Epilogue
“This is nicer than I expected,” I admitted as Colter, Syn, and I walked down the road toward the main street of Shady Valley.
Colter was walking Mack, I was walking Molly, and Syn was walking Sugar.
Because of their bond, sure, but also because of his bum arm and all of us knowing that she was well-behaved on a walk, so he wouldn’t have to worry about needing both his hands to steady her if something spooked her.
I was still getting to know Mack and Molly.
It was going to take weeks, if not months, for them to decompress and fully come out of their shells.
And by then, we’d also be dealing with a litter.
But only a small one. The vet said it was likely because she’d already had a litter not long ago.
But she was only carrying three puppies.
I had a feeling Syn might want to take one.
We’d have to find good homes for the other two.
Because as much as I suddenly wanted to have all the dogs, I knew we were living at the clubhouse, and having three large breed dogs was already a little much, considering there were several other dogs in and out of the club.
And, well, Cat and the Rotties weren’t fans of each other.
“What is?” Syn asked.
“I don’t know. Being here, I guess,” I admitted. “This town. It’s not a town that, you know, looks great when you first come through. But it grows on you. I actually found myself kind of missing it while we were away.”
“I get that. I wasn’t impressed when I was released either,” Colter agreed.
“Probably wouldn’t have given the place a chance if my brother wasn’t stuck here because of parole,” Syn added. “But it’s grown on me.”
“It’s home,” Colter agreed as we closed in on the main street.
When, suddenly, there was a loud bang that had all three of us jolting. Sugar whined. Mack barked frantically and yanked at his leash. Molly cowered.
Colter and I shared a look.
We knew that sound.
And it was close.
Colter reached for his waistband and handed me Mack’s leash before moving toward the parking lot behind an abandoned building where the sound came from.
I knew from the way his shoulders went slack that there was no active threat before he even turned toward us.
“Syn, take our guns and go to The Bog,” Colter said, coming back and reaching for his phone instead.
“Is someone dead?” I asked, surprised at how calm my tone was.
But, well, a lot of people were dead now.
I was kind of numb to it.
“Yeah. Gotta call it in.”
Syn took the guns and walked a few feet toward the pub, moving inside, disappearing for just long enough for Colter to make the call to the cops, then coming back like nothing had happened.
“Cillian hid the guns for us,” he said, his voice low as a few more people who heard the gunshot started to make their way toward us.
The sirens came just seconds later.
“Did you see who it was?” someone asked, moving closer and looking at Colter.
I had no idea who he was, but he was tall and fit in a dark gray suit, with a handsome face, and stormy blue eyes.
“Yeah,” Colter said. Then, seeing my interest, he added, “Rian, this is Dylan. Dylan, this is Rian Murphy. He and his brothers own the pub.”
And were the Irish mafia in the area.
I’d gotten the lowdown about the major players in Shady Valley on the drive back.
There were the Murphy brothers: Cillian, Sean, Rian, Conor, and Eoin. They were the mob. They owned The Bog, and they employed Detroit’s cousin, Lula, who cooked their books.
Then there was the Novikoff family: the brothers, Konstantin and Mikhail, and the sisters, Katarina and Anastasia. They were Bratva and owned the pool hall, of all things.
Then there was Czar Petcova—Nyx’s ex—and Erion Kadare. Czar used to be in the Bulgarian mob. But the two men were independent now, working together to corner the drug trade in the area.
I’d been surprised to hear how many crime syndicates were working in such a small town.
But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.
Small towns meant small police forces that didn’t have great resources or a lot of training.
It wouldn’t be hard to grease the hands of guys like that to look the other way.
There were geographical advantages to Shady Valley, too.
The Death Valley mountains stood behind it, hard to pass, making it difficult to sneak into town from that direction.
Everywhere else was flat. You could see people coming down the road for miles.
Add in the ghost town vibes and the prison that kept most normal families away, and, yeah, I got it.
“Nice to meet you,” Rian said. “Who?” he asked, tense.
“The guy who just got out. The rapist,” Colter explained.
“Huh. Well, one less thing to worry about,” Rian said, clapping Colter on the shoulder before walking back into the pub.
The police came, checking on the body, putting up tape, and pushing us back. All the usual shit.
