Page 25

Meadow

One Month Later

The clubhouse buzzes with the usual evening activity: the clinking of beer bottles, raucous laughter, and the low rumble of conversation. I lean into Mason’s solid warmth, savoring these quiet moments of normalcy after everything we’ve been through.

Suddenly, the doors open with a resounding bang that silences the room. Reid stumbles in, his face a mask of panic and fury. His usually meticulously styled hair is disheveled, eyes wild with fear.

“She’s gone,” he chokes out, voice raw with emotion. “Lily’s gone. Someone took her.”

The words hang in the air for a heartbeat before chaos erupts. Brothers leap to their feet, questions flying rapid-fire across the room. Mason’s arm tightens around me instinctively as he stands, pulling me up with him.

“What happened?” Cole demands, his normally laid-back demeanor replaced by sharp focus.

Reid’s hands shake as he runs them through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “We were supposed to meet for dinner. She never showed. I went to her place and—” His voice breaks, a sound of raw anguish tearing from his throat. “There was blood. Signs of a struggle. Her phone was smashed on the floor.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words. Memories of my own ordeal flash through my mind, and I press closer to Mason’s side.

“Did you call the cops?” Harlan asks, already reaching for his phone.

Reid’s eyes flash dangerously. “Fuck the cops,” he snarls. “We handle this ourselves. Nobody takes what’s ours.”

The change that comes over him is both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Gone is the easygoing charmer, replaced by a man consumed by rage and desperation. He stalks across the room, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I want every available brother on this,” Reid demands, his voice low and deadly. “Check all the usual spots. Lean on every snitch and lowlife in this town. I don’t care what you have to do. Find her.”

The room explodes into motion, brothers rushing to comply with Reid’s orders. Phones come out, calls are made, and within minutes, the roar of motorcycles fills the air as groups head out to search.

Reid paces like a caged animal, energy radiating from him in waves. His eyes dart around the room, settling on a framed photo of the club. With a guttural cry of anguish, he rips it from the wall, hurling it across the room. The glass shatters, raining down in a glittering cascade.

It’s as if a dam has broken. Reid tears through the clubhouse like a force of nature, upending tables and smashing anything within reach. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air as he vents his rage and fear.

“Reid!” Mason shouts.

Reid’s rampage comes to an abrupt halt as Mason’s voice cuts through the chaos. He stands there panting, chest heaving, a broken bottle dangling from his bloodied hand.

“This isn’t helping Lily,” Mason says firmly, approaching Reid with cautious steps. “We need you focused, brother. Clearheaded.”

For a moment, it seems like Reid might lash out again as his whole body trembles with rage.

Mason crosses the room, crouching down next to his brother. He places a hand on Reid’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’ll find her,” he says, voice low and fierce. “Whatever it takes, we’ll bring her home.”

“God help those who dared to take what’s mine.” His voice drips with darkness.

I take a step back at the sound of it, goosebumps breaking out across my skin.

This is the moment Reid gets his road name.

Rampage.

* * *

My wedding day.

My heart races as I stand before the ornate oak door, waiting for my father to open it. The silky fabric of my wedding gown whispers against the floor, a symphony of lace and beading that took months to create. Intricate patterns of flowers and vines dance across the bodice, each crystal catching the light and throwing rainbow prisms across the walls.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the delicate scent of the white roses and baby’s breath woven into my cascading curls. The antique pearl hairpins, passed down through generations of brides in my family, feel cool against my scalp. My grandmother’s locket rests just above my heart, a tangible connection to those who came before.

Outside, I can hear the soft murmur of guests taking their seats, the rustle of programs, and the gentle strains of the string quartet. Butterflies dance in my stomach, a mixture of nerves and excitement. In just moments, I’ll walk down the aisle to become Mason’s wife.

Mason. My rock, my protector, my future. I close my eyes, picturing his face, those piercing blue eyes that see straight to my soul, the strong jaw softened by the smile he reserves just for me. My fingers brush over the delicate sapphire bracelet he gifted me this morning, a “something blue” that matches his eyes perfectly.

The door handle turns with agonizing slowness. I hold my breath, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from my dress. This is it, the moment my father sees me as a bride for the first time.

The door swings open, revealing my dad in his meticulously pressed tuxedo. His eyes widen as he takes me in, glistening with unshed tears. For a heartbeat, we simply stare at each other, years of love and memories passing between us in silence.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice choked with emotion. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

I smile through my own tears, careful not to smudge my carefully applied makeup. “Daddy,” I breathe, reaching for his hand.

