Epilogue
Three Months Later
There was snow on the ground, and the frigid December air was making sure it stuck around for at least another day or two—but that wasn’t going to stop me from leaving the house in the outfit I’d been planning to wear all week.
I was in a strapless, lacy, white corset top and the shortest denim shorts I owned, my tan cowgirl boots waiting for me by the door.
My hair recently trimmed, I styled the bob with a slight curl, and I was just about done with my face. Tonight, I wanted to look perfect.
Viv, Max, and the rest of the ol’ ladies were throwing Riley and me a party.
I’d been Mrs. Wells for almost exactly four months. The drama that followed our elopement wouldn’t soon be forgotten—the final conflict between the Kings and the Stallions nothing by comparison to the murder that was the catalyst to it all.
I heard stories of civil wars within a club, and I was aware of the threat of war between the Stallions and the Kings.
But having a front row seat to the battle we all lived through was something I hoped I never experienced again.
The sleepless nights. The crowded clubhouse.
The uncertainty and the danger, it was all so exhausting.
Exhausting and worth it. For the peace of mind. For the burned and mended bridges. For the fortification of the loyalty that defined the brotherhood of the Wild Stallions Motorcycle Club—and for the freedom it bought Carmine.
Wild as it was, it was in the past, now. Tonight, things finally felt normal enough that we were celebrating. It wasn’t exactly a wedding reception, because that wouldn’t suit us, but I felt inspired to wear white, anyhow.
“Ly—”
Pistol filled the doorway of the bathroom and froze, frowning at me in confusion.
“Sun’s long gone, baby. You’ll freeze your ass off.”
“No, I won’t,” I said, finishing the last of my makeup. “You’ll blast the heat in the truck, and I’ll be just fine.”
“Is that what you think?”
I heard his raised eyebrow before I turned and saw it aimed right at me.
“We live, like, two minutes from the clubhouse. I’ll be fine. Besides—would you prefer me in a pair of cut off shorts when I’m in the chair, or would it be better for me to drop my pants and stretch out in my thong?”
His expression turned to a silent glower before he turned on his heel. “I’ll be in the truck,” he mumbled.
I smiled at his retreating figure, laughing softly when he grumbled at Reaper to follow. She got up from where she laid at my feet, obediently trailing after him. I couldn’t blame her. There wasn’t much he could demand I wouldn’t do, either.
Fuck, but I loved him.
When I was finished applying my bright red lipstick, I slipped the tube into my pocket, ran my fingers through my hair, winked at my reflection, and went to don my boots.
Because I wasn’t totally insane, I slipped into my jean jacket before I grabbed my purse and hurried for the truck. It was nice and toasty warm when I climbed into the cab.
Yeah—my man loved me, too.
We pulled onto the compound a few minutes after eight, and I was practically bouncing in my seat from excitement.
When Riley parked and killed the engine, he reached over and took hold of my thigh before I could jump out.
His hand was rough and warm, his touch possessive and gentle, just the way I liked.
“Wait up a minute,” he said softly.
“Baby, I’ve been waiting all day. I can’t do it a second longer.”
He gave my thigh a squeeze, speaking through a smile when he replied, “No turnin’ back after this.”
Rather than reach for the door, I leaned toward my husband until my arm was brushing against his.
“You say that like you haven’t got an entire back piece that marks you as mine.”
It was true. A few weeks ago, when the dust of chaos began to settle, we spent a week in Gillette so he could get it done.
I went with him because he asked me to and because it gave me the excuse to hang with Charity and Bodhi for a while.
I didn’t know until after his first session—after we were alone in our hotel room—that the tattoo was for me, the two black angel wings spanning the length of his torso a symbol of his devotion.
He told me, then, why he called me angel—because he believed me to be his.
Not that I needed another reason to love him, but after he told me that? This night couldn’t come soon enough.
“Also,” I grinned, wiggling my left fingers in front of his face. “You already can’t get rid of me.”
“That ring’s nothin’ special, angel.”
I lowered my hand, pouting a little as I spun the white gold band around my finger.
“Might not sparkle, but that doesn’t make it any less special to me.”
I meant what I said. My wedding band was a reminder of how we started.
It had been a wild ride.
My absolute favorite kind.
“Sweet you think so, but figured it was about time you had yourself a ring better suited for an ol’ lady.”
As he said the words, he took my hand and slid a new, very sparkly diamond ring onto my finger. It was huge. So huge, I didn’t even need the overhead cab lights to see the solitaire, round cut stone glint. For a second, I sat motionless, staring down at the thing.
“Baby,” I whispered. “It’s perfect.”
