Epilogue
Tiffany
Sunlight filtered through stained glass, painting rainbow patterns across her wedding gown as Tiffany studied her reflection. A year had transformed her from a woman who lived in shadows to one who stood in light. Her hand drifted to the slight swell of her belly—twelve weeks of proof that life moved forward, even after darkness.
Rose burst into the bridal suite, her emerald bridesmaid dress swishing. “Everything's perfect outside. The flowers, the setup…even the bikers cleaned up nice.”
She grinned. “Well, mostly.”
Sarah followed with tears already glistening. “I never thought I'd see this day.”
Her fingers traced the lace at Tiffany's shoulder. “Your father would have been so proud.”
“He is proud,”
Tiffany said softly. “He gave me the tools to survive until I found the strength to stop running.”
The past year had reshaped all their lives. Stuart remained in treatment, finding peace in the simple therapy of coloring Alyssa's intricate drawings—scenes from their childhood, portraits of his mother rendered in gentle strokes. The psychologists called it progress. Tiffany called it mercy.
Ryder had proven himself in ways she'd never expected. His love burned steady and fierce, unmarred by the temptations that haunted other brothers. The club itself had evolved, leaving shadows for legitimate enterprise. Even Darkness had found his footing as both president and father, his little girl softening edges time had worn sharp.
Her fingers traced the two dot tattoos that marked their shared battles - one for Ace, one for Stuart. Club tradition turned trauma into triumph, each ink spot a reminder that survival came in many forms. Even Stuart participated from afar, faithfully drawing his own dot with marker during her visits.
“It's time,”
Hickory said from the doorway. His eyes met Sarah's briefly, and Tiffany hid a smile. Some loves bloomed slow and steady, nurtured by shared experience and gentle understanding.
The wedding march began, and Darkness' daughter toddled down the aisle first, scattering rose petals with gleeful abandon. Rose followed, managing Tiffany's train with practiced grace. But it was Ryder who commanded her attention, beautiful and dangerous in his leather cut beneath crisp tuxedo lines. His eyes blazed with a possessive heat that made her shiver.
He bent to kiss her before the minister could speak. “Sorry, sweetness, I literally couldn't wait until the end.”
That eager neediness still thrilled her, proof that some fires burned hotter with time instead of cooling. The crisp white of his collar against black leather embodied everything she loved about him: civilization and wildness perfectly balanced.
The screech of tires and distant sirens drew every head around. Stuart sprinted across the lawn in a tailored suit, clutching a fedora. He slid into a seat with a rakish grin, donning dark sunglasses like this was perfectly normal behavior. Ryder waved off the prospects moving to intercept. Some bonds transcended convention.
Ven handled the police with practiced ease, steering them away from the celebration. The last thing anyone needed was law enforcement crashing a biker wedding. Besides, as Ryder murmured, “Every guy deserves at least one night of freedom now and then.”
“It's a recovery center,”
she corrected automatically, but couldn't hide her smile.
“Whatever,”
he said with that dangerous grin that still made her weak. “Are we getting hitched or not? If not, I got some other ideas on how to spend the day.”
“Oh, we're getting hitched,”
she promised. “Then I'm going to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”
Lust blazed in his eyes. “You are never going to let me live that one down, are you?”
The minister cleared his throat pointedly. “Are we ready?”
“Bring it, mister priest,”
Ryder declared.
“He's actually a Methodist minister,”
Tiffany couldn't resist adding.
“Don't give a shit. We need to get on with the sappy stuff. I've got kissing, cake, dancing, and fucking to look forward to, and I don't want to miss any of it.”
The ceremony passed in a blur of traditional vows and not-so-traditional commentary from their assembled guests. When Ryder finally got his official kiss, the roar of approval from the bikers drowned out even Stuart's enthusiastic whistling.
The reception transformed the clubhouse grounds into something magical. Paper lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, casting warm light across tables where leather-clad bikers mingled with Tiffany's old friends from the medical world. The unlikely fusion of their two lives made her heart swell.
“Never thought I'd see the day,”
Darkness mused, appearing beside them with his daughter perched on his hip. “Ryder settling down, the club going legitimate, Stuart coloring in the corner like a model citizen...”
“Life's full of surprises,”
Tiffany agreed, watching Stuart carefully shade one of Alyssa's drawings. The artist herself sat nearby, explaining her technique to some fascinated prospects.
“Speaking of surprises,”
Darkness continued, his eyes tracking across the crowd, “looks like Ace might be next.”
