Epilogue 1 - Cash
In the days after Gabriel’s arrest, the clubhouse shifted into holiday mode. Ginger decided we needed to go extra big this year, and now the place looks like Christmas threw up everywhere.
And I mean everywhere.
Inside, the energy’s wild and contagious.
Nobody admits it, but we’re all shell-shocked at how fast everything crashed into freedom.
Especially Mercy, who’s sitting beside me, laptop between us while we look at houses.
It’s normal, domestic shit that makes my chest feel weird and tight in a good way.
“This one’s got three bedrooms,” Mercy says. “Garage big enough for two bikes. And look—there’s a yard.”
“For what? We getting a dog?”
“Maybe.” She grins. “Or just a place where you can work on bikes without Duck complaining you’re taking up space in the shop.”
“Duck loves when I’m at the shop. Gives him someone to boss around.”
“Duck loves complaining. There’s a difference.”
She’s right. She’s always right about these things.
The house is perfect—small but not too small, about ten minutes from the clubhouse. Close enough when needed, far enough for our own space.
Our own space. Still getting used to that idea.
“You really want to do this?” I ask. “Buy a house? Put down roots?”
“With you?” She closes the laptop, turns to face me. “Yeah. I really want to.”
I kiss her because I can. Because she’s mine and I’m hers and Gabriel’s rotting in a cell waiting for his trial. Because for the first time in my life, the future looks like something I want instead of something to survive.
Before I met Mercy, I could barely think past the next day. The future was this shapeless threat—something that would swallow me whole, leave me alone and used up like always.
Now I’m looking at mortgage rates and wondering if we should get a dog.
The shift’s almost frightening. Not violence frightening, but solid-ground frightening when you’ve spent your whole life waiting for it to crack.
Mercy’s talking about paint colors, and I’m realizing this is real.
Not a fantasy I’ll wake up from. Not something that’ll be ripped away the moment I believe in it.
That street kid nobody wanted finally has a future.
Poppy appears from the kitchen, baby Rose strapped to her chest. She looks tired but happy, hair in a messy bun, wearing sweatpants and one of Axel’s shirts.
“I can’t believe I missed out,” she says, dropping onto the couch beside us. “The big showdown. Gabriel getting arrested. The whole thing.”
“You have a baby,” Mercy reminds her. “You get a pass.”
“Still. I wanted to see his face when Morrison cuffed him.” Poppy adjusts Rose. “But I’m not missing Christmas. Or New Year’s. Axel promised—we’re doing every party, every gathering. I’ve been stuck at home for weeks. I need adult interaction that isn’t about feeding schedules.”
“Rose is like three months old,” I point out.
“Three months and two weeks. Not that I’m counting.” She grins. “But seriously, I’m coming to everything. Cookie decorating, caroling—”
“We’re caroling?” I look at Mercy, horrified.
“Oh yeah.” She’s trying not to laugh. “It’s a new club tradition. We’re going around the neighborhood spreading Christmas cheer.”
“I don’t do Christmas cheer.”
“You do now. You’re wearing an ugly sweater and everything.”
“The fuck I am.”
“Language,” Andi calls out, though her kids are too busy burying Steel—or as they call him, Fairy Floss—in last year’s wrapping paper to hear me.
Steel emerges from the paper avalanche, looking resigned. “Little help?”
“Nope,” Bones says from his spot by the window. He’s been on his phone for the last hour, checking it every few minutes. “You got yourself into that mess.”
“They’re two and a half. They ambushed me.”
“Should’ve been faster.”
Abby appears at Steel’s side, holding tinsel. “Again?”
“No. No tinsel. I look like a—”
She dumps it on his head, anyway. Adam toddles over to help, giggling. “Fairy Floss, pretty!”
“I give up.” Steel sits down, resigned to his fate as a human Christmas tree. “This is my life now.”
Mercy’s laughing so hard she’s crying. “Take a picture. This is perfect.”
I do because she’s right. Steel covered in tinsel, looking martyred while the kids celebrate their victory, is exactly the kind of shit we need documented.
“I’m getting coffee,” Poppy says, still giggling as she stands. “Anyone want?”
“Me,” Mercy says, following her to help.
I watch them go. Two women who’ve become sisters in the way that matters.
“You look happy,” Bones observes, putting his phone down.
“I am happy.”
“Good. You deserve it.”
He says it like it’s fact. Like I’ve earned this somehow.
Maybe I have. Maybe surviving all that shit, choosing not to become it, fighting for something better—maybe that counts. Maybe the MC was right: your past doesn’t define your worth. Your choices do.
“What about you? You seem on edge.”
“Just waiting for the princess’s plane to land. Stone’ll have my balls if I’m late picking Emma up.”
