Page 17

EPILOGUE

Tildie

I never thought the middle of October in West Virginia would look like a painting—trees blazing with oranges and reds, the air crisp enough to need a light jacket but still warm enough in the sun to feel comfortable.

The club looks different now, almost all traces of the attack erased after weeks of hard work.

We have new security gates, repaired all the windows, and given it a fresh paint job.

Even the bullet holes in the main room have been patched and covered.

Only the memories remain, and those are fading too.

Today, we're celebrating Sadie Jo's thirteenth birthday.

The club's main area has been transformed with streamers and balloons, a "Happy Birthday" banner hanging crookedly over the bar.

Ellie spent all morning baking, the smell of chocolate cake still lingering in the air.

I adjust the pile of gifts on the table, making sure the one from Ruger and me is prominently displayed.

It's a laptop for school, something Coin mentioned she needed but couldn't afford yet.

"You're fussing," Ellie comments, appearing beside me with a plate of finger sandwiches. "Everything looks perfect."

"I just want it to be special for her," I admit. "After everything that happened..."

Ellie squeezes my shoulder. "Children are resilient. Look at her."

I follow her gaze to where Sadie Jo sits with her sister Wrenleigh and some other girls, giggling over something on a phone.

She seems carefree, the terror of that night in the cabin a distant memory.

"She hasn't had nightmares in weeks," Ellie adds. "Coin says she's doing great."

The party is in full swing now, brothers and their families crowding the space.

Porter arrived with Sarah, who's moving slowly but looking much better than the last time I saw her.

The wound has healed nicely, though she still winces when she laughs too hard.

I join her at one of the tables. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," she says with a wry smile. "But I'll live. Doctor says another few weeks and I can go back to normal activities."

Porter hovers nearby, attentive to her every movement. "She's pushing too hard," he complains, though the pride in his voice is unmistakable. "Trying to get back to work at the garage already."

"Someone's gotta keep your books straight," Sarah teases, patting his hand. "You'd be lost without me."

The way they are is so beautiful, such a beautiful couple really.

It's what I have with Ruger now—that certainty of being loved, being valued.

The door opens, bringing a blast of cool air and Kinsey, looking very much the college student in jeans and a West Virginia University sweatshirt.

"Sorry I'm late," she calls, shutting the door behind her. "Professor wouldn't stop talking."

Several brothers greet her with nods of respect.

She's earned a place here, though she doesn't actually live at the club.

Viper arranged an off-campus apartment for her, close enough to both the university and the club to be convenient.

I watch as she makes her way through the crowd, stopping to wish Sadie Jo a happy birthday before scanning the room.

Her eyes land on Rookie, who's nursing a beer in the corner.

Even from here, I can see her shoulders straighten before she approaches him.

I don't mean to eavesdrop, but they're close enough that their voices carry to where I'm sitting.

"Hey," she says, awkwardly shifting her weight. "How've you been?"

Rookie's expression remains neutral. "Fine. You?"

"Good. Classes are tough, but I'm managing."

A painful silence stretches between them.

"Rookie, I was thinking maybe we could?—"

"Don't." He cuts her off, voice low but firm. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I made a mistake," she pleads. "I didn't know what Striker was planning. I never wanted anyone to get hurt."

His laugh is bitter, lacking any humor. "You used me. For months."

"At first, yes," she admits. "But it changed. I changed."

"Doesn't fuckin’ matter." He drains his beer, setting the bottle down with a sharp click. "I'll never be able to trust you again. What we had is over."

Kinsey's face falls, pain flashing in her eyes before she masters it.

"I understand," she says quietly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

She walks away, head high even though I know her heart is breaking.

I feel a surge of sympathy for her, knowing what it's like to make terrible choices for what seemed like good reasons at the time.

Ruger appears at my side, hand sliding to the back of my neck in that possessive way that still sends shivers down my spine.

"Saw that little scene," he murmurs. "You look ready to intervene."

"She's trying," I say, watching Kinsey join a group of prospects at another table. "She killed her own father for us. Isn't that enough to earn a second chance?"

Ruger sighs, dropping into the chair beside me. "Club shit is complicated. Rookie was made to look like a fool. That's hard for any man to get past, especially a prospect trying to earn respect."

"You should talk to him. Tell him to give her a break."

"We don't interfere in personal shit between brothers and their women." His tone is gentle but final. "Some betrayals can't be fixed, darlin'. Trust is earned, not given."

I know he's right, but it still bothers me to see Kinsey isolated after everything she's done to prove her loyalty.

"What about Bailey?" I ask quietly, the question that's been weighing on me for weeks finally surfacing.

Ruger's expression shifts, almost imperceptibly. "Church voted. It's done."

I nod, not needing more details.

I think we all knew what would happen when the club held church to decide her fate.

The first time they voted, they couldn’t come to an agreement on what to do with her and decided to give it a two week break.

But betrayal only has one punishment in this club.

I look at Ruger and he gives me the quick version: it was quick, clean, she never saw it coming.

