Epilogue
VIOLET
Two Months Later
The clubhouse has never looked like this.
Shelby hung string lights across the rafters of the common area and wrapped white fabric around every post and beam until the room looked like it belonged in a magazine, instead of being the clubhouse of an outlaw MC.
There are wildflowers in mason jars on every table. A three-tier cake sits on the bar. She had it shipped from Tucson because she didn't trust anyone in Ash Valley with buttercream.
Shelby did all of this with very little notice. I told her we didn’t need a reception.
Duke and I got married at the courthouse yesterday morning. We both wore jeans and our cuts. Leo sat on the judge’s desk and ate goldfish crackers through the vows. Duke held my hand, said the words, and kissed me so hard the judge coughed. That was enough for me.
It was not enough for Shelby.
“You’re getting a reception. Sit down and pick a color.”
I picked ivory, and then I picked out a matching sundress. She picked everything else.
And now I’m standing near the bar in that sundress. My ring catches the string lights every time I move my hand. The room is full of leather and laughter, and the bass from the speakers Crash insisted on hooking up.
Camilla is next to me with her son strapped into a baby carrier. She drove in from the other side of town this morning, showed up at the house with a garment bag and a bottle of wine, and tears already forming.
She hasn’t left my side since. Her baby is about four months old now, fat-cheeked and drowsy. Leo keeps trying to show him things—a napkin, a bottle cap, and a fistful of cake he stole when nobody was watching.
“He’s going to be a great big brother,” Camilla says, watching Leo hold up his dinosaur coloring book to the baby’s face. “When that happens.”
I take a sip of my drink and don’t answer that.
She bumps my shoulder. “You’re glowing.”
“That’s sweat. It’s eighty-five degrees.”
“You’re glowing, and I’m taking credit. I let you stay on my couch, and look where you ended up.”
She’s earned it. That couch, that cramped house, Tom’s polite discomfort—all of it led here. I squeeze her arm, and she squeezes back, and neither of us says anything else about it.
Crash lifts Leo off the ground and places him on his shoulders.
This is either the best or worst idea anyone has had tonight. Crash is two beers deep and doing laps around the common area with my son on top of him, and Leo has both fists locked in Crash’s hair and is steering him like a horse.
“Go!” Leo yells.
Crash moves left.
“No! Go!”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific on where I’m supposed to go, kid.”
Leo yanks his hair. Crash goes right, and Leo cheers.
Trapper is at the dessert table, loading a plate with a stack of cookies so tall it defies physics. He catches me looking and freezes.
“These are for the guys,” he explains.
“Really?”
“Fine, they’re for me.” He shrugs. “I’m a growing man, Violet.” He takes a cookie off the top and eats it whole, as evidence.
I laugh. “Eat all the cookies you want, Trapper.”
He nods in appreciation.
Joker is parked at the end of the bar with a whiskey. He lifts his glass an inch when I catch my eye.
Razor and Viper are at the far end of the bar, with shot glasses between them.
Razor fills each one like a man who takes his liquor seriously.
Viper picks one up, waits for Razor to match him, and they throw them back in sync.
No clink. No toast. They set the glasses down at the same time, and Razor refills without a word.
Saber cuts the music at nine to address the crowd.
The room goes quiet for the MC President.
He’s at the center of the room. Shelby is beside him, her hand resting on his arm. Duke is next to me, holding Leo, and Duke’s free hand is on the small of my back.
“One more thing before I let you get back to the cake.” Saber’s eyes scan the room. “Jinx. Get up here.”
Jinx pushes off the far wall. He’s healed completely from the ordeal he faced. He walks to Saber with his chin up and his fists clenched at his sides, and every patched member in the room knows what’s coming.
Saber holds up a cut. Full Hellborn Kings colors. Not a prospect patch. The real thing.
“You fought four men in a cattle barn and won. You got into a ring with a man twice your size and put him on the floor. You bled for this club.” Saber hands him the cut. “You’ve earned this.”
