Page 30 of My End (Iron Fiends #10)

Tilly

I sat at one of the long wooden tables in the common room with a half-eaten plate of waffles and sausage in front of me, a steaming mug of coffee within arm’s reach, and Stretch beside me looking way too alert for someone who hadn’t gotten much sleep.

Across from us sat Poppy and Yarder, the latter with his coffee gripped in one hand and a plate piled high in front of him like he was prepping for a food shortage.

“I think Adalee is giving Adam a run for his money,” I said and cut into the last wedge of waffle.

“Adam was good,” Stretch agreed and stabbed a piece of sausage with his fork, “but there’s just something about Adalee’s cooking. Tastes like home to me.”

Poppy smiled. “She made those waffles with sour cream in the batter. Gives it that rich taste.”

“Shut up!” Olive suddenly called from near the TV.

Every head in the room turned as she grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume. Forks froze mid-air. Conversations dropped off. I twisted in my seat and watched the screen with everyone else.

A red Breaking News banner streaked across the bottom of the television.

The blonde anchor sat stiff-backed behind a desk, and her voice was urgent.

“We interrupt your morning programming with breaking news from Dallas, Texas. The United States Attorney General, Boone Drake, and Texas-based attorney Craig Gibbs were taken into custody early this morning following an extensive joint investigation by the FBI and Internal Affairs.”

I blinked.

“Hot damn!” Compass hollered from the other table. “This shit is official!”

Everyone erupted.

Chairs scraped against the floor. Fists pumped into the air. Cheers echoed off the walls like the roar of an engine rally.

“They got those bastards!” Fade shouted.

Throttle and Smoke clapped hands across the table. Adalee stood beside the coffee station and was grinning ear to ear. Even Saylor had her hands in the air like she was celebrating a touchdown.

It was electric. A wave of relief so strong it nearly knocked me out of my chair.

We’d done it.

They had done it.

And it was finally over.

“...Among the charges brought against Drake and Gibbs,” the anchor continued, “are attempted murder, fabricating physical evidence, conspiracy, and tampering with a witness. Investigators claim the two orchestrated a string of illegal activities aimed at covering up high-level political corruption and silencing those who stood in their way…”

Yarder leaned back in his chair and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. “About fucking time,” he grunted.

“You’re welcome,” Stretch said and tossed a piece of sausage in his mouth with a smug grin.

Yarder gave him a look. “For you going AWOL? You had us all fucking worried with that stunt you pulled.”

Stretch shrugged and was entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah, but it worked. Boone and Gibbs are behind bars, and life can go back to normal for us.”

Yarder snorted. “Boone and Gibbs are behind bars because of that FBI agent. He spent over a year collecting evidence.”

Stretch leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. “Yeah, but I helped .”

Yarder chuckled into his coffee. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”

Stretch slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. He pressed a kiss to the side of my head, and his lips brushed my temple. “Tilly’s the only thing that helps me sleep at night,” he said softly.

I leaned into him. “Well, that sleeping time is about to be sporadic for the next five weeks,” I teased. “I’m going to be painting my ass off.”

Stretch groaned, but it was playful. “You sure about this, sweetheart?”

I nodded. “I know it’s a crazy deadline, but I’m actually excited. Painting all of you and seeing the portraits lined up at the Tread premiere? It’s gonna be amazing.”

“I still can’t believe you’re Tilly X,” Poppy said from across the table. She set her fork down and leaned forward, her eyes wide with awe. “Last night when you guys went to bed, I Googled you. All of your paintings are amazing .”

I blushed and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Thank you…”

Poppy grinned. “And can I just say that I am in absolute awe that your portrait of Bon Jovi sold for over ten thousand dollars?”

Yarder choked on his coffee and coughed hard and slapped a hand to his chest. “Ten thousand dollars for a painting of Bon Jovi? Was it made of pure fucking gold ?”

Stretch didn’t even blink. “No. Just pure fucking talent .”

I laughed and waved them off. “That was an exception. Most of my paintings sell for way less than that.”

Poppy laughed. “I mean, yeah, one thousand is cheaper than ten thousand, but damn, honey. You are one talented painter. We’re all lucky that you’re painting the guys for the premiere.”

“Wait, wait,” Yarder said, holding up his hands. “I think we need to discuss who’s paying for these paintings before you do them.”

Everyone laughed.

“Saylor!” Yarder called toward the back hallway. “Who’s paying Tilly X?”

“The network,” she replied as she popped her head around the corner.

Yarder relaxed and wiped his brow in an exaggerated motion. “Thank fuck . I wasn’t about to fork over my savings for a portrait of our ugly faces.”

“I’ve painted worse,” I teased.

Stretch bumped my shoulder with his. “You better not be talking about me.”

I kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a masterpiece.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

I pushed my empty plate aside and stood. “I guess I’d better get to work setting everything up. The canvases should be delivered this afternoon.”

Thank goodness for online shopping and overnight delivery. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I checked the alert: shipment out for delivery. Good. I had time to clear a workspace.

Stretch stood and kissed me on the lips, slow and soft. “Make sure to make them not as good as mine, sweetheart.”

I laughed and cradled his cheek. “You’re crazy.”

His eyes locked on mine, warm and deep and so full . “Only for you.”