6. Demi
DEMI
Iwake up to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the heavy weight of an arm draped across my waist.
For a moment, I don't move. I just lie there, letting the reality of where I am sink in. King's bed. King's room. King's body pressed against my back, warm and solid and real.
I'm in the Sons of Ruin clubhouse. And I'm never going home.
The thought should terrify me. Yesterday, it did. But right now, wrapped in the arms of the man I chose over everything, all I feel is peace.
Strange, how the scariest decision of my life turned out to be the easiest one to make.
King stirs behind me, his arm tightening, pulling me closer. I feel his lips brush against the back of my neck.
He mumbles something against my shoulder, his voice rough with sleep. "You tense up when you're worried. I can feel it."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"I'm not complaining." He rolls me onto my back, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His hair is messy, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and he's looking at me like I'm the first good thing he's seen in years. "How do you feel?"
"Like I blew up my entire life and I'm not sure what comes next."
"That's fair." He traces his finger along my collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Anything I can do to help?"
"You're already doing it."
He leans down and kisses me — soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that says we have time now. I sink into it, my fingers threading through his hair, letting myself get lost in him.
When he pulls back, his eyes are serious. "Whatever comes next — I've got you."
"I know." And the crazy thing is, I believe him.
A knock at the door makes us both tense. King's expression shifts instantly — soft to sharp in a heartbeat.
"What?" he calls out.
"Prez." Rogue's voice, muffled through the wood. "We've got a situation. Rocky's at the gate."
My blood turns to ice.
King's jaw tightens, but his hand finds mine, squeezing once. "Give me five minutes."
Footsteps retreat down the hall. King looks at me, and I see the question in his eyes before he asks it.
"You don't have to be there," he says. "You can stay here. I can handle—"
"No." I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. "He's my father. Whatever he has to say, I need to hear it. And he needs to see that I made my choice."
Pride flickers across his face. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He nods slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Stubborn woman."
"You like it."
"Yeah. I do."
We dress quickly. I pull on my jeans and tank top from yesterday — wrinkled, but they'll do. King shrugs on his cut, and just like that, the man who held me all night transforms into the president. Shoulders squared. Jaw set. Eyes cold and calculating.
But when he reaches for my hand, his grip is gentle.
"Stay behind me when we get out there," he says. "Not because I don't think you can handle yourself — because I need your father to understand that getting to you means going through me first."
"Okay."
"And Demi?" He pauses at the door, looking back at me. "Whatever he says, whatever he does — remember that you already made your choice. He doesn't get to take that away from you."
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
We walk through the clubhouse. The main room is tense — brothers standing in clusters, hands near their weapons, eyes tracking us as we pass. Rogue falls into step on King's other side. Lock appears from somewhere, silent as always, positioning himself at my back.
Near the door, I notice two others moving with us.
A tall, broad guy with grease-stained hands and a hard jaw — Diesel, I think, the Road Captain.
And another one, leaner, with a military stillness about him and eyes that miss nothing.
Ghost. The Enforcer. He looks like the kind of man who could kill you six different ways and never raise his pulse.
They don't say anything. They don't need to.
They're protecting me. These men who should be my enemies, who should want nothing to do with Rocky's daughter — they're closing ranks around me like I'm one of their own.
My chest aches. Gratitude, maybe. Or the first fragile roots of belonging.
The front door opens onto the morning sun, and there he is.
My father.
My father stands at the gate, alone. No brothers at his back, just him and his bike.
Just him, in his Road Kings cut, looking smaller somehow without his club behind him.
His eyes find me immediately — standing beside King, my hand in his, the truth of where I spent the night written all over both of us.
Something in his face crumbles.
"Demi." His voice is raw. "What have you done?"
King steps forward, putting himself between us. Not blocking my view, but making his position clear.
"She made a choice," King says. His voice is calm, almost conversational. "The choice to warn me that your club was planning to ambush mine. The choice to save lives instead of letting you start a war."
My father's expression hardens. "She betrayed her own blood."
"She did what was right." King doesn't raise his voice, doesn't posture. He doesn't need to. The authority radiates off him like heat. "And now she's under my protection. Under my club's protection. That's not going to change."
"You think you can just take my daughter—"
"I didn't take her. She came to me." King's head tilts slightly. "There's a difference."
My dad's hands curl into fists. I can see him calculating — the odds, the risks, the consequences of making a move right here and now. Behind me, I feel Ghost shift his weight, ready for anything.
"Dad." The word comes out before I can stop it. His gaze snaps to me, and I force myself to hold it. "I didn't do this to hurt you."
"Then why?" His voice cracks on the word. "Why would you betray everything — your family, your club, your own father — for him?"
"Because I love him."
The words hang in the air between us. I've never said them out loud to anyone but King, and hearing them now, in the harsh light of day, makes them feel more real. More permanent.
My father flinches like I've slapped him.
"And because what you were planning was wrong," I continue, my voice steadier now. "Ambushing men who didn't know you were coming. Twelve against six. That's not a fair fight — that's murder. I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn'tlet that happen."
"This is club business. You don't understand—"
"I understand enough." I step forward, moving to stand beside King instead of behind him. "I understand that you were going to kill him. Kill the man I love. And I was supposed to just... what? Stay quiet? Let it happen?"
