Epilogue
STORM
Eight Weeks Later
Snow falls onto the Christmas lights we strung across the porch railing last weekend. Inside, our house is warm, filled with the scent of pine from the tree Emily insisted needed to touch the ceiling and cinnamon from the cookies Camryn's been baking all afternoon.
Our house. Our family. Words I never thought I'd claim, yet here we are.
The official adoption papers for Emily arrived yesterday, an early Christmas present that had her bouncing off walls and Camryn in tears.
I'd been working with a lawyer for weeks to make it happen.
I wanted it to be official before the wedding.
Seeing my name next to Emily's, legally declaring me her father, hit me harder than I expected. It’s a commitment more permanent, more meaningful, than any patch or brotherhood oath.
Emily Fletcher-Nelson. My daughter, in every way that matters now.
She's in her room, wrapping secret presents with more tape than paper, humming Christmas songs to herself. The sound drifts down the hallway, mingling with the soft music playing from the kitchen where Camryn works.
This peaceful domesticity feels surreal after the darkness of the past two weeks.
I check my phone again, reading another text from Ace confirming the funeral arrangements.
Cruz will be laid to rest tomorrow, with full club honors.
The thought sits like lead in my stomach.
We've lost brothers before, but never like this.
Never so close to Christmas. Never from a sniper's bullet that came out of nowhere during what should have been a celebration. It was Thanksgiving at the clubhouse, the kids running everywhere, Cruz joking around as usual. Then the window shattered, Cruz dropped like a stone, blood bloomed’ across his chest. The panic, the screams, Mayhem's hand pressed against the wound while the women got the kids to safety.
But it was already too late. Cruz never made it to the hospital. He died in the back of Ace's truck, his last words a joke about being the center of attention. Classic Cruz, making us laugh even as he left us.
And the card, that goddamn playing card left on the window ledge outside. A bloodied Ace of Hearts. A signature. A taunt.
When Ace called Makenna Gallagher, the call confirmed our worst fears. The Irish had dealt with the same shooter three months ago; Makenna's bodyguard taking a bullet meant for her, the same calling card left behind. Then Pyro in Dublin reported losing a prospect the same way.
Someone is hunting us, methodically, across continents. Someone with patience, skill, and knowledge of our weakest moments.
I push the thought away, refusing to let it contaminate this space, this moment. We've increased security, moved most of the families to safe houses temporarily. But Camryn refused to leave our home.
"We can't stop living our lives because of fear," she argued. "That's not the lesson I want Emily to learn."
My fierce, brave woman is still teaching me about courage, about facing down storms rather than running from them.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Camryn's voice pulls me back to the present. She stands in the doorway, flour dusting her cheek, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing the ridiculous Christmas apron Emily picked out, complete with blinking lights sewn into the fabric.
"Just thinking about tomorrow," I admit, setting my phone aside. No point hiding it, she knows me too well now.
She crosses the room to settle beside me on the couch, fitting perfectly under my arm. "I still can't believe he's gone," she says softly. "Every time I see something funny, I think 'I need to tell Cruz about that.' Then I remember."
I tighten my arm around her shoulders. Cruz had taken to Camryn immediately, treating her like a little sister from day one. His absence leaves a hole in all our lives, but especially in the tight-knit family of the club.
"He would hate how somber everyone's been," I say, remembering how Cruz lived his life: full volume, max speed, all jokes. "Tomorrow at the service, I bet someone tells that story about the time he replaced all of Digger's gear oil with maple syrup."
Camryn laughs, the sound slightly watery. "Or the time he convinced the prospects that Ace had a secret pet iguana they needed to feed daily."
"Poor Blaze spent a week leaving lettuce in Ace's office," I recall, smiling despite the grief.
The mention of her brother brings fresh warmth to Camryn's expression. "He's coming over later with Seri and Shadow. They've got wedding stuff to go over."
Two weeks from now, she'll be my wife. Camryn Nelson. The thought still feels like a miracle, especially now, with death so fresh in our minds. A reminder to seize life while we can.