He enfolds me in a gentle hug, mindful of my dress and veil. As he pulls back, I see a lifetime of love and pride shining in his eyes. My father, who has been my constant support through every trial and triumph, now prepares to walk me into the next chapter of my life.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly, offering his arm.

I take one last deep breath, squaring my shoulders. With a nod and a radiant smile, I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’m ready,” I reply, my voice steady and sure.

Together, we step out into the sunlight, toward the man who holds my heart and the future that awaits us.

The day is finally here. I spent months with a wedding planner to make this day perfect for us.

The heavy wooden doors of the church swing open, flooding the dimly lit interior with golden afternoon sunlight. A hush falls over the gathered guests as all eyes turn toward me. The string quartet begins to play Pachelbel’s Canon, the familiar notes washing over me like a soothing balm.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the heady scent of lilies and roses that line the aisle. My father gives my hand a reassuring squeeze as we take our first steps forward. The polished marble floor gleams beneath my feet, my ivory satin heels clicking softly with each step.

As we make our way down the aisle, I drink in the breathtaking scene before me. Delicate chiffon drapes cascade from the vaulted ceiling, creating an ethereal canopy overhead. Twinkling fairy lights are woven throughout, casting a soft, romantic glow over everything. Each pew is adorned with lush floral arrangements, peonies, garden roses, and sprays of fragrant eucalyptus tied with flowing silk ribbons.

Our guests rise as we pass, their faces a blur of smiles and tears. I catch glimpses of familiar faces—my college roommate dabbing at her eyes, my grandmother beaming with pride, the club members looking uncharacteristically dapper in their suits. Even Harlan has traded his usual leather for a tuxedo, though his cut is draped carefully over the back of his chair.

My heart races as I search the altar for Mason. When I finally spot him, my breath catches in my throat. He stands tall and proud in his perfectly tailored black suit, the crisp white shirt a stark contrast against his tanned skin. His hair is neatly styled, though I can see the telltale signs of nervous fingers running through it.

But it’s his eyes that captivate me. Even from this distance, I can see the love and awe shining in those piercing blue depths. His gaze never wavers from mine, an anchor in the sea of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

We’re about halfway down the aisle when my father suddenly pauses. I look up at him, confused, only to find him watching me with a mixture of love and concern.

“You know,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the music, “it’s not too late if you want to make a run for it. I’ve got the car keys in my pocket.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to respond. Then a bubble of laughter escapes my lips, drawing curious glances from nearby guests. I squeeze my father’s arm, my eyes shining with unshed tears of joy.

“Daddy,” I murmur, my voice filled with affection and amusement, “the only place I’m running is straight into Mason’s arms.”

Relief and pride wash over my father’s face. He nods, patting my hand gently. “That’s my girl,” he says softly.

As we reach the altar, my father places my hand in Mason’s. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes lock with mine, full of love and promises.

“You look beautiful,” Mason whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

I smile up at him, my heart overflowing. “You clean up pretty nice yourself,” I tease gently.

The officiant begins the ceremony, but I barely hear the words. I’m lost in Mason’s gaze, in the feel of his hands holding mine. When it comes time to say our vows, Mason’s voice rings out clear and strong.

“Meadow, from the moment I met you, I knew you were special. You brought light into my darkness, hope where I had none. I vow to love you, protect you, and cherish you for all our days. You are my heart, my home, my everything. I am yours, completely and forever.”

Tears slip down my cheeks as I speak my own vows, reaffirming my love and commitment. We exchange rings, simple gold bands that symbolize our eternal bond.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declares. “You may kiss the bride.”

Mason cups my face in his hands, drawing me close. His lips meet mine in a kiss full of tenderness and passion. The church erupts in cheers and applause, but I hear nothing but the beating of our hearts, perfectly in sync.

Hand in hand, we turn to face our loved ones as husband and wife, ready to begin our new life together.

* * *

One Year Later

The contractions tear through me, an unstoppable force that leaves me gasping. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead as I bear down, every muscle in my body straining with the effort. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, a searing, all-consuming agony that threatens to tear me apart.

“You’re doing great, Meadow.” Konrad’s calm voice cuts through the haze of pain. “I can see the head. One more big push and your baby will be here.”

I grip Mason’s hand tighter, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. His face is a mask of worry. I know how much it’s killing him to see me in pain, to be helpless in the face of my suffering.

“You’ve got this, darlin’,” Mason murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Just one more push and we’ll meet our little one.”

I nod, gathering the last reserves of my strength. As the next contraction builds, I push with everything I have. A guttural cry tears from my throat, primal and raw.

“That’s it!” Konrad encourages. “Keep pushing!”

The pressure builds to an unbearable crescendo. Just when I think I can’t take any more, there’s a sudden release. A tiny, indignant wail fills the room.

