Epilogue
ISABEL
T he old Dane home sat on the edge of Sullivan’s Island, where the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and pluff mud, where the sound of the tide lapping against the shore was as familiar as breath. It wasn’t like Dominion Hall—no towering fortress, no state-of-the-art security, no imposing gates keeping the world at bay.
It was simple. Timeless.
A two-story Lowcountry house, weathered gray with salt and time, the wraparound porch lined with rocking chairs and a hammock swaying lazily between two posts. Spanish moss draped the live oaks at the edge of the yard, their gnarled branches reaching toward the water like old sentries standing watch. The private dock stretched into the intracoastal, a few boats bobbing gently in their slips, the wooden planks creaking under the weight of footsteps.
The Danes didn’t come here often, not when Dominion Hall had everything they needed. But when they wanted to breathe, when they wanted to feel their father’s presence, this was where they came. The house had been his, a place he had refused to sell, no matter how much money he had secretly amassed. It had been his escape, and now it was theirs.
And today—it was for celebration. For survival. For remembering that even in the wake of war, there were things worth holding onto.
The fish fry was in full swing, the long wooden table on the porch covered in newspaper, piled high with golden-fried flounder, hush puppies, and baskets of hot, crispy fries. There were bowls of coleslaw, Charleston red rice, and butter beans, pitchers of sweet tea sweating in the heat, coolers stocked with beer and bourbon. A pot of Frogmore stew bubbled away on the outdoor burner, shrimp and corn floating to the surface, the scent thick with Old Bay and spice.
I’d never been here before, but it felt like home.
A bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s 23-Year stood at the edge of the table, its dark amber liquid catching the glow of the string lights overhead. No one made a big deal about it, but I noticed the way Marcus poured himself a careful splash, how the others treated it with a quiet reverence. A bottle like that wasn’t just expensive—it was nearly impossible to find. The kind of thing collectors hoarded, auctioned off for small fortunes. But here, it was just another drink among brothers, another quiet display of wealth.
Beyond the porch, parked beneath the sprawling limbs of an ancient oak, sat an old Chevy K5 Blazer—perfectly restored, every inch gleaming despite the years. I recognized it from old pictures of their dad, the same truck he’d driven them around in when they were kids, back when life had been simpler. Marcus had spent years bringing it back to life, but he never drove it. It just sat there, pristine and waiting, a piece of their father frozen in time.
Everything here carried a story. The house, the whiskey, the truck. A quiet legacy of power, wealth, and the kind of loyalty that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
I leaned against one of the porch railings, sipping my drink, letting the warmth of the evening settle into my bones. The sun was dipping low, casting the sky in hues of deep orange and indigo, the marsh grass swaying in the soft, humid breeze.
I glanced at Will, who sat at the end of the table, looking healthier than he had any right to after what he’d been through. His bruises were fading, the cuts on his face healing, but there was something else—something deeper that hadn’t faded. My brother was a changed man.
I took a slow breath. “Would you ever leave? Find another job?”
Will’s eyes cut to mine, sharp and knowing. He didn’t even hesitate. “Never. Especially not now.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the brothers, who were deep in conversation over something they weren’t saying out loud. “I owe them.”
I swallowed hard. The air had shifted—not enough for most people to notice, but I did.
They weren’t just reflecting on what had happened. They were preparing.
The real war had just begun.
They didn’t say it. They didn’t need to. It was in the way they held themselves—shoulders squared, spines rigid, eyes always scanning. It was in the way their conversations never strayed too far from what came next, the unspoken weight of unfinished business settling over them like a storm cloud .
And it was in Ryker. In the way his grip on my thigh tightened every time the past week was mentioned, his fingers flexing like he was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. In the way his jaw ticked when the others spoke in low voices, strategizing, planning, preparing for the inevitable.
Because this wasn’t over.
The men responsible for what had happened—the ones who had taken Will, who had set the pier ablaze, who had tried to eliminate Ryker—were still out there. Watching. Waiting. And if I knew one thing about men like Ryker, it was that he wasn’t the type to let things go.
No, this wasn’t over. It was just the beginning.
I knew I should be scared. I knew that if I were smart, I’d find a way out, take what was left of my old life and run before I got pulled in any deeper.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
No way in hell was I leaving Ryker.
The moment had been too chaotic before—too much smoke, too much adrenaline, too much relief—but now, as the world slowed just enough for the dust to settle, I felt it.
Will’s gaze.
I turned, finding him watching me, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight.
Not just watching. Assessing.
His sharp eyes flicked between me and Ryker, narrowing slightly when Ryker’s hand skimmed down my back, fingers flexing against my hip in silent possession.
It didn’t take him long to put the pieces together.
His entire stance stiffened. His shoulders squared. And then?—
"Tell me I’m seeing things, Dane. ”
The low, rough demand landed like a grenade between us.
