Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jet
Weeks pass in a haze of healing. My scabs are fading. Bruises turning from purple to yellow to pale shadows. The internal scars, they’re something else.
They don’t fade.
The nightmares come and go, flashes of that night bleeding into dreams. Sometimes it’s the sound of the gunshot. Sometimes it’s the smell of smoke. But every time, I wake up to the same thing, Justice’s hand wrapped around mine, his chest rising and falling steadily beside me.
He hasn’t left my side. Not once.
Part of me’s grateful. The other part, the one that’s used to surviving alone, feels the edges of panic. I hate feeling dependent, weak. Hate needing anyone.
One morning, sunlight creeps through the blinds, cutting across the bed in golden slashes. Justice is sitting in a chair near the window, boots propped on the dresser, coffee mug in hand. He looks at me as if I’m the only thing that matters.
“I’m not broken, you know,” I say quietly. “I just need to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”
He sets the mug down, leans forward on his knees. “You’re not broken, Jet, and you’re not alone. You’re the strongest woman I know. What you went through? What you did to survive? It would have destroyed most people.”
The truth in his voice hits somewhere deep. My throat tightens.
“I just don’t want to be the reason you stop living,” I whisper. “You’ve got your brothers, the club, a whole damn life outside this room. And I need to find a life too.”
He stands, steps close, and cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. “You are my life now. The rest? It’s just noise.”
Creed came to me last week with an offer, not charity, but a genuine job.
The club owns a few strip joints across Jacksonville, and their books were a mess.
Numbers never scared me, so now I handle the accounts, payroll, and licensing.
Creed said if the brother’s trust me with their money, I’m part of the family.
It feels good to work again, to have something that’s mine, something that keeps me sharp.
Tonight, the whole club gathers out back, with a huge bonfire blazing, smoke curling into the stars. Laughter cuts through the music, but when Creed steps forward, everything quiets.
Justice stands beside me, hand linked with mine, his thumb tracing circles on my skin.
Creed’s voice carries across the fire, deep and commanding. “Jet, you’ve stood where most would’ve fallen.” He pauses, gaze shifting to Justice before coming back to me. “The man at your side has something he wants to ask you, and he’s got my blessing.”
My heart pounds. The brothers watch, silent and respectful.
Creed nods toward Justice.
“Tonight, she’s claimed.” Justice squeezes my hand, eyes locked on mine. “You’re mine, baby. My old lady. My heart.”
Emotion clogs my throat. There’s no fear this time only certainty. “Yours,” I say, voice steady.
Creed steps closer, the firelight turning his face to bronze and shadow. “Then she gets a name worthy of what she’s survived.”
He looks straight at me. “From this night forward, you’re Phoenix. You rose from the ashes of your past life and built a new one in blood, fire, and danger. But it’s yours now, earned in pain, forged in strength, and protected by this brotherhood.”
The brothers roar in approval, the sound echoing into the night.
Justice pulls me close, his lips against my ear. “Phoenix,” he murmurs. “Fits you, baby. Strong. Beautiful. Untouchable.”
My chest swells with something fierce and alive. The fear that once chained me is gone.
Around me, the flames crackle, the brothers cheer, and Justice’s arm stays firm around my waist.
For the first time since everything fell apart, I finally believe what Creed said.
I did rise from the ashes.
And this life—the danger, the love, the chaos—it’s mine now.