Epilogue
SAVANNAH
Mountain air in late spring smells of pine sap, damp earth, and the sweet, cloying scent of wildflowers blooming aggressively in the valleys below Grizzly Peak. It differs wildly from the biting freeze that trapped me here.
I stand on the front porch, hands wrapped around a mug of herbal tea, watching the sunrise bleed gold and violet over the ridge. Snow has vanished, leaving the world green and vibrant. The roads are clear.
I could drive the blacked-out SUV Logan bought me. It’s an armored beast, heavy enough to crush that flimsy rental I crashed.
I could take it down the switchbacks, past the Grand Pine Lodge, through Pine Valley, and straight to the airport. He’d had the rental company’s wreck hauled off months ago, growling that his woman would only drive a machine built to survive his mountain.
I take a sip of the tea, the steam warming my face. I’m not that lost city girl anymore. I’m the Queen of the Peak.
I’m Logan’s Old Lady.
I feel the weight of his protection in every breath.The silence of the woods used to be deafening.
Now, it’s just home.
The screen door creaks. Heavy boots thud on the wood planks. My body reacts before he touches me—prickle of awareness along my spine, softening in my belly, magnetic pull centering my universe on the man stepping into my space.
Logan Gunnar occupies the atmosphere.
Thick bands of muscle and ink wrap around me from behind, heavier and safer than steel. He pulls me back against his chest. Hard. Jeans cling to his powerful thighs, black t-shirt straining across his chest, leather cut smelling of old smoke and gun oil.
"You're up early." His voice vibrates against my back, rattling my ribs. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, scruff scratching against my sensitive skin. A sharp inhale follows. "Thinking about running, Savannah?"
"Just looking at the view, Logan. Checking the light for photos later."
"Fuck the photos."
His teeth graze the tendon of my neck, sending electricity straight to my core. His hand slides down from my waist, splaying wide over my stomach. His thumb rubs circles there. "Come back to bed."
"We have to go to town. Austin needs you at the Outfitters, and I promised Mike I’d drop off the new social media drafts."
Logan grunts, pure annoyance. "Austin can wait. Mike can wait. I set the schedule."
"And I have to make sure you look like a legitimate businessman occasionally."
I turn in his arms. Facing him always shocks my system, even after months of waking up next to him.
He is a wall of scarred flesh and brute force.
Dark eyes scan my face with an intensity that hasn't faded since he pulled me out of the snowstorm. He looks at me like I’m the only source of oxygen on this mountain.
He lifts a hand. His calloused thumb traces my lower lip, tugging it down to expose the wet pink inside.
"You look pale." His tone shifts instantly from amorous to alert. "You didn't eat enough dinner last night."
I swallow down the wave of nausea that’s been my constant companion for the last week. "I'm fine. Just morning grogginess."
His eyes narrow. Logan notices everything—snapped twigs, wind shifts, hesitations in my breath. "If you're sick, you stay here. I’ll lock the door."
"I am not sick." I smooth my hands over the leather of his cut, right over the President patch. "I need coffee. And a bacon sandwich."
He watches me, gaze stripping me bare, searching for truth. Finally, a nod comes, though the tension in his shoulders remains. "Fine. But you ride with me. No driving today."
"I always ride with you."
"Good."
He leans down, crushing his mouth to mine.
The kiss is a claiming. Hard, wet, tasting of toothpaste and dominance. He presses forward, his tongue seeking mine as if to map my surrender. I rise on my tiptoes, gripping his biceps, melting into his heat. When he pulls back, air is a necessity we both lack.
"Get dressed. Before I decide to keep you here and make us both late."
Main Street in Pine Valley bustles with the morning rush.
Tourists flock here for the 'authentic' mountain experience, unaware of the currents running beneath the surface. Peak Wilderness Outfitters sits in the heart of it, flanked by Sweet Pine Bakery and Harrison’s Hardware. To tourists, it’s a high-end camping store.
To the Broken Halos MC, it’s the front line.
Logan parks his massive black Harley at the curb. He kills the engine and dismounts with fluid grace, then lifts me off the back.
He doesn't let me climb down. He grabs my waist and lifts me effortlessly, sliding my body down the length of his until my boots touch pavement. He keeps his hands on me, adjusting my jacket, eyes scanning the street.
