Chapter 22
The chapel had never been so full.
Riot stood at the front of the room, trying to remember how to breathe. Every patched member of the Sons of Liberty filled the space around him—officers at the table, brothers along the walls, the weight of their attention pressing down like a physical force.
This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for since the day Mandy smiled at him through her terror and offered him coffee like he was worth something.
Patriot stood at the head of the table, face solemn, the ceremonial knife gleaming in his hands. The same blade that had been used for every claiming in the club's history—a tradition passed down through generations of outlaws who understood that some bonds required blood to seal.
"Brothers," Patriot's voice cut through the silence. "We gather to witness a claiming. Our prospect Riot has declared his intention to take a woman as his own, to protect her with his life, to make her part of this family."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the room. Riot felt his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Bring her in."
The chapel doors swung open, and Riot forgot how to breathe entirely.
Mandy stood in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun, wearing a simple black dress that hugged her curves and left her shoulders bare. Her strawberry blonde hair was loose around her face, and she was smiling—that fierce, bright smile he'd fallen in love with.
She walked toward him through the gathered brothers, head high, spine straight. Not nervous. Not hesitant. Just certain.
When she reached him, her hand found his, fingers interlacing like they were always meant to fit together.
"You ready?" she whispered.
"Been ready since the day I met you."
Patriot cleared his throat. "A claiming is not a marriage. It's something older. Something that doesn't need paperwork or witnesses from the outside world. It's a bond between a man and his woman, sealed in front of the family that matters."
He turned to Riot. "You claim this woman as your old lady. You swear to protect her, provide for her, put her above all others except the brotherhood itself. Do you understand what you're taking on?"
"I do." Riot's voice was steady despite the chaos that usually lived in his chest. For once, everything was quiet. Focused. Clear.
"And you swear to honor her. To remain faithful. To make her part of this family in every way that matters."
"I swear."
Patriot nodded, then turned to Mandy. "You accept this man's claim. You understand what it means to be an old lady—the danger, the loyalty, the life that comes with loving someone who wears our patch."
"I understand." Mandy's voice rang clear through the chapel. "I've already lived it. I know exactly what I'm accepting."
"And you go willingly? No one's forcing this?"
She laughed—a bright, beautiful sound that made several brothers grin. "Trust me. No one could force me to do anything. I'm here because I choose to be."
"Good." Patriot raised the ceremonial knife. "Then let's make it official."
He drew the blade across his own palm first—a thin line that welled with blood. Then he handed it to Riot.
The cut stung, but Riot barely felt it. He was too focused on Mandy, on the trust in her eyes as he passed her the knife.
She didn't hesitate. Just drew the blade across her palm and handed it back to Patriot, her blood mingling with theirs on the steel.
"Blood of the club." Patriot's voice was ceremonial now, ancient words that had been spoken in this room for decades. "Blood of the claimed. Bound together from this day until death."
Riot took Mandy's bleeding hand in his, pressing their palms together, feeling their blood mingle between them. Her fingers curled around his, holding tight.
"Speak your claim," Patriot instructed.
Riot turned to face her fully, both her hands in his now, and let the words he'd been carrying for weeks finally break free.
"I claim you," he said, voice rough with emotion.
"Not because you need protecting—you've proven you can protect yourself.
Not because you're helpless—you're the strongest person I've ever met.
I claim you because you see me. All of me.
The violence, the chaos, the parts I've spent my whole life trying to hide. And you love me anyway."
Mandy's eyes glistened, but she didn't look away.
"I claim you because you make the noise quiet.
Because you gave me something to fight for that isn't just survival.
Because every morning I wake up next to you, I understand what all the pain was for.
" His voice cracked. "I claim you as my woman, my partner, my reason for being.
From this day forward, you're mine. And I'm yours. Until death, and maybe after."
Silence hung in the chapel. Then Mandy stepped closer, rising on her toes to press her forehead against his.
"I accept your claim," she whispered, loud enough for the room to hear. "You're mine, Chase Donovan. My chaos, my protector, my home. I'm done running, done hiding, done being afraid of what I feel. You want me? You've got me. All of me. Forever."
Riot kissed her—couldn't help it, couldn't wait another second. The room erupted in cheers and whistles, brothers pounding tables and shouting approval, but he barely heard any of it. Just Mandy in his arms, her mouth on his, the taste of forever on her lips.
"Well." Patriot's voice cut through the noise, amused. "Guess that's official."
More cheering. Riot broke the kiss reluctantly, pressing his forehead against Mandy's, both of them breathing hard and grinning like idiots.
"Mine," he murmured.
"Yours," she agreed. "Now let's go celebrate before these animals drink all the whiskey."
The party raged for hours.
The clubhouse transformed into a celebration the likes of which Riot had never seen.
Music thundered from speakers. Brothers toasted again and again to the newly claimed couple.
