Chapter Thirty
Ever
Jude’s hand never left mine as we walked into the clubhouse. His grip was firm, steady, like if he let go for even a second, something might slip through his fingers.
Me.
I didn’t fight it.
Didn’t pull away.
Because after what had just happened at the Dairy Bar, I wasn’t exactly eager to put distance between us.
The common room was packed.
Every member.
Every ol’ lady.
Lark stood near Oliver, arms crossed, her eyes darting around the room like she was trying to figure out if she should be impressed or terrified.
Probably both.
I tightened my hold on Jude’s hand as we stepped further inside.
Wrecker stood at the front of the room.
Not relaxed.
Not joking.
Not the guy I’d seen joking with Alice or rolling his eyes at her chaos.
This version of him?
This was the President.
Pipe stood near the wall, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with himself.
I followed his line of sight.
The cameras.
Dark.
Dead.
Disconnected.
“Before anyone asks,” Pipe said, pushing off the wall slightly, “yes, I cut the power to the cameras.”
A few murmurs moved through the room.
Star leaned against the back of one of the couches, arms crossed. “My mom’s going to catch on that the club is having this many power outages,” she said, her tone dry.
A couple people chuckled.
Pipe grinned. “Well, I’ll keep doing it until Mac catches on,” he shot back.
That earned a few more laughs.
Wrecker didn’t smile and didn’t react at all. He just looked out at all of us. And when he spoke, the room went completely silent. “We thought we were out of the woods,” he said. “But we’re not.”
The words settled over us like a weight.
“They’re not done,” he continued. “And now we know that for a fact.”
My stomach twisted.
I didn’t have to ask who they were.
The Northbound Reapers.
“No one is alone,” Wrecker said, his tone sharpening. “Not anymore. Not until this is handled.”
Jude’s hand tightened around mine.
“Every woman has at least one guy with her at all times,” Wrecker went on. “No exceptions.”
Lark slowly raised her hand.
Every head turned toward her.
“Uh…” she started, glancing around. “I’m not going to tell anyone about Jude pew-pewing that guy. Can I just go home?”
A couple people snorted.
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.
Wrecker just looked at her.
Flat.
Unamused.
“No.”
Lark blinked.
“Until we know you aren’t a target,” he said, “you’re here.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then she looked at Oliver.
He lifted a shoulder.
She sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll make the best of it,” she muttered.
Oliver smirked.
“Stay sharp,” Wrecker finished.
And just like that, it was over.
Jude didn’t move right away.
Neither did I.
And then he pulled me into him with no hesitation and no asking.
I went willingly.
My arms wrapped around his waist, my cheek pressed into his chest as I breathed him in.
Leather.
Soap.
Him.
“Looks like I’ll be sticking around,” I murmured.
His hand slid up, brushing my hair back from my face. “You were sticking around no matter what,” he said.
I tipped my head back, looking up at him. “That so?”
He nodded with no doubt and zero hesitation.
Just… certainty.
Something in my chest shifted at that.
Because for years, years, I had wanted him to look at me like I mattered and I was something worth holding onto.
And now?
Now he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the room.
It made my head spin.
“Jude,” I said softly.
He tilted his head slightly, waiting.
“You really didn’t see it?” I asked. “All those years?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I told you,” he said. “I was an idiot.”
I snorted softly. “A blinking billboard wouldn’t have been more obvious.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well,” he said, dipping his head closer to mine, “I guess I needed it to hit me a little harder.”
My lips twitched. “You mean like getting shot at in an ice cream shop?”
“Something like that.”
I shook my head, smiling despite everything.
But the smile faded just a little because underneath all of this, everything that had just happened, and everything that was still coming, there was still that part of me that didn’t quite believe this was real.
The part that was waiting for it to disappear.
For him to disappear.
For this to all go back to the way it had been.
He must have seen it because his hand came up, cupping my cheek.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
My eyes met his.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“Story of my life,” I muttered.
His thumb brushed lightly along my cheek.
“I may have taken a minute to see you,” he said. “But I see you now.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“And I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallowed.
Because part of me wanted to believe that and wanted to hold onto it with both hands and not let go.
But another part, the louder part, still whispered doubt.
“You’re going to have to have a little faith in me, Ever,” he said.
The words hit deeper than I expected.
Faith. I had that for years, and now he was mine.
I reached up, patting his cheek lightly. “I might invest in a blinking billboard just to remind you,” I repeated.
He laughed under his breath, then leaned down and kissed me.
Soft. Certain.
And when he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“But you’re mine now,” he said quietly.
My breath hitched.
“And I never let go of what’s mine.”