"Stay close."
"I'm just going inside."
The possessiveness thrills me. It validates the primal part of my brain craving his protection.
We walk into the store. The smell of leather, canvas, and gun oil greets us. Austin Gunnar leans over a spread of invoices behind the counter.
"About time," Austin mutters. "Supplier from the coast is jerking us around on the ammo shipment. Says the price went up ten percent."
Logan releases me and leans his hip against the counter. "Tell him the price is what we agreed on, or I drive down there and renegotiate with a tire iron."
Austin snorts, finally looking up. His eyes flicker to me. "Morning, Savannah. You look... green."
I freeze. "I'm fine."
Logan whips his head around, focus snapping back to me. "Green? She said she was tired."
"She looks like she’s gonna hurl."
"I need water," I say, moving toward the back office before Logan starts an interrogation. "It's the heat."
I retreat to the small break room, leaning against the cool metal of the filing cabinet. My hand goes to my stomach. Nausea rolls in waves now.
I know what this is. My period is three weeks late. My breasts feel heavy, aching every time Logan’s rough hands brush them. The smell of coffee brewing in the front makes my mouth water in the worst way.
I reach into my tote bag, fingers brushing against the small, rectangular box I bought two towns over. I couldn't buy it here. Gossip in Pine Valley travels faster than a rockslide.
I slip into the tiny employee bathroom and lock the door. Hands shake as I unwrap the box.
Three minutes.
I sit on the closed toilet lid, staring at the white plastic stick on the sink counter. My pulse hammers against my ribs.
Pregnant.
A baby. A Gunnar baby.
Panic flares. Not because I don't want it—I want it so much it aches—but because of the implications. It ties me irrevocably to this mountain. To club wars, territory disputes, and men who solve problems with violence.
But then I think of Logan. The way he checks locks three times every night. The way he holds me like I’m made of glass. He is a monster to the world, but to us? A fortress.
I look at the stick.
Two solid, dark pink lines.
A sob catches in my throat. I press my hand to my mouth.
The doorknob rattles.
"Savannah." Logan’s voice presses right against the wood. "Open the door."
I jump, knocking the box off my lap. "I'm busy, Logan!"
"You've been in there ten minutes. I can hear your pulse from out here." His tone drops an octave. "Are you hurt? Is there blood?"
"No! No blood."
"Open it. Or I take the door off the hinges."
He’s never bluffed a day in his life.
I stand, legs trembling, and unlock the door.
It swings open instantly. Logan fills the frame, chest heaving, eyes wild. He scans me for injuries. Finding me intact, some tension leaves his shoulders, but his gaze remains intense.
"What is it?" He steps inside and closes the door, locking us in the cramped space. "You're shaking."
I can't speak. I gesture toward the sink.
Logan frowns. He looks at the counter. He sees the stick.
Silence deafens us. I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion.
Slowly, Logan reaches out. His massive hand, scarred from fights, picks up the plastic. He brings it closer, dark eyes narrowing.
Then, he looks at me.
Pure, feral triumph blazes in his eyes.
A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face, changing his features from brooding to something devastatingly handsome.
"I knew it." His voice sounds thick with gravel.
"You... you knew?"
He drops the stick and closes the distance in one stride. He lifts me up, pressing my back against the door, hands gripping my thighs to hoist me high. I wrap my legs around his waist as he buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
"You smell different," he growls against my skin. "For the last week. Like milk and honey. Like mine."
"I thought you'd be mad. With the club... everything..."
He pulls back, eyes blazing. "Mad? Savannah, I told you the first night I had you in my bed. I told you I was going to fill you with my sons. Did you think I was just talking dirty?"
"Maybe a little."
"I don't talk for my health." He shifts his grip, holding me effortlessly against the door. "You’re carrying my child. My heir."
"Logan, we're at the store—Austin is right outside—"
"I don't give a fuck who's outside," he growls, his voice a vibration of pure, predatory hunger.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, remembering the order he gave me back at the cabin.
With one violent tug, he confirms I obeyed.
My bare pussy is exposed to the chilly air of the bathroom, already swollen and weeping cream for him.
