Chapter 28 Bones
BONES
“Are you sure we should be doing this?”
Emma’s standing in front of the bathroom counter, shirt off, hair pulled over one shoulder as she looks at me via the mirror.
I trace my fingers along her shoulder blade, featherlight, stopping at the spot about three inches down and two inches away from her spine.
The action reminds me of that night, almost a year ago now, when we stayed in that roadside motel and she demanded to know where it was.
“Stone said if it’s not out by tonight, he’s reconsidering my rank.” I pull on a glove to apply some numbing cream to the area, rubbing it in gently. “But if you want to talk to him, insist on keeping it, I’m not gonna stand in your way.”
She bites her lip, looking conflicted. “I mean, we won the zoning battle. But it’s not the first time Summit’s come back using different tactics. What if—”
“I know.” I pull the glove off my hand and cup her face. “Believe me, I know. But this is your dad’s call, and he’s right—keeping you chipped like a dog isn’t fair to you. I shouldn’t have done it the way I did. I abused your trust, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Bones,” she whispers. “You don’t need to . . . I mean, I know I was furious at first. But then . . . All those nights after when I was alone, and having nightmares. It gave me comfort.”
“I know it did.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “And I’m going to fix that for you. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
She nods. “OK. You can take it out.”
Her bare back is a smooth curve, pale and strong under the bathroom light.
The scar from where she tried to remove the tracker herself is a jagged line next to the tracker’s little bulge on her skin.
I can’t help but touch it, thumb following the line from shoulder blade to spine.
She shivers, and not entirely from anticipation.
We’ve been debating this for weeks. The original implant was done during a moment of pure fear—when she stopped wearing the swan necklace with the original tracker in it, and I couldn’t breathe thinking about all the ways the world could take her from me.
I told myself it was protection. Told myself I was keeping her safe.
But the truth? I put this in her skin because I couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing where she was. Because loving her from a distance made me desperate and stupid and willing to cross lines I shouldn’t have crossed.
And now, with Summit beaten back and Carlos feeding hogs on some farm up north, it’s time to give her back what I took.
“You ready?” I ask, and she nods but doesn’t look away from the mirror. Her face is pale, but her eyes are locked on mine in the glass, stubborn as always. That’s my swan.
I line up the tray—sterile gloves, scalpel, gauze, tweezers, tiny metal dish for the tracker itself. Everything prepped and as clean as I can make it, because if I’m going to do this, I’m not half-assing it. I take a slow breath, then start by dabbing on more cream.
She’s so still, even when I press into the numb spot to test it. I almost wish she’d flinch, or make a joke, but she just stares at me in the reflection, like she’s daring me to chicken out or something.
“You want music?” I ask, not sure if the distraction would help.
She shakes her head. “Just get it done.”
The removal is quick—local anesthetic, small incision, tweezers, done.
The tracker drops into the dish with a metallic clink.
I hold the bloody gauze for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Maybe part of me wants to keep my hand on her, to keep her anchored to me a little longer.
When I pull away, the cut is barely more than a shallow slit, already beading up with a single line of blood.
I wipe it clean and seal it with some suture tape.
Then I cover it with a bandage and set about cleaning the mess, my hands moving on autopilot while my brain runs in circles.
“So that’s it?” Emma’s voice is smaller than I expected. “It’s out?”
“It’s out,” I confirm, holding up the tiny metal rice grain inside its pool of saline. “If you want, you can throw it out the window or run it through the blender.”
She laughs at that. “You think you can blend titanium?”
“We have a Vitamix. Worth a shot.”
She leans forward, a few strands of hair falling forward. “I feel weird. Vulnerable.”
“I might have something to help you with that,” I say, turning toward the bedroom and gesturing for her to follow.
“What is it? Another swan necklace?” I look back at her and she’s pulling on her T-shirt, smirking as she follows me.
“If you’re that attached to me tracking you, I can put it back in,” I say, stopping in front of the dresser.
She shakes her head and gives me a half-smile. “It’s fine. Like I said, it just feels weird. I got used to having it. And now I don’t. My mind is running a bunch of what-ifs.”
“Well, now you’re in Stoneheart. There aren’t a lot of places you can go that I can’t figure out. I followed you around for years, remember? But to make you feel even more protected, I got you this.”