“Glad to hear it, angel.”
Hearing him call me that still made my heart flutter.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside before you start to freeze.”
“Wait,” I insisted, reaching for his face.
He didn’t fight me as I pulled him toward me.
As soon as my lips were pressed against his, he took hold of the back of my neck, held me where he wanted, and devoured me.
We kissed until we were breathless; until my lipstick was hardly more than a faded smear across both our faces; until my thong was soaked and my heart as full as it had ever been.
“I love you, Riley Wells,” I panted when we finally pulled apart. “I love you so much.”
“Yeah? Put your ass in that chair and prove it.”
Grinning at the thought, I murmured, “You fix your face, I’ll fix mine?”
“Make it quick,” he agreed.
It took him all of two seconds to wipe his mouth clean with the back of his hand, while it took me a little longer to apply a fresh coat of red. We were walking into the clubhouse hand-in-hand less than five minutes later, Reaper in tow.
I gaped at what we found when we were inside.
The music was already blaring, the booze already flowing, and the atmosphere everything I’d ever loved about this life.
There were also white and gold balloons everywhere.
Max was at the bar, chatting casually with Carmine and his new lady.
It was so strange to see the two of them get along—hell, to see my brother in the Stallion clubhouse with a beer in his hand—but so much had changed, all of it for the better.
“They’re here!” I heard Sofia before I spotted her on the far side of the room with Viv and Hazel. The latter rolled her eyes then headed for the bar, and I fought a laugh.
Somethings hadn’t changed and probably never would—but I was good with that, too.
I saw Max as she hurried toward us, a grin lighting up her whole face.
“I know it looks like the party’s started, but it won’t really until after you’re inked. Ryan’s all set up. You ready?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows.
I nodded, both excited for the occasion and anxious to get it over with.
Ryan, the Stallion’s official tattoo artist, made the trip up from Wyoming for the occasion.
When Riley told me he wanted me inked, I told him I didn’t care who did it, just as long as it looked good—but he insisted we were going to do it the right way.
He even had in mind exactly what he wanted me to get and where.
After a short collab call with Ryan and a few emailed sketches, the finished design was one I adored as much as if I dreamt it up myself.
It was going on my upper left thigh: a garter holding a revolver pistol and a couple feathers—the pistol for my man, and the feathers to represent what he always called me.
It was nearly midnight by the time the job was done. It hurt like hell, but it was perfect.
“That looks so good. Seriously, I think you just got hotter.”
“Hold on a second,” said Carmine, draping his arm around his woman. “Are you hittin’ on my sister?”
I watched as she curled into him, looking up at my brother with so much adoration and affection, I swear it dulled the ache radiating through my thigh.
“Just telling it like it is,” she hummed through a grin.
“Yeah, Carmy—don’t you like it?”
His blue eyes drifted over my leg before shifting to meet mine. He then looked at Riley, who still stood beside me, holding my hand, before returning his gaze to me. He shrugged, speaking through a smirk when he replied, “Not bad.”
It wasn’t exactly a glowing review, but it made me smile anyway.
I knew there was always going to be a part of him that wished I didn’t marry into this life.
Now that I was inked an ol’ lady, he knew it was forever.
But even though he may have wanted something different for me—his experiences and mistakes shaping his perception of the world he chose to leave behind—his presence here and now said it all.
“And what about you?” I asked my man, peering up at him as I gave his hand a squeeze.
“Do you like how it turned out?”
He let go of my hand then propped a fist on either side of my hips as he leaned over me and brought his lips to my ear.
I barely contained the urge to shiver as he whispered, “Angel, you’ve never looked sexier than you do right now.
My rock on your finger. My ink on your leg.
I’m hard just thinkin’ about what you’ll look like later—in my bed, stripped naked, my cum drippin’ out of you. ”
No longer able to resist my shiver, I let it overwhelm me as I turned to touch my lips to his ear. “What’s stoppin’ you, baby? I’m yours for the taking.”
The next thing I knew, I was cradled in his arms as he carried me through the clubhouse. My giggle was swallowed by the sounds of the party we left behind. I’d barely gotten the chance to enjoy any of it, but I didn’t mind—I was exactly where I wanted to be.
As we approached his private room, he nudged open the door, carrying me over the threshold, like a bride on her wedding night.
Our life wasn’t a fairytale.
I wasn’t Snow White.
He wasn’t Prince Charming.
The road we traversed to get here was chaotic—but I wouldn’t change a thing about us.
This was my happy ending.
He was my ever after.
My husband.
My love.
My Stallion.
Thank you for reading Lyla and Pistol’s story!