Epilogue Zara
After getting dressed, I sit on the bed and reluctantly pull out my phone.
Staring at it, I can’t bring myself to make the call to my father.
I laugh at myself because Dad was always the person I never hesitated to call when I needed someone.
He has always been there for me. He was my hero, until a few hours ago, when I learned he stole money, which almost got me murdered in the most horrific way imaginable.
Taking a deep breath, I place the call.
“Zara, you’re okay?” he asks. His eyes are red and puffy, so I know he’s been crying. Seeing this softens my heart some. I know he would never purposely put me in danger.
“I’m fine. Bush and the others rescued me.”
“Is Bush there? I want to thank him…”
“He had some business to attend to and thought I should make this call on my own. Why did you do it, Dad? Why did you take the money? Didn’t you think they’d want it back?”
“I don’t know what to say. It was stupid of me, and I know it.
If I had any idea that they’d have come after you…
” He pauses. “I guess I should have realized that was a possibility. I accessed their accounts to recover the money they took from us. When I saw how much they had, I thought it was all stolen from our friends and neighbors. That’s why I took it.
So I could return the money. When I finished doing all that, I realized that I still had millions.
I couldn’t give it back, so I used it to give us a new life.
If I thought it would come back to hurt you, I never would have taken the money. ”
“I understand what you did and why you did it,” I assure him. “I’m not angry. Although I wasn’t happy when I heard what they had planned for me, I know you never would put me in danger.”
“You forgive me?”
“Of course, I forgive you, you’re my dad.”
“How was the fashion show?” he asks, changing the subject. I tell him everything, including how I’ve developed new designs to help women protect themselves.
“That will give you something to work on when you get home,” he says, just as the door opens and Bush walks in.
“That’s another reason why I called,” I say, never taking my eyes off Bush. “I’m staying here in Chicago. I want to be with Bush. Designers have shown interest in my work. I think I have a chance to make something of myself here, and now that I’ve found Bush, I don’t want to leave.”
Bush’s grin is wide as he moves to sit next to me on the bed. He leans over to kiss my temple before turning his attention to my dad.
“Hey, Fred,” Bush greets him. “I told you that we’d save our girl.”
“I can’t thank you enough for rescuing her, but now it seems like you’re keeping her,” Dad says, his tone resentful.
“I’m going to help her achieve her dream,” Bush says. “She has amazing talent and brilliant ideas. She’s bound to be a success whether she stays here or returns to you. However, she’ll have a better chance to build that future here. We’ll protect her. I’m hoping she’ll stay here with me.”
“What about the Bushrangers?” Fred asks. “Are they still a problem?”
I glance at Bush, who shakes his head. “You won’t have to worry about them. I can’t say more than that.”
“Good,” my father says with grim satisfaction. I feel the same way.
Music thumps through the floorboards as Bush and I make our way down the stairs into the clubhouse common room. The bass vibrates up through the soles of my boots, and the closer we get, the louder the laughter and shouting become. Someone whoops loudly, followed by the clinking of bottles.
Bush glances down at me with a crooked grin. “Looks like the party already started.”
The moment we step into the room, a cheer erupts.
The Demon Dawgs fill the space—bikers in leather kuttes, women dancing, bottles raised in celebration. Empty beer bottles already clutter the tables. My heart squeezes. They did this for us—Tony and me.
Before I can take more than two steps, Tony barrels toward me like an overexcited golden retriever.
“Zara!”
He grabs both my hands and practically bounces on his toes. His dark curls are even wilder than usual, and his eyes are shining.
“You will not believe the call I just got.”
I laugh. “Tony, breathe.”
“No, listen!” He leans closer, lowering his voice even though the music makes it nearly impossible for anyone to overhear. “Stefano Bellanti.”
My brain freezes.
“Wait… what?”
“Stefano Bellanti,” he repeats, almost reverently.
For a moment, the entire room seems to fade away. The music. The shouting. The smell of beer and leather.
Stefano Bellanti.
One of Chicago’s most celebrated designers.
Tony squeezes my hands harder. “He was at the show. He loved our work. Loved it. Zara, he offered me a position at his fashion house.”
My mouth falls open.
“Oh my God, Tony.”
“I know!” he exclaims. “I thought I was going to faint.”
Bush chuckles beside me, folding his arms as he watches Tony vibrate with excitement.
Tony continues breathlessly, “But that’s not the best part.”
“There’s more?”
“He’s been trying to reach you.”
My stomach flips.
“Me?”
Tony nods eagerly. “He said he wants to talk to you about your designs. Apparently, the event coordinator gave him your contact info.”
For a moment, I can’t speak.
The idea that someone like Stefano Bellanti might want to work with me feels surreal.
Tony beams. “Can you imagine?”
The excitement in his voice fills me with warmth—and something else. Something heavier. Because even as the possibility sparks in my chest, another thought pushes forward. My other designs. Designs that help women keep themselves safe.
