Epilogue
CARTER
Weeks pass, and the city settles into something that almost feels like peace. The kind that hums under the skin instead of pounding through it.
I traded my gun-for-hire life for something steadier. Now I run security for all the Royal Harlots’ operations of front offices, warehouses, the new shelters, and even their transport lines. The kind of work that keeps the walls strong and the ghosts quiet.
Rebel, though, she’s built for more than walls. She’s running legit investments now, turning what used to be cover accounts into clean businesses. Logistics, housing, and charity ventures. She’s still got fire in her veins, but it burns clean these days.
We ride out together every Sunday, no comms, no plans, just asphalt and horizon.
Today, we end up back at the coast. At Alex’s grave.
The steel cross catches the morning light, flowers fresh and bright against the gray sky. She kneels to brush the salt from the nameplate, her hand steady now. No shaking, no ghosts pulling her under. Just peace.
I crouch beside her, resting my hand on the cross. “You can’t outrun what made you,” I say quietly. “You can only ride it the right way.”
She looks up at me, a smile curving slowly and sure. “Then hold on, Bishop. I don’t slow down.”
I laugh, low and honest. “Wouldn’t want you to.”
Behind us, the faint thunder of engines rises. A familiar growl that sounds like family. The Harlots roll in, their bikes lined against the ridge, chrome flashing under the sun. United. Fierce. Free.
Rebel stands, brushing her palms on her jeans. I offer my hand. She takes it, and when she turns toward her bike, I see it. The same fire Alex carried, burning bright behind her eyes.
We swing our legs over the saddles. She glances at me, a grin cutting through the wind. “Ready?”
“Always.”
We start our engines together. The sound rolls down the cliffs like thunder.
Rebel
I leave the bright red and yellow flowers at Alex’s grave against the steel cross. A promise, not an apology.
“We made it right,” I whisper, my voice carried off by the ocean wind.
Levi comes running up to us, his arms wrap around my legs, his eyes so much like Alex’s, blink up at me.
“Is this where my dad is?” Levi asks with the innocence of a child.
I bend down and pick him up. “Yeah, buddy, he is.”
Levi rests his little head on my shoulder. “Love you, daddy.” He whispers into the wind. He picks his head up, looking at me. “And I love you, Aunt Vic.”
My heart fills with so much love, I release a shaky breath. “I love you, Levi. And so does your daddy.”
Carter takes Levi from my arms, and I take one of the dog tags off the chain resting against my skin. I pull out a smaller chain from my pocket, placing the dog tag on it.
Placing it over Levi’s head, I kiss him on the cheek. “This one is for you, Levi. Keep it close to your heart and your daddy will always be with you.”
Levi clutches it tightly in his little grip. “I will, Aunt Vic. Thank you.”
“Thank you, buddy,” I whisper, my throat clogging.
The engines behind us rev again. The Harlots are waiting. My sisters. My family.
Carter’s fingers lace through mine, warm and solid. He doesn’t need to say anything. His presence says it all. “Hold on, Bishop. I don’t slow down.”
His grin is pure trouble. “Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.”
The roar of engines fills the air as we pull onto the highway.
Levi tucked safely in the SUV with Farris driving and Annabelle in the back seat with him.
Wind tears through my braid, salt on my tongue, sunlight on chrome.
Carter rides at my flank, the rest of the Harlots behind us.
Allura, French, Divine, Raven, Sloane, Calypso, Iris, every one of them a scar turned into strength.
We thunder down the coast, the line of bikes stretching like a promise across the horizon. Freedom in the roar. Fury in the heartbeat. Family at our backs.
Whatever’s coming next, we’ll face it the only way we know how, riding straight into the fire.