Epilogue #4
Her eyes go wide, and I smile against her skin. Cruel now but just a little. She bites my palm. And the only thought I have is that I love her so fucking much.
“Go away,” I call.
Fury laughs. “Garage is for bikes, Steel!”
Raven’s voice cuts through the yard. “Fury, walk away unless you want Harper to explain anatomy to you with pliers.”
A pause follows before Fury speaks. “Walking away.”
Harper shakes against me, laughter and pleasure tangled together. I take my hand from her mouth and turn her face so I can kiss her. It’s messy, hot, and almost too much.
She comes while I’m still kissing her, body locking around mine, her cry swallowed against my mouth. I hold her through every second, thrusting slower but deeper, feeling her break and shake and trust me with the whole of it.
“Marcus,” she whispers, and that ruins me.
I come hard, buried inside her, one arm locked around her waist, my face in her neck, her name tearing out of me like it was carved from bone.
For a long time, we don’t move. The party continues outside. Music. Laughter. Booze. Bikes. The club. Life.
Harper’s hands cover mine where they rest against her stomach. Her breathing is uneven, and mine isn’t much better.
“Well,” she says finally.
I press my forehead to her shoulder. “Yeah.”
“That was...”
“Yeah.”
She laughs softly. “Words, Steel. We’ve been over this.”
I turn her carefully in my arms and lift her onto the workbench again, gentler now. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is a wreck. Her lips are swollen from mine.
She looks happy and thoroughly fucked.
I clean her up with my wrecked shirt because I am not an animal, despite public opinion. She watches me with that soft look that still hits me harder than violence ever did.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re very careful after being very not careful.”
“I was careful.”
Her brow lifts. “The workbench disagrees.”
“The workbench is fine.”
“The screwdriver tray may need therapy.”
I smile, and she reaches for me, pulling me closer until I stand between her knees again.
“I love you,” she says.
“And I love you,” I answer.
Her fingers trace the scar on my jaw. “Are you happy?” she asks softly.
I look toward the closed garage door. Outside, the club is loud enough to wake the dead.
Mama M is yelling. Milo is laughing. Raven is probably threatening someone.
Savage is pretending he doesn’t like the chaos.
Fury is making jokes he’ll regret. Crimson apologized.
Tyler is alive. And Dante is somewhere breathing because Harper decided he should.
And Harper is here with me. One month later. Still choosing me every day.
“Yeah, I am,” I say.
Her eyes soften. “That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
“Good. Emotional growth should sting.”
I laugh. A real one. Small, rough, and unfamiliar. But the sound makes her smile go bright enough to make my chest hurt. I pull her into me and hold her there, her legs around my waist, my hands on her back, the whole world outside the door and the only world I need in my arms.
“I never thought I’d get this,” I say.
“What? Garage sex during a barbecue?”
“That too.”
She kisses my jaw. “What did you mean?”
“You. Laughing outside. Wearing my helmet. Fighting with Milo. Making Crimson apologize as if he were confessing in an actual church. Standing in my life like you belong there because you decided you do.”
Her eyes shine. “I do belong there,” she says.
“Yes.”
“But not because you put me there.”
“No.” I press my mouth to her forehead. “Because you chose it.”
“And you?”
I look at her. Her question is softer now. More dangerous than any gun. “What about me?”
“Are you still choosing this?” she asks. “Me? The arguments? The shifts? Milo showing up with cupcakes? Me yelling at you for lurking? The fact that I’ll never stop saving people, even ones you think don’t deserve it?”
I cup the back of her neck. “Yes.” Her breath catches.
“All of it,” I say. “Every shift. Every argument. Every cupcake I don’t trust. Every time you tell me no.
Every time you tell me yes. I choose you, Harper.
Not because you’re easy. Not because this is safe.
Because you’re the only thing that ever made me want to be more than what I was built for. ”
A tear slips down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb. “Don’t cry.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she sasses, wiping at her face.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She laughs through the tears and kisses me. Outside, someone starts pounding on the garage door again.
Milo shouts, “I’m giving you three minutes before I require proof of life!”
Harper groans against my mouth. “He means it.”
Raven yells, “Give them five. Steel is emotionally slow.”
Fury adds, “And physically huge!” Silence drops outside.
Then Mama M bellows, “Fury!”
Harper collapses against me, laughing. I hold her tighter and let the sound settle into all the places inside me that used to know only rage. This is my happily ever after.
Not quiet. Not clean. Not soft in the way other men might understand. But smoke, booze, engines, family, laughter, danger kept outside the door, and Harper Quinn in my arms choosing me after seeing every terrible thing I am.
The End