Chapter Fifteen
The compound had transformed.
Fairy lights strung between buildings cast warm pools of gold across the yard.
Tables groaned with food—Rosa had been cooking for two days straight, recruiting every old lady who could hold a knife.
The smell of barbecue and fresh bread filled the air, mixing with laughter and music from the speakers someone had set up near the clubhouse.
Vice stood at the edge of it all, watching his brothers gather, and felt something shift in his chest.
Three years he'd worn the Sentinel patch. Three years of earning his place, proving his worth, becoming part of something bigger than himself. But tonight was different. Tonight wasn't about what he could do for the club.
Tonight was about what the club would do for him.
"You look like you're about to face a firing squad." Maverick appeared at his shoulder, grinning. "Relax, brother. This is supposed to be fun."
"I'm relaxed."
"You're vibrating like a tuning fork." Maverick clapped him on the back. "She said yes, the brothers approved, all you gotta do is say the words. Easy."
Easy. Right.
Vice had faced down insurgents, treated bullet wounds under fire, killed men who threatened what was his. None of it had made him this nervous.
"There she is."
Vice turned, and the world narrowed to a single point.
Diana walked across the compound yard with Jenna and Sophia flanking her, the old ladies escorting her toward the ceremony space like an honor guard. She wore a simple dress—dark blue, nothing fancy—but it wasn't the dress that stopped his heart.
It was the cut draped over her shoulders.
Property leather. His name stitched across the back in clean white thread: PROPERTY OF VICE. The mark that told everyone in their world exactly who she belonged to.
She'd said yes to wearing it. Said yes to him. Said yes to everything.
Diana's eyes found his across the yard, and her smile lit up her whole face.
Mine, Vice thought. Forever mine.
The ceremony was simple. That was the Sentinel way.
Brothers formed a loose circle around the fire pit, old ladies and kids gathered behind them. Titan stood at the center, his massive frame casting long shadows in the firelight, his expression grave with the weight of tradition.
Vice took his place beside the president, Diana at his side. Her hand found his, gripping tight. Not nervous—ready. Certain.
"Brothers." Titan's voice carried across the yard, silencing conversation.
"We're here tonight to witness a claiming.
Vice has found his woman. She's earned her place among us—stood tall when men came for her, kept our children safe when bullets flew, walked into Church and gave us intel that helped end a war. "
Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd. Vice felt Diana squeeze his hand tighter.
"Diana Marsh isn't just worthy of Vice," Titan continued. "She's worthy of this club. She's shown backbone when it would have been easier to break. She's proven that she'll protect what's ours as fiercely as we protect her."
He turned to Vice.
"Speak your claim, brother."
Vice faced Diana, taking both her hands in his. The firelight caught the silver at his temples, the scars on his knuckles, all the marks of a hard life that had led him here, to this moment, to her.
"I spent a long time looking for something worth protecting." His voice was rough, but steady. "Something that would make all the rest of it—the fighting, the bleeding, the faces that visit me at night—mean something."
Diana's eyes glistened, but she didn't look away.
"I found it in a daycare full of tiny chairs and finger paintings. I found it in a woman who told dangerous men to get out of her building. I found it in you." Vice lifted her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "You're mine, Diana. My woman. My family. My reason."
"And you're mine." Diana's voice was strong, unwavering. "My protector. My partner. My home."
Something cracked open in Vice's chest. Not painful—releasing. Like setting down a weight he'd carried so long he'd forgotten he was holding it.
Titan stepped forward. "The cut?"
Diana turned, and Jenna adjusted the property leather on her shoulders—settling it properly, making sure it hung right. When Diana faced the circle again, she was wearing Vice's name for everyone to see.
"Before these witnesses," Titan declared, "Vice claims Diana as his old lady. She wears his cut. She belongs to him and he belongs to her. Any brother who disrespects her disrespects him. Any threat to her is a threat to the club."
He looked between them, something almost like warmth in his hard eyes.
"Welcome to the family, Diana."
The compound erupted.
Brothers surged forward with congratulations, slapping Vice's back, offering handshakes and shoulder grips and the rough affection of men who didn't know any other way to show they cared.
Old ladies pulled Diana into hugs, Jenna and Sophia among the first, welcoming her into a sisterhood she hadn't known she was joining.
And through it all, Vice kept Diana close. Hand on her back. Body angled toward hers. Making sure everyone understood that the woman in the property cut was his.
The celebration continued for hours.
Food was eaten, toasts were made, stories were told that made Diana blush and Vice groan with embarrassment.
Someone produced a cake that the compound kids descended on like tiny sugar-seeking missiles.
