Page 44 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

The scent of hairspray and perfume hangs in the air inside Babet’s bedroom, mixing with the flutter of excitement in my stomach.

I sit perfectly still as Babet’s weathered fingers weave magic through my hair, pinning and spraying each section with the precision of someone who’s done this countless times before.

The mirror reflects a version of me I barely recognize—eyes bright with anticipation rather than vigilance, cheeks flushed with joy instead of fear, lips curved in a smile that comes easier these days.

“Stop fidgeting, cher,” Babet scolds gently, tucking another sparkling pin into my updo. “You’ll make me mess up this masterpiece.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, forcing my hands to lie flat against the silky material of the robe draped over my lap. “I’ve dismantled security systems with steadier hands than this.”

Babet chuckles, the sound warm and maternal in a way that still catches me off guard sometimes. “Wedding jitters are a different beast, sugar. Trust me on that.”

Two years ago, I would have laughed at anyone who suggested I’d be sitting here on my wedding day, surrounded by makeup brushes and hair tools instead of computer equipment and weapons.

Back then, survival was the only future I could imagine—keeping Rory alive, staying one step ahead of the cartel.

Now, here I am, preparing to walk down the aisle to a man who saw past all my defenses, who helped save my brother, who showed me that family can be chosen rather than just born into.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, and the door opens to reveal Rory, his face split by a wide grin.

My breath catches at the sight of him—tall and straight, his shoulders filling out the crisp lines of his suit jacket, his face flushed with healthy color.

The hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes that haunted me for years have been replaced by the vibrant young man I always knew was trapped inside that failing body.

“Look at you,” he says, stepping into the room and giving a low whistle. “I can’t believe my big sister is getting married.”

“I can’t believe you’re effectively cured,” I counter, my voice thick with emotion as I drink in the sight of him.

The experimental treatment in Baltimore was the miracle we ’ ve been waiting for.

It worked better than any of us dared hope.

Rory ’ s almost as good as new and still getting better each day.

Rory shrugs, but I can see the pride in his posture—the way he stands without fatigue, the easy way he moves.

“I still need monitoring for a couple years,” he reminds me, “but the doctors say the gene therapy took. No more dialysis, no more medication cocktails that make me sicker than the disease.” He walks over, perching on the edge of Babet’s vanity, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of beauty products.

“And it’s all thanks to Fang and Underground Vengeance.

Without them…” he trails off, shaking his head in wonder.

“Without them, we’d still be slaves to the cartel,” I finish for him. “Or worse.”

“Now I can actually have a life instead of just watching everyone else live theirs,” Rory says, his voice dropping to a tone of amazement that makes my heart swell. He reaches out, squeezing my hand. “College applications are in. MIT and Caltech, just like we always talked about before I got sick.”

“I’m so excited to hear what they say,” I tell him, tears welling in my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them back. After years of making impossible choices, of sacrificing everything for Rory’s survival, seeing him thriving feels like a miracle.

“Hey, watch it with the waterworks,” Rory teases, his own eyes suspiciously bright. “You’ll mess up all of Babet’s hard work.”

Babet tuts, reaching for a tissue to dab carefully under my eyes. “That’s what waterproof makeup is for, sweetie. I’ve been doing this long enough to plan for a few sisterly tears.”

We’re laughing when the door bursts open again, and Vicki the Hickey sweeps in with all the subtlety of a hurricane, her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders.

Despite her unfortunate nickname, she ’ s really sweet.

We ’ ve spent quite a bit of time together, and she ’ s becoming a good friend.

In her hand, she holds a strip of blue lace that’s unmistakably a garter.

“Something blue!” she announces with a triumphant giggle, holding it out to me like a trophy. “And I promise it’s not borrowed. Brand new and sexy as hell, just like your soon-to-be husband.”

I feel my cheeks flush as I accept the lacy scrap, Rory making exaggerated gagging noises beside me.

“That’s my cue to give you ladies some privacy,” he says, standing and heading for the door. “See you in ten, sis.”

Babet waits until the door closes behind him before gesturing to my hair.

