Epilogue
AVERY
The morning sun hits the frost on the bedroom window, turning the glass into a mosaic of shattered diamonds.
I wake up trapped. Oliver’s arm is a heavy iron bar across my waist, his heat seeping into my back, anchoring me to the mattress.
I don’t move. Breaking this spell isn't an option. For the first time in my life, I am not waking up wondering when I have to leave. I am not checking the clock to see if I’ve overstayed my welcome.
I am exactly where I belong.
Oliver stirs behind me. His breath hitches, then smooths out as he nuzzles into the crook of my neck. He’s already hard, his body reacting to mine before he’s even fully conscious. Primal. Constant. The way a Gunnar loves—with every single inch of his skin.
"Stay," he rumbles, voice thick with sleep. He pulls me tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hip. "The world doesn’t get you today, Avery. Just me."
"It’s our wedding day, Oliver." I reach back, tangling my fingers in his messy dark hair. "People are waiting. Your brothers are probably already setting the bonfire."
"Let them wait." He flips me onto my back, hovering over me. His moss-green eyes are dark with a hunger that never seems to fade. He looks at me like I’m the sun and he’s been living in a cave for a decade.
He leans down, beard scratching my jaw as he kisses me—a slow, deep, possessive claim tasting of dark coffee and forever.
He doesn’t let me out of bed for another hour.
By the time we finally move, the cabin is filled with the scent of pine and the sharp, clean bite of high-altitude air.
Oliver watches me get ready. He doesn’t leave the room.
He sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless and scarred, sharpening his hunting knife with rhythmic, steady strokes.
Every time I catch his gaze in the mirror, the oxygen leaves the room. He’s guarding me.
The drive down to the Broken Halos clubhouse is a blur of blinding white and skeletal, ice-covered pines.
Oliver drives his truck like he’s in a race, his hand never leaving my thigh.
The steel ring he forged for me catches the light, a heavy reminder of the promise we made in the dark.
As we pull through the gates of the clubhouse, the roar of motorcycles hits me like a sonic boom. Loud. Aggressive. Beautiful.
The Gunnar brothers line the porch, leather cuts dark against the wood, eyes hard enough to stop a bullet.
Logan stands in the center, the President’s patches on his leather cut looking sharp.
He broods, arms crossed over a chest built from granite.
He gives Oliver a sharp nod—the silent language of men who would die for each other.
Then his gaze shifts to me, holding a rare approval.
Logan keeps this whole mountain from falling apart, and seeing him approve of me feels like being knighted.
"Vanguard," Logan calls out as we jump down. "You’re late. Austin was about to start the whiskey without you."
"He touches the good bottle before the vows and I’ll bury him," Oliver grunts, pulling me into his side.
Austin, the VP, rounds the corner with a keg on his shoulder. He grins, eyes full of the kind of charm that gets him into more trouble than the law. "Don’t listen to the grump, Avery. You look too good for him. You sure you don’t want the charming brother instead?"
Oliver’s arm tightens around my waist until I can barely breathe.
His growl is low. Dangerous. Austin just laughs, unfazed.
He knows Oliver would burn the world for me, and he loves poking the bear.
Then there’s Shane, the Sergeant at Arms. He stands by the fire pit, his young daughter perched on his hip.
He catches my eye and jerks his chin once.
Tristan, the Road Captain, patrols the perimeter, his quiet, lethal eyes scanning the woods.
He moves like a ghost. Chase and Blake argue over the logs for the bonfire, their laughter echoing through the pines.
I married a fortress.
The ceremony happens at sunset on the ridge overlooking the valley. The sky is a bruised purple, the mountains rising up like jagged teeth. No aisle. No white carpet. Just the dirt of Grizzly Peak under my boots and the heavy scent of woodsmoke.
Logan stands before us, his voice projected over the whistling wind. "We’re here to witness a claim. In this club, we don’t do things halfway. When a Gunnar takes a woman, he marks her soul. Oliver, say your piece."
Oliver takes my hands. His are rough, calloused, and shaking just a fraction. He looks at me, and the rest of the world vanishes. The bikers, the bikes, the clubhouse—it all fades into the grey mist.
"I was a dead man walking until the night I found you in the rain," Oliver says, voice rough as gravel. "I thought I was meant to stay in the shadows, guarding a mountain that didn’t want me. Then you looked at me. You didn’t see a savage. You saw a home. I promise to be your walls, Avery. I promise to keep the fire lit. I promise that as long as I’m standing, you will never be cold or alone again. You’re mine. Solid."
Tears track down my cheeks, hot and fast. I squeeze his hands, the steel of our rings clinking together.
