BLADE
Sheriff Bill Jenkins looked like he'd swallowed something sour as he stood in my clubhouse, notepad in hand, taking my statement about yesterday's incident at the clinic.
"So these three men just happened to break into the clinic while Miss Glover was doing inventory?" His skepticism dripped from every word.
"That's right." I kept my expression neutral. "Good thing Phoenix and Tank were nearby."
"Uh-huh. And the one with the gunshot wound?"
"Self-defense. He drew first."
Jenkins's jaw worked like he was chewing nails. "Convenient how these things always work out with you boys playing hero."
Behind him, Quinn—Deputy Jenkins—rolled her eyes at her father's attitude. She stood next to Wolf, my VP's arm possessively around her waist, living proof that cops and MCs could coexist. The sheriff's daughter had chosen our world, much to Bill's ongoing disgust.
"The criminals confessed," Quinn pointed out. "All three of them. Admitted to the threats, the stalking, the attempted theft. Case closed, Dad."
"It's Sheriff Jenkins on duty, Deputy," Bill snapped, but his daughter just smiled.
"Of course, Sheriff. Will that be all? I believe Mr. Beckett has club business to attend to."
Bill's gaze shifted to where Tiffany sat at the bar with Tara, both women watching our interaction.
My woman—and fuck, that still felt good to think—wore jeans that hugged her curves and one of my t-shirts knotted at her waist. The sight of her in my clothes, in my clubhouse, safe and whole, made my chest expand with something I was still learning to call happiness.
"We're done here," Jenkins said finally. "But Beckett? Try to keep the violence to a minimum. This is still my town."
"Our town," I corrected. "And we protect our own."
He left with a disgusted snort, Quinn throwing us an apologetic smile before following. The moment the door closed, the tension in the clubhouse evaporated.
"Sanctimonious prick," Phoenix muttered.
"His daughter makes up for it," Wolf said with a grin that would have gotten him punched if Quinn had seen it.
"Church in twenty," Viper announced from his position at the head of the table. "Got business to discuss."
I crossed to where Tiffany sat, her hand immediately finding mine.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"Perfect." I pulled her up, needing her closer. "How you feeling?"
"Safe. Happy." She pressed against me, soft curves molding to my body in ways that still made my brain short-circuit. "Wondering when you're going to make this official."
"Funny you should mention that." I pulled the leather from my back pocket—a patch that read "Property of Blade, Pike Creek Riders MC." "This is yours if you want it."
Tara squealed from beside us. "Oh my God, yes! Another old lady! We're going to be sisters!"
Tiffany took the patch, fingers tracing the letters. "Property?"
"It means you're mine. Protected by the club. Family." I cupped her face, making sure she understood. "It also means you're choosing this life. The danger, the judgment from people like Jenkins, all of it."
"I chose it the minute I walked into your apartment and didn't run from what I saw there." She went up on her toes, pressing her mouth to mine. "I choose you. All of you. The club, the life, everything."
"Church is starting," Viper called out, but his tone held amusement.
I kept Tiffany's hand in mine as we headed to the meeting room. Traditionally, old ladies didn't attend church, but this was about her.
"Brothers," I said once everyone was seated. "You all know what went down yesterday. The threat's been dealt with, but that's not why we're here."
I pulled Tiffany forward. "This is my woman. My old lady. I'm claiming her officially, asking for the club's blessing."
"About fucking time," Phoenix said, earning laughs around the table.
"Anyone got objections?" Viper asked, following protocol even though his smile said he already knew the answer.
"She makes damn good coffee," Phoenix offered.
"She patched me up after that bar fight last week," Tank added.
"She's got more balls than half the prospects," Crash said with approval. "Using herself as bait? That takes stones."
"All in favor?" Viper called.
Every hand went up. Unanimous.
"Then welcome to the family, Tiffany." Viper stood, offering his hand. "You need anything, any of us, any time, you call. That's what family means."
The next hour became an impromptu celebration.
Beers appeared, music cranked up, and Tara dragged Tiffany around introducing her to everyone as "Blade's old lady" with infectious enthusiasm.
I watched from my usual spot at the bar, something settling in my chest that had been fractured since Afghanistan.
"You look different." Dr. Tad's voice made me turn. The old doctor stood beside me, beer in hand despite it being barely noon.
"Didn't hear you come in."
"Viper called me. Said I should be here for the claiming." He studied me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "You look peaceful. First time I've seen that since you came to town."
"She makes it quiet," I admitted. "The noise in my head, the memories. When she's around, they don't scream as loud."
"That's what the right woman does. Makes us better than we were." He took a pull from his beer. "She's good people, that girl. Strong. Compassionate. Exactly what a broken soldier needs."
"Not broken anymore." The words came out sure, surprising me with their truth.
"No," Dr. Tad agreed. "Not anymore."
He clapped my shoulder and moved off to talk with Viper, leaving me to watch Tiffany navigate my world with natural grace.
She laughed at something Tara said, the sound hitting me in the chest. Her hand gestures animated her story, probably about yesterday's confrontation.
When she caught me watching, her whole face lit up.
"You gonna stand there staring, or you gonna come dance with your old lady?" she called out.
"I don't dance."
"You do now." She crooked her finger at me, and my feet moved without permission.
The classic rock playing wasn't exactly slow dance material, but Tiffany made it work, pressing close and swaying against me. Every curve fitted against me perfectly, like she'd been made specifically for my hands.
"Thank you," she said against my chest.
"For what?"
"For coming for me yesterday. For stopping those men. For this." She gestured at the clubhouse, the patch on the jacket Tara had given her. "For choosing me even though you thought you shouldn't."
