Chapter 24
The pavilion was packed.
Float stood at the edge of the crowd, watching brothers and old ladies and families fill the compound's covered gathering space.
Torches burned at the corners, casting flickering light across faces he'd come to know over the past months—men who'd fought beside him, women who'd welcomed the photographer he loved, children who'd grown up in this life and understood its rhythms without being told.
This was his family now. His brotherhood. His home.
And in a few minutes, it would be official.
"You ready?" Cottonmouth appeared beside him, expression unreadable in the torchlight.
"Yeah." Float's voice was steady. "I'm ready."
"You've earned this." Cottonmouth clasped his shoulder briefly. "Everything you did for the club—the river runs, the intel work, the way you handled Garvey's operation. Still doesn't hand out patches to men who haven't proven themselves."
"I know."
"And the claiming—" Cottonmouth's mouth curved into something that might have been a smile. "She's good for you. Anyone can see it."
Float looked across the pavilion to where Delaney stood with the old ladies. She was wearing a dress he'd never seen before—something dark and elegant that the women had probably helped her choose—and her borrowed camera hung around her neck like always.
She caught his eye and smiled. That smile still hit him like a punch to the chest.
"She's everything," Float said quietly.
Cottonmouth nodded and walked away.
Still called the ceremony to order with a single word.
"Brothers."
The crowd fell silent. Every Ridgerunner turned to face the President, who stood at the front of the pavilion with the weight of the club's history in his posture.
"We're here tonight to welcome a new brother into full membership." Still's voice carried across the space. "And to witness a claiming that's been building since the day he walked into her studio and refused to leave."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Float felt heat climb the back of his neck.
"Float. Step forward."
He walked through the parted crowd, feeling every eye on him. The torchlight cast long shadows, and the faces he passed were proud, knowing, welcoming.
He stopped in front of Still.
"You came to us with nothing but debt and river skills." Still's voice was ceremonial now, carrying the rhythms of words spoken to brothers before him. "You've given us your loyalty, your work, your blood. You've defended this club and its territory. You've eliminated threats to our people."
Float held Still's gaze, steady and sure.
"Do you pledge your life to the Ozark Ridgerunners? Your loyalty to your brothers? Your strength to the protection of our family and our territory?"
"I do."
"Do you accept the responsibilities of a full member—to ride when called, to fight when needed, to bleed for your brothers as they would bleed for you?"
"I do."
Still reached into his cut and pulled out a patch—the full Ridgerunner rocker that would replace the prospect designation Float had worn for over a year.
"Then by the authority vested in me as President of the Ozark Ridgerunners, I name you a full patched member of this brotherhood."
He handed Float the patch.
The pavilion erupted.
Brothers cheered, stamped their feet, raised their drinks. Float stood in the center of it, holding the patch that represented everything he'd worked for—proof that he'd built something no one could steal, earned something no one could take away.
Still raised his hand, and the noise subsided.
"We're not done." His eyes found Delaney in the crowd. "Delaney Cross. Step forward."
Float watched her move through the brothers, her expression a mix of nerves and determination that made his heart ache. She stopped beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, and faced Still.
"Float has asked to claim you as his old lady." Still's voice was formal, but something warm lurked underneath. "This is a commitment recognized by the brotherhood—a bond as sacred as the patch itself. Do you understand what this means?"
"I do." Delaney's voice was clear, steady. "I understand that I'm becoming part of this family. That his brothers are my brothers. That the club's protection extends to me, and my loyalty extends to the club."
"And do you accept this claim? Freely, without coercion, knowing the life you're choosing?"
Delaney turned to look at Float. In the torchlight, her eyes shone with something that made his throat tight.
"I accept." She reached out and took his hand. "Freely. Completely. His."
Still nodded. "Float. Speak your claim."
Float faced Delaney, her hand in his, the patch in his other. The words he'd prepared fled his mind, leaving only the raw truth.
"I came to this club with nothing." His voice was rough with emotion. "Debt I didn't earn. Betrayal I didn't deserve. I thought I'd spend my life running, hustling, trying to prove I was worth something after someone stole everything I'd built."
He squeezed her hand.
"Then I met you. Standing in your studio with broken glass on the floor, telling me to get out with fire in your eyes. And I knew—right then, before I knew your name—that I'd found something worth stopping for."
Delaney's breath caught.
"You showed me what I look like when I'm not running.
You gave me a reason to stand still. You fought beside me, believed in me, saw me in ways no one else ever has.
" Float's voice steadied, found its strength.
"I claim you, Delaney Cross. As my woman.
My partner. My old lady. From this moment forward, you're mine—and I'm yours.
In front of my brothers, in front of this family, I claim you. "
The pavilion was silent.
Then Delaney stepped forward, rose on her toes, and kissed him.
The crowd exploded.
Brothers roared their approval. Old ladies cheered. Someone started a chant that Float couldn't make out over the thundering of his own heart.
When Delaney pulled back, she was laughing, tears tracking down her cheeks.
"Yours," she said, loud enough for the brothers nearby to hear. "Always."
Float pulled her against his chest and held on.
The celebration lasted for hours.
