repertoire and we had that one in the bag. The honor guard. We rode in formation for all important occasions: births, weddings, charities, rallies, burials. The last time we’d banded together like this had been Miss Myra’s funeral—Myra, my brother-in-law’s mimi. We’d flown down 17 North in Mt. Pleasant, streaming banners in memory of Nick’s grandmother’s life.
    This time, we came together to honor the joining of two lives.
    Our loud pipes rumbled like thunder through the silent December streets until we reached JB’s— JailBait’s —cottage. Five massive dudes dressed in black leather parked in formation in front of her house.
    No mistaking us.
    JB stuck her head outside the door as I approached in front of Brodie, Handsome, Tail and the rest of the guys.
    “What’s going on?” Her voice trembled. Her velvety brown hair shimmered.
    “Rayce here yet?”
    “Yes. She brought some sort of dress for me.” JB let me pass inside and closed the door. “Why are you here? Where’s Hunter? Rayce didn’t say anything about you joining us.” She eyed me warily.
    “Don’t worry, l’il