Chapter 22
The common room had never held this many people.
Splinter stood at the front, Reaper beside him, watching brothers and old ladies file in until the space was packed with bodies and noise and the particular energy of a club gathering for something that mattered.
Timber had claimed a spot near the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Grit leaned against the bar, beer in hand, nodding when their eyes met.
Family.
All of them.
His family now, official and permanent, bound by patches and blood and the unspoken promises that held the brotherhood together.
But the only people who truly mattered were making their way through the crowd—Ivy in a dress he'd never seen before, something soft and dark that clung to her curves and made his mouth water, and Mae beside her in the new dress Beth had helped her pick out, small face solemn with the importance of the moment.
"You ready?" Reaper's voice was low, meant only for him.
"Been ready my whole life. Just didn't know it until now."
Reaper's mouth twitched—the closest the president came to a smile during official business. "Then let's make it official."
The room quieted as Reaper raised his hand. The shift was immediate—conversations dying, attention focusing, the weight of tradition settling over everyone present.
"Brothers. Old ladies. Family." Reaper's voice carried easily. "We're here tonight to witness something sacred. A claiming. A brother making his woman official in front of everyone who matters."
Splinter felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He'd faced men trying to kill him with less anxiety than this moment.
"Splinter." Reaper turned to face him fully. "You've earned your patch. Proven yourself in ways that matter. Now you're asking to claim a woman as your old lady. To bind her to this club, this family, this life. You understand what that means?"
"I do."
"You understand that her enemies become our enemies? That her protection falls to every brother here? That she becomes family, with all the rights and responsibilities that carries?"
"I understand."
"Then call her forward."
Splinter's eyes found Ivy across the room. She stood perfectly still, Mae's hand clutched in hers, waiting.
"Ivy." His voice came out rougher than he intended. "Come to me."
She walked through the crowd, which parted before her like water before a ship. Each step brought her closer, and each step tightened something in Splinter's chest until he could barely breathe.
She stopped in front of him, and the world narrowed to just the two of them.
"Ivy Caudill." He took her hands in his, feeling them tremble—or maybe he was the one trembling.
"From the moment I walked into your diner, I knew you were different.
Knew you were strong in ways that mattered.
Knew I wanted to be the man standing beside you, not just for a night or a week, but for everything that comes after. "
Her eyes glistened, but she didn't look away.
"I'm asking you to be my old lady. To wear my patch and carry my claim.
To build a life with me that's nothing like either of us expected but everything like what we both deserve.
" His voice dropped, intimate despite the crowd.
"I'm asking you to be mine. Officially. Permanently. In front of everyone who matters."
"Yes." The word came out clear, certain. "I'm yours. I've been yours since you held my daughter's hand in that truck and promised her things would be okay."
The brothers erupted—cheers and whistles and the pounding of fists on tables that shook the room. But Splinter barely heard it. He was too focused on Ivy, on the tears streaming down her face, on the smile that transformed her from beautiful to transcendent.
"The patch." Reaper's voice cut through the celebration.
This was the part Splinter had planned. The part that mattered most.
He crouched down to Mae's level, meeting her serious eyes with his own.
"Little one. You know what this patch means?"
Mae nodded solemnly. "It means Mama belongs to you and the club."
"It also means I belong to her. To both of you." He pulled the patch from his pocket—the Property of Splinter patch that would mark Ivy as his old lady to anyone who saw it. "I was hoping you'd do me the honor of giving it to your mama. Since you're the one who brought us together."
Mae's eyes went wide. "Me?"
"You. If you're willing."
She took the patch from his hands with the reverence of someone handling a holy object. Turned it over, examined the stitching, ran her small fingers across the words that would bind her mother to this life.
"Mama." Mae's voice carried across the now-silent room. "Splinter wants me to give you this. Because he loves us and we love him and that means we're family forever."
Ivy laughed—a wet, broken sound—and crouched to accept the patch from her daughter. "Thank you, baby. It's perfect."
"You're welcome." Mae looked up at Splinter with satisfaction. "I did good?"
"You did perfect."