Tony squeezes my arm. “What do you think?”
“I…” My voice trails off.
“I mean,” he continues excitedly, “this is everything we’ve worked for.”
He’s right. But the images flooding my mind aren’t runways and spotlights.
They’re only sketches right now, but I can see them out there in the world. Hidden pockets for holding blades and other defensive weapons. Clothes that let women leave their homes and still feel safe.
“I want to design something different,” I say slowly.
Tony tilts his head. “Different how?”
I describe my ideas to Tony.
“Hold up.”
Viper appears beside us, a beer bottle dangling from her fingers.
“Are you talking about your new designs?”
I hesitate, suddenly aware that several nearby bikers have gone quiet.
“Well…” I glance at Bush before continuing. “I’ve been working on designs that let women carry weapons.”
Viper’s eyes light up immediately.
“Say that again.”
“Clothes with built-in compartments,” I explain. “Hidden holsters. Places to stash blades or small firearms. Dresses, jackets, even evening wear. I got the idea from you and Izzy.”
Her grin spreads slowly.
“Oh hell yes.”
She grabs my wrist.
“Come on.”
Before I know what’s happening, she’s pulling me across the room toward one of the long tables.
Chill sits at the table with Chrome and Cicely, drinks scattered across the surface.
Viper plants me in front of them like she’s presenting a prizefighter.
“Tell them.”
Chill raises an eyebrow. “Tell us what?”
“Her designs,” Viper says eagerly. “You’re gonna love this.”
Everyone looks at me.
My cheeks warm, but excitement pushes the nerves aside.
“I’ve been sketching clothes that let women carry weapons without anyone noticing,” I explain. “Structured jackets with shoulder holsters built into the lining. Dresses with reinforced seams that hide slim blades. Boots with concealed compartments.”
Cicely leans forward immediately.
“Oh, my God.”
I keep going, the ideas spilling out.
“Even formal gowns with hidden thigh holsters. The goal is that a woman can defend herself anywhere—without sacrificing style.”
Chill whistles softly.
“That’s actually brilliant.”
Bush steps closer, resting his hands on the back of my chair.
“I’ve seen the sketches,” he says. “They’re damn good.”
Pride warms my chest at the quiet certainty in his voice.
Chrome studies me thoughtfully.
“So you’re talking about a whole line.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Clothes that look elegant or fashionable—but are actually armor in disguise.”
Cicely smiles slowly.
“I’d wear that.”
“Hell,” Viper adds, “most of the Old Ladies would.”
Bush nods.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Everyone looks at him.
“The club could back Zara,” he says simply.
Chrome’s head jerks toward Bush. “What?”
Bush shrugs. “We’re always looking for new businesses. If we finance the line, I think we could have a profitable business.”
Chrome leans back in his chair, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.
“You might be onto something.”
Bush continues, “Our women would love this stuff. Hell, women everywhere would.”
Chill taps the table.
“And distribution wouldn’t be hard.”
Chrome glances at him.
“What are you thinking?”
Chill grins.
“Vegas.”
My brow furrows.
“Zara can sell the line through the casino.”
“Casino?” I repeat.
“1%,” Viper explains. “When Puma took over as President, he funneled money from his playing days into building a casino with a biker theme. It’s pretty popular. It’s also a hotel with a shopping mall.”
The idea hits me like lightning. I could create a women's clothing line, financially backed by the Demon Dawgs. It’s like a dream come true. My pulse starts racing.
“You really think one of the stores would sell my line?”
Chill snorts.
“Puma will likely give you your own storefront. He loves supporting up-and-comers. Tourists spend fortunes in the shops. Your designs would appeal to not only bikers who frequent the casino, but the average tourist who hit 1% because they like the thrill of brushing elbows with outlaws.”
Bush squeezes my shoulder gently. “Imagine all the women you can help by giving them ways to protect themselves. They can walk around with confidence knowing they have the tools to protect themselves.”
“We could create jewelry that converts into weapons,” Viper adds.
“We could also package our own defense items like pepper spray and stun guns,” Chill says. “Create an entire store focused on women keeping themselves safe. I think it will be a big hit.”
I’m picturing the store in my mind when Chrome’s phone rings. I’m not paying attention to him until he lets out a string of heated cusswords.
“What the fuck do you mean? He took her? Why? I’m on my way.”
Chrome ends the call and turns to Bush.
We have to go, the job Piston was working tonight? Something went wrong, and Piston took off with the guy’s wife. The husband claims Piston kidnapped her.”
The End
He thought the worst was behind them… until Piston made a choice that could destroy everything the Demon Dawgs have built. When a brutal rescue turns into a declaration of war, the club is forced to stand against a powerful enemy who doesn’t lose.
In Piston’s Penance, loyalty is tested, blood will be spilled, and one man’s past might cost them all. Piston’s Penance will be available