Nolan by Lane Hart, D.B. West

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rita

“These dresses are all so gorgeous,” Madison says as the three of us browse the gowns in the bridal shop.

“You should pick a few that you like and try them on,” Charlotte suggests. “Seeing them in the bag is one thing, but you really need to see how they look on you.”

“Okay,” I agree. Going back through the selections, I tell them, “I think I’ll try one A-line lace, one with the full ball gown skirt, and, ah, the satin V-neck slip.”

“Great choices,” Charlotte says. “You’re so tall and modelesque that I bet the slip will look absolutely elegant on you.”

I snort at the word “modelesque” and ask one of the sales ladies to open a dressing room. Unlike a normal clothing store, these “changing rooms” are gigantic with a curtained off area and several comfortable-looking chairs for ladies to wait, which makes it easy to keep talking to the women as I change.

“So, how long have you known Nolan?” Madison asks.

“We first met about five years ago,” I say while stepping into the first dress, the slip one. “Until recently, I was a waitress at a strip club. Before you judge, I also worked thirty-nine hours a week as an office assistant. The strip club is the only thing open at night, other than the regular roadside diners, and the club’s tips are three times what they would be at a restaurant.”

“You won’t get any judgment from us, girl,” Charlotte says. “But just hearing about you working two jobs like that sounds exhausting.”

“It was,” I agree as I slip my arms through the spaghetti straps. “So, Nolan, Abel and Hugo came in one night while they were still nomads. Then they kept coming back every night so Nolan could strike out with me.” I smile at the memory. “But the last night before he had to go out of town, he was waiting for me in the parking lot after he took out two would-be robbers. I was impressed, so I kissed him and told him I would date him when he came back to town.”

“So, you’ve been dating five years?” Charlotte asks.

“Ah, no. My brother got into trouble, brought evidence of a B&E and larceny back to my apartment. Nolan was there the morning the police served the search warrant. He told them he was responsible, and they arrested him. Nolan spent two years in prison for something he didn’t do, and I never knew it because my brother kept it from me.”

“Jeez,” Madison mutters. “That’s awful.”

“I thought Nolan was a jerk who got tired of me and moved on, when in reality he cared about me so much he gave up his freedom to keep my sixteen-year-old brother and me out of trouble.”

“Wow. That’s…so sweet,” Charlotte says as I reach behind me to zip up the dress as much as I can before pulling the curtain back.

I step up on the platform to look at the different angles in the mirrors while waiting for the women to offer an opinion. When neither of them say anything, I spin around to face them. Both have tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces.

“It’s perfect, just like I knew it would be!” Charlotte says.

“It really is,” Madison adds. “Rita, you can try on the other dresses, but this one looks like it was made for you. Even the length is perfect with your height.”

“This dress is magnificent on you, love,” one of the sales ladies says as she comes up on the platform with a big clip that she uses on the back to take it in a little, making my waist look leaner. “Just a quick alteration to take it in on the sides, and it could be ready today.”

We had told her that I needed to find something fast and she had been less than optimistic I could find a dress ready to go since most of their dresses had to be ordered, shipped, and then altered.

“Then I think this is the one. That was easy,” I say with a smile stretching my face as I turn back to face the mirrors.

For so long, I wasn’t sure if I would ever meet a man who would want me for more than a few nights, especially after Nolan up and disappeared. Now, I get to marry him. And I couldn’t be happier.

* * *

Nolan

Finally,after what feels like a lifetime waiting in the fucker’s office at the strip club but is probably only about fifteen minutes, Hugo’s phone rings. Hopefully Roman has some news for us.

“Talk to me,” Hugo answers. “You’re fucking kidding!” His eyes widen and even his mouth falls open comically which is unlike the normally calm, unfazed man. “How many? Shit, that’s all but one…”

“What?” I snap at him since the suspense is killing me.

“They’re dead,” Hugo says, keeping the phone to his ear.

“Our guys took them out?” I ask in confusion.

“No, they were all lying around in their own blood when they checked it out,” he says. “Looks fresh, maybe as old as last night, and gory as fuck, like someone tore them apart…”

“Oh shit,” I mutter. “Leroy?”

Hugo shakes his head. “He’s the only one unaccounted for.”

“Yeah, because he was probably the one who killed them,” Abel guesses, which is exactly what I’m thinking.

“But why?” Hugo asks, still on the call. “What would set that crazy son of a bitch off all of a sudden besides his woman being gone?”

“Maybe he’s pissed they didn’t try and take us out to help him?” I offer before another idea suddenly hits me. Turning my attention back to the manager, I growl out, “How many of them forced themselves on Rita?” When he doesn’t answer right away, I smack the shit out of the top of his head with the gun. “Answer me, asshole!”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Then take a wild fucking guess!”

“A-all of them, maybe?”

“Jesus Christ,” Hugo mutters.

“Leroy didn’t know?” I ask the manager.

“From what I heard, he thought she was married and was waiting…”

“He killed them,” I say aloud. “All of them. Someone, maybe the president, must have told the big boy she wasn’t worth it, that they had all had her, and he lost his shit pretty much the way I did.”

I vaguely hear Hugo relay the same message to Roman and the guys, telling them to fall back while the floor seems to tilt under my boots.

All of them.

All of them but the giant hurt Rita because of my fucking pride. My pride is what kept me away from her after I got out of prison.

“How long?” I ask aloud, then realize I should probably be more specific. “How long did the MC provide you with protection?” I ask the manager.

“Almost a year? Why?” he asks as I start walking to the door.

He exhales like he thinks we’re just going to leave when really what I’m doing is lining up my shot, lifting my gun higher, like a nearly seven-foot man would be aiming before I pull the trigger not once, but until the fucking clip runs out.

My hearing doesn’t come back from firing in such close range until we get outside to our bikes. And if I could, I would gladly have preferred to be deaf earlier instead of hearing the truth of what Rita’s been through, all the years busting her ass to raise her brother and now this shit for the past year.