“What is this?” a woman asked, moving into the small crowd that still remained.
She was tall and slim, with the kind of curves that made men’s mouths water. Her inky black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that only put her gorgeous face on display. She was dressed in tight black pants, a black tank top, and black combat boots. And she had a slight Russian accent.
“Hey, Stas. The guy who just got out of prison,” Colter explained.
“The rapist,” Stas said.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my. What a… shame,” she said, her tone dry. When I glanced at her, there was an icy smile toying with her lips. “Anyway… who is this sweet baby?” she cooed at Molly as she reached to pet her.
My gaze found Colter’s over her bent body.
And we both thought the same thing.
Knew the same thing.
Stas had killed the rapist.
Judging by her tone, it wasn’t even because she’d been assaulted by the guy. She had just been… cleaning up the streets.
“She’s gonna have puppies,” I told her. “If you are looking for a dog in the future.”
Stas straightened. “Let me know if there are any females,” she said. “Bitches are more loyal.”
With that, she strutted off like nothing had happened.
“So, that’s Stas,” I said with a little laugh.
“I’d say this was unusual for her,” he said, glancing over toward the lot.
“But she’s every bit the cold-blooded killer she comes off as?”
“Exactly.”
“I kinda like her.”
“Of course you do,” Colter said, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close enough to press a kiss to my temple.
We stuck around to give our statements, which all matched since we didn’t actually see anything—just heard the pop, saw the body, and called the cops.
But it was almost two hours later when we got to head back toward the clubhouse.
“I’d say this was an unusual night,” Colter said, “but shit is always going down around here.”
“Sounds like the perfect place for people like us to call home,” I said.
“Yeah, it does.”
Colter - 3 weeks
Molly was the one who was pregnant, but it was Dylan who was heavy into nesting mode.
Before she moved in, my room felt, I dunno, homey enough to me. But that wasn’t really saying much, since I was used to nothing being a home, to everything being kind of cold, hard, and temporary.
To me, my room was decorated because it had a bed, nightstands, and a dresser. And I only had the nightstands because Coach had built them for me.
But Dylan was quickly showing me how empty it had been.
First came the carpets—two of them, because the room was so big.
“The dogs need them for traction,” she told me as she unrolled one rug while I held up the edge of the bed for her to slide it under.
The dog beds were expected.
Then there was a couch.
Lamps.
A decorative storage cabinet she asked Coach to make to store extra treats in.
Then there were extra blankets and pillows.
A desk and chair so she could sit and watch dog training videos and take notes.
Next came Molly’s whelping pen.
Which was practically fucking designer. I was tempted to sleep in the damn thing.
Molly agreed. She kept stealing all the toys for all the club animals and putting them in the pen.
Apparently, that behavior would only get stronger as she got closer to delivery.
All the blankets, towels, or pillows she could find would end up there.
So Dylan was prepared with a bunch of them just for her.
“Need a hand?” I asked as she pushed open the bedroom door and came in carrying four stacked delivery boxes.
“No, I…” The top box crashed to the floor. “Yes,” she admitted with an eye roll.
With a little chuckle, I got off the bed and helped her with the boxes.
“What’d you order?” I asked.
“Just some things for the puppies: shampoo, little collars, enzyme cleaner, litter boxes, substrate. I’ve been watching some videos from some ethical breeders explaining how they start potty training puppies way before they ever go to their forever homes.
I want to give it a try. Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?
” she asked, petting Mack’s blocky head as he slept on our bed, his cone of shame around his face.
We’d had him fixed two days before. So far, he’d been handling it like a champ. Though an argument could be made for the pain meds he was on.
Mack let out a loud exhale.
“I know. Just wait until you see you’ve got bits missing,” she said with a head shake. “But we don’t need any more puppies. Your stud days are behind you. Where’s Sugar?” she asked, spotting Molly asleep on the couch.
“Syn took her for a walk. She’s not happy that you left without her.”
“I know. I’m trying to ease her into it.”
Dylan had decided to get herself a continuous glucose monitor once Rook assured her that she could log her data anonymously with a burner phone.
There was no way it linked back to her if she didn’t want it to.
So she never had to worry about the cops possibly using it to track her (or our) movements.
She’d been nervous about it at first, had been annoyed at the little plastic circle on the back of her arm.