Chapter Twelve
Fear hit Ivy like a tidal wave, it flooded her veins so fast it stole the air from her lungs. The barrel pressed to the back of her head felt impossibly solid. She was going to die. The certainty of it settled with a strange, quiet weight, less panic than sorrow.
She thought, absurdly, that it was depressing and sad. There were murals she hadn’t painted yet. Places she still wanted to see. Versions of herself she hadn’t finished becoming.
Then, threading through that bleak acceptance, came another thought. Havoc came for me. The realization cracked something open in her chest. Not hope, but something warmer.
She’d told Hyena a lie when she said Havoc didn’t matter, that what they shared was nothing. Standing here now, with Havoc across from her, gun raised and hands shaking despite the steel in his posture, Ivy saw the truth with painful clarity.
Havoc meant something to her, and judging by the naked terror in his eyes, she meant something to him too. Havoc’s gaze never left her face as he slowly began to lower his gun. The movement was controlled, deliberate, like he was handling a wild animal that might bolt at any wrong twitch.
Ivy felt Hyena’s grip tighten, the gun pressing harder into her skull.
“That’s it,” Hyena crooned. “Real slow.”
Havoc had clenched his jaw so tight Ivy could see the muscle jump. His shoulders were rigid, every line of him screaming restraint. He looked wrecked, as if he’d already accepted losing her and it had hollowed him out from the inside.
No. Something in Ivy snapped into place.
She was done waiting, finished with letting men decide what happened to her body and her life.
She’d spent years traveling alone, navigating unfamiliar cities and stranger dangers, trusting her instincts and learning how to protect herself because no one else would.
She wasn’t helpless. Before fear could talk her out of it, Ivy moved. Ivy drove her elbow back with everything she had, aiming low, hard, exactly where she knew it would hurt the most.
Hyena made a strangled sound, a sharp, furious gasp torn out of him. He loosened his grip on her instinctively, his body folding in on itself.
“You bitch!” he screamed, rage slurred by agony.
“Ivy, duck!” Havoc roared.
She didn’t think. Ivy dropped. The world compressed into noise and motion. Ivy hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs as a gunshot cracked overhead. It was deafening, sharp enough to ring in her ears.
She felt something warm splatter behind her, heard the unmistakable thud of a body hitting concrete. Silence rushed in, broken only by the echo of the shot and her own ragged breathing.
It was over. She lay there for a heartbeat longer, stunned, shaking, the reality of survival taking a moment to catch up. Then boots skidded near her and hands were on her, strong and careful all at once.
“Ivy,” Havoc said, his voice rough, breaking around her name. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
She pushed herself up, hands trembling violently. Havoc was right there, dropping to his knees in front of her, his gun forgotten on the ground. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks like he needed to convince himself she was solid.
“You’re safe,” he said, over and over. “You’re safe.”
The words cracked the dam. Ivy surged forward, slamming into his chest with a broken sob. Havoc caught her instantly, wrapping her up in his arms so tightly it felt like he was trying to shield her from the entire world with his body alone.
She buried her face against his neck, the scent of him grounding her even as tears spilled freely.
“I was so scared,” she whispered, the words muffled and raw. “I thought... I thought I wasn’t getting out.”
Havoc tightened his arms around her. He cradled the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, stroking slowly and steadily. His other arm, he locked around her waist, anchoring her to him.
“I know,” he murmured hoarsely. “I know. I’ve got you.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair, then another, the motion reverent and desperate. His breath shuddered against her scalp.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out now, thick with guilt. “This never should’ve happened. I should’ve been there. I should’ve said something. I should’ve—”
She pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, wild with emotion, like he’d been living on pure adrenaline and fear for hours.
“Havoc,” she said softly.
He stopped, swallowing hard.
“I was wrong,” he continued anyway, voice low and fierce. “I pushed you away because I was scared, not because I didn’t want you. Because I wanted you too much. Losing you—” He broke off, jaw working. “I can’t do that. I won’t survive it.”
Ivy lifted her hand, touching his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her fingers. He leaned into the touch like he needed it, like it was oxygen.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” she said quietly. “I just need you to choose me.”
Havoc’s breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his forehead to hers, their noses brushing.
“I swear to you,” he said, voice fierce with promise, “I will never let anything like this happen to you again. Ever. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right if I have to.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her properly, searching her face.
“Give me another chance,” he said. “Please.”
Her heart felt raw and open and painfully full. Ivy nodded, tears still slipping free, but she smiled through them.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll try again.”
The relief that flooded his face was breathtaking. Havoc kissed her then, slow and careful this time, like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. His lips were warm, steady, grounding. Ivy melted into it, fisting her hands into his shirt, clinging to him like an anchor.
****
One Month Later
Havoc rolled through the gates of the Devil’s Crown compound with the late afternoon sun riding low behind him, turning dust into gold and shadows long and lazy.