Beside me, Ryker didn’t even blink. He didn’t shift, didn’t look guilty, didn’t do anything except stay exactly where he was, claiming me without a single fucking word.
"You’re not," Ryker said simply, his voice steady, absolute.
Will exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning to me. His jaw flexed once, twice. "And you, Izzy? This what you want?"
There was no hesitation.
"It is."
His nostrils flared, his Adam’s apple bobbing once. He looked like he wanted to say something else, wanted to fight it, but in the end—he just cursed under his breath.
"Fuck."
Silence stretched between us. Then, Will let out a slow, measured breath.
"You do anything to hurt her, I’ll kill you myself."
This time, Ryker’s response was immediate. Unshaken. Deadly serious.
"I’d let you."
A muscle in Will’s jaw jumped. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He shook his head once, exhaling another curse, before muttering?—
"Christ. You were supposed to be the safe one."
And then?—
Something shifted.
It wasn’t acceptance, not yet. Not entirely. But it was something.
Will sighed, shaking his head, rubbing the back of his neck like he had no idea how the hell this had happened. Like he was reluctantly coming to terms with something he didn’t want to.
"Guess I should’ve known." He let out a humorless laugh, rolling his shoulders. "You never did take your eyes off her."
Ryker didn’t deny it.
Will’s gaze flicked to me, something softer creeping in at the edges. "You sure about this?"
I nodded. "I’ve never been more sure about anything."
Another slow exhale. Then?—
"Then I guess that makes you family, Dane.”
His voice was begrudging, like the words physically pained him, but they were there.
Real.
Final.
Something in Ryker’s expression shifted—something quiet, something rare. He didn’t say anything, but his grip on me tightened, his thumb brushing over my skin in a way that felt like a vow.
Across the porch, Pia and Marcus were thick in their own world. She was wearing a fitted sundress, all long tan legs and golden skin, her blonde hair tousled from the sea breeze. Marcus, in a linen button-down and rolled-up sleeves, was leaning against the railing beside her, his easy smirk tugging at his lips as she teased him about something.
She nudged his arm, laughing. “So, do you ever turn off the whole scary military thing?”
Marcus arched a brow. “Do you ever turn off being sexy as hell?”
She rolled her eyes, but I didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly, the way her fingers toyed with the condensation on her glass .
Sasha, on the other hand, was having no trouble making her interest known. She sipped her drink, giving the guys a slow, appraising look. “So which one of you is single?”
Charlie shot her a grin. “Depends. You looking for a fun night or a bad decision?”
Sasha grinned back. “Can’t it be both?”
The group laughed, but there was a heat in Sasha’s gaze, a spark of something dangerous that told me she wasn’t just here to joke around.
I shook my head, smiling as I turned back toward the horizon. The sun was nearly gone now, the sky slipping into twilight, the stars winking to life one by one.
Strong, familiar arms wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me back against a solid chest. Ryker’s scent wrapped around me, grounding me.
I tilted my head, smiling. “You keep sneaking up on me.”
He hummed, pressing his lips to my temple. “I like the way you feel when I catch you. Come with me.”
I didn’t have time to respond before he was steering me away from the warmth of conversation and flickering lantern light. His grip was firm, purposeful, but not rough. I let him lead me, my pulse kicking up as I glanced over my shoulder.
No one was paying attention. Not yet.
Ryker walked me toward the side of the house, past the back porch, until we reached a secluded corner where the outdoor shower stall stood tucked against the wooden fence, the distant rush of waves masking our footsteps. The shower had been there since the Dane brothers were kids—a place to rinse off salt and sand after long days in the surf.
But right now ?
I doubted Ryker gave a single fuck about rinsing off.
He pushed the wooden door open and backed me inside, shutting it behind us. The air was humid, the scent of sun-warmed cedar thick in the small space. Moonlight spilled in through the slats, cutting through the darkness in thin, silvery streaks.
“Ryker—”
His mouth was on mine before I could finish, his kiss deep, consuming, stealing the very breath from my lungs. His hands gripped my hips, tugging me against the hardness of his body, his arousal pressing into my lower back.
I gasped against his lips. “Someone—someone might hear us.”
His teeth scraped along my jaw, his voice a dark growl. “Let them. Then everyone will know exactly who you belong to.”
A shiver ran through me, anticipation curling hot and tight in my belly.
He reached past me, turning on the shower. A burst of cool water sprayed against the wooden planks, the mist dampening our skin. I barely had time to register it before Ryker’s hands were everywhere—palming my breasts, sliding down my stomach, yanking at the waistband of my shorts.
The fabric hit the floor in an instant, followed by my panties. He turned me, pressing me against the cool, wet wood, his body crowding mine from behind.
“Spread your legs.”
I obeyed, my breath shuddering out as his fingers slid between my thighs, parting me, stroking through my slick folds. I was already soaked for him, my body primed from the moment he had pulled me away from the party.