My father's jaw works. I can see the war playing out behind his eyes — the father fighting with the patch, blood loyalty against club duty. I know how this goes. I've watched it my whole life.
"You can't come back from this," he finally says. His voice is quiet now. Defeated. "Chains knows someone talked. When he finds out it was you..."
"He won't touch her." King's voice cuts through like a blade. "That's not a threat. It's a fact. Anyone — anyone — who comes for her answers to me. And I don't care what patch they're wearing."
The air seems to crackle between them. Two dangerous men facing off over a woman who chose to stand in the middle.
But I'm not in the middle anymore. I'm on King's side. Where I belong.
"Go home, Rocky," King says. "Tell Chains whatever you need to tell him. But understand this — your daughter is mine now. She's Sons of Ruin. She's under our protection, and she's got my ring on her finger as soon as she'll let me put one there."
My breath catches. King doesn't look at me, his eyes still locked on my father, but I feel his hand find mine again. Squeezing.
A promise.
My father's shoulders sag. For a moment, he looks like what he is — a man in his fifties who just lost his only daughter to everything he's spent his life fighting against.
"You're making a mistake," he says, but there's no heat in it anymore. Just resignation.
"Maybe." King's grip on my hand tightens. "But she's mine. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets choosing me."
My father stares at him for a long moment. Then his gaze shifts to me, and I see something there I wasn't expecting.
Respect.
Grudging, bitter, but real.
"You always were too stubborn for your own good," he says quietly. "Just like your mother."
It's the closest thing to a blessing I'm ever going to get from him. I know that. But somehow, it's enough.
"I love you, Dad," I say. "That hasn't changed. But I love him too. And I'm not going to apologize for that."
My father nods slowly. He looks at King one more time — a look that says this isn't over, but also I know when I'm outmatched. Then he turns and walks back to his bike. A moment later, the engine roars to life and he's gone, disappearing down the road without looking back.
For a long moment, nobody moves.
Then King turns to me, and the cold president melts away, replaced by the man who held me all night.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Yeah, I think I am."
He kisses me, right there in front of the whole club. Deep and thorough and completely unashamed. Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else hollers something filthy that makes my cheeks burn. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and the tension that's been hanging over the clubhouse finally breaks.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand. "Let me take you home."
Home. His room. His bed. His life.
Mine now, too.
Later, we're tangled together in his bed, my head on his chest, his hand warm and heavy on my hip. The sun has shifted, casting long shadows across the floor.
"So," I say, tilting my head to look at him. "About that ring."
His hand stills. "Yeah?"
"Were you serious?"
"Completely."
I push up on one elbow, studying his face. He looks back at me, steady and certain, like the question doesn't scare him at all.
"We've known each other for two weeks."
"I've wanted you for months. The two weeks thing is just a technicality." He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Why? You changing your mind on me?"
"No." I lean down and kiss him softly. "I'm saying yes."
He goes still beneath me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I smile against his mouth. "Ask me properly and find out."
He flips me onto my back so fast I gasp, his body pressing me into the mattress, his eyes dark and intense.
"Marry me, Demi."
It's not a question. It's a demand. And I love him for it.
"Yes."
He kisses me like I just gave him everything he ever wanted. Maybe I did.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
"I don't have a ring yet," he says.
"I don't care."
"I'll get you one. The biggest fucking diamond—"
"I don't care about the diamond." I cup his face in my hands. "I just want you."
His expression softens into something raw and open. "You've got me. You've had me since the first time I saw you."
I pull him down for another kiss, and everything else fades away.
Outside this room, there's a war brewing. My father, the Road Kings, all the complications of the life I've chosen.
But right now, I'm not thinking about any of that.
I'm thinking about the man holding me. The man who claimed me, protected me, loved me when he had every reason not to.
The man I chose. The man I'm going to marry.
"King?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad I walked into this clubhouse."
His arms tighten around me. "So am I, baby. So am I."
EPILOGUE
Three months later, we're back at Ironwood.
Same rally. Same string lights and too-loud music and bikes gleaming under the desert sky. But everything else is different.
This time, I rode in on the back of King's bike. This time, I'm wearing his ring — not the biggest fucking diamond, despite his threats, but something better. Simple. Perfect. He picked it himself.
This time, everyone knows exactly who I belong to.
We're standing near the food trucks when I spot them. Road Kings, clustered near the beer tent, my father among them. He sees me at the same moment I see him.
For a long second, neither of us moves.
King's hand tightens on my hip, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to. His presence says enough.
My father's jaw tightens. Then, slowly, he gives me the smallest nod. Not forgiveness. Not acceptance. But not war, either.
I nod back.
It's enough. For now, it's enough.
King steers me toward the taco truck — the same one where this whole thing started — and I have to smile.
"Carnitas?" I ask.
"Obviously." He pulls me close, his arm wrapped around me. "Skip the chicken."
I laugh, and he looks down at me with that expression I still can't quite believe is meant for me. Soft underneath all that hardness. Warm in a way nobody else gets to see.
"Happy?" he asks.
I look around — at the rally, at the bikes, at this world I swore I'd never be part of. Then I look at him. My husband. My home.
"Yeah," I say. "I really am."
He kisses me right there, in front of everyone — his club, my father's club, the whole damn rally. And I kiss him back, not caring who sees.
This is my life now. And I wouldn't change a single thing.