Page 14 of Tyrant

Marriage License.

Fuck.What in the hell am I supposed to do now? We’re married and she’s gone. Of course, this would happen to my ass. I knew I hated this fucking city for a reason. It’s cursed or something, I swear.

With nothing else to lose, I call the first person who comes to mind.Havoc.My prez and lifelong friend.

“Yeah,” he mutters, sounding distracted. He’schippertoday. I wonder if the fucker was woken up too early.

“I think I did something stupid,” I reply, picking up and staring at the thick piece of paper once again. I’m caught between wanting to be furious with myself, needing to puke,and also thinking it could be worse. I got off easy after allowing myself to get drunk badly enough last night that I essentially blacked out. I just hope my bike is still parked downstairs where it should be, and I don’t have the cops looking for me for whatever the fuck.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?”

“Fuck off,” I grumble, making him chuckle. I can’t bring myself to say it aloud, so I do the next best thing. I snap a pic and send it through text. Chicken shit? Nah, just thinking if he has to read it, he won’t give me as much shit over it.

“The fuck?” he barks out in surprise.

“Yeah. I think I got married last night.” My other hand rakes through my hair as I let loose a heavy sigh.

“You think? This says you did,” he clarifies, but in this particular instance, I’m able to read and comprehend what’s in front of me just fine.

Not that I want to, with my jilted bride nowhere to be found. I think her taking off is the part stinging me the most. Why not stick around so we can laugh about it, then get it taken care of? I’m not knocking marriage or anything, although it’s not something I pictured for myself anytime soon. I doubt she wants to be stuck to me, a one-percenter biker she knows nothing about. Now that I’m thinking of it, I did way more talking than she ever did. I was trying to make her feel comfortable with being alone with a man twice her size. I was an idiot. I never let my guard down, even with a woman. Unless you’re one of my brothers, then you’re assed out when it comes to information, thoughts, feelings, you name it with me. Blair’s my exception, it appears.

Wincing, I admit, “I was drunk.”

“Howdrunk?”

“Let’s just say I don’t remember it. Any of it. We were at the concert enjoying ourselves, getting hammered, then nothing. Blackness.”

“Fuck. You need to get it annulled.”

“Just one more problem.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“G-O-N-E,” I spell out the word. “Disappeared like a fuckin’ ghost.”

He sighs. “You need to come home, Tyrant.Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. On my way.”

“Ride safe.”

“You too,” I respond and end the call. I can’t believe I got married, in Vegas of all places. My hand lands on my forehead once more, squeezing, and then I head back to the bedroom. I fall back onto the bed with a groan, wondering how in the hell I can fix this mess.

Wracking my mind, I lie there for far too long, attempting to figure out what else went down the night before that would make Blair pop smoke without so much as a goodbye. No longer stuck on feeling sorry for myself with my hangover, I down another sports drink and order a sandwich from room service. My reservation is for another night and part of me wants to remain here in case she returns, but the realist in me is damn certain it won't happen.

Havoc is probably right about me needing to leave. I almost text the others to see what they think, but then hold off. What would I say at this point without coming off sounding like a pansy ass dipshit?

After I finish my food and internally attempt to rationalize all the reasons I should stay, I come up short and decide to go ahead and check out early. I find the same lady from yesterday at thefront desk. She's frazzled again, it seems, I would be, too, having to deal with assholes all day. I’d probably end up shooting one of them and be hauled off to the slammer. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I’m staying the fuck out of jail in Las Vegas. They probably get so many perps it’d be months before I finally saw a fucking judge for bail. Besides, I don’t need to be on the law’s radar anywhere with the jobs I help Creed with. Cleaning up dead bodies unofficially is frowned upon. I like to think of it as me doing a service for the community, think of all the extra work I’m saving them from having to do.

“You alright?” She probably thinks I’m a dick after yesterday, not that I care. I’m only asking so she doesn’t lump me in with the group of other assholes she has to deal with on the daily.

She waves me off, replying, “Yes, thanks. I've received around twenty calls from people looking for a woman. They all swear she's in Las Vegas and is in the area. What they don't seem to realize is that no matter how many times I repeat it, is there's likea millionpeople here, in the area!”

I nod. I’ve noticed and it's too busy for me. Other people wouldn't get it unless they were to experience it for themselves.

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