Stone’s daughter is a club legend—depending on who’s telling the story—and her coming home for Christmas has had Stone wound tight even before the Summit showdown. But there’s an extra sharpness to Bones, like he’s holding a grenade and trying not to let us see his hand’s already pulled the pin.
“You sure that’s all?” Bones doesn’t get nervous, doesn’t clock watch. He’s overeager about something.
Bones grins. “Everything’s good. Just enjoying the rare moment of peace. Club’s humming. Summit’s scrambling. The worst person in the world is locked up for the holidays. Feels like the universe is giving us an early gift.”
“You sure that’s it? You seem excited or something.”
He shrugs. “How’re the ribs?” He gestures at my face, which is finally starting to look human again. The swelling’s gone down, bruises fading to yellow-green.
“Better. Still can’t sneeze without wanting to die.”
“Give it another week.”
Duck calls out. “Someone grab this end before I drop the whole damn thing.”
Tank rushes over, nearly trips over Adam, catches himself. “I got it.”
“Careful, you oaf. These are Maggie’s good lights.”
“There are good lights?”
“I dunno. Maggie calls them that. Far as I’m concerned, they’re all the same.”
Maggie appears like a summoned demon. “Robert Alan Mallory, they are not the same. These are LED with timer function and—”
“I’m sorry!” Duck holds up his hands. “They’re beautiful lights. The best lights. Worth every penny.”
“Damn right.” Maggie stalks off, satisfied.
Tank grins up at Duck. “Whipped.”
“You have no idea.” But Duck’s smiling.
This is what family looks like. Not blood. Not obligation. Just people who show up. Who hang Christmas lights and babysit each other’s kids and celebrate whenever something good happens—and sometimes even when they don’t.
Stone emerges from his office. “Bones, you and Steel ready to head out?”
Bones jumps up. “Emma’s flight lands in two hours. We should leave now to beat traffic.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Stone’s been worrying about everything being perfect for Emma’s visit. It’s been years since she’s had Christmas off from dancing the Nutcracker, and she’s been texting non-stop about cookies, decorations, and the cookout. So he’s saying yes to everything.
“Tell her we got the inflatable Santa,” Tank says. “The one that looks drunk.”
“I’m not telling my daughter we have a drunk Santa,” Stone says, but he’s grinning.
“Why not? She loves the lawn display.”
“She did when she was twelve. She’s twenty-eight now.”
“Almost twenty-nine,” Maggie adds.
Tank mutters something about never being too old to enjoy Christmas, and Stone shakes his head, smiling as he returns to his office.
When Bones and Steel leave, I see Mercy and Poppy returning with coffee. Mercy’s laughing at something Poppy said, her whole face lit up, and my chest does that thing. That tightness that used to scare me but now feels like home.
She hands me a mug, kisses my temple. “You good?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How lucky I am.”
Her eyes go soft. She slides onto the couch beside me, tucking herself against my good side. “You’re going to make me cry, and I just fixed my mascara.”
“Don’t cry. Save it for when we’re alone and I can take advantage of your emotional vulnerability.”
She smacks my chest. “You’re terrible.”
“You love it.”
“Unfortunately.” But she’s smiling.
Rose starts fussing, and Poppy shifts her, bouncing. “Someone’s hungry. I should probably—”
“Go,” Mercy says. “We’ve got this covered.”
Poppy heads off to feed Rose, and I pull Mercy closer, careful of my ribs.
The chaos continues around us—Duck and Tank arguing about light placement, Andi chasing the twins, and Kya and Lee arriving with a giant ‘welcome home’ banner.
I watch them string it across the main room, all glitter and red foil.
“Think she’ll like it?” Lee asks, stepping back.
Kya adjusts one corner. “She’s going to love it. You said yourself she’s been homesick.”
“Hard to believe,” I say. “Girl’s been dancing with one of the best ballet companies in the country. Thought she’d be too busy to miss anything.”
“Sometimes that’s why you miss home,” Mercy adds. “Because you miss how simple things were before everyone grew up and got responsibilities.”
I glance at her, wondering if she’s thinking about her own family—the ones who sided with Gabriel. But before I can ask, Stone appears in the doorway, phone to his ear, expression stricken.
“What do you mean she wasn’t on the plane?” Stone’s face drains of color, knuckles going white around the phone. The room senses the shift, conversations dying until there’s only his breathing and faint Christmas music from a speaker.
“Bones, I need you to tell me exactly what happened.” Stone’s voice drops to that lethal quiet that makes my survival instincts scream.
Bones’s voice comes through—urgent, apologetic—but I can’t make out words. Stone’s jaw clenches, muscles jumping under his skin. My stomach drops.