Jinx takes it. His hand is shaking. He stares at the patch on the cut for a long moment, and then he presses it to his chest with one hand, and the room explodes.
Every member is on their feet. Fists pounding tables, boots stamping. Crash lifts his beer so fast it sloshes over the rim. Trapper is clapping with a cookie in his mouth. Joker bangs his glass on the bar twice.
Duke is clapping beside me. Leo imitates him. His tiny hands slap together. He’s grinning, with no idea what’s happening, but thrilled to be part of it.
Jinx gets swarmed. Backs are slapped. Shoulders are grabbed. The newest Hellborn Kings member holds on to that cut like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
The music comes back on. The roar dissolves into laughter and clinking glasses, and the party resumes.
It’s past ten when I step outside.
Duke is talking to Saber indoors near the bar, but I wanted some fresh air.
The desert air is cool against my skin after the heat of the packed clubhouse. I lean against the railing on the front porch and let the noise drain out of me. Inside, the music is back up, and Leo is asleep in our clubhouse room with a babysitter.
Viper is outside.
He’s sitting on the porch steps, boots planted in the gravel, a bottle of water in his hand. He doesn’t look up when the door opens, but he shifts an inch to the left. Making room. An invitation from a man who doesn’t extend many.
I sit down next to him. The wood is rough under my dress, and I pull the fabric around my knees and settle.
We’re quiet for a while. The parking lot is full of bikes. The desert stretches flat and dark beyond the chain-link fence, and the sky is thick with stars the way it only gets out here, away from the city.
“Good party,” I say.
“Shelby.” One word. Full credit given and received.
I’m really lucky to have a friend like her.
“You didn’t dance,” I say to him.
“I don’t dance.”
“Ever?”
Viper takes a drink of his water. “Nope.”
The door opens behind us. Duke comes out, and the light from inside spills across the porch and disappears when the door swings shut. He lowers himself down on my other side, his thigh against mine, and drapes his arm across my lap.
He tips his head back and looks at the sky. “You guys solving the world’s problems out here?”
“I’m trying to find out if Viper dances.”
“He doesn’t,” Duke says. “I’ve known him for twelve years. Never once.”
Viper lifts the water bottle in confirmation.
The three of us sit on the steps. The bass from inside vibrates the porch under us. A warm breeze moves across the lot, carrying dust and the faint smell of tar.
I look at Viper. The enforcer. The quietest man in the club.
The one who shows up, does what needs to be done, and disappears.
He drove into the desert to bring me home when I was kidnapped.
He stood behind Duke to help rescue me, and then he pulled on gloves and handled what came next, so Duke didn’t have to.
He’s alone. Not lonely. I don’t think that’s the right word for a man like Viper.
“You know,” I say, nudging Duke’s knee with mine, “one day, Viper’s going to bring a woman to one of these things.”
Silence.
Duke turns to look at me. Then he turns to look at Viper.
Both of them laugh.
Not polite laughter. Real laughter.
“No,” Viper says.
“I’m serious.” I straighten up. “A woman is going to walk through those doors, and you’re going to lose your entire mind. And Duke and I are going to sit at this bar and enjoy every second of it.”
“Violet.” Viper looks at me, and there’s a flicker of amusement that vanishes as fast as it arrived. “Respectfully, no.”
Duke is grinning. “She’s going to be right. You know that.”
“She’s not.”
I pull my knees up and rest my chin on them. “You deserve someone, Viper. And when she shows up, you’re not going to know what hit you.”
He doesn’t answer. He finishes his water, crushes the bottle in one hand, and stands.
“Goodnight, Violet. Duke.” He pauses. “Congratulations.”
He walks down the steps and across the gravel lot, and I track his silhouette until it blends into the dark.
Duke pulls me into his side. His mouth presses to my temple. “You’re going to meddle, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“He’s going to hate that.”
“He’ll thank me later.”
Duke laughs against my hair and holds me tighter. My ring presses into his ribs where my hand rests against his chest.
I close my eyes and lean into my husband, and the Arizona night wraps around us. And I can’t imagine being anywhere else. This is home.