Oracle (Cerberus MC Book 30), page 1
Table of Contents
Oracle
Copyright
Cerberus MC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Social Media Links
OTHER BOOKS FROM MARIE JAMES
Oracle
Cerberus MC Book 30
Marie James
Copyright
Oracle: Cerberus MC Book 30
Copyright © 2023 Marie James
Editing by Marie James Betas & Ms. K Edits
EBooks are not transferable. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Cerberus MC
New to the Cerberus MC?
Each book is a standalone with a continuing subplot and can be read individually, but to get the most out of the series, it’s best to read in order.
Kincaid: Cerberus MC Book 1
Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2
Shadow: Cerberus MC Book 3
Dominic: Cerberus MC Book 4
Snatch: Cerberus MC Book 5
Lawson: Cerberus MC Book 6
Hound: Cerberus MC Book 7
Griffin: Cerberus MC Book 8
Samson: Cerberus MC Book 9
Tug: Cerberus MC Book 10
Scooter: Cerberus MC Book 11
Cannon: Cerberus MC Book 12
Rocker: Cerberus MC Book 13
Colton: Cerberus MC Book 14
Drew: Cerberus MC Book 15
Jinx: Cerberus MC Book 16
Thumper: Cerberus MC Book 17
Apollo: Cerberus MC Book 18
Legend: Cerberus MC Book 19
Grinch: Cerberus MC Book 20
Harley: Cerberus MC Book 21
Landon: Cerberus MC Book 22
Spade: Cerberus MC Book 23
Aro: Cerberus MC Book 24
Boomer: Cerberus MC Book 25
Ugly: Cerberus MC Book 26
Bishop: Cerberus MC Book 27
Legacy: Cerberus MC Book 28
Stormy: Cerberus MC Book 29
Oracle: Cerberus MC Book 30
Newton: Cerberus MC Book 31
Hemlock: Cerberus MC Book 32
A Very Cerberus Christmas
Cerberus MC Box Set 1
Cerberus MC Box Set 2
Cerberus MC Box Set 3
Cerberus MC Box Set 4
Cerberus MC Box Set 5
Chapter 1
Oracle
Despite the raging headache pounding in my head, I wake with a smile on my face.
The plan was to come to Lindell with Cerberus, to make sure that the town was safe during their memorial event. Finding a woman who rocked my world was extra whipped cream and the cherry on the top of a very kinky sundae.
I lick my dry lips, my eyes only managing to squint with the sun shining through the hotel room blinds. The warmth of her skin against mine makes me want to stay in bed for the rest of eternity.
She hums her approval when I pull her closer, positioning her body nearly on top of mine. My fingers tangle in soft, silky hair, and that perfectly flowery scent I became addicted to yesterday fills my nose once again. The woman is delectable. Her body moved against mine last night as if we’ve had years to perfect the sex.
“Morning,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
She grunts her response, and I can’t really get upset about that. I kept her up until the sun was threatening to come up. I bet we’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours, but duty calls, and Kincaid wouldn’t be impressed with me being late, no matter how good I got laid last night.
“We have to get up,” I say, putting forth no effort to get her off me.
Her fingers curl into my skin, and I’m hit with the memory of her nails digging in my skin as she pulled me closer, begging me for harder—faster. I gave her everything I had, and her mewling sounds of pleasure will live inside my head for many years to come.
If only I could remember her name. It would make our separation this morning a little easier.
“Sweetheart,” I say, nudging my shoulder when her body relaxes all the way, telling me she’s fallen back asleep. “I have to go.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, trying discreetly to wipe at her mouth, but, honestly, she’s wasting her time. She proudly slobbered on more than my chest last night, but maybe now isn’t the time to bring that up.
Tired, red-rimmed eyes look up at me, but there’s a smile playing on her lips.
“Last night was fun.”
I grin down at her when she starts chewing the inside of her cheek, a nervous gesture.
“It was,” I quickly agree.
Jesus, the woman is so freaking pretty. Her silky straw-colored hair is a mess of tangles and curls, and she’s the epitome of rode hard and hung up wet. Her shoulder bears the evidence of my mouth, making me wonder when I last gave someone a hickey—probably not since high school.
I trace my finger over the biggest one on her shoulder before running my hand down her spine. She curls into the touch like a lazy cat stretching in the sun. The goosebumps that chase my touch make me groan, my hips lifting a few inches to press harder into her.
“You said you have to get up,” she says, a sly smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, I’m up.”
