Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Kelsey
Six Months Later…
I stand at the window of our house—not my apartment, not Boulder's clubhouse room, but our house—watching the early morning light spill across the backyard.
Luna, the tabby I ended up adopting from the café, stretches lazily on the windowsill beside me, soaking in the same sunbeams that warm my skin.
So much has changed since that night, when Benji was captured, when everything I'd been running from finally caught up to me.
And yet, standing here in the kitchen of the house the club helped us buy on the same street the club is on, I feel something I never thought I'd feel again—peace.
Rosa and Ruby live a few doors down, but if you ask me Boulder and I are the luckier ones.
We’re not stuck right up against another person in a duplex, but I mean they probably love it since Axel and Zorro are so close. Axel’s little sister is married to Zorro.
Behind me, I hear the familiar sound of Boulder's footsteps on the tile floor.
His arms slide around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder as he presses a kiss to the side of my neck.
"Morning, Montana," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep. "What's got you up so early?"
I lean back against his chest, enjoying the solid warmth of him. "Just thinking about everything. Six months today."
He doesn't need to ask what I mean. Six months since Benji. Six months since Sally. Six months of building this life together, piece by piece.
"Any regrets?" he asks, his hands tracing lazy patterns across my stomach.
I turn in his arms, looking up into his face—the face that has become home to me in ways I never imagined possible. "Not a single one."
His smile, still rare but becoming more frequent, makes my heart skip.
He looks younger when he smiles, less like the dangerous biker the world sees and more like the man only I get to know.
"Good," he says simply, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Because today's gonna be a good day."
He's right.
Today is Sam's first day as a prospect.
They even helped him pick a road name—Compass.
He decided on it because he says it reflects his moral direction. It’s deep, but why wouldn’t it be? Sam always has been.
After everything that happened, Sam decided to stay in Chihuahua.
At first it was to be close to me, then later because he found something unexpected with the club—a purpose, a family that chose him rather than demanded loyalty through blood.
Sam ended up staying at our place last night, nervous jitters I think. But starting tonight, he’ll be living in the clubhouse with the rest of the prospects full time.
I head into the kitchen where he sits at the eat-in table. "Is my baby brother nervous?" I ask, grabbing the coffee pot.
I fish three mugs out of the cabinet and pour us all a mug.
Boulder snorts, accepting the cup I hand him. "He’s trying not to show it, but yeah. Fucker spent half the night at the garage working on Axel's bike until he mosied his way down here, said he couldn't sleep."
I smile, picturing Sam—still quiet, still watchful, but steadier now, more confident—trying to burn off nervous energy by tinkering with engines.
He's found his place at the club garage, showing a talent for mechanics that surprised everyone, most of all himself.
I hand Sam a mug and he shoots me a smile in return.
"And Brick?" I ask, "Any word?"
Boulder's expression shifts, a darkness passing behind his eyes. "Still nothing concrete. But he's not giving up. None of us are."
Brick left three months ago, following a lead about Lashes in Eastern Europe.
The club has called in every favor, used every connection—including Alejandro's cartel contacts—trying to track her through the trafficking networks Sally sold her into.
So far, there have been whispers, possible sightings, but nothing solid.
It's the one wound that hasn't healed, the one shadow that still falls across the club.
"He'll find her," I say with more conviction than I feel. "He has to."
Boulder nods, setting down his coffee to pull me against him again. "He will. And when he does, we'll bring her home. She’s his best friend, you know. He’s not gonna let her be used and abused."
The certainty in his voice steadies me, as it always does.
In the months since he received his full patch, Boulder has become one of Amara's most trusted brothers, his voice carrying weight in church that’s surprising for being so newly patched in.
The club respects him not just for his loyalty or his skills, but for the control he maintains, the focus he brings to every task.
Qualities they attribute, at least partly, to me.
"Old lady magic," Oakleigh called it once, laughing. "You're Boulder's anchor."
The irony isn't lost on either of us—the man who once proclaimed old ladies were nothing but dead weight now proudly wears my crow on his arm, a tattoo he got just a month after receiving his patch.
A permanent declaration of what we mean to each other.
"What time do we need to be at the clubhouse?" I ask, glancing at the clock.
"Noon," Boulder replies, releasing me to reach for his coffee again. "Gives you plenty of time to finish that piece for Astra."