I still don't know how I feel about it.

On one hand, she endangered all of us, helped Marco find me, nearly got Sarah killed.

On the other, her words that night in church keep echoing in my head—about being treated as disposable, about being passed around and discarded.

It could have been me, in another life.

If Ruger hadn't seen me as more than just a body to use.

"Hey." Ruger's fingers tilt my chin up. "You're thinking too hard. Today's a celebration."

I force a smile. "You're right. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just be here." He kisses me softly. "With me."

The party continues around us, cake is cut, presents opened.

Sadie Jo loves the laptop, throwing her arms around both of us in gratitude.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squeals. "Now I don't have to use the computers in the library!"

"You're welcome, sweetheart," I tell her, surprised by how natural it feels to have this girl hug me, to care about her happiness.

Coin watches us, smiling widely. "You're good with her," he comments when Sadie Jo returns to her friends. "Both my girls adore you."

"They're easy to adore back," I reply honestly. "You've raised good kids."

"Trying to." His gaze shifts to Ruger. "Not always easy being a single dad."

Ruger wraps an arm around my waist. "We should head out if we're going to make our reservation."

I check the time, nervous butterflies immediately taking flight in my stomach. "Right. We should go."

Ellie approaches before we can leave, pulling me into a tight hug. "It's going to be fine," she whispers. "They're your family. They love you."

"They haven't seen me in so long," I whisper back. "What if they?—"

"Stop." She holds me at arm's length. "You've faced down far worse than a family dinner. Now go, or you'll be late."

We say our goodbyes, promising Sadie Jo we'll be back later to celebrate a little more.

As Ruger leads me toward the door, I notice Kinsey sitting alone, watching Rookie laugh with a couple of brothers across the room.

"She'll be okay," Ruger murmurs, following my gaze. "Kid's tougher than she looks."

"I know. I just..." I sigh. "I want everyone to be as happy as we are."

His arm tightens around me. "That's why I love you, darlin'. You’re always thinkin’ of others."

The words still give me a little thrill, even though he says them daily now. I love you. So simple, so powerful.

We step outside into the crisp autumn air, heading toward his truck.

I've convinced him to drive tonight instead of taking the Harley, given that we're meeting my family at a decent restaurant, and I don’t exactly want to throw the fact my boyfriend’s the President of an MC right in their faces—his cut does that enough.

"Nervous?" he asks as we climb in.

"Terrified," I admit. "I haven't seen them since I left Pittsburgh. What if they're still angry? What if they blame me for choosing Marco over them?"

He starts the engine. "Then we'll deal with it."

The drive to Morgantown takes about twenty minutes, the scenery stunning with fall colors.

I fidget the entire way, checking my makeup in the visor mirror, smoothing my hair, adjusting my blouse.

"You look beautiful," Ruger tells me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "Relax."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who abandoned your family for an abusive psychopath."

"No, I'm the one who exiled my uncle and later witnessed his death at his daughter's hands." His dry tone makes me laugh even though I’m anxious as all hell. "We've all got family drama, darlin'."

The restaurant is in downtown Morgantown, upscale enough for a special occasion without being stuffy.

Ruger parks across the street, and we sit for a moment in silence. "Ready?"

I take a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."

We cross the street hand in hand.

Even before we reach the entrance, I spot them waiting outside—my mother, her blonde hair now streaked with gray; my father, still imposing as ever, and my two younger brothers, Bryan and Brent, both taller than I remember.

My steps falter. Ruger's hand tightens on mine, steadying me.

"They came," I whisper, throat tight with sudden emotion.

"Of course they did," he says. "They're your family."

My mother sees me first, her hand flying to her mouth.

For one horrible moment, I think she might turn away, but then she's rushing toward me, arms outstretched.

"Elizabeth," she sobs, wrapping me in a fierce embrace that smells of the same perfume she's worn my entire life. "My baby girl."

I collapse into her arms, tears flowing freely. "Mom, I'm so sorry."

"Shh," she soothes, stroking my hair like I'm a child again. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

My father approaches more slowly, his expression guarded but his eyes suspiciously bright. "Elizabeth Matilda Hayes," he says gruffly. "About time you came back to us."

"Dad." I pull away from Mom to face him. "I know I hurt you, all of you. I should never have?—"

He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, cutting off my apology. "You're safe," he whispers hoarsely. "That's all I care about."

My brothers join the huddle, both talking at once.

"You look different," Brent says.

"Where have you been?" Bryan demands.

"Is this him?" my father asks, finally releasing me to eye Ruger. "The man who helped you?"

I wipe my eyes, trying to compose myself. "Yes. Dad, everyone, this is Ruger. My... boyfriend."

The label feels inadequate for what he is to me, but "ol' lady" wouldn't mean anything to my family.

Ruger steps forward, offering his hand to my father. "Sir, it's an honor to meet you."

My father takes in Ruger's appearance—the leather cut with the President patch, the beard, the new tattoos he just got around his neck.

Then he looks at me, at how I've positioned myself instinctively at Ruger's side.