"I spent twenty-three years waiting for someone to find me," I whisper. "I thought I was disposable. A guest in everyone else's life. But you gave me a key. You gave me a name. I’m not just a bird in a cage, Oliver. I’m the queen of your mountain. I’m yours. Solid."
"Solid," he echoes.
Logan grins, a flash of white in the growing dark. "Kiss her, brother. Show the mountain who she belongs to."
Oliver hauls me against him, his arm sweeping around my waist and lifting me off my feet.
He crushes his mouth to mine, a desperate, hungry, final claim.
The yard erupts. Engines rev until the ground vibrates.
Someone fires a pistol into the air, the crack echoing off the rocks. Chaotic and loud. Perfect.
The reception blurs into whiskey, country music, and the heavy warmth of the bonfire.
I sit on a bench, watching the brothers.
Logan stands off to the side, talking quietly to Tristan, face illuminated by the orange glow of the fire.
He looks settled, but a restlessness vibrates in him, a weight on his shoulders waiting for its own storm to break.
Oliver finds me in the dark. He doesn’t say a word. He just hooks his fingers in my belt loops and pulls me to my feet. "Home," he rumbles.
"The party is just starting," I tease.
"My party starts when I get you back behind a locked door." His eyes darken with a promise that makes my blood hum.
We leave the clubhouse as the first few flakes of snow begin to fall.
Oliver drives fast, hand back on my thigh, the heater in the truck blasting.
The mountain is quiet, the trees turning into white ghosts as the whiteout begins to settle over the pass.
We reach the cabin and he carries me inside.
He doesn't set me down until we’re in front of the hearth.
The fire in the hearth is a roar of orange and gold, the only light in the cabin as the blizzard begins to scream against the logs.
I am wrapped in a thick wool blanket, but the only heat I truly feel is the man behind me.
Oliver is a wall of corded muscle and protective intent, his arms locked around my waist, nose buried in the sensitive curve of my neck.
He breathes me in like I’m the only oxygen left in a high-altitude world. Every time he exhales, the heavy rumble of his chest vibrates through my spine. A physical reminder. I am no longer a guest in someone else’s life. I am the center of his.
"Look at the frost on the glass, Little Bird," he murmurs, voice a low, gravelly caress. "The mountain is closing. Nobody gets in. Nobody takes you out."
I lift my hand, the dark steel of my wedding ring catching the firelight. Heavy. Permanent. A promise hammered into my skin. I lean my head back against his shoulder, closing my eyes as his large, calloused hands slide up my ribcage.
"I don't want to leave, Oliver," I whisper. "I’ve spent my whole life running. I think I’m ready to be still."
He turns me in his arms, moss-green eyes swirling with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. He looks at me like I’m a miracle he’s still trying to understand. He reaches out, thumb tracing the dark mark on my neck—the brand he left there to tell the world I’m taken.
"You aren't running anywhere," he growls, face inches from mine. "I’ll build the walls higher. I’ll keep the fire hotter. You’re my home, Avery. My heart. My soul."
He kisses me then, not the desperate hunger of the workshop, but a slow, reverent claiming. It tastes of whiskey, woodsmoke, and a love so deep it feels like bone-deep impact. I melt into him, fingers tangling in his beard, pulling him closer until there is no air left between us.
We move to the bed, the quilts cool against my skin until his heat follows me down.
He worships me in the dark, his hands memorizing every curve, voice a constant, low praise that makes me feel like a queen.
There is no radio crackling. No mission calling him away.
Only the sound of our hearts beating in sync and the wind howling fruitlessly at the door.
I fall asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the steady, heavy thrum of his heart. The only lullaby I'll ever need.
Hours later, the cabin is silent. I wake to the sight of the moon peeking through the clouds, reflecting off the fresh white drifts piled high against the window. Oliver still holds me, even in sleep, his grip possessive. Certain.
I look toward the sideboard where the radio sits, silent and dark. The storm is still out there, buried in the ravine and swirling over the peaks. A monster of a whiteout. A legendary event that will change the mountain forever.
I watch the snow fall, thick and heavy, erasing the roads and hiding the world. Somewhere down in the valley, the lights are flickering out. Somewhere near mile marker four, a car is sliding into the dark, and a different kind of man is getting ready to find his own storm.
But here, in the high ridge, the fire is still burning.
I press a kiss to the center of Oliver’s chest, right over the scar on his heart. He stirs, arm tightening around me instinctively, pulling me back into the warmth.
"Go back to sleep, Avery," he mutters, voice a thick rumble. "I’ve got you."
The End
P.S. If you enjoyed Oliver’s relentless possession, then I think you’ll enjoy Trapped by the President too! Logan is the lethal club president who decides that being snowed in is the perfect excuse to keep his woman exactly where he wants her. Swipe to the next page for a sneak peek…