Epilogue #3
He was tall and on the lean side with a round face, black hair, pale skin, and dark blue eyes. And there was something wild in those eyes, something that made me clock his injuries once again.
What had he been up to?
And why would he show up here afterward?
“You know me. Why don’t I know you?”
“That’s kinda my question too,” Hail said, walking over to the cat tree that Coach had built and leaning his face in toward the cat, pressing a random kiss to the top of his head. Even Cat looked confused.
“Well, if you know me,” Slash said, “you know I’m not known for my patience. Get to the fucking point. Who are you and why are you here?”
“Told you who I am. Hail. Hail Quinn.”
“Wait…” Rook said, head cocking to the side.
Suddenly, something was ringing a bell for me too. I just couldn’t place it.
Slash was quick, though.
“Hail Quinn. You were in for stealing a cop car.”
Of course, Slash knew him by his crimes. He studied the guys in the prison, trying to decide who he thought might be a good fit for the club upon release. That was how he found Judge, Rook, Coach, Saint, and me.
Hail mimed firing a gun at Slash as he continued moving around the clubhouse, completely unbothered by the guns still pointed in his direction.
The front door opened, bringing in Saint and Syn, who gave us a shrug.
There was no one else.
Just this guy.
Picking up a drawing one of the kids had left on the coffee table, nodding, then putting it back down.
“You weren’t supposed to be out for another year.”
“Good behavior,” he said.
“Good behavior?” Slash asked, glancing at the guy’s face and hands.
“Oh, this,” Hail said, checking out his knuckles. “Wasn’t the only one who got out today. Ran into this Nazi fuck at the gas station. Decided his face needed some rearranging.”
“Why’d you steal a cop car?” Rook asked.
“Hm? Oh, dunno. Childhood dream, I guess. Always wanted to fuck with the sirens. Good times. Until they blew the tires out on me.”
“Alright. Let’s try this again. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Well, see, I heard things inside,” Hail said, grabbing someone’s cold coffee off the table, sniffing it, then taking a sip. “About a local biker club that recruits from the pool of guys getting released. Gotta say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get an invite.”
“Why the fuck would I invite you? You stole a cop car. You’re not some master criminal.”
It was then that Hail’s gaze cut to Slash, something devious in his eyes, almost as sinister as the smirk that toyed with his lips.
“That’s the hacker, right?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Rook. “Have him look into me. You guys got anything good to eat?” he asked, making his way into the kitchen, taking a sip of the stolen coffee, then his whiskey, as he went.
“Hey, Saint,” Slash called, eyeing the stranger as he opened the fridge and looked around. “Why don’t you, Syn, and Crow take our friend here into town? Get him some food. A couple drinks.”
The message was clear: get him out of here so we can research.
Luckily, Hail was just as eager to explore as the rest of us had been when we’d been released.
I remembered how badly I’d wanted food, a drink, and someone pretty to take home.
As soon as they were gone, we put away our guns and got to work.
“I know that look,” Detroit said, looking at Slash. “You like him.”
“He’s crazy. Crazy can be good for a club. But I want to know his past first.”
Luckily, Hail was not a common name.
It wasn’t hard to find out more about him.
His rap sheet was long and full of drunk and disorderly conduct and violence.
But he hadn’t done any long bids until the cop car shit.
Reading between the lines of his criminal history and some information Rook was able to find on the dark web, we felt pretty comfortable assuming that Hail had worked as hired muscle in the past. Over in Chicago, though.
We weren’t sure if he’d left before or if he’d been moved when he’d been convicted.
“You want him,” Detroit concluded when we’d done as much digging as we could.
“I think it’s worth giving him a shot to prospect. The guys will have more to say when they get back later.”
“Where’s he gonna go?” Saint asked. “I’m still using the room over the stationary store.”
The one major downfall of taking guys fresh out of prison was the whole parole situation, since most of us got out early and were stuck on that shit for at least a year.
Saint was getting close to being done.
But he couldn’t be rooming with another ex-con.
“Motel will work,” Slash said, shrugging. “Hail doesn’t seem like someone who will mind the accommodations. Hopefully, he gets Mike as a P.O. He’d be a fucking nightmare with Nancy.”