The piece—a large canvas depicting Luna and the other café cats lounging in patches of sunlight—is my latest commission.
After Astra hung some of my sketches in the café, customers started asking if they could buy prints.
Now I split my time between working shifts at CatsAndJava and drawing in the small studio Boulder converted for me in one of our three spare bedrooms.
It's not the life I'd imagined for myself, but it's better than anything I could have dreamed up.
"I just need to add some highlights to Luna's fur," I say, already mentally thinking about the colors I’ll need. "Shouldn't take more than an hour."
Boulder watches me, a familiar warmth in his eyes. "I'm proud of you, you know. Building something for yourself here."
The simple praise means more coming from him than it would from anyone else.
Boulder doesn't waste words, doesn't offer empty compliments. When he says he's proud, he means it.
"Couldn't have done it without you," I reply, setting my mug in the sink. "Without the club."
He shakes his head, coming to stand beside me. "You would have found your way eventually. That's who you are, Montana. A survivor. I just made the road a little easier."
I lean up to kiss him, soft and sweet, before heading toward my studio. "A lot easier," I correct him. "And a lot less lonely."
The hours pass quickly, my attention absorbed in the play of light across Luna's fur, the subtle shift of colors needed to capture her essence on canvas.
By the time I set down my pencils, satisfied with the final result, it's nearly eleven.
I shower quickly, changing into the outfit I've laid out for today—dark jeans, a black tank top that shows off the small Reapers Rejects emblem tattooed on my shoulder blade, and Boulder's old prospect cut. He gave it to me the day after he received his full member cut, insisting it looked better on me anyway.
At the clubhouse, the atmosphere is contagious. Everyone is in a great mood, and the prospects are setting up for the party, old ladies are organizing food, and patched members are gathering in small groups, talking quietly.
Astra spots me as soon as I enter, breaking away from a conversation with Ruby to rush over and hug me.
"The drawing is gorgeous," she gushes, pulling back to look at me. "Python hung it this morning. Customers are already asking if you can take more commissions."
I smile, warmed by her enthusiasm. "Tell them to leave their info. I'll see what I can do."
"You better," she says, linking her arm through mine as we move deeper into the clubhouse. "You've got talent, girl. Don't waste it."
Astra leads me to where the other old ladies have gathered, sliding seamlessly into their circle.
It still amazes me sometimes, how completely I've been accepted here.
These women who once seemed so intimidating—Astra with her fiery confidence, Oakleigh with her artistic soul, Ruby with her no-nonsense attitude—have become my closest friends, my chosen sisters.
"There she is," Oakleigh calls, making room for me on the couch. "The woman who tamed Boulder."
I roll my eyes at the familiar teasing. "Pretty sure he's still wild."
"Yeah, but now he's wild for you," Ruby chimes in, and the women break into laughter.
Across the room, I spot Sam talking with Python near the bar.
He looks nervous but determined in his new prospect cut, the bottom rocker empty but the top already bearing his road name: Compass.
When he sees me, his face breaks into a smile—a real one, not the guarded expression he wore for so long in Montana.
He excuses himself from Python and makes his way over to me.
"Hey, sis," he says, pulling me into a hug.
"Nervous?" I ask when we separate.
He shrugs, trying for nonchalance but not quite achieving it. "A little. Mostly excited."
"You're going to do great," I assure him. "You've already proven yourself to them."
And he has. In the months since the warehouse, Sam has become an integral part of the club, even if he is just a prospect.
"Boulder says it's a long road to a full patch," Sam says, glancing around the room. "Says I shouldn't expect it for at least two years, maybe three."
"Boulder took a few years," I remind him. "And half of that was him being a stubborn ass."
Sam laughs, the sound still rare enough to make me smile. "Yeah, well, I plan to be less stubborn."
"Good strategy."
The conversation pauses as Amara's voice cuts through the chatter, calling everyone to attention.
As the room reorganizes—members gathering in a rough circle, old ladies and friends on the outskirts—I find myself standing next to Astra, her hand finding mine in silent support.
"You okay?" she whispers as Sam moves to stand before Amara.
I nod, emotion suddenly thick in my throat. "Just proud of him."
Proud doesn't begin to cover it.
Watching my baby brother—the only family I have left from before—take this step, choose this path, fills me with a mix of emotions.
