When Emma woke up the sun was high enough in the sky to cast long shadows over a stranger’s room. There was a warm body with dog breath flopped out next to her. With the stiffness of a body that had lay too long in the same position, Emma rolled over and received a big doggie kiss.

 

“Hello to you, too, Rocco.” She patted his side. He gave a low grumble in response.

 

She swung her stiff legs over the edge of a bed and looked around the room. It was, she determined, most certainly Kellan’s. The blue bedspread was run of the mill, but the biker girl calendar hanging on one wall and the clutter of clothes all screamed thirty-year-old male. The hunting rifle casually slung over the back of a chair was a dead giveaway, too. Her father wasn’t a hunter, but Kellan was.

 

Curiosity, and a desire to not walk out the bedroom door and into reality, had her perusing the less obvious aspects of the room. He was, after all, her husband-to-be. There was a stack of CDs that all ran towards the angry rebellious male from the ’90s music next to an iPod that was so new the headphones still had the waves from packaging. A half-empty bottle of Brute aftershave stood next to a few simple pieces of jewelry—a school ring and a chain with a cross on it.

 

There was a picture tucked between an empty box of cigarettes and a book that looked surprisingly well read. It was of a young Kellan, maybe nineteen or twenty, younger than she was now. His hair was still short, and still a mess of dark curls. He was a long line of teenage youth with a smile as wide as Texas on his mouth as he held up his vest, with only one patch on the bottom. The rocker, as they called it, read Prospect. 

 

She remembered when he first came to stay with them. He had been so skinny, so underfed, and there were enough bruises on his face that she knew he had been abused. Her father had taken him in, looked on him as a son, and started him on the path to becoming a Beasts club member.

 

Club, she mused, a real nice word for a gang. She put the picture back and sighed. She was feeling stupid.

 

Little pieces of Kellan were scattered all over a messy room.

 

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself.

 

A buzzing in her hoodie pocket made her aware of her phone. She pulled it out. There were three missed messages. The first was from the school, telling her she needed to have her stuff out by Friday, the other two were from Diana, who was worried since she hadn’t heard from her.

 

Emma didn’t have a clue how to phrase assaulted and engaged in emojis so she just sent her a message that said Family emergency. It was close enough, especially where her family was concerned.

 

“Come on, pup,” she said, rubbing the last little bit of sleep out of her eyes. “Let’s go see about breakfast.”

 

He gave an enthusiastic woof and hopped out of the bed, wagging the entire back end of his body. He circled twice and plopped down in front of the bedroom door. Someone had closed it. She wondered who.

 

She tugged off her hoodie and let it join the other piles of clothing, the grunge of old rain didn’t smell any worse than unwashed male. The dark green tank top she wore underneath wasn’t much better, but it didn’t smell quite as bad.

 

Emma opened the door and Rocco charged out. There was a clatter followed by a shout. She smiled. Dogs made everything better.

 

She took a few moments to freshen up in the bathroom, wash out the taste of mid-morning. A long look in the mirror informed her that her pale pallor did nothing to hide the bruised look of lethargy beneath her eyes. Her golden hair had the luster of two-day-old fries. She easily looked the worst she ever had in her entire life.

 

“Good morning to you, too, beautiful,” she muttered.

 

With a sigh she swished some mouthwash through her teeth. Maybe she ought to take a shower before heading out to go face her estranged father, and her brand new fiancé. The rumble of her stomach decided food was more important than pride. Emma wondered if her life had ever been weirder.

 

“I mean it,” she heard Kellan saying when she opened the bathroom door. “I won’t touch her.”

 

Her father’s gruff voice came from the kitchen. “Kid, you’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now.”

 

“Man, that’s your little girl.”

 

“Do not, under any circumstance, make me point out to you that she has grown up.”

 

The smell of frying eggs and toasted bread hit her. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until her mouth was watering. She peeked around the corner, thankful the hallway blocked the view of her approach. A mirror gave her the vantage of seeing a very shirtless Kellan standing over a stove. Her watering mouth went sandpaper dry.