God, he’d be back in prison in a heartbeat with her. Rook barely managed to stay out, and he was toeing every line.
As it was, he was going to be hungover, if not still drunk, for his first check-in. And, you know, bloodied and bruised.
Still, I saw the glint in Slash’s eye.
He wanted Hail.
We had a new prospect for the club.
Colter - 12 months
“What’s that look for?” I asked when I walked into the clubhouse to find a bunch of the women standing around with strange smiles on their faces.
“Nothing,” Everleigh, a terrible liar, said with a squeaky voice.
“Are you guys up to something your men aren’t going to be happy about?” I asked, small eyeing them.
The last time they looked all suspicious, they’d been plotting an April Fool’s prank that ended up with glitter being embedded in my beard for weeks afterward.
“Not this time,” Murphy said, smirking.
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m buying that,” I said, shaking my head. “Where’s my woman? Is she involved in your scheming? Shit, she’s probably the ringleader,” I said, but I was smiling. Because I loved my messy, unpredictable, prickly, fearless woman.
“Upstairs,” Nyx said. She was probably the best liar of the bunch. If it weren’t for the others, I wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
“Guess I better go face whatever it is, huh?” I asked, not sure if I was excited or anxious about it. I guess it depended on what kind of scheme Dylan had cooked up.
As a whole, the last year had mostly been filled with getting to know each other more deeply and planning. A lot of planning.
Which training classes to take. What kind of training facility we wanted to open. If we wanted that or a home first. What we wanted in a house. A yard seemed to be the most important thing, since dogs were clearly going to be a big part of our lives.
We hadn’t made any big moves yet. We both seemed content with our room at the clubhouse, with our found family. But it was fun to talk about the future. And to watch how excited Dylan got about it.
She was still the woman she was a year ago. Just less guarded, quicker to smile and laugh, softer, warmer. It was amazing what a little safety and love could do for someone who’d never known it before.
I paused outside the door when I found it closed.
What was she up to?
But I pushed it open.
And I finally understood all the looks I’d gotten downstairs.
Because the room was fucking full of… gift baskets.
“What is this?” I asked, looking around at where the small ones were on the nightstands, on the dresser, the desk, and a much larger one on the bed.
Twelve.
There were twelve of them.
“Surprise!” Dylan said, throwing her arms out, making Sugar let out a little yip of excitement.
“We met a year ago today,” she told me. As if I needed a reminder.
That was not something a man forgot: the day he met the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
“So I made you a basket for every month.”
“Baby,” I said, surprised by the rush of emotion.
It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten me a gift. I’d had a birthday since we met. We’d celebrated Christmas and exchanged presents.
But this—this was different.
“To be completely transparent, I totally had to ask all the guys and the girls for ideas. Because baskets are not exactly my forte. But I think we did pretty good.”
Her smile was a little crooked, a bit uncertain, unsure of herself and her grand gesture.
“You did fucking amazing,” I told her, stalking forward to frame her face in my hands, then press a long, lingering kiss to her lips.
Until she was swaying on her damn feet. “And we’re gonna go through all of it together.
But first, I gotta show you my appreciation,” I said, lowering down to my knees in front of her, and reaching up to pull down her shorts and panties.
Dylan - 7 years
“That’s a good baby,” I cooed at the yellow Lab puppy at my feet.
She was going to be a service dog for someone who was visually impaired.
There were four other pups in the class: two Goldens and two more Labs.
We’d had some success with other breeds, but in general, there was a reason service dogs were most often these breeds.
They were biddable, friendly, smart, and eager to please.
And the high food drive didn’t hurt when it came to training.
They weren’t all going to be seeing-eye dogs, though.
One had shown an aptitude for sensing seizures.
Another had a nose for gluten, so he was going to go to someone with a severe allergy once we were sure he was fully trained.
The remaining two were perfectly suited for mobility assistance.
They would be trained to retrieve things, turn on lights, open doors—anything someone with limited mobility might struggle with.
It wasn’t our only focus—service dogs. But it was our most important work.
Service dog training was a huge commitment.
Most dogs needed at least a year of extensive training.
And it was rewarding and heartbreaking at the same time.
It was always hard to let them go, even if they were never ours from the beginning.
So, to mitigate those complex emotions, we only did small groups and agreed to have a year break between.