Page 93

THE SUNDAY MORNING sun poured through the clouds like it’d been holding its breath all damn week. Cool breeze. Open skies. The low rumble of bikes already fired up out front.

Club runs were a tradition. A way to clear your head, feel the road under your wheels, remember why you bled for this life and the men beside you.

But today wasn’t about tradition.

Today was about her.

Zeynep stood across the room, quiet as always, braiding her hair with that slow, focused grace that made the world stop if you watched too long. She had no idea what I was holding behind my back. No clue how long I’d been carrying this moment in my chest like a loaded gun.

A cut.

Smaller than the rest. Tailored to her. Black leather. Patches stitched clean—our rocker on top, the South Carolina chapter underneath, and across the back: Property of Mystic.

Yeah, it was old-school. Some wouldn’t get it. But it wasn’t about ownership. It was about belonging . Protection. Family.

It was about giving her the name she already wore in my bones.

I walked toward her, boots heavy on the floor, heart pounding in my chest. She turned when she heard me, those dark eyes softening the second they landed on mine. She wore my old hoodie, too big for her frame, sleeves tugged down past her wrists. Barefoot. Beautiful. Home.

“Mornin’,” I said, rough and low.

She smiled. Small, but it reached her eyes.

Then she saw it.

Her gaze dropped to the cut in my hands—then back to mine, wide and unblinking.

I stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth coming off her skin. The patch hung between us like a promise.

“This ain’t just leather,” I said. “Ain’t just a patch. Not like with Drago.”

She didn’t move. Just listened, eyes locked on mine.

“This means no one touches you, looks at you wrong, speaks your name with disrespect—without answerin’ to me. To all of us.”

I paused, holding it out.

“Zeynep… I want you to wear this. Not just as my ol’ lady. But as my wife. ” I pulled the diamond ring out of my pocket.

Her breath hitched, lips parting, but no sound came. Didn’t need words. Her eyes said it all.

I set the cut on the bed, then stepped closer and took her hands in mine.

“My divorce is almost finalized. Just waiting on ink and paper now. But I’m not waiting on this. I want you. I want us. I want to marry you the second that paper’s signed.”

She blinked fast, breath shaky, tears rising.

I cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin just beneath her eye.

“This ain’t about a green card. Ain’t about legal shit. This is about me loving you. About you being mine in every way that counts.”

Her lips trembled, and when her voice finally came, it was a whisper, raspy and real. “Yes.”

I pulled her into me, arms locking around her like I’d never let her go, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel cursed.

I felt like a whole man again.

A man who could wake up everyday to his very own sunrise.

The End

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STAY TUNED FOR the next book in the South Carolina Series: Thunder’s Reckoning. Enjoy this excerpt from his story.

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