Epilogue
Allora
Six weeks later
We didn’t last two months living apart.
After two weeks, Landon started sleeping over most nights. We didn’t make anything official but we’re together every day. We’re both still in therapy and I’m flying to New York next week to do the photo shoot that Alexa refused to do until I was on my feet again.
My friends have been amazingly supportive.
Once the full story got out—and we made sure it did because we don’t want this to happen to anyone else—people started coming out of the woodwork. Some of it was annoying, but for the most part, it was my friends letting me know that they’re here for me. Whatever I need.
Lacy came and spent three days with me—Landon went to his own apartment for those days so that she and I could have some girl time together—but then he came back and never left.
This morning we’re up early, having coffee on my balcony at six-thirty in the morning, watching the shore and listening to the waves.
“You sure about this?” Landon asks for the hundredth time.
“Yes.” It’s the same answer I’ve given him, my father, Daniil, Courtney, Rage, and even Metal.
I’m going to do what has to be done to officially end this chapter of my life.
“Babe, it’s not an easy thing to do. Trust me on that.”
“Nothing important is easy. Therapy is hard. Making decisions about our future has been hard. You wiring four hundred grand to Daniil for the business was hard. This is no different.”
“But it is. And it’s not something you can talk to your therapist about.”
“She knows,” I say softly. “Not in so many words, but she knows. We’ve talked around it and I think we’ve both made our peace with it.”
“You can’t undo it once it’s done.”
I give him an exasperated glare. “Babe. I know that.”
“Why not let your dad handle it?”
“Because I can’t. This is between me and him.”
“All right.” He gets up and goes into the condo, disappearing into the bedroom.
I take the last sip of coffee and stare out at the water. It’s my favorite view. My happy place. The place where Landon and I are starting our lives together.
The last six weeks have been rough. I won’t deny that. Therapy was incredibly hard in the beginning because I didn’t want to be there. So, my therapist didn’t push. We just became friends. Our sessions were virtual—she’s based in Florida now—but she came highly recommended.
Her husband plays in the NHL, so she told me funny stories about their life.
Her kids. Some of our mutual friends. Well, people either Landon has protected or is friends with, and people I’ve either met once or twice or have heard of.
That’s how I found Tiffani, and eventually, those connections were part of how she got me to open up.
And when I did it was brutal.
So many tears. Ugly tears. Rage. Fear. Anxiety.
But then it started to abate.
We’re still working on parts of it but I’m feeling better.
The nightmares stopped once Landon started sleeping over.
I started driving again two weeks ago.
Things are looking up.
“Are you ready to go?” Landon asks an hour later.
“Yup.” I got dressed earlier, so all I need now are my keys and—
“I have something for you.” He comes over holding a helmet. “I’d like you to ride on the bike with me.”
I hadn’t realized he’d come over with that last night after work.
We’ve talked about the motorcycle and I want him to have it.
It’s a beautiful piece of machinery. It doesn’t represent anything but a gift of opportunity.
My father already owns seven motorcycles—eight if you count my mother’s, that’s in the garage of their house.
He never touches it. So, he truly doesn’t need another one and Landon loves it.
There’s no cut or leather associated with it—it’s just a vehicle that he’s always wanted. And I want him to have it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on the back of a bike but sliding on behind him feels…right. I wrap one arm around his middle and turn my face up to the sky.
There’s one thing my father is right about—there’s a feeling of freedom on a motorcycle that you don’t feel anywhere else. And with Landon, that feeling is tenfold because I know he’ll support me no matter what I decide.
Today, and every day going forward.
Landon
I’ve read about dungeons and safe rooms and other places where bikers get their enemies to talk.
But I’ve never been in one. I’ve been in similar set-ups all around the world, and the one Daniil’s family keeps in the dungeon of the palace is pretty fucking intimidating.
But this? This is next-level because it’s basic.
Drywall covered walls like a basement that someone never took the time to finish. Cement floors. Very little lighting. Large pieces of plastic hanging from the ceiling. Like they’re just waiting to wrap dead bodies.
This is everything Allora has wanted to avoid in her life and I glance down at her worriedly.
Her pretty face is stoic, no expression whatsoever, and that’s not like her.
I know she’s protecting herself and that’s why I think this is a bad idea.
But none of us have been able to talk her out of it so here we are.
I know we’re close when I get wind of the stench.
Stale urine and other bodily functions that reek.
Allora wrinkles her nose but doesn’t say anything.
No one does.
It feels like there are a lot of us here today, but it’s only the important people. Me, Allora and Rage. Her father with his officers—Metal, Nitro, and Bones, his new treasurer. That’s it. Seven people about to be judge, jury, and executioners.
When I catch my first glimpse of Tex it’s…jarring. Even for me.
