Page 43 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

His lips quirk into the lopsided smile I’ve grown to love. “Your code is exceptional,” he agrees, his voice dropping lower. “Almost as exceptional as the woman who writes it.”

Our eyes lock in silent understanding—a contract more binding than any words could create. I’ve chosen him, chosen us, chosen this life with all its complications and dangers. Not out of necessity or fear, but out of love and the desire for a future free from the cartel.

I lean down, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, heat building between us despite his injuries.

His hand slides to the nape of my neck, holding me to him as his mouth moves against mine with increasing urgency.

I taste the faintest metallic hint of blood from his split lip, but I don’t pull away.

Instead, I carefully shift my weight, straddling his hips without putting pressure on his torso.

“Are you sure?” I breathe against his mouth, suddenly aware of how fragile he still is. “Your ribs—”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he replies, his hands finding the hem of my t-shirt and sliding beneath, palms warm against my skin. “Just… maybe you do most of the work this time.”

A laugh bubbles from my throat, breaking the tension as I sit up to pull my shirt over my head. The cool air raises goosebumps across my bare skin, quickly replaced by heat as Fang’s gaze travels over me with unconcealed appreciation.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, hands skimming up my sides to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing across sensitive peaks in a way that makes my breath catch.

I lean down to kiss him again, more carefully this time, mindful of his split lip.

His hands continue their exploration, relearning the contours of my body as I carefully work the drawstring of his sweatpants loose.

There’s something different about this time—a deliberateness, a certainty that wasn’t there before.

Each touch feels like a promise, each kiss like sealing a vow.

We take our time undressing each other, movements slowed both by his injuries and by our desire to savor each moment.

When I finally sink down onto him, taking him inside me with a soft gasp, his hands grip my hips with an intensity that borders on desperation.

I set a gentle rhythm, rolling against him in a way that minimizes strain on his ribs while maximizing our pleasure.

“I love you,” he whispers against my collarbone, the words vibrating through my skin and settling somewhere deep in my chest. “I love you, Mina.”

The sound of my name on his lips, rough with emotion and desire, pushes me closer to the edge.

I move faster, my body seeking completion even as my mind catalogs every sensation—the the hardness of his body against my softness, the catch in his breath when I change angles, the heat building between us like a gathering storm.

His hands grip my waist, guiding my movements as I rise and fall above him, careful to keep my weight off his injured ribs even as desire threatens to overwhelm caution.

“Mina,” he gasps, my name a prayer on his lips as his fingers dig into my hips. His eyes hold mine, refusing to close even as his pleasure surges, as if he needs to witness every moment of our connection.

I lean down to capture his mouth with mine, swallowing his groans as our bodies move together in perfect synchronicity.

The tension coils tighter in my core, a gathering wave of sensation that crests suddenly, breaking through me with such intensity that I cry out against his lips.

He follows moments later, his body tensing beneath mine, his good arm pulling me tight against his chest as if afraid I might still slip away.

For long moments afterward, we remain joined, my forehead pressed to his, our breathing gradually slowing in tandem. His hand traces up and down my spine, sending pleasant aftershocks through my sensitized skin.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, suddenly aware of his injuries again now that the haze of desire is fading. “Did I hurt you?”

He smiles, the expression transforming his battered face. “Worth every twinge,” he assures me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with unexpected tenderness.

I carefully shift to lay beside him, nestling into the crook of his uninjured arm, my hand coming to rest over his heart. Its steady rhythm beneath my palm grounds me in this moment, in this choice I’ve made to stay.

“It’s different now,” I say softly, tracing the outline of a bandage on his chest.

“What is?”

“This. Us.” I struggle to articulate the shift I feel.

“Before, it felt like borrowed time. Like I was just waiting for everything to fall apart, for the cartel to find us, for Rory to get worse…” I tilt my head to meet his eyes.

“But now it feels like we’re building something. Like we have a future.”

His fingers trail down my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “We do have a future,” he confirms, his voice low and certain. “Whatever you want it to look like.”

“Tell me,” I urge, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “What does our future look like in your head?”

Fang’s hand stills on my shoulder, his expression turning thoughtful.

“Rory completes his treatment successfully. The experimental protocol works, maybe not perfectly, but enough that he doesn’t need dialysis anymore.

” His thumb traces my shoulder blade with precise, gentle strokes.

“He stays here while he recovers, then maybe goes to college if he wants. I’ve got connections at MIT who owe me favors. ”

I smile against his skin, warming to this vision. “Rory would love that. He always wanted to study engineering before he got sick.”

“Meanwhile, we work together to systematically dismantle the cartel’s operations.” His voice grows more animated, the tech genius emerging through the injuries.

“And us?” I prompt, wanting to hear the part that matters most.

His arms tighten around me fractionally.

“During the day, we work together. Your coding skills and cartel knowledge, my systems expertise. We become the club’s digital enforcement arm.

And at night, we come home to each other.

Maybe eventually to a bigger place than this room, but still close to the club. Still protected.”

“Your secret safe house?” I ask.

“No. I’d like to keep that in case we need to stash anyone else there. You deserve something better than that place. It’s too small for us.”

The image settles into my mind like a photograph developing—a future I never dared imagine during my years with the cartel. A life built on choices rather than coercion.

“I’m scared,” I admit, the confession easier in the darkness, in the safety of his arms. “Not of staying, but of hoping. Every time I’ve hoped for something better, the universe has found new ways to punish me for it.”

“Hope isn’t a punishable offense,” Fang says, his lips brushing my forehead. “And you’re not alone anymore. Whatever comes, we face it together. The club, you, me. Even Rory, when he’s stronger.”

I prop myself up on my elbow, studying his face in the dim light filtering through the blinds. The bruises stand out in stark relief, reminders of how dangerous our path remains.

“I’m ready to fight them,” I tell him, voicing the realization that’s been forming since I made my choice. “They controlled my past, and I ’ ll never get that time back. But they won ’ t get a single second of my future.”

Fang’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch reverent. “The future is ours. We ’ ll use it to dismantle the cartel, one server, one account, one corrupt official at a time.”

“Until there’s nothing left of them,” I agree, turning to press a kiss into his palm.

“I may never find out what happened to Tommy, but I’m starting to find peace. Helping Rory and talking to you…it healed something inside me.” His voice cracks.

“You saved my brother. That means everything to me. I know you’ll always have a little piece of your heart missing because of Tommy, but Rory loves you like a brother. He’ll never replace Tommy, but he doesn’t want to. He just wants to be a part of a family again.”

“He is,” Fang says softly. “He’s part of ours now and he always will be. We may not be blood brothers, but we’re brothers for life now. I’ll always have his back, and he’ll have mine. It’s what family does for each other.”

“It is now.” I smile and kiss him gently.

As I snuggle against him, we fall into comfortable silence.

Outside, a motorcycle engine roars to life in the compound, the sound fading as the rider heads out into the night.

Somewhere in Baltimore, Rory sleeps in a hospital bed, his body beginning the long process of recovery.

And here, in this room that smells of antiseptic and sex and possibilities, I’ve found something I thought forever beyond my reach.

Home.

Fang’s breathing deepens, sleep finally claiming him as exhaustion and painkillers win out over adrenaline.

I remain awake a little longer, watching the rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the peaceful lines of his face in repose.

When I finally close my eyes, it’s with the certainty that when I open them again, he’ll still be there.