“It’s a girl!” Konrad announces, his voice thick with emotion. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”

Relief and joy wash over me in equal measure. I collapse back against the pillows, utterly spent. Mason presses fervent kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. When I meet his gaze, I see tears shimmering in his eyes.

“You did it, baby,” he whispers in awe. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Konrad places our daughter on my chest, her tiny body still slick with blood and vernix. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, a perfect blend of Mason and me. Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes. A shock of dark hair crowning her head. And when she opens her eyes, I see they’re the same piercing blue as her father’s.

“Hello, little one,” I breathe, tracing a finger along her cheek. “We’ve been waiting so long to meet you.”

Mason leans in, his large hand cradling our daughter’s head with infinite gentleness. The tenderness in his touch brings fresh tears to my eyes. This fierce, dangerous man brought to his knees by a tiny bundle weighing barely seven pounds.

“She’s perfect,” Mason says, his voice filled with wonder. “Just like her mama.”

As our daughter lets out another cry, Mason’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. His eyes narrow, darting between the baby and Konrad.

“Is she okay?” he demands. “Why is she crying? Is something wrong?”

Konrad chuckles softly, unfazed by Mason’s intensity. “She’s perfectly fine,” he assures us. “Just announcing her arrival to the world. Those are good, healthy cries.”

Mason relaxes slightly, but I can still see the tension in his shoulders. His eyes never leave our daughter as Konrad gently cleans her and wraps her in a soft blanket.

“Do you have a name picked out?” Konrad asks as he hands the baby back to me.

Mason and I exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between us. We’d discussed names endlessly over the past few months, but nothing had felt quite right. Until now.

“Kensleigh,” I say softly, looking down at our daughter’s tiny face. “Kensleigh Grace.”

Mason’s breath catches. “It’s perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

As if sensing she’s the topic of conversation, Kensleigh lets out another tiny cry. Mason immediately tenses, his protective instincts kicking into high gear once more.

“Shh, it’s okay, princess,” he coos, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Daddy’s here. Nothing’s going to hurt you, not ever.”

The sight of this fierce, dangerous man completely undone by our tiny daughter brings fresh tears to my eyes. Mason notices and immediately shifts his concern to me.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asks, brow furrowed with worry. “Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

I shake my head, smiling through my tears. “I’m perfect,” I assure him. “Just overwhelmed. I love you both so much.”

Mason leans in, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “I love you too,” he murmurs. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As Kensleigh settles against my chest, her tiny fingers curling around Mason’s much larger one, I’m struck by how perfect this moment is. Our little family, safe and loved.

Whatever challenges the future holds, I know we’ll face them together. Me, Mason, and our precious angel.

* * *

Six Years Later

The soft afternoon sunlight streams through the bay windows, casting a warm glow across the living room. I stretch languidly on the couch, savoring a rare moment of peace and quiet. The house is filled with the comforting scents of home: fresh laundry, the lingering aroma of this morning’s coffee, and the faint sweetness of the roses Mason brought home yesterday.

Suddenly, a peal of high-pitched giggles echoes from upstairs, followed by the deeper rumble of Mason’s laughter. My heart swells with love at the sound. Setting aside the medical journal I’d been half-heartedly skimming, I push myself up from the couch and pad barefoot toward the stairs.

As I ascend, the giggles grow louder, punctuated by squeals of delight. I follow the joyful sounds down the hallway, pausing outside Kensleigh’s room. The door is slightly ajar, and I can’t resist peeking inside.

The sight that greets me takes my breath away. Mason, my fierce and dangerous biker, is sprawled on the plush pink carpet of our daughter’s room. His massive frame dwarfs the tiny tea set arranged before him, complete with delicate porcelain cups and a flowered teapot. A glittery tiara perches precariously atop his head, slightly askew and threatening to slip down over one eye.

Kensleigh, our beautiful little whirlwind, dances around her father in a swirl of tulle and sparkles. Her princess dress, a confection of pink and purple, twirls as she spins, dark curls bouncing with each movement. She clutches a plastic wand in one hand, waving it with great authority as she instructs her daddy on the finer points of tea party etiquette.

“No, Daddy!” She giggles, her blue eyes, so like Mason’s, sparkling with mischief. “You have to hold your pinkie up when you drink!”

Mason, looking utterly ridiculous and completely smitten, obediently extends his pinkie as he pretends to sip from the tiny cup. “Like this, princess?” he asks, his gruff voice softened with adoration.

Kensleigh nods approvingly, then gasps as she spots a teddy bear slouching in the corner. “Mr. Snuggles needs more tea!” she declares, rushing over to retrieve the stuffed animal.