Tiffany followed his gaze to where Ace lounged against the bar, his attention fixed on a striking redhead in a burgundy cocktail dress. Dr. Barbara Walsh carried herself with the kind of confidence that came from academia, but something in her constant scanning of exits spoke of darker experiences.
“They've got chemistry,”
Rose observed, appearing with a plate of cake. “She guest lectured at my school last month. Brilliant woman, but there's definitely a story there.”
“Aren't there always stories?”
Ryder pulled Tiffany closer. “Look what my nurse was hiding.”
The music shifted to something slow and sweet. Couples filled the dance floor - Sarah and Hickory moving with surprising grace, Darkness swaying with his sleepy daughter, even Stuart dancing with one of the older club ladies who'd taken him under their wing.
“Remember our first dance?”
Ryder murmured in her ear as he led her out.
“In my mother's kitchen,”
she recalled. “Right after you promised to help me stop running.”
His arms tightened around her. “Best promise I ever made.”
The evening spun on in a whirl of traditions both conventional and distinctly MC. The garter removal involved a knife and several creative suggestions from the crowd. Their first toast came with shots instead of champagne. Even the cake cutting turned rowdy when Ryder decided frosting belonged on more than just her nose.
“Your mother's going to kill me,”
he grinned, helping her wipe cake from her neck.
“I think she's distracted.”
Tiffany nodded toward where Sarah and Hickory had slipped away to a quiet corner. Their heads were bent close, fingers intertwined.
“About damn time,”
Ryder said. “My old man's been playing matchmaker for months.”
A commotion near the bar drew their attention. Ace had finally worked up the courage to approach Dr. Walsh, but their conversation looked more intense than simple flirtation. Her face had gone pale, and he was already shifting into protective mode.
“Trouble?”
Ryder asked quietly.
“Not tonight,”
Tiffany said firmly. “Tonight is just about us.”
But she couldn't help noticing how Ace positioned himself between Barbara and the entrance, or how the professor's hand kept straying to her purse like something precious—or dangerous—lay inside.
The night deepened into something softer as guests began to drift away. Stuart approached with his handler, looking surprisingly lucid despite his dramatic entrance.
“I have something for you,”
he said, holding out a carefully folded paper. It was one of Alyssa's drawings—three children on a playground, rendered in perfect detail. In the corner, he'd drawn his dot to match theirs.
“It's beautiful,”
Tiffany said honestly.
“I'm working on getting better,”
he told her. “The doctors say I might earn outdoor privileges soon. Real ones, not just... impromptu field trips.”
Ryder's laugh was surprisingly genuine. “Keep coloring inside the lines, man. It suits you.”
After Stuart left, they found themselves alone on the balcony of their private suite. Music still drifted up from below, along with the occasional roar of motorcycles as guests departed. Tiffany leaned back against Ryder's chest, his hands instinctively finding her barely-there bump.
“Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Staunton?”
“Just thinking about circles,”
she mused. “How life keeps bringing us back around but different. A year ago I was running scared. Now I'm standing still and it feels right.”
“Nothing about you is standing still, sweetness.”
His voice held that dangerous edge she loved. “You're just running toward things instead of away now.”
She turned in his arms. “Like what?”
“Like our future. This baby. Whatever crazy shit the club gets into next.”
He grinned. “Face it, doll. You're as addicted to the ride as I am.”
Below them, Ace's bike roared to life. Through the darkness, they caught a glimpse of a burgundy dress settling behind him on the seat. Some stories wrote themselves.
“Think they'll be okay?”
Tiffany asked.
“Nobody's ever really okay in our world,”
Ryder said thoughtfully. “But sometimes the broken pieces fit together just right.”
A shooting star blazed across the sky, and Tiffany smiled. Life wasn't like movies. It was messier, more complex, full of unexpected turns. But with Ryder beside her, she was ready for whatever came next.
Thunder rolled in the distance as more bikes fired up, their riders answering freedom's call. But it wasn't the familiar rumble that made Tiffany's skin prickle. Something darker rode those storm clouds—danger carried on the wind.
Ryder tensed beside her, his enforcer's instincts never truly at rest. “Feels like change coming.”
“Good thing we're done running then.”
She turned to face him, seeing in his eyes the same fierce love that had saved her. “Some storms are worth weathering.”
His kiss tasted of promise and warning, sweetness and steel. Tomorrow would bring what it brought - new threats, new battles, new chances to prove that love wasn't just about surviving.
It was about choosing your ground and standing it together.
The end.