“Fuck, Isabel,” he rasped, his fingers teasing, just enough to drive me insane but not enough to satisfy. “I should take you right here. Bend you over and fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
I whimpered, my hips bucking against his hand. “Do it.”
His chest rumbled against my back, a dark chuckle vibrating through me. “Oh, I will. But first …”
His fingers plunged inside me, curling just right, pressing against that spot that made me see stars. My knees buckled, but his free hand wrapped around my waist, holding me upright, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
“Ryker,” I gasped, my head falling back against his shoulder. “Please?—”
His teeth found the curve of my neck, biting down just enough to make me shudder. “You’re always so fucking greedy for me,” he murmured, pumping his fingers deep, his thumb circling my clit in slow, devastating strokes.
“I can’t help it,” I panted, rocking against his hand, my body desperate for more. “You make me this way.”
“Damn right I do.”
The pleasure built, hot and urgent, teetering right on the edge of unbearable. Ryker’s breath was ragged against my ear, his voice thick with need. “Come for me, Isabel. Let me feel it.”
The command sent me flying.
My orgasm hit hard, crashing through me in sharp, pulsing waves. My legs shook, my hands gripping the wooden planks for support, a strangled moan escaping my lips as Ryker worked me through it, his fingers never stopping, never slowing.
By the time the aftershocks faded, I was boneless in his arms .
But he wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
“Turn around.”
I did, my limbs still trembling as I faced him. His eyes were dark, ravenous, his jaw clenched tight with restraint. I reached for his shorts, yanking them down, freeing his thick, aching length. He was so fucking hard—hot and heavy in my hand, the tip already glistening.
I stroked him once, slow, savoring the way his breath caught, the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch.
He gritted his teeth. “Isabel.”
I smirked. “Yes?”
A growl ripped from his throat.
And then—he lifted me.
My legs wrapped around his waist, my back pressing against the stall door as he lined up and thrust inside me in one deep, brutal stroke.
I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he filled me completely, stretched me wide, made me feel him in every nerve, every inch of my body.
He didn’t start slow.
Didn’t give me time to adjust.
He just fucked me—hard, relentless, like he had been starving for this, for me.
The shower rained down on us, warm water mingling with sweat, with need. Every thrust sent pleasure rocketing through me, every snap of his hips driving me higher, higher, until I was nothing but sensation, nothing but his.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his grip on my thighs tightening. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasped, my body tightening around him. “I’m yours, Ryker.”
His thrusts turned savage, desperate. “Say it again. ”
I dug my heels into his back, dragging him deeper, taking everything he gave me. “I’m yours.”
His breath hitched.
And then—he shattered.
He drove into me one last time, his body locking, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he groaned my name like a prayer.
I trembled in his arms, my own release crashing through me, pleasure curling hot and liquid in my veins.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Just panting, shaking, tangled together, water cascading around us.
Then—he pulled back, just enough to press his forehead to mine, his breath still ragged, his hands still locked around my hips.
His voice was low, rough. Possessive.
“You better be ready for round two later.”
I laughed, shaking my head, my fingers tracing the ridges of his abs. “You’re a menace.”
His smirk darkened. “You fucking love it.”
I did.
A shiver ran down my spine, but before I could say anything, he reached for my left hand, lifting it.
And then—he slid a ring onto my finger.
I froze. My heart stopped.
It wasn’t flashy. Not some giant diamond meant to dazzle a room. It was simple, elegant—gold, with a small, dark gemstone set in the center.
A mark. A claim.
I turned in his arms, staring up at him, my lips parting. “Ryker?—”
“I wasn’t asking.” His voice was rough, final. His eyes burned into mine, dark and unwavering. “It was never a question. ”
Emotion slammed into my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
I looked down at the ring again, my vision blurring.
He had never asked. Because to him, this was already decided. I was his. He was mine. That was the end of it.
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling around his strong biceps, my throat tight.
“I love you,” I whispered.
His grip tightened, his forehead pressing to mine. “You better,” he murmured. “Because you’re never getting rid of me now.”
His fingers skimmed down my spine, settling low on my waist, his voice dipping even lower. “And when we get home, I’m going to remind you exactly what that means.”
A delicious heat spread through me. My home. His home. God, was it my home now, too?
I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, arching a brow. “So does this mean I’m moving into Dominion Hall, or are you planning on shacking up with me at my apartment?”
Ryker snorted, his grip on my waist tightening. “I’m not cramming myself into your shoebox-sized bedroom, Isabel.”
I grinned. “Oh? And so I have to live with the black viper.”
His lips curved into something dark, something dangerous. “The only thing that’s going to be wrapped around me in that bed is you.”
I flushed, biting my lip, and he leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear. “And you better get used to it,” he murmured. “Because you’re mine now. In my house. In my bed. Always.”
Always .
The word settled deep, sending a shiver straight through me.
And as he kissed me again, slow and possessive, I realized—I wanted nothing more than to go home with him.
I knew I would never want anything else.