The delivery job had gone smoothly. His mind hadn’t been on the road the way it usually was, every mile eaten up by one thought and one thought only.
Ivy. He cut the engine and swung off his Harley, the vibration still buzzing through his bones. Normally, the road settled him, burned off the excess edge, but today his chest felt tight, nerves coiled and restless beneath his cut.
A month ago, that feeling would’ve sent him running for another ride, another excuse not to sit with whatever crawled under his skin. Now he walked straight toward it.
She’d be finishing today. The last stretch of the mural. The final strokes that would close this chapter. The idea hit him harder than he expected.
Ivy had become woven into the rhythm of the compound, into his days, into him.
Mornings with coffee she insisted on making herself.
Nights tangled together, slow and careful at first, then hungry and sure.
Laughter echoing in his room, paint-stained fingers tracing scars she never asked him to explain.
They’d made it through something brutal together. Something that could’ve broken them if they’d let it. Instead, it stripped him bare and forced him to rebuild with her watching, choosing him anyway.
He no longer carried doubt about what he felt. No guilt gnawing at him for wanting something good after loss. Libby would always be part of him, a scar that never faded, but Ivy hadn’t replaced her. She’d made space for herself, bright and stubborn and alive.
Still, one question twisted his gut. What if Ivy wasn’t ready for what he was about to ask?
He touched the object inside the pocket of his jacket as he crossed the yard. The metal key there felt heavier than it should’ve, like it carried the weight of every risk he’d ever taken.
An apartment off the main road, quiet but close enough to town for her work. It had big windows, plenty of light for Ivy to paint. A place that could be theirs without ghosts lingering in every corner.
If she said no...
He exhaled slowly and kept walking. He found her near the far wall, exactly where he knew she’d be. Ivy stood with her hands on her hips, coveralls splattered with paint in every color imaginable, dark hair pulled into a messy knot that always made something hot and protective curl low in his gut.
She was studying the mural, head tilted slightly, sunlight catching in the fine dust of pigment still clinging to her skin.
It was stunning. The bikes, the motion, the strength woven through the piece. The way she’d captured the soul of the club without softening it or glorifying it. Devil’s Crown, raw and grounded and alive.
Havoc approached quietly, boots soft on gravel. He slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into him. She startled for half a second before melting against his chest with a laugh.
“You’re back,” she said, warmth blooming in her voice.
“Mm,” he murmured into her hair. “Couldn’t stay away.”
He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, then another, lingering just enough to make her inhale sharply. She leaned back into him, paint-smudged hands resting over his forearms.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “All of it.”
She turned in his arms, paint on her cheek, eyes bright.
“You really think so?” Ivy asked.
Havoc didn’t hesitate. He dipped his head and kissed her, slowly at first, then deeper when she responded with equal heat, fingers curling into his shirt. The world narrowed to her mouth and the familiar rush of want that still surprised him with its intensity.
When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Like you.”
She laughed, soft and genuine, the sound cutting straight through him. “You’re being strangely cheesy, Road Captain.”
“Careful,” he said, smirking. “I’ll prove I still know how to be an asshole.”
She studied him then, that perceptive gaze of hers sharpening. “What’s wrong?”
He stiffened just a fraction. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because I know you,” Ivy said simply. “And you’ve been acting nervous since you got here.”
He huffed out a breath, the truth of it impossible to deny. Slowly, reluctantly, he loosened his hold and took a step back. His throat felt dry. This was harder than any ride into hostile territory. Harder than pulling a trigger.
“Hold out your hand,” he said.
Her brow furrowed, but she did it, palm open between them.
Havoc reached into his jacket and placed the key there.
Ivy stared at it, then up at him. “What’s this?”
His heart hammered so loud he was sure she could hear it. “It’s the key to an apartment,” he said carefully. “Our apartment. If you want it.”
Silence stretched. The world held its breath.
“I found a place,” he went on, words tumbling now that he’d started. “Good light. Close to town. Space for you to work. No club noise unless you want it. I’m not asking you to give up anything, Ivy. Just ... maybe build something with me.”
Her fingers closed around the key. She didn’t look away.
“If you’re not ready,” he added quickly, the old fear rearing its head, “I get it. I won’t push. I just needed you to know I’m all in.”
For a heartbeat, she just watched him. Then Ivy smiled. It was slow and soft and devastating. She stepped closer and kissed him gently, a contrast to the earlier heat, something tender and certain. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining.
“Of course I’ll move in with you,” she said. “I’d love to.”
The relief that slammed into him nearly buckled his knees. Havoc crushed her to him, lifting her clean off the ground as she laughed, arms wrapping around his neck. He kissed her again, deeper this time, joy and want tangling together until it left him breathless.
“I love you,” he said against her mouth, the words easy now, unafraid. “So damn much.”
She smiled up at him, thumb brushing his jaw. “I love you too.”
The End