As she turns, Kensleigh catches sight of me in the doorway. Her face lights up with joy. “Mommy!” she squeals, launching herself toward me. “Come play with us!”

I scoop her up, peppering her cherubic face with kisses as she giggles. “What are we playing, sweetheart?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Tea party!” Kensleigh announces proudly. “Daddy’s the queen, and I’m the princess!”

I laugh, setting our daughter down gently. “And what does that make me?”

Kensleigh’s brow furrows in concentration. “You can be… the fairy godmother!” she decides, waving her wand with a flourish.

As I’m about to respond, the patter of small feet in the hallway catches my attention. A moment later, a tousled head of sandy blond hair peeks around the doorframe, hazel eyes wide with curiosity.

“Kai,” I call softly, holding out my hand. “Come join us, sweetheart.”

Our son hesitates for just a moment before padding into the room. At five years old, Kai is still adjusting to life in our family. We adopted him six months ago, after fostering him for over a year. His early life was marked by trauma and neglect, leaving him wary of affection and slow to trust.

But as Kai’s eyes take in the scene before him—his sister twirling in her princess dress, his father looking ridiculous yet utterly content in a tiara—I see a spark of something in his gaze. Wonder, perhaps. Or the beginnings of belief that this fairy tale might just be real.

“Hey, little man,” Mason says, his voice gentle. “Want to join our tea party?”

Kai shuffles closer, eyeing the colorful spread on the floor. “Can I?” he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course!” Kensleigh exclaims, rushing over to grab her brother’s hand. “You can be the brave knight who protects the kingdom!”

She tugs Kai toward the dress-up trunk in the corner, rifling through until she finds a plastic breastplate and foam sword. With great ceremony, she helps Kai don his “armor,” her little hands careful and gentle as she adjusts the straps.

My heart swells as I watch them together. Kensleigh has taken to her role as big sister with enthusiasm, showering Kai with the affection and attention he so desperately needs. And Kai, though still reserved, has begun to blossom under her care.

“Sir Kai,” Kensleigh declares, tapping the sword on each of his shoulders. “I dub thee protector of the realm and guardian of teatime!”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Kai’s mouth, a rare and precious sight. He straightens his shoulders, lifting the foam sword with as much dignity as a five-year-old can muster.

“I’ll keep you safe, Princess Kensleigh,” he says solemnly, his voice gaining strength. “No dragons or monsters will interrupt our tea party.”

Mason catches my eye over the children’s heads, his gaze filled with love and pride. We’ve come so far from where we started; the rough biker and the doctor, thrown together by fate and circumstance. Now we’re here, building a family and a life together.

As I settle onto the plush carpet, accepting the tiny teacup Kensleigh offers me, I can’t help but marvel at how perfectly imperfect our little family is. Mason, still intimidating even with a sparkly tiara perched on his head. Kensleigh, our vibrant little princess, full of light and laughter. Kai, slowly emerging from his shell, learning to trust and love again. And me, the fairy godmother presiding over it all.

“More tea, Mommy?” Kensleigh asks, brandishing the plastic teapot with great enthusiasm.

I hold out my cup, smiling indulgently. “Yes, please, Your Highness.”

As Kensleigh carefully “pours” the imaginary tea, Kai shifts closer to Mason. His small hand reaches out tentatively, coming to rest on Mason’s massive forearm. Mason doesn’t move, letting Kai set the pace of their interaction.

“Daddy?” Kai says softly, the word still new and precious on his tongue. “Can you teach me to be brave like you?”

Mason’s eyes soften, a tenderness there that only a few outside our family ever get to see. “You already are brave, little man,” he says gently. “Bravest kid I know.”

Kai’s brow furrows, considering this. “But I still get scared sometimes,” he admits in a whisper.

Mason nods solemnly. “Everyone gets scared, buddy. Even me. Being brave doesn’t mean you’re never afraid. It means you face your fears and do what’s right anyway.”

As Kai ponders this wisdom, Kensleigh pipes up. “I’m brave too!” she declares, brandishing her wand like a sword. “I protect the kingdom from monsters under the bed!”

“That you do, princess,” Mason agrees, his voice warm with pride. “You and Sir Kai make quite the team.”

The afternoon wears on, filled with laughter and imagination. We slay dragons (cleverly disguised as throw pillows), rescue stuffed animals from precarious perches, and consume copious amounts of pretend tea and cookies.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the room, I notice Kai’s eyelids starting to droop. Even Kensleigh’s boundless energy seems to be waning, her movements becoming slower and less exuberant.