Her laughter is like angels singing, and just that corny-ass thought makes me pause.
I’m not the type of man to have such thoughts. I’m not a hearts-and-flowers type of guy. I’m the type of guy to make a woman laugh with a string of one-liners before letting them know rather quickly that my only goal is to get them in bed. I promise a great night, no bullshit, no strings attached, and most women appreciate that. Some will slap me in the face or scrunch their nose in disgust, but a single guy in a new town for a couple of days doesn’t really have the luxury of getting to know someone. Plus, you don’t go to a hole-in-the-wall bar looking for love.
“How much do you remember?” she asks, running her hand up my side until the tip of her index fingernail is hovering near her mouth.
“What’s that?” I ask, the sun filtering into the room, glinting off the ring on her finger.
She holds her hand out a little and, despite being an intelligent man, I have to do a little math in my head to make sure I’m actually looking at her left hand.
“For fuck’s sake,” I say, angling my head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t fuck around with married women.”
As gently as I can manage, I move her off me and sit up on the side of the bed.
“This small-ass town,” I grumble, scraping my hands over my face. “I swear Kincaid will boot my ass out of the club if shit hits the fan.”
I glance back over my shoulder, wondering just what in the hell kind of voodoo curse she managed to cast over me, because checking for a wedding ring is one of the very first steps I always take when approaching a woman. I might have had a few drinks last night before splitting off from the guys, but I wasn’t so wasted that I would’ve missed the fact that she’s married.
“What happened last night?”
She blinks up at me, her face a nearly unreadable mask. If it weren’t for her eyes darting away immediately, betraying her nervousness, I’d think the woman was as tough as nails.
“We had sex,” I say when she remains silent, flashes of our bodies moving together filling my mind.
I grunt in irritation, unwilling to let those thoughts take control.
“We did,” she confirms, and I can’t tell if her voice is all husky and sexy because that’s just how it is in the morning or if it’s some game she’s playing in an attempt to get control of this situation.
“And your husband?” I ask, my eyes darting past her bare tits to the simple gold band on her left ring finger.
She licks her lips before responding, and, honestly, it makes me consider going to the emergency room for a toxicology screen, because the woman distracts me that easily.
“I think he enjoyed it.”
She chuckles when my eyes widen, and the sound of it follows me to the bathroom when I pop up and race across the room to find this man.
I’m not going to lie and say I’ve never been involved in a group-sex situation, but the norm would be me and a couple of women, not sharing a girl with another guy. Certainly, in my right mind, I would absolutely never climb into bed with a married couple. I saw more than one friend end up in some shady-ass situation when I was in the Marine Corps for shit like that to happen.
“This is some fucked-up shit.” I press my palms into my eyes, the room radiating with color when I pull them away and look at her.
It takes several long seconds for her to come back into focus. That grin on her face is back, and I recall a flash of it in the bar last night, but there isn’t a single memory in my head of another man.
I had weird-ass dreams last night when we finally took a break from each other, but I can’t separate all of that from reality.
“Derrick,” she says with a sigh, and I find it weird, my real name on her lips.
It forces me to pause and give her my full attention.
“You’re my husband.”
I tilt my head to the side in confusion before following her line of sight to my left hand.
I blink down at the simple gold band on my hand, confused as to how in the world it got there in the first place.
“That’s impossible,” I argue. “I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Beth,” she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Beth Lee.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s my last name.”
“Exactly,” she says, without even missing a beat.
Chapter 2
Beth
My mask of indifference is something I’ve perfected with years and years of disappointment, but for some reason, I’m struggling to lock it in place this morning.
We had a great time last night, and it was very obvious that he only remembered parts of it when he woke up and pulled me closer.
The way he’s glaring at me right now tells me that he still hasn’t managed to recall all of his memories from last night.
He was an active participant in all of it. The alcohol he drank was his own choice.
“Why are you glaring at me like that?” I ask instead of running from the room like my mind is urging me to.
My first instinct is to hightail it out of here and never look back. I’m sort of known for hasty decisions, for reading too much of the wrong thing into nearly every situation. Last night was no different. Last night, things went further than they ever have before. I knew there was a risk, that I was taking a chance, and that the odds were stacked against me for things to work out the way my head tried to convince me they would.
“Married?” he asks, his voice low and full of disbelief.
“Married,” I confirm, watching him stare down at the band on his finger as if it’s a venomous cobra that will strike at him if he so much as twitches.
