Page 33 of Gonzo’s Grudge (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Dreadnought, NC #1)
Gonzo
T he music rolled heavy through the clubhouse, bass thumping the floor, laughter carrying louder than the jukebox. Cigarette smoke curled in the air, bottles clinked, boots thudded on scarred wood, and for the first time in a long damn time, I felt calm, still even.
At peace.
Pop’s ghost lingered, but not like a weight anymore. More like a presence that gave me a nod from the shadows, letting me know he was proud. We’d avenged him, honored him, kept the code he taught us. Tonight was about more than loss—it was about everything that came after.
And she was on my arm.
IvaLeigh moved through the clubhouse like she’d been born to it, chin up, eyes steady, smile soft but sure. She wasn’t trying to blend, and she wasn’t trying to stand out. She just was. And every brother saw it—the difference in me when she was there.
I caught Burn smirking from across the table, muttering something to Disciple that made the man laugh into his beer. Tower raised his bottle in a mock toast, and Shanks elbowed GJ like look at your old man now .
Yeah. Look at me now.
The woman at my side was the only thing that had ever calmed the fire in my chest. She’d said “for life,” and I’d taken it like gospel.
Later, when the whiskey had been poured and the food was gone and the music dropped into the background hum of engines idling out front, I stood.
The room stilled.
“Brothers,” I said, voice carrying across the table. “You know me. You know when I make a vow, I keep it.”
“Amen to that,” someone muttered.
Before I could go on, GJ’s voice cut in, loud and proud. “I’m free because of that.”
The room rumbled—agreement, respect, cheers muffled by the weight of truth.
I nodded at my boy. He’d earned the right to say it. Then I looked back at the table, at my brothers, at the family Pop left me to carry.
“I’ve made vows of vengeance,” I said. “And I’ve kept every damn one. But tonight, I want to make a vow not of blood but of loyalty. To this club. To all of you. As your president, you’ll never doubt where my loyalty lies.”
A murmur spread through the room. Respect. Trust. The kind of sound men make when they believe what they hear.
Then I turned.
“IvaLeigh,” I said, pulling her gently to the center of the room. She looked at me, eyes wide, like she wasn’t sure what I was doing but she knew it was big.
And then I dropped to one knee.
The whole room went silent.
“I made vows of vengeance for my brothers if anyone ever crossed them. Tonight, I make a vow to you,” I said, my voice rough but steady. “I vow never to use you as a pawn in a man’s game. I vow to love you and to be loyal to you until my last breath—if you’ll have me from now for life.”
I pulled the ring from my cut pocket, the one I’d kept locked away for years. Not a property patch. Not a mark of ownership. A promise.
Her hands flew to her mouth, tears spilling before she could even speak.
“Yes,” she whispered. Then louder, her voice breaking with joy. “Yes, Gonzo. A thousand times yes.”
The room exploded—cheers, whistles, the pounding of fists on the table. GJ whooped louder than anyone, grinning from ear to ear. Burn raised his bottle, Tower bellowed, Disciple muttered a prayer of thanks, and even Waverly cracked a smile wide enough to see from across the room.
I slid the ring onto her finger, stood, and kissed her like the world needed to see how real it was.
We partied after that, like Outlaws do. Music louder, laughter rougher, bottles emptied faster. The night belonged to us. To her. To the vow I’d made.
But every party has its shadow.
I was behind the bar, arm draped around IvaLeigh’s shoulders, when the sound cut through the noise—Loco’s voice, sharp, angry, breaking in the front lot.
“You can’t leave!” he roared.
The room froze. Brothers exchanged glances. IvaLeigh’s hand tightened on my arm.
We all moved, a tide of cuts spilling through the doorway into the night.
Out front, under the glow of the security lights, Loco stood in the lot, fists clenched, eyes burning. And across from him—Juanita Banks.
Her suitcase sat on the pavement by her feet, rental car idling. Her face was set, but her eyes carried the kind of storm only history can bring.
“You saved my sister,” Juanita said, her voice steady, carrying. “I owed you a marker. We’re even, Dante. I’m leaving you behind for good this time.”
Loco shook his head, stepping forward like he could stop her with sheer will. “No. Don’t do this.”
She bent, lifted her suitcase, and looked at him one last time. “I already did.”
And then she turned. Walked to the car. Slid behind the wheel.
The engine revved, tires crunching gravel, and then she was gone.
Loco stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild. Then he swung a leg over his bike, ripped it to life, and tore out of the lot like a man trying to outrun his own shadow.
The lot stayed silent long after the sound of his pipes faded into the night.
I felt Iva shift against me, her hand slipping into mine.
She looked up at me, eyes soft, voice quiet but steady.
“I know this hurts for your brother,” she stated.
“But it means he cares. That’s the thing about all of you—underneath the outlaw is a saint.
You just have to find the right partner to bring it out. Loco will be okay.”
I stared down at her, my chest tight with the weight of what I didn’t deserve. “How did I get so lucky? To have someone who can see beyond the darkness in me?”
She smiled through her tears, mischief flickering even now. “Because you’re sexy.”
I barked a laugh, low and rough, then leaned down and kissed her hard, like vows and ghosts and loss and brothers all had to wait their turn behind this moment.
Because for once, the future didn’t feel like a death sentence.
It felt like life.
For her. For me. For us.
For life.
The End
Next in the series: Loco’s Last