Chapter 18 #2
He turns and scans the crowd until he seeks out his Ol’ Lady, Danyella. The look they trade could idle an engine. You can feel the love across the parking lot between those two.
French sidles up, handing me a beer. “You look like a woman about to commit a crime.”
“I already did,” I mumble.
“Then make it two.” She nudges me toward him.
When I reach Carter, he’s already holding a second bottle. “Peace offering,” he says.
“Truce until the next bullet,” I reply, taking it.
He grins. “Optimistic.”
“Or desperate.”
“Desperate suits you.” He laughs, the sound grounding me in a way gunfire never could.
The first bell rings. Fists fly. The air turns electric.
Sloane drops her opponent in two rounds. French taunts the loser while the Bastards cheer like it’s championship night. Daisy yells encouragement to the ladies while Torch pretends to be offended. Laughter and sweat spill everywhere.
Raven cheers until her throat goes raw. Calypso sits ringside with Annabelle in her lap, Farris’ arm around her shoulders. She looks pale, sweat beading her temple, but she still claps, whispering something to her daughter that makes the little girl giggle.
I kneel beside them between bouts. “You doing okay?”
“Hurts like hell,” Calypso admits, “but worth every second. Farris keeps me grounded.” He squeezes her hand, murmuring something soft enough that only she hears.
“Annabelle thinks French is Wonder Woman.”
“She’s close,” I say, brushing a hand over Annabelle’s curls.
When French lands the knockout, Annabelle squeals, “Aunt French hit the bad man!”
Calypso laughs softly, wincing. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
“I’ll get you some water,” I offer, squeezing her hand.
“Don’t fuss, sugar. Go enjoy your night. You’ve earned one.”
I don’t believe her, but I nod anyway and stand, eyes already finding Carter again. He’s at the far end of the ring now, talking to Allura, both of them scanning the crowd. Allura’s expression softens when she spots me, then tilts her head. Permission to breathe.
Across the ring, Torch leans on the ropes, yelling, “Next round’s mine!”
Daisy rolls her eyes and calls, “You lasted thirty seconds last time, babe, pace yourself!” Laughter ripples through the crowd.
The night spins golden and reckless. Between bouts, Carter drifts closer, the crowd thinning around us. Capone’s men patrol steadily. The Harlots run bets, the kids from the shelter hand out flyers. For once, the world feels almost safe.
By midnight, the last fight’s done, the money’s counted, and Divine’s tally hits the target we needed for the shelter. The air vibrates with pride and exhaustion.
Capone takes the mic. “On behalf of the Royal Bastards and the Royal Harlots, we raised enough tonight to keep the shelters running for the year. Ride proud, ride free, and take care of your damn people!”
The cheer that follows could crack concrete.
Later, when the crowd thins, someone starts a slow song on the speakers, bluesy and raw, the kind of music that reminds you you’re still alive.
Carter finds me again. Couples dance on oil-stained concrete. Carter steps up behind me, voice low near my ear. “Dance with me.”
“Not a dance floor.”
He smiles, pulling me closer. “Doesn’t have to be.”
I let him pull me in. His hand finds my waist, my palm settles against his chest, just above the scar. We move slowly, lazy sways under flickering lights. For a few breaths, the world goes still. The smell of smoke and sweat becomes perfume, the hum of engines a lullaby.
Around us, Capone and Danyella laugh with Torch and Daisy, and Calypso rests her head on Farris’s shoulder while Annabelle sleeps against her chest. French steals whiskey from Derange’s flask, then finds a man-candy for her pleasure.
For one impossible breath, everything broken feels whole.
“You ever think about normal?” Carter asks, voice barely audible.
“Not lately.”
“This could be it,” he says, nodding at the laughter, the music, the makeshift family we built from fire. “If you wanted it.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Start with breathing. Work your way up.”
“I’m trying.”
“Yeah,” he says, thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. “You’re doing fine.”
The song fades, but neither of us moves. Around us, the crowd thins, voices slipping into the dark. The ring lights dim. The engines die down. And still, we stand there, suspended in something that feels like mercy.
I tip my head back. “Come upstairs with me.” Carter nods with no hesitation, eyes dark with understanding.
My room smells like soap, leather, and the faint sweetness of cherry whiskey sticky in the grain of the dresser. The window’s cracked to let the night breathe with us. Carter closes the door, and the sound feels like a secret locking itself in.
We don’t rush. We’ve both seen too many endings to waste beginnings. Carter reaches for me first, fingers tracing the hem of my shirt, pausing like he’s waiting for permission. I give it in the only way that counts, closing the distance.
The first kiss lands softly. The second one lands hungry. Carter cups my jaw, and I can taste the ache in him. The need. The fear of losing this too soon.
When his hands slide beneath my shirt, I shiver, my own fingers finding the back of his neck. His skin is warm, heartbeat steady under my palms.
We strip each other down between breaths, slow, reverent, like peeling away what’s left of the war. His scar catches the light, mine hides under ink and silence.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Sure about this?”
“Never been more.”
“Good,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked.
The rest happens in a blur of touch and sound, His hands on my hips, my nails at his shoulders, the heat between us building until it’s its own language.
He moves inside me slow, deep, deliberate, like he’s memorizing every heartbeat.
Every thrust pulls something loose. Grief, guilt, all the pieces we’ve carried since Alex’s death, since the first gunshot, since every time we almost didn’t come home.
When Carter whispers my name, it doesn’t sound like a warning or a plea. It sounds like a prayer that finally got an answer. I cling to him, body trembling, heart breaking in the best way.
Once we both catch our breath, we stay tangled in the sheets, sweat cooling, breath syncing. His fingers draw lazy circles on my thigh. For once, silence doesn’t feel heavy. It feels earned.
“You realize this was reckless,” he says eventually, voice raw.
“Yeah.”
“Wouldn’t change it though.”
“Neither would I.” I smile, small and tired, tracing the scar under his collarbone. “You belong here, you know.”
He tilts his head. “With you?”
“With us,” I correct softly. “With the Harlots. With me.”
He chuckles, almost disbelieving. “That sounds like trouble.”
“Everything worth it is.”
The night hums. The window lets in faint sirens and the ghost of laughter from the lot below. I think maybe, just maybe, this is what peace sounds like when it’s learning to speak.
Carter’s breathing evens, eyelids heavy.
I brush my lips against his shoulder, right over the scar, a silent vow to always be here for a man who has never tried to cage me.
One who loves me as much as I love him, even if we haven’t said it to each other yet.
We don’t need to. The way he watches me, takes care of me, and the way he always has my back is proof.
That’s when Divine’s alarm cuts through the quiet. A shrill, metallic chime that doesn’t belong in this kind of silence.
Carter’s eyes snap open. “That’s the perimeter feed.”
I’m already off the bed, grabbing my jeans and cut. “No one’s supposed to be near the grid tonight.”
Carter’s on his feet, half-dressed, checking the pistol he left on the dresser.
“Divine, talk to me.” I growl as I put my ear wig in. Carter does the same.
Divine’s voice erupts through the comms, tight with panic. “Systems under siege. External breach. Someone’s inside the network.”
“How bad?” I demand, yanking my boots on.
“Bad enough that if I can’t lock it in the next sixty seconds, they’ll have every file tied to the shelter, the kids, the club. All of it.”
Carter meets my eyes. “We just lost normal.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, loading my gun. “And it was nice while it lasted.”
He grins, fierce and ready. “Let’s take it back.”
We run. Barefoot hearts, armed souls. Back into the noise, into the fight, into the fire that never really went out.