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“Then take me in a closet and fuck me, Cuckoo.”

“I love you, Katrina.”

“I know, handsome. Trust me, I know.”

As I watched her sexy ass sway, I decided she would be my wife too. I couldn’t exist without this woman.

Might as well put a ring on her finger to prove it.

Chapter 15 Katrina

Memories of the past would always haunt me. The nights I hid in Rain’s closet. When he would take beatings to keep me safe. The extra food he gave me, sometimes going hungry, so I didn’t. That horrible night when the Sect found me at the carnival.

But I wasn’t alone.

I had Rain. My Cuckoo. The fierce biker and protector who would never let me falter or suffer alone.

With his help, support, and love, I felt I could overcome anything. I told him that in bed, which only led to additional hours between the sheets. We finally got up around noon, only to discover that Crow had the entire club preparing a BBQ, and he’d declared today was a holiday.

We’d won a battle but not the war. The Sect was still out there. They would investigate what happened to the men the crows had mobbed. But nothing would lead back to us.

We crippled them, but they weren’t destroyed. The club vowed to do whatever was necessary to end the cult. And we had help. The Reapers had already begun the hunt. I learned that one of their own, Spook, had experienced something similar to what Rain and I had.

But that wasn’t what I wanted to focus on.

I decided I wanted a name change. I was no longer a girl without a family. I’d gained more than I ever could have hoped. My adopted parents, Trent and Sabrina. Cuckoo and his club. But the best part? Lucky Lou and the Rossi name. I was found, no longer lost.

I’d never truly been abandoned. Cuckoo made sure of that.

Lou parked his scooter beside me, offering me a cold glass of iced tea. “You looked thirsty.”

I accepted it and took a sip. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Get used to this. I’m an old man with nothing better to do than spoil my family. I’m so proud that includes you, Rina.”

Touched, I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You know, there’s something I’d like to do.”

“Oh? Name it.”

“I’d like to return to my real name.”

“You want to be a Rossi again?” He blinked back tears, revealing the emotional reaction he couldn’t hide.

“I do.”

“But it might make you a target,” he warned.

“It’s my birthright. I want to do this.”

He nodded. “It’s brave.” He smiled. “And it feels right.”

It did to me, too.

“Cuckoo won’t like it,” he observed as my man joined us. He’d chosen a shirt printed with giant palm trees, his cut, and bright orange velvet pants with silver zippers. He wore a pirate hat with a white skull and crossbones. Somehow, it all worked.

“I won’t like what?” he asked, picking me up, sitting in my spot, and depositing my bottom on his lap.

“Changing my name,” I answered, “to Rossi.”