She tracks my movement as I pull open the top drawer and take out a square of neatly folded leather—a cut. Sized perfectly to fit a ballerina.
Emma blinks. “Oh, Bones. Is that . . . ?”
I give her a single nod as I unfold the cut and hold it up for her. “What do you think?”
She sits on the edge of the bed as I continue to hold it out—not just the cut, but the offer. The ask.
Her hand hovers above the leather for a second, then she glances up at me, brows tight together.
“What’s this for?” she asks, but I know she knows. Or maybe she wants me to say it out loud, to make me squirm.
I take a breath, my pulse weirdly jumpy. “It’s for you. To wear.”
She laughs, short and dry. “OK. But you need to say it, Bones. I’m the president’s daughter. I know how this works.”
“You gonna make me beg?”
She grins. “If I have to.”
I crouch in front of her, the edge of the bed pressing into my shins. “Emma Armstrong, will you do me the honor of wearing my patch?” I hold up the cut, turning it around so she can see the bold lettering on the rockers, proudly proclaiming PROPERTY OF BONES.
She quirks a brow. “You want to own the club princess? That’s brave.”
“I want to walk into that party tonight with you officially as my old lady,” I say, holding it out so she can slide her arms into it.
She stands up and shrugs into the leather, letting me settle it over her arms and shoulders. She half-spreads her arms and laughs again, delighted. “I love it.”
She’s twirling in front of the mirror now, the hem hitting her hips just below the waist, arms raised in a dramatic dancer’s pose.
“Property of Bones,” she reads aloud, then smiles. “Damn right I am.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She twirls into my arms and I kiss her, all teeth and tongue and bruised affection, hands sliding under the small of her back to hoist her against me.
The leather is stiff, still new, with that faint chemical tang.
I bury my nose in her hair, breathing in the sharper, cleaner smell of her.
She’s laughing as I pin her to the wall, the cut flaring out with the force, and for a second it’s just us—no club, no meetings, no enemies lurking in the shadows.
Then she breaks free, grabs my jaw with surprising force, and pulls my head down until her lips are at my ear. “Fuck me like you mean it, Bones. I want to wear your cut and feel you between my legs all night at that party.”
“Challenge accepted,” I rasp, picking her up and tossing her on the bed.
By the time we arrive at the clubhouse, it’s packed.
Someone strung up lights across the main room and the bar is fully stocked. Music pumps from the speakers, and everywhere I look, people are laughing, drinking, celebrating. The zoning victory feels real tonight—tangible in a way it didn’t at the hearing.
Emma walks in beside me wearing her cut, and the reaction is immediate.
Kya lets out a whoop, Lee raises his beer in salute, and Andi starts clapping.
Within seconds, the women have pulled Emma into their circle, examining the cut, congratulating her and complimenting Maggie on her embroidery talents.
Stone catches my eye from across the room and nods once. Approval. Acceptance.
I head to the bar where Duck is holding court, talking to a group of residents about his mayoral campaign strategy.
“—and we focus on local issues,” Duck is saying. “Infrastructure, schools, keeping companies like Summit out for good—”
“You’ll need volunteers,” Mr. Rooney interrupts. “I’m in. So’s my wife.”
“I can handle social media,” one of the younger residents offers. “Get you on TikTok, the ‘Gram, all that.”
Duck looks overwhelmed but pleased. “Appreciate it. All of you.”
Lee appears beside me, grabbing two beers from the cooler. “Duck’s really going to do this. Run for mayor. It’s wild.”
“It’s exactly what Stoneheart needs,” I say, taking the beer he offers.
“Yeah.” Lee grins. “And when he wins, we’ll have the MC running this town the way it should be run.”
Someone turns up the music and the party kicks into higher gear. Poppy’s dancing with Rose on her hip, the baby giggling at the movement. Axel’s at the pool table with Tank and Steel, talking shit and sinking shots. Maggie and Ginger have claimed a couch, watching their men with fond exasperation.
Emma finds me after a while, sliding under my arm like she belongs there. Because she does.
“Having fun?” I ask.
“The best.” She adjusts her cut proudly. “Everyone keeps congratulating me. Kya said it’s about time you made an honest woman of me.”
“Kya’s got opinions about everything.”
“She’s not wrong though.” Emma looks up at me. “This feels right. Being here, wearing this. All of it. Even the part where I don’t have the moon boot on.”