Page 45 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

The guests rise as we appear. I scan the crowd, taking in the faces of people who’ve become family in ways I never expected.

Vapor stands near the front, his imposing presence somewhat softened by Blue at his side, her coppery red hair catching fire in the sunlight.

The way they lean toward each other speaks of a connection that surprised everyone—the club president and the jazz singer finding common ground despite their different worlds.

Ice is there too, his platinum hair pulled back neatly, silver-blue eyes watchful even in celebration.

Beside him stands Isabella, elegant in a soft pink form-fitting dress that accentuates her curves, her head held high with the confidence of a woman who’s stepped out of the cartel’s shadow to forge her own path.

Their unlikely alliance blossomed into something more thanks in part to her duplicitous brother, another unexpected gift from our shared battles.

The music changes—a cue I almost miss until Rory gives my arm a gentle squeeze.

We begin our walk down the flower-strewn aisle, and suddenly I can see nothing but Fang waiting at the makeshift altar.

He stands tall and proud in his MC vest worn over a crisp white shirt, the club’s colors displayed prominently across his back.

His face—that beautiful face I’ve memorized in laughter and concentration, in sleep and in passion—breaks into a smile so bright it nearly stops my heart.

He still bears a thin scar above his eyebrow from the explosion at Vasquez ’ s Houston compound, a permanent reminder of how close we came to losing everything before we’d truly found it.

But his eyes are clear and focused entirely on me, tracking my progress down the aisle with an intensity that makes the rest of the world fade to background noise.

I barely register the other members standing nearby—Bones with his broad shoulders and gentle smile, Tank looking unusually polished in a button-down shirt with Vicki by his side, Diablo with his perpetual air of contained danger.

Scalpel and Alice stand side by side, not quite touching, but I get the sense they want to.

Then my entire world narrows to Fang and the few remaining steps between us.

When we reach the altar, Rory and Fang shake hands—a simple gesture loaded with meaning. My brother entrusting me to this man, acknowledging all that Fang has done for both of us. Then Rory places my hand in Fang’s, and the warmth of his fingers closing around mine feels like coming home.

Bones steps forward to conduct the ceremony, his deep voice carrying easily across the yard. The words themselves blur together in my memory—promises of loyalty and love. What remains crystal clear is Fang’s face as he says “I do,” the certainty in his voice matching the steadiness in his eyes.

When Bones pronounces us husband and wife, the cheer that erupts from the assembled club members is deafening—whistles and hollers and the revving of motorcycle engines creating a symphony that’s uniquely UVMC. Fang pulls me close. His kiss is pure passion, and I lose myself in it completely.

The celebration that follows is exactly what you’d expect from an outlaw motorcycle club—wild and loud and fueled by more alcohol than seems advisable. But beneath the raucous exterior lies something precious—a sense of belonging that both Rory and I have craved our entire lives.

As night falls and the string lights overhead transform into stars against the darkening sky, I find myself watching my brother laugh with a group of prospects, his face animated and carefree in a way I’d forgotten was possible.

He ’ s made so many friends since he came back from treatment. Brothers for life.

Fang’s arm slips around my waist, pulling me against his side. “Happy?” he asks, his lips close to my ear to be heard above the music.

I look around at our unlikely family—the bikers and their women, the reformed cartel princess dancing with the club’s ice-cold enforcer, my healthy brother surrounded by people who would die to protect him—and feel the final pieces of my guard dissolve into contentment.

“More than I ever thought possible,” I answer, leaning into the solid warmth of my husband, my partner, my home.