"You're the one who got my daughter away from that bastard Santini?" he asks bluntly.

"She got herself away," Ruger corrects him. "I just made sure he wouldn't ever hurt her again."

Something passes between the two men, an understanding that makes my father nod slowly before taking Ruger's outstretched hand.

"Then I owe you my thanks, young man."

"No sir, I'm the one who's thankful," Ruger says, glancing at me like I’m his entire world. "Every day."

The initial tension is broken and we all head inside for dinner.

The conversation flows more easily than I ever hoped, years of separation melting away as we all reconnect.

I share edited versions of my time in Morgantown, about working at the bar, about meeting Ruger.

My brothers size him up throughout the meal, their protective instincts obvious but softening as they see how he treats me—with respect, with tenderness, with pride.

By dessert, Mom is showing me pictures of our extended family on her phone, Dad and Ruger are discussing motorcycles, and my brothers are arguing about the Steelers' chances this season.

It feels normal, like my family never stopped loving me, even though I thought they did.

Before I know it, dinner is over and everyone is smiling.

As we say our goodbyes in the parking lot, Mom holds me tight. "Don't be a stranger, honey. Promise me."

"I promise," I tell her, meaning it. "And you'll come visit us?"

"Try and stop me," she says fiercely. "I want to see this bar of yours, meet this Ellie person you keep talking about."

My father approaches Ruger while I'm still embracing Mom. "Take care of my little girl," I hear him say.

"With my life," Ruger answers, and I know he means it.

The drive back to the club is quiet for a little bit until I finally speak up, "That went better than I expected."

"Your family loves you," Ruger replies. "Never stopped, by the looks of it."

"Thank you for encouraging me to call them. For coming with me tonight."

He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "Anything for you, darlin'. Always."

The club is still lit up when we return, music and laughter spilling out from the joint.

Sadie Jo's party is clearly still going strong.

As we climb out of the truck, I notice Bloodhound standing near the door, phone pressed to his ear, his normally stoic expression cracked with emotion.

"What do you mean 'critical'?" he's saying, voice sharp with stress. "How long has she been?—"

He stops when he sees us, shoulders straightening as he tries to compose himself.

"I'll be there in twenty," he tells whoever is on the phone before hanging up.

He approaches us quickly, something like terror in his eyes as he addresses Ruger. "I have to go. Vanna's in the hospital."

"Who's Vanna?" I ask, confused.

In all the months I've been here, I've never heard him mention this name.

Bloodhound looks me in the eyes, jaw tight. "My ol' lady... she... she's on drugs real bad, has been a while. I... my sister's a nurse there, called because I'm her fuckin' emergency contact and power of attorney. I have to make decisions for her. Fuck!"

The raw pain in his voice is shocking coming from someone normally so controlled.

"I'll go with you," Ruger offers immediately.

Bloodhound shakes his head. "No. Stay with Tildie. Just needed to let you know I'll be gone, don't know how long."

"Are you sure?" I ask. "We could both come. You shouldn't be alone for something like this."

"I've been alone with this shit for years," he says flatly. "Won't be any different tonight."

Ruger grips his Sergeant at Arms's shoulder. "Call if you need anything. Anything at all."

Bloodhound nods once, then strides toward his bike, back rigid with tension.

We watch him roar away, the taillights of his motorcycle fading into the darkness.

"Did you know?" I ask Ruger.

"About Vanna? Yeah." Ruger sighs heavily. "She and Bloodhound were high school sweethearts. Got married young. She got hooked on pills after a car accident, then moved on to harder stuff when the prescriptions ran out."

"That's awful."

"Yeah. He's tried everything—rehab, tough love, bribes, threats. Nothing sticks." He wraps an arm around me, guiding me toward our apartment instead of the party. "Been years since she's been around the club. She comes and goes from his life, usually when she needs money or hits rock bottom."

Knowing all of this makes me view Bloodhound in a new light—his quiet nature, his intense loyalty to the club, his occasional disappearances that no one questions.

"Will she be okay?" I ask as we enter our place, the laughter from the party a distant backdrop now.

"Don't know," Ruger answers honestly. "She's survived overdoses before. But each time..."

He doesn't finish the thought, doesn't need to.

I curl against him on the couch, suddenly grateful for the simple blessing of being healthy, being clean, being here together.

"Life's messy, isn't it?" I murmur. "Even when everything seems perfect, there's always something."

"That's why you enjoy the good moments when they come," Ruger says, kissing the top of my head. "Like tonight, with your family. Like Sadie Jo's birthday. Like right now."

I tilt my face up to his, overwhelmed with love for this man who helped me find strength I didn't know I had.

"I never expected to end up here," I tell him. "With an MC President. With a family of bikers. It's the last place I thought I'd find peace."

"Life's funny that way." His arms tighten around me. "Gives you what you need in the places you least expect to find it."

As his lips find mine, gentle but insistent, I silently agree.

Here, in this unexpected place, with this unexpected man, I've finally found what I was always searching for—safety, love, and a home.