Maya claimed Diana's lap and refused to be moved, declaring that Miss Diana was the best and anyone who disagreed was stupid.
Vice watched it all with something warm spreading through his chest.
This was his family. His brothers, their women, their children. And now, finally, he had someone who was just his.
"Ready to escape?" he murmured against Diana's ear, late enough that the party was starting to wind down.
Diana shifted Maya—now asleep—into Sophia's waiting arms and rose from her chair. "I thought you'd never ask."
They slipped away while the compound was distracted by Maverick telling an increasingly embellished story about a bar fight that definitely hadn't happened the way he was describing it. Vice led Diana through the darkened compound to their quarters, his hand never leaving the small of her back.
Inside, he closed the door and turned to face her.
Diana stood in the middle of their room, wearing his cut over her dress, firelight from outside casting warm shadows across her face. She looked beautiful. She looked claimed.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi yourself." Vice crossed to her, hands finding her waist. "How does it feel?"
"The cut?" Diana rolled her shoulders, settling the leather. "Heavy. In a good way."
"It should." He traced the edge of the property patch, his fingers brushing her collarbone. "You're carrying my name now. That means something."
"I know what it means." Diana's hands came up to his chest, spreading flat over his heart. "It means I'm yours. Officially, publicly, permanently."
"Damn right."
He kissed her—slow, savoring, tasting champagne and cake and Diana. Not desperate like after the assault, not nervous like their first time. This was claiming with certainty. Possession made permanent.
Diana melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The property cut shifted between them, leather creaking softly.
"Keep it on," Vice murmured against her lips.
"The cut?"
"I want to see you in nothing but my name."
Diana's breath caught. Then she smiled—wicked, wanting—and stepped back just far enough to reach for the hem of her dress.
She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore simple cotton—nothing fancy, nothing designed for seduction. It didn't matter. The sight of her standing there in his property leather and white cotton made Vice's blood roar.
"Better?" Diana asked.
"Getting there."
He closed the distance and kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding under the cut to find warm skin.
Diana's fingers worked at his shirt, pulling it free, shoving it off his shoulders.
They stripped each other with the ease of lovers who'd learned each other's bodies, who knew exactly where to touch and how to move.
But tonight wasn't about urgency. Tonight was about savoring.
Vice laid Diana across their bed, taking a moment to just look at her. The property cut spread beneath her like wings, his name visible even in the dim light. Her hair fanned across the pillow. Her eyes watched him with trust and want and love.
"You're so beautiful," he said. "Every day, I can't believe you're real."
"I'm real." Diana reached for him. "Come prove it."
He covered her body with his, skin to skin, heat building everywhere they touched. His mouth traced a path down her throat, across her collarbone, over the swell of her breasts. Diana arched beneath him, making soft sounds that drove him crazy.
"Colton—"
"I've got you." He kissed between her breasts, over her ribs, down the soft plane of her stomach. "Let me take my time."
"We have time."
"We have forever."
The word settled over them both. Forever. Not just tonight, not just this moment—forever.
Vice worshipped her with his hands and mouth, learning every response, cataloging every gasp. The healer's touch turned to something else—careful and precise, yes, but tender too. Reverent. Like she was something precious that deserved to be handled with care.
When he finally slid inside her, Diana's legs wrapping around his waist, they both groaned at the rightness of it. No barriers between them anymore. Nothing held back.
"Mine," Vice said against her throat as he began to move.
"Yours," Diana agreed, her nails raking down his back. "And you're mine."
"Always."
They moved together in the rhythm they'd learned over the past weeks—give and take, push and pull, two people who'd found each other in chaos and built something real. Vice felt Diana climbing toward release, felt his own control fraying at the edges.
"Come with me," she whispered. "Together."
He pushed deeper, changed his angle, and Diana shattered. The sensation of her clenching around him pulled Vice over the edge, and they fell together—claiming and being claimed, possession made physical, the ceremony in the yard completed here in their bed.
After, they lay tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. Diana's head rested on Vice's chest, one hand tracing idle patterns over his heart. The property cut had ended up on the floor at some point, but Vice didn't care.
She didn't need leather to prove she was his. She'd already proven it a thousand times over.
"I love you," Diana murmured against his chest.
"I love you too." Vice pressed a kiss to her hair. "My old lady."
He felt her smile. "My outlaw."
Outside, the sounds of celebration had finally faded. The compound had settled into quiet. Tomorrow they'd return to regular life—Diana to her daycare, Vice to his duties, both of them to the future they were building together.
But tonight, there was just this. Two people who'd found each other. Two halves made whole.
Vice pulled Diana closer and let himself drift, the healer's hands gentle on her skin, learning a different kind of care.
The kind that lasted forever.