Brothers pressed drinks into Float's hands. Old ladies surrounded Delaney, welcoming her with embraces and advice and the easy intimacy of women who'd walked this path before. Someone started music, and couples drifted toward the open space near the fire pit.
Float watched Delaney move through the crowd with her camera raised.
She was photographing the celebration—but differently than before. She wasn't standing at the edge, documenting from a distance. She was in the middle of it, laughing with the old ladies, accepting hugs from brothers, capturing moments while being part of them.
Inside instead of outside. That's what the claiming meant.
"Your woman's good with that camera." Spillway appeared beside him, drink in hand. "Caught me and Nadine dancing earlier. Probably the only decent picture of us that exists."
"She's good at seeing people." Float watched Delaney crouch to photograph a kid making faces at the fire. "Better than anyone I've ever known."
"She's good for you too." Spillway's voice was gruff but sincere. "You're different since she came. Steadier. Like you finally figured out what you're fighting for."
Float nodded. "I did."
The night wore on. The crowd thinned as families headed to their cabins and brothers drifted off in pairs and groups. Float found Delaney near the pavilion's edge, camera lowered, watching the last embers of the celebration.
"Ready to go home?"
She turned to him, and the look on her face made his breath catch.
"Take me to bed." Her voice was soft, certain. "I want to celebrate properly."
Float took her hand and led her through the darkness to their cabin.
They didn't rush.
Float closed the cabin door and turned to find Delaney setting her camera on the table—the same deliberate motion she always made, but charged with new meaning tonight.
"Come here." Her voice was low, inviting.
He crossed to her, hands finding her hips, pulling her close. The dress she wore was soft under his fingers, and when he found the zipper at the back, she shivered.
"My old lady." The words came out rough, possessive. "Mine."
"Yours." She reached up and traced the patch now sewn to his cut. "My patched brother. My man."
Float unzipped her dress slowly, letting the fabric fall away. She wore nothing underneath—a choice that made his blood run hot.
"You planned this."
"I've been planning this all day." She tugged at his cut, and he let her remove it, let her set it aside with the same care she'd use for her camera.
"Watching you stand up there, speaking those words in front of everyone—" She kissed his jaw, his throat.
"I wanted you so badly I could barely breathe. "
Float groaned and lifted her, carrying her to the bed they'd shared for weeks now. He laid her down and stood over her, taking in the sight.
His woman. His old lady. The photographer who'd shown him what he looked like when he wasn't running.
"Jesse." His name in her mouth, soft and intimate, the version of him that only she got to see. "Make love to me."
He stripped off his clothes and joined her on the bed.
This time was different from all the others. Not the nervous tenderness of their first night, or the desperate adrenaline of the compound assault aftermath, or the deliberate reclaiming after Ingle's attack.
This was celebration.
Float touched her like she was something precious and powerful, his hands mapping familiar territory with new reverence. She arched into him, gasped when he found the places that made her melt, whispered his name—his real name—in moments that felt like prayer.
"Mine," he said against her skin, again and again. "My woman. My old lady. Mine."
"Yours." She pulled him closer, wrapped herself around him. "Always. Forever. Yours."
They moved together without urgency, savoring every sensation, every gasp, every moment of connection. Float felt the claiming ceremony echo through his body—the permanence of it, the commitment, the knowledge that this was real and witnessed and unbreakable.
When they finally crested together, Delaney cried out his name—Jesse—and Float felt something click into place in his chest. The last piece of a puzzle he hadn't known he was solving.
They lay tangled in the aftermath, breathing hard, sweat cooling on skin that still hummed with satisfaction.
"I love you." Delaney's voice was drowsy, content. "My husband in every way that matters."
"Not husband yet." Float pressed a kiss to her hair. "But we can fix that."
She laughed softly. "One ceremony at a time."
"Fair enough." He pulled her closer, settling her against his chest. "Sleep. Tomorrow we start the rest of our lives."
Delaney's breathing slowed, her body relaxing into the boneless peace of exhaustion and satisfaction. Float watched her drift off, her face soft in the moonlight filtering through the window.
He thought about the man he'd been a year ago. Running from a betrayal he couldn't outpace. Hustling because standing still meant getting robbed again. Proving himself to a club because he had nothing else to prove himself for.
That man was gone.
In his place was someone new—a patched Ridgerunner with an old lady who saw him in ways no one else ever had. A man who'd stopped running because he'd found something worth standing still for.
Float looked down at Delaney, at the woman who'd shown him what he looked like when he wasn't performing.
She'd given him a portrait of himself at peace. Had documented his transformation through lenses and love. Had stood beside him through violence and vulnerability and everything in between.
And now she was his. Officially. Permanently. In front of the brotherhood and in the quiet of this cabin.
He'd lost a business to a thief and spent years believing he'd never build anything real again.
He'd been wrong.
Float pressed a kiss to Delaney's forehead and closed his eyes.
Outside, the compound settled into peaceful silence. The torches from the ceremony had burned down to embers. Brothers slept in their cabins with old ladies beside them, families safe in the territory the club protected.
Inside, Float held the woman he loved and let himself finally, completely rest.
No more hustling. No more running. No more proving.
Just this. Just her. Just the life they'd built together.
It was enough.
It was everything.