"My seed took," he murmurs, his eyes darkening to the color of midnight. He reaches down, his thick fingers tangling in my curls as he explores the wet heat he’s already colonized. "You’re already carrying my heir, and you’re still dripping for me. Like you can’t get enough of being bred."
I whimper, my head thumping back against the door as he finds my clit, his thumb grinding against the engorged nub with a brutal, rhythmic pressure. "Logan, please..."
"Please what? Please claim you again?" He doesn't wait for an answer. He shoves my jeans down to my knees and unzips his own fly, his massive, corded cock springing free, purple-headed and pulsing with the need to reassert his dominance.
He lifts me by my thighs, pinning me against the vibrating wood of the door.
He doesn't go slow. He lunges forward, his thick shaft buried to the hilt in one singular, devastating thrust. I scream into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his tongue as he begins to hammer into me. It’s primal.
It’s loud. The sink rattles against the wall with every violent impact of his hips against my ass.
"You're mine," he grunts, the words timed to the wet, slapping sounds of our bodies colliding. "This pussy, this baby, this life. All mine."
He reaches between us, his fingers finding the spot where we’re joined, his thumb working my clit into a frenzy while he pounds me into the door. The friction is blinding. I feel the exact moment my climax hits—a violent, internal shattering that has me clawing at the leather of his cut.
Logan roars, his body stiffening as he delivers a final, bone-deep thrust. I feel the hot, thick jet of his cum as he fills my womb with even more of his essence, his seed coating the entrance of my cervix in a hot flood.
He stays buried inside me for a long minute, his chest heaving against my breasts, his scent—musk, leather, and fresh seed—filling the tiny room.
"Mine," he grunts against my neck, the word a final, undisputed decree. "My wife. My family. My legacy."
Finally, he kisses my temple. "We're getting married."
I laugh weakly, resting my cheek on his shoulder. "Is that a proposal?"
"It's an order." He lowers me until my feet touch the floor but keeps his arm around my waist to steady me. His touch turns surprisingly tender. "We go to the courthouse tomorrow. Then we throw a party at the clubhouse so everyone knows."
"Okay," I whisper. I place my hand on his chest, over his heart. "Okay."
He covers my hand with his, then moves it down to my flat stomach. A look of wonder crosses his scarred face.
"A father," he murmurs. "I'm going to teach him to hunt. To ride."
"Or her. She could be a girl."
Logan smirks. "If it's a girl, God help the population of Pine Valley. I'll have to lock her in a tower until she's thirty."
"You'll be a giant teddy bear and she'll have you wrapped around her finger in five minutes."
He huffs but offers no denial. He pulls me into a hug, squeezing tight. "Let's go home. I'm done with work today."
"What about Austin? The ammo shipment?"
"Austin can handle it. I have more important things to do."
"Like what?"
He lifts me into his arms again, kicking the bathroom door open. "Like feeding my pregnant Old Lady and making sure she stays off her feet."
As we walk out, Austin looks up. He takes one look at Logan’s face—the fierce pride radiating off him—and then looks at me. He sees the flush on my cheeks, the way Logan carries me like precious cargo.
Austin sighs, a small smile touching his lips. "Congratulations, brother."
Logan nods. "I'm taking the truck. You ride the bike back later."
"Yeah, yeah. Get out of here."
We walk out into the bright sunshine of Main Street. The mountains loom tall and protective in the distance.
I rest my head against Logan’s shoulder as he carries me to his truck. I came to Pine Valley looking for a story. I found a monster in the woods who turned out to be the only safety I’ve ever known.
My hand rests on my stomach. The story is just beginning.
The End
Dear precious reader, thank you so much for reading Trapped by the President!
I couldn't leave Logan and Savannah behind without letting you witness the raw, primal life they’ve built together on the snowy summit of Grizzly Peak.
Feel the heat rise as the lethal President of Broken Halos claims his wife in a way that is both worshipful and wickedly obsessive, proving that some monsters only get more dangerous when they have something to protect.
P.S. If you enjoyed Logan’s dark, commanding presence, then I think you’ll enjoy Wrecked by the Vice President too!
Austin is a lethal, broad-shouldered biker who has been waiting ten years to wreck his childhood best friend's plans and claim her as his only chance.
Swipe to the next page for a sneak peek…