“I think it might be time to wrap up our adventure,” I say gently, gathering empty teacups. “How about we have some real dinner and then maybe watch a movie together?”

Kensleigh yawns widely, nodding her agreement. Kai looks relieved at the suggestion, the day’s excitement clearly catching up with him.

Mason stretches, his joints popping as he unfolds his large frame from the tiny play furniture. “All right, troops,” he says, his voice taking on a playful drill sergeant tone. “Cleanup duty! Every soldier helps put away their gear.”

The kids giggle at his antics but dutifully begin picking up toys and dress-up clothes. I’m struck once again by how far Kai has come. Six months ago, he would have shut down at even the gentlest instruction. Now he works alongside his sister, carefully placing teacups back on their shelf.

As Mason supervises the cleanup, I head downstairs to start dinner. The kitchen is my domain for now, a place where I can let my mind wander as my hands work automatically. Tonight’s menu is simple: grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and rice. Comfort food for our little family.

I’m just pulling the vegetables out of the oven when I hear the pitter-patter of small feet on the stairs. Kai appears in the doorway, his hair adorably mussed and his shirt on backward from changing out of his “armor.”

“Can I help?” he asks softly, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the kitchen.

My heart swells at his offer. “Of course, sweetheart,” I say warmly. “Why don’t you help me set the table?”

Together, we lay out plates and utensils, Kai carefully counting to make sure everyone has a full set. As he places the last fork, he pauses, looking up at me with those soulful hazel eyes.

“Mommy?” he starts. “Is this… is this forever?”

I kneel down, bringing myself to his eye level. “What do you mean, honey?”

Kai fidgets with the hem of his shirt, avoiding my gaze. “This,” he gestures vaguely around the kitchen. “Being here. With you and Daddy and Kensleigh. Is it forever?”

The vulnerability in his voice breaks my heart. I gather him into my arms, holding him close. “Yes, Kai,” I say firmly. “This is forever. You’re our son, and we love you so, so much. Nothing will ever change that.”

He clings to me tightly, his small body trembling. I rub soothing circles on his back, murmuring reassurances.

As I hold Kai, I feel the tension slowly leave his body. He pulls back slightly, looking up at me with a mix of hope and lingering uncertainty.

“Even if I make mistakes?” he asks in a whisper.

I cup his face gently in my hands. “Even then,” I assure him. “Everyone makes mistakes, sweetheart. That doesn’t change how much we love you.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he says, nodding as if confirming it to himself.

Just then, we hear Kensleigh’s exuberant voice from the stairs. “I smell chicken!” she announces, bounding into the kitchen with Mason close behind.

“Perfect timing,” I say, rising to my feet and ruffling Kai’s hair affectionately. “Dinner’s ready.”

As we settle around the table, passing dishes and filling plates, I catch Mason’s eye. He gives me a questioning look, noticing Kai’s slightly red-rimmed eyes. I shake my head slightly, mouthing “Later” when the kids aren’t looking.

Conversation flows easily over dinner, Kensleigh regaling us with tales of her imaginary kingdom while Kai listens intently, occasionally adding his own quiet observations. It’s a far cry from the tense, silent meals of those first few weeks after the adoption.

After dinner, we pile onto the couch for our promised movie night. Kai snuggles into my side, his small hand finding mine in the darkness as the opening credits roll. On my other side, Kensleigh sprawls across both Mason and me, her legs dangling over the armrest.

As the familiar animated characters dance across the screen, I feel a deep sense of contentment wash over me.

I squeeze Kai’s hand gently, and he looks up at me with a sleepy smile. No words are needed; the love and trust in his eyes say everything.

The movie progresses, and I find myself only half watching, my attention drawn instead to the quiet breaths of my family around me. Kai’s grip on my hand gradually loosens as he drifts off to sleep, his head resting heavily against my arm. Kensleigh, despite her earlier energy, isn’t far behind, her eyelids drooping as she fights to stay awake.

Mason’s gaze meets mine, a soft smile playing on his lips. He mouths, “I love you,” and I feel a rush of warmth in my chest. This man, who has stood by my side through every twist and turn of our journey to build this family, never ceases to amaze me with his strength and compassion.

“And I love you too. So much. We’ve made a beautiful life together.” He reaches over the kids to kiss me softly, and I can feel the way he loves me in that kiss.

“We have, baby.” His voice is soft, not wanting to wake the kids. “I will protect it until my dying breath.”

The end.

Ugh! I always hate writing those two words, but in my eyes these characters are never-ending.

But as you guessed it, the next book in the series is going to be Lily and Reid.

It will be called RAMPAGE .

Thank you all for reading Mason and Meadow’s story from the bottom of my heart.