Splinter took the patch from Ivy and turned her gently, lifting her hair to expose the back of her neck. The gesture was symbolic—the actual patch would be sewn onto her jacket later—but tradition mattered. The claiming had to be witnessed.
He pressed the patch against her shoulder blade, marking her with his name.
"Mine," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "My woman. My old lady. Mine."
Ivy turned in his arms, face tilted up toward his. "Yours. Now and always."
He kissed her.
The room exploded again—brothers cheering, old ladies crying, Mae jumping up and down with excitement that shook her whole small body.
Splinter barely registered any of it. He was too lost in Ivy's mouth, in the taste of her, in the reality that she was his and he was hers and nothing would ever change that.
"Get a room!" someone shouted—Grit, probably.
Splinter broke the kiss, grinning. "Planning on it."
The celebration lasted hours.
Brothers toasted them until Splinter lost count of the drinks pressed into his hands.
Old ladies surrounded Ivy, welcoming her with hugs and advice and the particular warmth of women who understood what she was taking on.
Mae fell asleep in a corner, exhausted by excitement, her wooden rabbit clutched in her arms.
By the time the party wound down, Splinter felt drunk—not on alcohol, though there'd been plenty of that, but on belonging. On family. On the impossible reality of having everything he'd never dared to want.
Beth appeared at his elbow, Mae cradled against her shoulder. "I'll put her down in Diana's room. She can sleep there tonight."
"You sure?"
"New old lady needs her wedding night." Beth's smile carried an edge of knowing. "Even if it's not technically a wedding. Go be with your woman, Splinter. The rest of us have got this."
He found Ivy in the hallway outside their room—their room now, no longer separate spaces—leaning against the wall with her eyes closed and a smile playing at her lips.
"Hey."
Her eyes opened, dark with want. "Hey yourself."
"Mae's taken care of. Beth's putting her down in Diana's room."
"I know. Rachel told me." She pushed off the wall, closed the distance between them. "Seems like everyone's conspiring to give us the night alone."
"Seems like."
"Whatever will we do with all that time?"
He answered by scooping her up, one arm under her knees and one behind her back, and carrying her through the door.
He barely got the door closed before she was pulling at his clothes.
"Off." She yanked at his cut, his shirt, anything she could reach. "I need to feel you. All of you. Right now."
"Bossy." He set her down and let her strip him, watching her face as each piece of clothing hit the floor. When he was naked, his cock standing hard and proud between them, she licked her lips in a way that made his balls tighten.
"My turn."
He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, but she caught his hands.
"Let me."
She stepped back and drew the zipper down slowly, letting the dress fall from her shoulders inch by inch.
She wasn't wearing a bra—the dress hadn't allowed for one—and her breasts spilled free, nipples already peaked with arousal.
The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a scrap of black lace that barely qualified as underwear.
"Fuck." Splinter's voice came out strangled. "You wore that all night?"
"I wore it for you." She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slid them down her thighs. "All night, I was thinking about you peeling it off me. About what you'd do to me once we were alone."
"What did you imagine?"
"Everything." She stepped out of the lace and stood before him completely bare. "Your mouth on me. Your cock inside me. Your hands holding me down while you fuck me until I can't remember my own name."
"Christ, Ivy."
"That's not my husband's name." She closed the distance between them, wrapping her hand around his cock and stroking. "Say it. Say what you are to me now."
"Your old man." He groaned as her thumb swept over the head of his cock, spreading the precum that had gathered there. "Your husband, in every way that matters."
"And I'm yours?"
"Mine." He grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand before he embarrassed himself. "My old lady. My wife. The woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life making come so hard she sees God."
"Prove it."
He lifted her and dropped her on the bed, covering her body with his before she could catch her breath.
His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers, and she arched beneath him with a moan that went straight to his cock.
"Sensitive tonight." He switched to the other breast, giving it equal attention. "Wonder why."
"Because—oh God—because I've been wet for you since you called me yours in front of everyone—"
"Yeah?" He kissed his way down her stomach, settling between her thighs. "Show me."