Old ladies pulled Mandy into their circle, welcoming her officially, sharing stories and wisdom and the kind of fierce loyalty that came from loving dangerous men.
Riot watched her move through the crowd—laughing, dancing, utterly in her element—and felt something shift permanently into place in his chest.
His woman. His old lady. In front of everyone who mattered, witnessed and sealed and permanent.
"Hell of a day, prospect."
Riot turned to find Patriot beside him, two whiskeys in hand. The President offered one, and Riot took it gratefully.
"Hell of a month," Riot corrected.
"That too." Patriot sipped his drink, watching the celebration. "She's good for you. Settles that chaos you carry around."
"She does." Riot's eyes found Mandy across the room. "I didn't know it could be like this. Having someone who sees all the broken pieces and decides they want them anyway."
"That's what the right woman does." Patriot's scarred face softened briefly. "Makes you want to be better. Makes all the violence mean something." He clapped Riot on the shoulder. "You did good, prospect. In the war, and now. You've earned your place here."
"My patch?"
"Soon." Patriot's smile was knowing. "Let's see how you handle being a claimed man first. That's its own kind of challenge."
He walked away, leaving Riot to his whiskey and his thoughts.
The night wound on. Brothers drifted off in pairs or collapsed in corners. The music softened, the crowd thinned, and eventually it was just Riot and Mandy and the quiet that came after chaos.
"Hey." She appeared at his side, flushed from dancing, eyes bright. "Ready to get out of here?"
"Been ready for an hour." He set down his glass and took her hand. "But you looked like you were having fun."
"I was." She leaned into him as they walked toward the stairs. "Your family's amazing, you know that? Grace told me stories about Patriot from when they first met. Apparently he was even more intense than you."
"Impossible."
"That's what I said." She laughed, squeezing his hand. "But I like them. I like all of it—the craziness, the loyalty, the way they look at each other like nothing else in the world matters."
"That's because nothing else does." Riot stopped at their door and turned to face her. "Not to them. Not to me. The club is family. And now you're part of it."
"Officially."
"Officially." He traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb. "How does it feel?"
"Like I finally belong somewhere." Her voice was soft. "Like I'm not alone anymore."
He kissed her—slow, thorough, a promise sealed with touch. Then he pushed open the door and guided her inside, kicking it shut behind them.
Their room was dark except for moonlight streaming through the window. Riot didn't bother with the lights. He knew every inch of this space, just like he knew every inch of her.
"I have something for you," he said.
"You already gave me a ceremony and a party."
"This is different." He moved to the dresser and retrieved the small box he'd hidden there days ago. "Something for later. When everything settles."
Mandy took the box with curious eyes and flipped it open. Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a delicate silver chain with a small pendant—the Sons of Liberty skull and crossbones, miniaturized and elegant.
"Riot..." Her voice caught.
"Every old lady has one. It marks you as ours—as mine—without needing the patch you can't wear." He took the chain from the box and fastened it around her neck, the pendant settling just below her collarbone. "Now everyone knows. Even when I'm not beside you."
She touched the pendant, then looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I love you."
"I love you too." He pulled her close. "Now let me show you how much."
What followed was different from every time before.
Not desperate. Not frantic. Not fueled by fear or adrenaline or the need to prove they were still alive.
Just two people who'd found each other against impossible odds, celebrating what they'd built.
He undressed her slowly, worshiping every inch of skin he revealed. She returned the favor, her touch reverent on his scars and ink, learning him all over again. When they finally came together, it was with the certainty of two people who had all the time in the world.
"Mine," he breathed against her throat as he moved inside her.
"Yours," she agreed, arching beneath him. "Always."
They took their time, building pleasure in waves, savoring the connection they'd fought so hard to protect. When release finally came, it was together—her crying out his name, him burying his face in her hair and letting go of everything he'd been holding.
Afterward, they lay tangled in sweat-damp sheets, heartbeats slowly returning to normal.
"Riot?" Mandy's voice was sleepy, satisfied.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For claiming me. For fighting for me. For everything."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'd do it all again. Every fight, every kill, every moment of chaos. It all led here. To you."
She snuggled closer, her body fitting against his like it was designed to be there. Within minutes, her breathing evened out into sleep.
Riot stayed awake a while longer, holding his woman, watching moonlight paint silver patterns across her skin.
He'd spent his whole life wondering what the violence was for. Why he'd been built this way—too much energy, too much rage, too much everything. He'd thought it was a curse. A flaw in his design that would eventually destroy him.
But lying here, with Mandy warm and safe in his arms, he finally understood.
The violence was for this. For protecting something precious. For building something worth having. For earning the right to hold the woman he loved and know that nothing in this world could take her from him.
The chaos in his chest was quiet now. Not gone—never gone—but peaceful. Content.
He'd found his purpose. His partner. His home.
And he was never letting go.