“And I’ve got the borrowed part covered,” she says, pointing to the vintage crystal hairpins twinkling among the dark strands of my updo.

“They belonged to my grandmother. She passed them on to me. Now they’re yours for the ceremony. ”

“And my dress is definitely something new,” I add, glancing toward the garment bag hanging on Babet’s closet door.

It contains a princess-style gown with a fitted bodice that hugs my curves before exploding into layers of tulle and lace.

The intricate beadwork across the bodice made me gasp when I first tried it on—tiny crystals catching the light with every breath, transforming me into someone who belongs in a fairy tale rather than a crime saga.

Vicki claps her hands together, excitement radiating from her like a physical force. “I’ll let Bones know we’re almost ready! Five minutes!” She dashes out of the room in a cloud of fruity perfume.

Babet turns me gently toward the mirror, her hands resting on my shoulders as we both stare at my reflection. The woman looking back at me wears serenity like a second skin, her eyes clear and purposeful, her lips curved in quiet confidence.

“You ready to get married, cher?” Babet asks softly, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I think about the journey that led me here—from desperate deals with the cartel to save Rory, to finding unexpected allies in an outlaw motorcycle club, to falling in love with a man whose brilliant mind matches my own.

I think about the fear I lived with for so long, and the peace I’ve found in its absence.

I think about family—the one I protected and the one I’m building now.

“Yes,” I answer, my voice steady and sure. “I’m ready.”

Babet and Vicki give me one last hug before leading to join the wedding guests.

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving a pocket of stillness in their wake.

Rory returns a minute later. We stand facing each other in the silence, the enormity of the moment settling between us.

He looks at me with eyes that shine with joy.

I realize with a start that this might be the first time in our adult lives we’ve both been truly happy at the same time.

“I never thought I’d be able to walk you down the aisle,” Rory says, his voice catching slightly as he runs his fingers over the sleeve of his suit jacket—the first he’s ever worn.

“When I was stuck on dialysis, I used to think about all the things I might miss. Your wedding was always at the top of that list.”

The lump in my throat threatens to dissolve into tears, but I swallow hard against it. “Don’t get sentimental on me now, little brother. You have more important things to think about, like not tripping over this giant dress. I’ll never forgive you if you face-plant in front of the entire club.”

Rory laughs. “ It is huge, but very pretty.”

“ I ’ m glad you like it. Hopefully Fang likes it too.”

“ He will.”

My hands smooth nervously over the voluminous fabric of my wedding gown, the layers of tulle and lace catching the light as they rustle beneath my fingers.

The dress is nothing like I would have imagined for myself—too princess-like, too fairy tale—but the moment I tried it on, I knew it was perfect.

After years of utility clothing chosen for ease of movement and the ability to conceal weapons, this impractical, beautiful creation feels like the ultimate declaration of safety.

“Ready,” Rory asks, standing taller than I’ve seen him in years.

“ I think so.”

“You know, with all those layers, no one would even notice if I did stumble.”

I grin and reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly in mine. “You’re the best brother I could have asked for, you know that? Through everything—the cartel, your illness, all of it—you kept me going. Kept me human when it would have been easier to become something else entirely.”

His fingers wrap around mine, strong and warm. “Right back at you, sis. Now let’s go get you married before Fang thinks you’ve changed your mind and sends a search party.”

We make our way out of Babet’s room and through the clubhouse, which is unusually quiet with most of the members already gathered outside.

As we approach the back door, I catch glimpses of the transformation beyond—the usually rugged back yard now draped in white fabric and twinkling lights, turned into something magical by hands more accustomed to maintaining motorcycles than arranging wedding decorations.

Rory offers his arm, and I take it, grateful for the support as we step outside into the late afternoon sunshine.

The breath catches in my throat as I take in the full scene—white chairs arranged in neat rows, flowers adorning every available surface, string lights crisscrossing overhead like stars waiting for darkness to reveal their glow.

The motorcycle club’s typically rough-edged environment has been softened for the day, though not entirely tamed—leather cuts still are visible on most of the men, their bikes lined up in formation at the far edge of the yard like silent sentinels guarding our celebration.