I run my thumb over her engagement ring, a simple solitaire diamond on a platinum band. Nothing flashy but perfectly her. Every time I see it, I'm reminded of her face when I proposed three weeks ago, standing in our backyard under the first snow of the season.
"Mom! Storm!" Emily's voice rings out from down the hall. "I need help! The tape is stuck to everything!"
Camryn laughs, the sound chasing away the darker thoughts that have been plaguing me. "Duty calls. I'll handle the tape emergency if you keep an eye on the cookies?"
"Deal," I agree, stealing a quick kiss before she rises.
As she walks away, I allow myself a moment to simply watch her, the way she moves, the quiet confidence she's developed over the past weeks. She's healed so much, though I know some scars remain. We all have them.
I head to the kitchen, checking the timer on the oven. Five minutes left on this batch. The counters are covered with cooling racks and cookies in various states of decoration. Emily's contributions are obvious, heavy on the sprinkles, light on symmetry.
Through the window, I notice a car slowing as it passes our house. I tense automatically, hand moving toward the gun I keep in the small of my back. Old habits. The car continues on, just a neighbor, perhaps, admiring our Christmas lights.
Still, I make a mental note to have Shadow drive by later. An extra set of eyes never hurts. Not with a killer still out there, one who knows how to find us when we're vulnerable.
The front door opens, and I tense again, until I hear familiar voices as Blaze and Shadow stamp snow from their boots.
"Honey, we're home!" Blaze calls out jokingly, before spotting me in the kitchen doorway. "Oh, hey. We brought wedding stuff from Seri. Where is she?"
"Tape emergency with Emily," I explain, relaxing. "You guys want coffee? Beer?"
"Beer," they answer in unison, shrugging out of their jackets.
The somber look in both men's eyes tells me they've been making funeral preparations as well. Shadow especially looks worn thin. As Seri’s man and the club's intelligence officer, he's been working nonstop to track down leads on the shooter.
Shadow drops a heavy binder on the kitchen counter. "Seri says Camryn needs to look at these 'right away or everything will be ruined.'" His air quotes make it clear he's repeating verbatim.
I shake my head, amused by the wedding frenzy that's overtaken the women of the club, even in the midst of mourning. What Camryn and I had planned as a simple ceremony has somehow evolved into an event, though thankfully still small by most standards.
The oven timer beeps, and I grab a mitt to retrieve the cookies. Blaze watches with undisguised amusement as I carefully transfer them to the cooling rack.
"Look at you, being all domestic," he teases, though the usual spark in his eyes is dimmed. "Cruz would have given you hell for this."
The mention of Cruz's name hangs in the air between us. "He would have," I agree, remembering how Cruz had laughed himself hoarse when I mentioned buying this house. "He called me a 'domesticated pussy cat' for a week straight."
"To your face," Shadow adds with a grim smile. "That's what made Cruz... Cruz. No filter, no fear."
I hand them each a beer, taking one for myself. "To Cruz," I say, raising the bottle.
"To Cruz," they echo, the three of us sharing a moment of silent remembrance.
Blaze takes a long pull from his beer then sets it down with purpose. "Any more word from Makenna's people? Or Pyro?"
I shake my head. "Nothing concrete. Shooter's a ghost. Professional, patient, knows our patterns."
"It's personal," Shadow says quietly. "Has to be. The playing card, the timing of the shots... they're sending a message."
"But to who?" Blaze asks, frustration evident. "And why?"
Before I can respond, the sound of rapid footsteps precedes Emily's arrival in the kitchen, a blur of energy and festive sweater. She launches herself at Blaze, who catches her with practiced ease.
"Uncle Blaze! Did you bring me anything?" she asks, shameless in her excitement.
"Emily," Camryn admonishes, following at a more sedate pace. "That's not how we greet people."
"Sorry," Emily says, not sounding sorry at all. "Hi Uncle Blaze, hi Uncle Shadow. I love you both very much and I'm so happy to see you. Did you bring me anything?"
