Epilogue
GHOST
The rebuilt launch field stretched beyond the southern drainage cut, carrying no visible trace of the sabotage that had nearly turned the Black Crowns veterans’ fundraiser into a massacre.
Stronger barriers guarded the perimeter, every access point was monitored, and Bellamy employees moved between clearly marked stations beneath procedures Tamsin had personally rewritten.
Veterans, club families, company employees, and members of Tamsin’s family filled the event grounds behind us as we crossed toward the clubhouse, my hand settled possessively around her waist. Her engagement ring caught the lowering sunlight whenever she moved, and my name stretched across the leather covering her back, giving my body several filthy ideas about how I’d remind her who she belonged to when we got home.
Bellamy Pyrotechnics had spent the past three weeks dragging itself back onto solid ground.
Tamsin’s parents handled the clients, canceled contracts, and ugly conversations left behind by Len’s betrayal, while employees returned to the warehouse in stages as the damaged areas were repaired.
No full display went onto the schedule until Tamsin approved the revised safety and inventory procedures, and her parents formally placed final authority over both operations in her hands.
Every adjustment now required two approvals, original field sheets were stored separately from final reports, and individual credentials had replaced the shared access that had allowed one man to hide inside the company for years.
Tamsin decided how every new procedure would work, and I dealt with how someone might get around it.
She gave me a practical list of security changes, listened when I added a few of my own, then laughed when the Black Crowns turned the warehouse, range, and secondary property into buildings capable of surviving a siege.
Brothers replaced damaged doors, reinforced access points, mounted cameras at the loading approaches, and stayed visible as employees found their rhythm again.
Tamsin controlled everything happening inside Bellamy’s operations, and I made sure anyone trying to threaten it from outside would have an exceptionally bad day.
My responsibilities to the club and Black Castle had eventually forced me to spend more hours away from her, but Tamsin had discovered I could handle a remarkable amount of work from the chair in her office doorway.
She claimed I appeared often enough to qualify as company equipment, although her smile made it clear she did not mind finding me there.
Every time she bent over her desk, stretched toward a shelf, or walked past close enough for her hip to brush my knee, my attention developed priorities that had nothing to do with security.
“Ghost.”
I turned to find a prospect approaching with a young woman beside him, her arms locked around a battered wooden shadow box with scratched glass and tarnished brass corners.
She looked barely old enough to drink, and nerves had pulled her shoulders tight, but the way she protected the box against her chest suggested someone would lose fingers before taking it from her.
“She came to the gate asking for the Black Crowns president,” the prospect explained. “Says this belongs to the club and won’t hand it over to anybody else.”
Before I could say anything, Hawkeye appeared at my shoulder with the silent speed that had unsettled enemies long before he became our VP. His attention settled on her face, moved briefly to the shadow box, then the rest of her body, before locking onto her eyes.
“Are you the Black Crowns president?” she asked him, shifting her grip on the box.
“No.” Hawkeye’s voice remained low as he stepped into her space and took her gently but firmly by the elbow. “But I’m the man you need, baby doll.”
Her face flooded with color. “I—You don’t even know why I’m here.”
“I’ll find out.” He glanced toward the prospect. “Tell Stryker she’s with me.”
Hawkeye led her toward the clubhouse before she managed another full sentence, his body already positioned between her and anyone who looked like they might approach.
Tamsin stared after them with one hand covering her mouth, her blue eyes dancing while she fought a laugh.
When she looked up at me, I could practically see the comment gathering behind her lips.
“Tamsin,” one of her technicians called from the launch area. “We’re ready for the final verification.”
She lowered her hand with obvious regret. “We’re discussing that later.”
“Nothing to discuss.” I drew her closer to kiss her temple. “Man saw what he needed.”
“That sounds suspiciously familiar.”
“Smart men learn from excellent examples.”
Tamsin rolled her eyes, but she laughed as she headed toward the restricted field.
My gaze dropped openly to the sway of her hips in fitted black work pants and stayed there until she passed the first barrier.
She glanced back once, caught me staring, and shook her head while color warmed her cheeks.
I smiled because she still blushed after everything I had done to her.
And because I planned to put those hips in my hands later and make her forget every safety regulation except the ones involving breath control.
Once she reached the firing station, I turned toward my own work, though she always remained somewhere inside my line of sight. Brothers covered the roads, entrances, and crowd, while I completed one final sweep of the perimeter and checked each security position.
Her father stood beyond the restricted line with her mother, watching as Tamsin moved through the last steps.
When she lifted her gaze toward him, he gave one firm nod, pride replacing the worry that had once made him reach for an explanation instead of trusting the daughter he knew.
Tamsin’s shoulders eased by a fraction before she turned back to the controls, and the small change told me she had seen it.
“Field clear,” she announced into the radio. “Final positions confirmed. Display authorized.”
The first shell climbed into the darkening sky and opened in a wide burst of silver and blue.
Another followed in red, then gold, every rack firing exactly on cue while cheers rose from the veterans and families behind us.
Color spread safely across the canyon, illuminating the ridges and reflecting across the clubhouse windows.
Tamsin waited until the final cue had fired, every control was secured, and her crew confirmed the shutdown before she glanced toward me with a look of joyful satisfaction.
I crossed the restricted line, stepped behind her, and settled both hands around her hips with my palms spread over the leather carrying my name.
Her body leaned back into mine without hesitation, and I surrounded her without blocking her view of the last fireworks fading above the canyon, then lowered my mouth near the curls at her temple. She turned her face enough to look at me over one shoulder.
“You’re smiling,” she murmured.
“Got reasons.”
Her gaze dropped toward the ring resting over my hand at her waist. “Any of them involve me?”
“All of ’em.”
Tamsin’s smile softened as she rested both hands over mine.
Her family stood nearby, her employees were celebrating another flawless display, and the Black Crowns surrounded all of us with the kind of loyalty no criminal, betrayal, or explosion could shake.
My name rested across her back beneath my palms, her ring pressed warm against my skin, and her body fit against mine like every road I had traveled had been aimed at this exact place.