Chapter 17
Two days of quiet.
Mandy sat on the edge of the bed, watching Riot sleep in the gray light of early evening.
His face was relaxed in a way she rarely saw when he was awake—the restless energy finally still, the tension in his jaw softened.
Even the bruises from his fight with Vic looked less angry now, fading from purple to yellow around the edges.
He was beautiful. Damaged and dangerous and absolutely beautiful.
She reached out and traced her finger along his collarbone, following the lines of ink and scar tissue that mapped his history. He stirred but didn't wake, just shifted closer to her touch like a plant seeking sunlight.
This was different from the other times.
The supply closet had been desperation—weeks of tension finally snapping.
Their first night together had been discovery—learning each other's bodies with the urgency of people who might not have tomorrow.
The night after the compound assault had been survival—proving they were still alive, still breathing, still able to feel anything at all.
But this? This was something else entirely.
Mandy lay down beside him, pressing her body against his, and felt him wake slowly. His arm came around her automatically, pulling her closer even before his eyes opened.
"Hey." His voice was rough with sleep. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine." She kissed his shoulder, tasting salt and warmth. "Just wanted to be close to you."
"I can do close." He rolled toward her, tangling their legs together, his hand sliding up her back beneath her shirt. "How close are we talking?"
"Very." She caught his mouth in a kiss—soft at first, then deeper. Unhurried. They had time tonight. No emergencies, no attacks, no desperate need to prove anything. Just the two of them in the quiet dark.
Riot's hands moved slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every inch of skin he touched. He traced the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the sensitive spot behind her ear that made her shiver. Each touch was intentional. Purposeful.
"You're different tonight," he murmured against her throat.
"So are you." She pulled back just enough to see his face. "Is that okay?"
"More than okay." His eyes were soft in the dim light, that rare vulnerability she'd learned to cherish. "Just noticing. Usually we're both so... desperate. Like we're fighting for something."
"Maybe we're not fighting anymore." She traced his jaw with her fingertips. "Maybe tonight we're just choosing."
"Choosing what?"
"Each other." She kissed him again, pouring everything she felt into it—the love, the gratitude, the absolute certainty that she'd found her place. "Not because we're scared. Not because the adrenaline's running. Just because I want you. Because you're mine and I'm yours and that's enough."
Something shifted in his expression. Cracked open.
"Mandy." Her name came out rough, reverent. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me."
He undressed her slowly, piece by piece, kissing each new inch of skin he revealed.
Her shirt. Her bra. Her jeans and underwear and the last barriers between them.
She did the same—learned the planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle, the scars and tattoos that told stories she was only beginning to understand.
When they finally came together, it was gentle. A joining rather than a collision. Riot's forehead pressed against hers as he entered her, his breath catching, his whole body trembling with the effort of going slow.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Perfect." She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper. "Don't rush. We have time."
They moved together like that for what felt like hours—slow and deep, building pleasure in waves rather than crashing through it. The conversation continued between touches, between kisses, between the soft sounds they drew from each other.
"I'm rebuilding," Mandy whispered at one point, Riot's hands tracing patterns on her hips. "After this is over. I'm going to rebuild everything they took."
"Your client list?"
"More than that." She arched into his touch. "My life. My sense of who I am. I spent so long letting fear dictate everything—what I did, where I went, how I lived. I'm done with that."
"What does that look like?" He shifted, changing the angle, making her gasp. "The life you're building?"
"Work I love. People who need me." She cupped his face, holding his gaze. "You. A future that's mine because I chose it, not because it was the only option left."
"Sounds good." He kissed her softly. "Sounds like something worth fighting for."
"What about you?" She rolled her hips, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. "What are you building?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. Just moved inside her, slow and deliberate, while something worked behind his eyes.
"I spent my whole life running from what I am," he said finally. "The violence. The chaos. The part of me that can't stop once it starts." His hands tightened on her hips. "I tried to bury it. Control it. Pretend it wasn't there. And it never worked."
"And now?"
"Now I'm done running." He pressed deeper, making her back arch. "The violence is part of me. The chaos is part of me. But so is this—you, the club, the purpose I found when I stopped fighting myself. I'm not going to apologize for who I am anymore."
"You shouldn't." She pulled him down for a kiss. "Who you are is who I fell in love with. All of it. The danger and the gentleness. The fighter and the man who holds me like I'm precious."
"You are precious." His voice cracked. "You're everything."
The pleasure built between them—not the desperate explosion of before, but something deeper. Richer. Like a tide rising, inevitable and unstoppable. Mandy felt it in her bones, in the way her body opened to him, in the tears that pricked her eyes for reasons she couldn't fully name.
"I love you," she said. "Whatever comes next, whatever we have to do to end this—I love you."
"I love you too." He pressed his forehead to hers, their breath mingling. "And when Trevor's dead and this is over, I'm going to spend every day proving it."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He started moving faster, the slow burn finally catching fire. "You're my future, Mandy. The only one I want."
She came apart in his arms—not violently, but gently, like something unfurling. He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer.
Afterward, they lay tangled together in the cooling dark, processing everything through touch instead of words. His hand traced lazy circles on her stomach. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Two people who'd been through war, finally finding peace.
"What happens after Trevor?" Mandy asked eventually.
"You go back to work. Rebuild your client list, your reputation, everything you had before." Riot's voice was certain. "And I earn my patch. Prove myself to the club. Build a life that's more than just violence."
"Can we do both? Build lives that aren't just about survival?"
"I think that's exactly what we do." He pulled her closer, chin resting on top of her head. "Find a place near the compound. You work your clients during the day; I do club business. We come home to each other at night."
"Home." The word felt strange on her tongue. "I've never really had one of those."
"Now you do." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "With me. If you want it."
"I want it." She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I want all of it. The domestic stuff, the dangerous stuff, the boring Tuesday nights and the crazy Saturday mornings. Whatever life looks like with you, I'm in."
His smile was soft. Vulnerable. The expression of a man who'd stopped expecting good things and just been handed one anyway.
"Then that's what we build," he said. "After Trevor. Together."
"Together," she agreed.
They lay in comfortable silence, listening to the compound settling around them. Voices drifted up from the common room—brothers talking, laughing, living. The family they'd both found in different ways.
"What do you think Trevor's doing right now?" Mandy asked.
"Running scared." Riot's voice went hard. "He's lost everything. His muscle, his brain, his cleaner. The operation he spent six years building is ashes. He knows we're coming for him."
"Good." She surprised herself with the venom in her voice. "I want him scared. I want him to feel what I felt—the helplessness, the terror, knowing there's nowhere left to hide."
"You'll get to see it." Riot's arm tightened around her. "When we take him down, you'll be there. I promise."
"And then?"
"And then we start over." He rolled her onto her back, hovering above her, eyes burning in the dim light. "Build something new from the ashes of everything he destroyed. A life that's ours because we fought for it, bled for it, earned it."
Mandy pulled him down for a kiss—slow and deep and full of promise.
"Then let's end this," she said against his lips. "So we can start living."
"Soon." He kissed her again, longer this time. "Patriot's got people closing in. Another day, maybe two. Then we move."
"I can wait another day or two." She smiled, that fierce expression he loved. "As long as the ending is worth it."
"It will be." His hand traced down her body, rekindling the fire that had barely cooled. "But first—I'm not done showing you what our future's going to look like."
She laughed and pulled him closer.
They had time. Another night, another day. Another few precious hours before the final battle.
And after that—after Trevor was dead and the war was won—they had everything else.
A future built from the wreckage. A love forged in fire.
All they had to do was claim it.