He’s lost weight and filthy, covered in dirt, blood, and stains I don’t want to think about. His hair is greasy and matted and there are deep, red gouges in his skin where he once had the club’s logo tattooed on his chest. Apparently, they cut it off of him.
He’s shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and he looks pathetic.
When he sees us he sits up on the dirty mattress he’s been lying on.
Then he sees Allora and a smile cracks his bloody face. “This make you happy, sweetheart? Seeing me like this?”
“Actually, it doesn’t,” she replies in a steadier voice than I would have imagined.
“Come to gloat then?”
“I came to ask why,” she replies, walking a little closer but not close enough for him to reach her since his ankle is chained to a metal hook on the floor.
“You know why. You’re mine. I took your cherry and everything else. All mine. I was simply taking back what you thought you could share with other men.”
“Did you think I would love you for having me kidnapped, raped, and beaten?” she asks, a tiny hint of confusion in her voice.
“You weren’t supposed to know. I was going to save you and you were going to be grateful.” He almost smiles again. “I had a plan. Just like in high school.”
I feel Silver’s sharp intake of breath and note the way Allora stiffens.
“You planned that?” she whispers, her voice filled with disbelief and…sadness.
“You didn’t get hurt—I told them not to actually do anything, just to scare you so I could be your hero. And I was. We were together after that.”
“Oh my God.” She turns to look at her father, and his expression is murderous. I know it’s taking a lot of self-control for him not to shoot Tex here and now.
“So, you planned the same thing? But this time you let them rape me.”
“That’s what they wanted in exchange for doing it and keeping quiet. One night with you. I made them swear they’d use condoms so you wouldn’t get sick or pregnant. It was just sex, Allora. You’ve had sex with a million guys since me.”
She scowls. “So that makes hurting me okay?”
“You hurt me a lot worse when you left. I had to make sure you paid for that.”
“Allora, enough.” Silver steps forward. “Nothing he says is going to change anything. It’s time to decide.”
She pulls in a shaky breath.
“We vote,” Silver continues. “Death or Prison. Everyone here has a vote. Majority decides his fate.” He pauses. “Death.”
He turns to Metal, who doesn’t even hesitate. “Death.”
Bones shakes his head before saying, “death.”
Nitro seems torn but eventually shrugs. “Death. We don’t rape women.”
“Fuck you. You were there that night thirteen years ago,” Tex growls at him. “You thought it was funny.”
“I was an immature ass and no one actually hurt her. No one touched her. And no one raped our VP’s teenage daughter!
I was an ass for letting her be scared like that, but I have the marks Silver gave me for participating.
” He lifts his shirt and the crisscross scars across his back show a man who paid for his sins in blood.
Tex turns away. “Whatever. You’re a traitor like the rest of them. Like you’ve never raped anyone.”
“Never!” Nitro hisses. “Never ever. I’ve done some shit, but not that.”
Tex is quiet as Silver turns to Rage.
“Death.”
Then to me.
This is hard because I know what I want to say, but I don’t want this to haunt the woman I love.
“Say it,” she whispers. “Be honest.”
“Death.” I spit out the word grudgingly. Not because I give a shit about him but because I’m worried about her. What we’re about to do.
“Allora.” Silver says her name quietly, eyes searching her face.
“Death.” It comes out like a hushed whisper but we all hear it.
“I’ll see you in hell,” Tex growls.
Silver pulls a gun from the back of his pants and I see Allora’s eyes widen, so I’m momentarily confused. It’s smaller, a .38, and the handle is decorated with pink mother of pearl.
“Mom’s gun,” she whispers.
He nods, proffering it. “She would want this.”
Her hand shakes as she takes it. She stares down at it for what feels like a long time but is really only about thirty seconds. Then she lifts it, aims at Tex, and stands there.
None of us move.
Hell, I don’t think any of us breathe.
She waits a long time. Minutes tick by, and I have no idea what she’s thinking but I know she’s scared. Conflicted. It’s harder than people think to kill someone in cold blood, especially when it’s not a life-or-death situation.
“Are you going to do it or not?” Tex yells. “What’s the matter? Scared?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Silver backhands him.
She doesn’t reply, merely continues pointing the gun at him.
Finally, when I can’t stand it anymore, I move behind her, one hand at her waist, the other covering the hand holding the gun.
“What do you need, baby?”
“Help me,” she whispers.
I move to take the gun but she shakes her head. “No. It has to be me, I just…”
She just needs my help.
Because my girl isn’t a killer.
Neither am I, even though I’ve done it more times than I can count.
So, I close my hand around hers as best I can and slide my finger over the one she has on the trigger. It’s a tight fit but with the right pressure from me, it’ll be over in a heartbeat.
“Now,” she whispers, her voice steady.
And with my finger on hers, we fire.
Thank you for reading Landon and Allora’s story.