Shadow roars with laughter, momentarily free from the weight of grief, and even Camryn can't maintain her stern expression. I catch her eye across the kitchen, sharing in the moment of pure joy that is our daughter; fearless, loving, utterly herself.
"As a matter of fact," Blaze says solemnly, "I might have something in my jacket pocket. If someone were to check."
Emily squeals and dives for his discarded jacket, returning triumphantly with a small wrapped package. "Can I open it now? Please?"
Camryn sighs in mock exasperation. "Go ahead. But that's the last one until Christmas, understand?"
Emily nods vigorously, already tearing into the wrapping. Inside is a butterfly pendant on a silver chain, delicate wings set with tiny colored stones. "It's beautiful!" she gasps, holding it up to the light.
"Your mom said you needed something special to wear for the wedding," Blaze explains, helping her with the clasp.
The mention of the wedding brings a fresh wave of anticipation. Two weeks. Just two more weeks until Camryn is officially mine, until our family is bound in every way possible.
As if reading my thoughts, Camryn moves to my side, her arm sliding around my waist. "Tomorrow's going to be hard," she says quietly, referring to the funeral.
"Yeah," I acknowledge, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But we'll get through it together."
She nods, strength in her expression. The club has become her family too, their hurts her hurts, their losses her losses.
Seri arrives shortly after, bringing more wedding supplies and food for tomorrow's gathering after the funeral, despite her own grief. Cruz had been like an annoying older brother to her. Channeling her energy into caring for others is a trait she shares with Camryn.
The conversation flows around us, wedding details, funeral arrangements, memories of Cruz. Emily shows off her new necklace then drags Shadow to see her latest art project. The house fills with voices, with laughter tempered by grief, with life continuing despite loss.
This is what we fight for, what we all fight for, these moments of connection snatched from the jaws of danger and death. There's still a shooter out there, still threats to face, battles to come. The club will handle it, as we always do. Protect our own. Avenge our fallen.
Later, after everyone has gone and Emily is tucked into bed, Camryn and I stand in the living room, looking at the Christmas tree. She leans back against my chest, my arms wrapped around her, both of us lost in thought.
"Tomorrow we bury Cruz," she says softly. "And in two weeks, we get married. Life and death, so close together."
"That's how it always is," I tell her, resting my chin on top of her head. "Especially in our world. You sure you still want this? Us? All of it?"
She turns in my arms, looking up at me with clear eyes. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. The danger, the grief, the loss, they're part of the package. But so is this," she gestures around at our home, "and so is what we've built. Our family. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
I kiss her then, slow and deep, pouring all my gratitude, my love, my promise into it. When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.
"Tomorrow will be hard," she repeats. "But we'll face it together. Just like we'll face whatever comes next, this shooter, the wedding, raising Emily, all of it. Together."
Eight weeks ago, I stood in a warehouse during the worst storm of the season, violence in my hands, rage in my heart, determined to eliminate any threat to Camryn and Emily.
Today, I stand in our living room, Christmas lights twinkling around us, grief mingling with love in my heart, still determined to protect what's mine but now understanding that protection means more than violence. It means presence. It means perseverance. It means facing loss and continuing on.
Some storms destroy. Others transform.
Mine transformed me into the man standing here now, father, soon-to-be husband, brother to those who remain and keeper of memories for those we've lost.
And no matter what storms come next, whether in the form of a mysterious shooter with a penchant for playing cards or just the ordinary challenges of life, I'll be ready. We'll be ready. Together.
Because that's what families do. They bury their dead, they celebrate their living, and they weather the storms. Together.
And our family? We're just getting started.
Tomorrow, we'll say goodbye to Cruz. Two weeks later, Camryn will become my wife. And somewhere in between, we'll continue hunting the threat that took our brother.
The storm continues. But now, I'm not just part of it.
I'm its eye. Calm. Centered. Focused.
Ready for whatever comes next.