Joy, yes, but also relief, gratitude, and a protectiveness that reminds me of how Boulder must feel about me.
Amara speaks about loyalty, about brotherhood, about the responsibilities of prospecting.
She emphasizes that the road ahead won't be easy, that Sam will be tested in ways he can't imagine, but that if he stays true to the club and himself, he'll find a family stronger than blood.
The clubhouse erupts in cheers and applause, brothers stepping forward to clap Sam on the back, to welcome him officially into the fold.
I hang back, letting him have this moment with his new brothers, until Boulder appears at my side.
"He'll be good for the club," he says, his arm sliding around my waist. "Strong, like his sister."
Everything transitions into celebration, music starts playing, drinks flow freely, and the mood lightens.
I find myself moved from group to group, accepting congratulations for Sam, catching up with club members and their families.
It's during a quiet moment, when I've stepped outside for some fresh air, that I spot a familiar figure leaning against a bike at the edge of the lot.
For a heartbeat, old fear flares—but then I recognize the silhouette.
Brick.
I haven't seen him in months, not since he left to search for Lashes.
He looks thinner, harder, his face weathered by whatever he's seen on his journey.
"Brick!" I call, approaching cautiously. "When did you get back?"
He straightens, offering a tired smile. "Bout an hour ago. Didn't want to interrupt anyone’s good time."
"Any news?" I ask, though his expression already tells me the answer.
He shakes his head. "Leads in Bulgaria, Romania. Nothing solid yet." His eyes meet mine, determination burning in them. "But I'm close. I can feel it."
"The club misses you," I say, not knowing what else to offer. "Boulder’s worried about you, even if he’d totally deny it."
Brick's smile turns wry. "Tell him I'm fine. Tell him I won't stop until I find her."
I nod, understanding the promise in his words. "I will."
He glances toward the clubhouse, where the party continues unaware of his presence. "I'm not staying. Just came to resupply, check in with Amara. Heading out again tomorrow, as long as she doesn’t stop me."
"You should at least come in, get some real food," I suggest. "Say hello to everyone."
But he's already shaking his head. "Not yet. Not until I have something real to report." His eyes soften slightly. "I’d rather be in and out. Don’t want to stick around long, get caught in whatever’s going on around here. Not until I find her at least."
Before I can respond, he's mounting his bike, the engine roaring to life.
I watch until he disappears from sight, then turn back toward the clubhouse, toward the light and noise and family waiting inside.
Toward Boulder, who stands in the doorway watching me, his expression shifting. "Was that—?" he begins as I reach him.
"Brick," I confirm. "Just checking in. He's still looking."
Boulder nods, pulling me against his chest. "He'll find her."
"I know," I whisper against his cut. "Just like you found me."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Best thing I ever did."
Inside, the party continues, Sam now surrounded by prospects getting a taste of what lies ahead.
He catches my eye across the room, raising his beer in a silent toast. I smile, lifting my own drink in return.
We've both found our place in this unconventional family. Both shed the weight of our past to build something new.
Later, as Boulder and I dance slowly in a corner of the main room, his arms around my waist, my head on his chest, I think about the journey that brought us here.
From that first night in Montana to now, every step, every choice, every moment of fear and courage.
"What are you thinking about?" Boulder asks, his voice rumbling beneath my ear.
"Just that I never imagined ending up here," I admit. "In Mexico, with a biker, surrounded by a family that isn't blood but feels more real than the one I was born into."
His arms tighten around me. "Any regrets?"
I shake my head, looking up at him. "Not one. You?"
"Only that I wasted years thinking old ladies were dead weight," he says, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. "I would’ve scooped you up that first time if I wasn’t so damn hard headed."
The simple truth of his words warms me from the inside out. "I love you, Boulder."
"Love you too, Montana," he replies, smiling with that shit-eating grin of his. "More than I ever thought possible."
As the night winds down, as we say goodbye to friends and brothers, we walk down to our house across the street with Luna waiting for us, I feel a certainty I never expected to find again.
I'm not running anymore.
I'm not hiding.
I'm home.
And while shadows still linger—Lashes still missing, Benji still existing in that facility in Arizona without hands or feet, a living reminder of what cruelty costs—they no longer define me.
What defines me now is this: Boulder's hand in mine, the club at our backs, and a future stretching before us.
I have my happily-ever-after, and I’m proof that the best people can change.