My history and the choices I’ve made have been the talk of our small town of Lindell for years. There’s rarely a day that goes by that I don’t hear a whisper of There’s Beth Too Much when I walk through the town square. My actual last name, well, before last night, was Moore. I was in elementary school when Beth Moore quickly transitioned into Beth Too Much. Once, a teacher even called that out to me in chastisement when I did something against the rules on the playground. It stung so much back then, knowing that even the adults in my life weren’t immune to my mocking. I spent the rest of recess crying in one of the huge concrete culverts the school had as inexpensive playground equipment.
You’d think that having everyone whisper about me when I showed my face would make me make better decisions, but what they didn’t understand, and what took me until I left for college and spoke with a therapist about it, was that I have cyclothymic disorder, a branch of bi-polar disorder. Although most days my symptoms are controlled by meds, there are still times when I make brash decisions without thinking them all the way through.
Judging by the look on this guy’s face, last night was clearly one of those times.
“Married,” he says again, the confidence he had when he approached me last night at The Hairy Frog nowhere to be found. “How is that even possible?”
I scan the area around the bed, wishing I had clothes on for this conversation.
“Do you want a play-by-play or the condensed version?”
His cheek twitches as if he almost smiled, but then realized this might not be a funny situation.
When he drags his eyes up to mine, I don’t miss how they linger on my body. The look in his eyes now is similar to the hunger that was in them when he walked up to me and fed me some ridiculous line about his club name Oracle and how he could predict our clothes mingling on my bedroom floor when the sun came up.
He wasn’t completely wrong, but we ended up in his hotel room rather than back at my house last night. When I look at his feet, I see my bra peeking out from under his t-shirt.
“I just want to know what happened.”
I roll my teeth between my lips to keep from smiling, but the way he just spoke would’ve made my grandpa proud. His tone was nearly identical to Joe Friday on Dragnet when he’d say Just the facts, ma’am.
“We got married.”
His eyes narrow further. “Listen…”
“Beth,” I remind him.
“Listen, Beth,” he repeats as he walks across the room and picks up his pants.
He remains silent as he drops the denim to his feet, unconcerned about his nudity, after he fishes out his phone.
The device makes a clicking noise as he unlocks it with his face, but he doesn’t speak as he types something in it.
I swear if he calls the cops, I might just cry.
I knew there was a chance this would go sideways. Hell, experience tells me there is no other way for it to go, but that didn’t stop me. He’s from out of town, and all I want to do is escape Lindell. I saw it as an opportunity. Yeah, I might’ve taken it a little too far, but I wasn’t alone in making that happen.
He turns his phone around to face me as if I can read the tiny print from all the way across the room.
I bite the corner of my lip rather than asking him if he’s an idiot. I don’t think I’d get very far if I insult the man.
I drop my eyes lower on his body as he does the same to me. Just as my nipples tighten, I see that he’s having a visceral reaction to me as well.
He clears his throat, coming to his senses faster than I can manage.
“This states,” he says before turning the phone back toward himself so he can read it verbatim, “there’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period after applying for a marriage license.”
“Unless it’s waived by a judge,” I explain.
“We met last night, Beth.”
I grin when he gets my name right.
“What judge would possibly be working that late?”
“The same one who married us and signed our marriage license.”
I angle my head in the direction of the paper lying on top of the dresser.
I should probably take this a little more seriously than I am, but this entire day is going to head south. I’ve learned to take the good with the bad, so being capable of not watching his muscular ass as he crosses the room to the license isn’t possible.
I jerk my eyes up to his when he grabs the paper and spins back around to face me, but he catches me staring at his ass.
There’s a glint of humor in his eyes. It’s unfamiliar, not from him exactly, because I laughed more last night than I think I ever have. It’s foreign because most men scowl at me, or they refuse to even look in my direction after I’ve pulled some stunt.
“I was drunk,” he says.
“Sober enough to sign,” I argue.
“This Judge Andrew Moore can’t possibly be qualified if he lets a drunk man get married.”
“I assure you that my brother is more than qualified to be the county judge,” I snap.
“Y-your brother married us?”
I snap my mouth closed, trying to work through the various scenarios of how this can play out, but, sadly, the only result I can come up with is him calling me crazy and leaving. As often as I’ve had it happen, I’ve never had a legal document in place that made it a little more difficult for a guy to scurry away like I do now.
He repeated more than once that he thought this was crazy, but he never pumped the brakes. Not once did he say no.