"You chose me first." I tipped her chin up. "When I was pushing you away, being a coward, you stood your ground. You fought for us."
"Because I knew what we could be." Her hands slid up my chest. "I knew you were worth fighting for."
"I love you." The words came easier now, after saying them last night multiple times between rounds of showing her exactly how much. "Never thought I'd say that to anyone."
"I love you too. Scars, darkness, and all."
We swayed together, ignoring the faster beat of the music, lost in our own bubble. Around us, the clubhouse carried on—Phoenix and Tank arguing over a pool shot, Wolf arm-wrestling some prospect, Viper and Tara in their own corner being disgustingly romantic.
This was family. This was home. And now Tiffany was part of it.
"Move in with me officially," I said. "All your stuff, not just a bag."
"Already planning on it. Though your apartment needs work. Actual furniture. Maybe some color that isn't black or gray."
"Whatever you want."
She pulled back to look at me. "Whatever I want?"
"Within reason. No pink."
"What about throw pillows?"
"Don't push it."
Her laugh filled the space between us. "We'll negotiate. But I'm definitely getting better sheets. Those ones you have are scratchy."
"Didn't hear you complaining last night."
"I was distracted." She pressed closer, and I bit back a groan at the friction. "Very, very distracted."
"Keep that up and I'll distract you right here."
"Promises, promises."
The afternoon faded into evening, the impromptu party continuing. At some point, Buck showed up with wings from his bar. Elmer from the hardware store dropped by with his fiddle. Even Bea from the diner made an appearance.
I stood outside for a smoke break—a habit I was trying to quit now that I had reasons to live longer—when Tiffany found me.
"Hiding?" she asked.
"Thinking."
"About?"
"How different everything is. Week ago, I was alone in that apartment, convinced I'd die that way. Now..." I pulled her against my side. "Now I got you in my bed, throw pillows threatening my couch, and a future that doesn't end with me eating my gun."
She flinched at the casualness of my raw honesty, but didn't pull away. "You thought about that?"
"Most nights. Before you." I stubbed out the cigarette. "The dead brothers in my head got loud sometimes. Made sense to join them."
"And now?"
"Now they're quiet. Not gone, probably never will be completely. But they're not screaming anymore." I turned to face her fully. "You did that. You made it bearable."
"You did that yourself. I just reminded you there were reasons to fight through it."
A bike roared into the lot, interrupting the moment. One of the prospects, coming in hot with news.
"Boss," he called out, then caught himself. "Sorry, Viper. I mean…Shit—"
"Spit it out, kid," Viper said, appearing in the doorway.
"Those three from yesterday? Word is they rolled on their supplier. DEA's moving on a whole network. Sheriff wanted you to know the threat's completely done. No one's coming for the nurse."
Relief flooded through me even though I'd known they were handled. Official confirmation meant Tiffany was truly safe.
"Good work," Viper told the prospect. "Now get inside and grab a beer."
The kid scrambled inside, eager to please. Viper looked at me and Tiffany, something knowing in his expression.
"Threat's over," he said. "But I'm guessing you're keeping her anyway."
"Damn right I am."
"Good man." He headed back inside, leaving us alone again.
"So," Tiffany said, turning in my arms. "Threat's over. Guess you don't need to protect me anymore."
"Bullshit. I'll be protecting you until I'm dead. And probably after that too—I'll haunt anyone who tries to hurt you."
"Romantic." But she was smiling. "Take me home, Blade. Our home."
The words hit perfect. Our home. Our future. Our life.
The ride back to the apartment—our apartment—felt different. Tiffany pressed against my back, but it wasn't desperate anymore. It was comfortable. Settled. Right.
Inside, she looked around with new eyes, already planning changes I could see.
"That wall needs something. Photos maybe. And the kitchen needs actual food, not just protein powder and beer. And—"
I shut her up with a kiss, backing her toward the bedroom. "Tomorrow. Tonight, I want to worship my old lady properly."
"Didn't you do that thoroughly last night?"
"That was just the warm-up."
I laid her out on my bed—our bed—and took my time showing her exactly what it meant to be mine. Every soft curve got attention, every sensitive spot explored until she was writhing and begging. When I finally slid inside her, it felt like coming home.
After, we lay tangled together, her fingers tracing the bullet scar on my ribs.
"No more pushing me away," she said. "Ever."
"Never again. You're stuck with me now."
"Good." She pressed a kiss to the scar. "Because I'm never letting you go."
I pulled her closer, her hair tickling my nose—something floral that didn't belong in my stark apartment but made it better anyway.
Six months ago, I'd been a weapon without a war, a soldier without a mission, drowning in survivor's guilt and Jack Daniels.
Now I had purpose again. Not just the club, but this—protecting Tiffany, loving her, building something that wasn't about violence or brotherhood but about quiet mornings and shared dinners and someone who saw all my damage and wanted me anyway.
"I love you," I said into the darkness.
"I love you too," she replied, already half-asleep.
Tomorrow, she'd move all her things in. There'd be throw pillows and probably plants I'd forget to water.
She'd make the place brighter, softer, more alive.
She'd drag me to town events and make me be social.
She'd patch my wounds when club business got rough and call me on my bullshit when I tried to pull away.
Tomorrow, our life together officially started.
But tonight, holding her safe in my arms, feeling her heartbeat against my chest, I knew it had already begun. The moment she'd walked out of that clinic exam room, terrified but trying to be brave, my life had split into before and after.
This was after. This was better. This was home.
And I was never letting it go.