 

A rag was tossed carelessly over one sun-bronzed shoulder, a rivulet of water was sneaking down the long muscular line of his back, caressing the outline of a feral-looking dog tattoo, jumping out of artistically rendered flames. They danced as his shoulders moved, flipping on egg out of a pan and unto a plate.

 

“We both know she’s too good for me, Mac. I mean, she’s college educated, straight and narrow, all that. It ain’t just the big blue eyes that kick you. It’s all that punch in her brain.”

 

Her father’s chuckle was proud. “I’m glad you know it. But if she’s gonna be your wife…”

 

“Man, I can’t hold her to that. She said it in the middle of the night after a shitty situation.”

 

“Then go propose, go make it all right.”

 

Emma decided it was time for her to make her presence known.

 

“Morning,” she said stepping out of the hallway. “Any of that for me?”

 

Kellan glanced up. She saw his eyes sweep over her tank top. His mouth hung open for a moment as he took in the way it clung to her chest. Even Emma had to admit she wasn’t quite the underdeveloped eighteen-year-old she had been. Mac saw it, too, because he snorted something like, “Won’t touch her. Yeah, right,” under his breath.

 

Emma cleared her throat in amused embarrassment. “Eggs?”

 

“Hmm? Yeah, eggs, toast, bacon.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“Trying to eat healthy,” Mac said as he plopped his own plate on his lap and wheeled to the table. “Good for me.”

 

Emma put a hand on his shoulder, and he put his hand over hers. They stood there for a moment. It didn’t quite heal the seven-year breech between them, but it was a step. He tilted his head and placed a kiss on her hand. She patted his cheek.

 

“So,” Emma said as she piled toast unto her plate. “We have a wedding to plan.”

 

“Aw shit,” Kellan said.

 

Mac laughed. “Gotta be soon.”

 

“Listen, we still gotta talk about that.”

 

She leveled a gaze at him, plucking a piece of bacon up. “Does marrying you keep me safe?”

 

Kellan turned his eyes on Mac.

 

Mac held up his hands in surrender, clearly passing this over to the younger man. “She’s your fiancée. Answer the lady’s question.”

 

“Yes,” he finally said. “Safer, at least.”

 

“Does it give me a place to stay while all of this blows over?” She took a bite and slowly chewed it as she kept her eyes on him. She could see his brow furrow as he looked for a point to argue from.

 

“Emma, you’d have that anyway. If not here, then with Leon, or one of the others. The club wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves for this.” He jerked the pan off the stove and loaded the last plate with food.

 

“Fair enough, but does marrying you help pay off my student loans? Get me my last semester at college?”

 

“Uh…” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know.”

 

“Well, if you get married, then you get your inheritance from me, that should see you through college and a nest egg.”

 

Kellan gave his president a look. “Are you serious? That’s shady.”

 

“A man is allowed to be as shady as he wants when his kid’s safety is concerned.”

 

“Shit.” Kellan gave a snort. “Fine, fine. Yes, I guess marrying me gets you some cash flow.”

 

“Then I guess we are getting married.”

 

Mac laughed. “That’s my little girl.”

 

Kellan looked her over for a second time, but this time her tank top had nothing to do with it. “That’s a big turnaround from what you were saying last night.”

 

“I said I’d marry you last night.” She made a sandwich with her breakfast and took a bite. “Not that big of a jump to planning a wedding.”

 

“This is stupid.”

 

Emma jerked her arm in a one shouldered shrug, “If you think you can do better than me, go right on ahead. Maybe one of those little biker bunnies. I mean, I’m sure they’d be willing to jump right on you if you waggled a finger.”

 

“I don’t want a biker bunny.” His tone was relentless and cold as steel.

 

“Well, good. Because I’m not one,” she snapped back, her eyes filling with indignant fire.

 

“Why do you want to marry me?” He surged forward, covering what little ground was between them in the span of two steps. His hand slapped against the table, his other gripped the back of her chair.

 

She didn’t move; she barely blinked. She just stared up at him with fire filled eyes. “Why are you being so damn difficult?” 

 

He glared at her, she stared back.

 

His lip quirked suddenly into a shadow of a smile. “You’ve got some balls, you know that?”

 

“Well, no,” she said, grabbing her plate and making for the bedroom again. “But I’m sure you’ll find that out soon enough.”