Chapter 23
Reagan woke to sunlight and the sound of engines.
She'd fallen asleep in Channel's cabin sometime after dawn, tangled together in sheets that smelled like him, exhausted from the night before. The victory. The relief. Everything that had come after.
Now the compound was coming alive, and the rumble of bikes meant brothers returning from whatever morning business had called them out.
She dressed quickly and stepped onto the porch just as the convoy rolled through the gates.
Channel's bike was at the front. Right behind Still.
Her heart clenched at the sight of him—alive, whole, riding like he belonged exactly where he was. The graze on his arm was bandaged now, a white strip visible where his sleeve rode up, but he moved like it was nothing.
He saw her the moment he cleared the gate. His face split into a grin that made her chest ache.
Reagan was off the porch before she consciously decided to move. She met him at his bike, waiting while he killed the engine and swung off, and then she was in his arms.
"Hey," he said against her hair.
"Hey yourself."
"Sleep okay?"
"Eventually." She pulled back to look at him. "Where did you go?"
"Church business. Wrapping up loose ends from last night." His hands found her waist, holding her close. "The warehouse is all over the police scanner. They're calling it a robbery gone wrong—rival crews fighting over territory."
"And Farris?"
"Dead when they found him. Along with his last three men." Channel's expression didn't change, but something satisfied flickered in his eyes. "His operation is done. Buyers are already scrambling to find new sources. Nobody's going to fill the vacuum he left."
"Good."
She meant it. No guilt, no second thoughts. Farris had chosen his path, and it had led him to a warehouse floor. That was justice in the world she lived in now.
"Come on." Channel took her hand. "Still wants everyone at the pavilion."
The compound had transformed overnight. Someone had strung lights around the covered pavilion.
The barbecue pit was already smoking, meat sizzling, the smell of Cottonmouth's secret sauce drifting across the lot.
Families gathered at picnic tables. Kids ran between buildings.
Brothers stood in clusters, beers in hand, the relaxed energy of men who'd won a war and were ready to celebrate.
Reagan let Channel lead her through the crowd, aware of the eyes following them. The old ladies smiled when she passed. Brothers nodded. The wariness she'd felt when she first arrived was gone, replaced by something that felt almost like belonging.
"There she is." Limestone appeared at her elbow, a beer in each hand. He pressed one into her palm. "The woman who gave us the intel that ended Farris."
"Channel did the actual ending."
"Can't end what you can't find." Limestone's voice carried respect she hadn't earned from him before. "Your intel made last night possible. The brothers know it."
Reagan didn't know what to say to that. She'd spent so long fighting alone that acknowledgment from others still felt foreign. Uncomfortable.
"Thank you," she managed.
"Don't thank me. Thank yourself." Limestone clapped Channel on the shoulder. "And keep this one alive. He's got a vote coming."
He walked off before either of them could respond.
"A vote?" Reagan turned to Channel. "What vote?"
"Later." But he was smiling, and something warm was building in his eyes. "Right now, we celebrate."
The afternoon stretched into evening, lazy and golden. Reagan found herself pulled into conversations she'd never expected—old ladies asking about her plans for the store, brothers wanting to know details about Farris's operation, kids tugging at her sleeve to show her things they'd found.
She watched Channel through it all. He moved through the compound with an ease she hadn't seen before, joking with brothers, accepting congratulations, carrying someone's toddler on his shoulders the way she'd seen him do that first week.
He looked happy. Settled. Like the restless energy that had driven him since she'd met him had finally found somewhere to rest.
Still appeared at her side, quiet as a shadow.
"Walk with me."
It wasn't a request. Reagan handed her beer to Carmen and followed the president toward the dock.
They stood at the end of the wooden platform, looking out over the lake. The water was still, reflecting the orange and pink of sunset. Peaceful. Hard to believe that two nights ago, this same compound had been a war zone.
"You did good," Still said.
"I provided intel. The brothers did the rest."
"Intel matters." Still's voice was quiet, measured. "Knowing when to hit, where to hit, who to hit. That's what separates winning from dying." He glanced at her. "You gave us all three."
Reagan didn't know how to respond. This was Still—the president, the man who commanded everything that happened in Ridgerunner territory. His approval wasn't given lightly.
"Channel earned his patch last night," Still continued. "Took point, cleared the room, put down the target. Everything we asked of him."
"I know."
"He's got a vote next week. Unanimous, most likely." Still turned to face her fully. "Which means you've got a decision to make."
"What decision?"
"Whether you're staying." His eyes were steady, unreadable. "Being an old lady isn't easy. The life, the danger, the things these men do. Some women can handle it. Some can't."
"I've handled worse."
"I know you have." Something that might have been approval flickered across his face.
"That's why I'm asking instead of assuming.
You've got a choice, Reagan. Walk away clean, rebuild your store, pretend none of this happened.
Or stay. Be part of this family. Stand beside a man who'll spend his life protecting you. "
Reagan looked out at the lake. The same water she'd driven past every day when her store was still standing. The same hills that had hidden the safe house where she'd first let Channel in.
Three weeks ago, she'd been alone. Fighting a battle she couldn't win, refusing to bend, determined to survive on her own terms even if it killed her.
Now she was standing on a Ridgerunner dock, being asked to choose a life she'd never imagined.
"I'm staying," she said.
Still nodded. "Good."
He walked back toward the compound, leaving her alone with the sunset.
Channel found her there ten minutes later.
"Still talked to you."
"He did." Reagan turned to face him. "He said you've got a vote next week."
"Yeah." Channel stepped closer, close enough to touch. "Patch vote. The brothers decide if I've earned my place."
"And you'll earn it."
"Probably." His voice was casual, but she could see the hope underneath. The need for belonging that had driven him since the day he came home to an empty house. "Still said it's likely unanimous. After last night."
Reagan reached up and cupped his face. "You earned it before last night. You earned it every day you showed up and worked harder than anyone. Every time you put the club first. Every time you protected people who needed protecting."
His throat worked. "Reagan—"
"I'm staying." She cut him off before he could ask. "Still gave me a choice, and I'm choosing this. Choosing you."
Something cracked in his expression. The vulnerable boy underneath the warrior, finally believing that someone meant it when they said they'd stay.
"You're sure?"
"I've rebuilt from nothing three times." She smiled. "Might as well do it again. With help this time."
"The store?"
"Second Chances. New location, new inventory, same folding table." Her smile widened. "It's still in the truck. Ready whenever I am."
Channel laughed—a real laugh, the kind that came from somewhere deep. He pulled her against him, arms wrapping tight, chin resting on top of her head.
"My woman's got a plan."
"Your woman always has a plan." She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "And right now, the plan is to watch my prospect become a patched brother."
"Patch vote's in a week."
"Then I've got a week to figure out where I'm setting up shop." She pulled back to look at him. "Somewhere in Ridgerunner territory. Under Ridgerunner protection."
"Damn right." His grin was fierce, possessive. "My woman's store, in our territory. Nobody touches it."
"You said that before."
"I'll keep saying it." He kissed her forehead. "Forever, if you let me."
Reagan leaned into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath. Behind them, the compound hummed with celebration—laughter and music and the sound of a family that had fought together and won.
"Forever sounds good," she said.
Channel held her tighter.
The sun sank below the lake, painting the water gold, and Reagan watched the light fade without fear for the first time in weeks.
Farris was dead. The threat was ended. Tomorrow she'd start planning the rebuild—new location, new inventory, the folding table that had survived everything waiting for its next chapter.
But tonight, she stood on the dock with the man she loved and let herself believe in forever.
It was enough.