Page 97 of Sexting the Bikers

Dog claps his hands, ignoring the complaints from his battered knuckles. “That’s our Bratva queen,” he crows, and suddenly everyone is laughing with him.

I sober quickly. “I love you,” I say to Dog, before turning to Reaper, “and you,” and then moving on to Bishop. “And you too, Bishop. However improbable and impossible it is, over the last few days, I’ve managed to fall in love with all three of you.”

Dog steps forward, taking me in his arms. “Crazier things have happened . For example, I saw Reaper smile for the first time in his life after you walked in here.”

I giggle, snuggling deeper into him. Reaper and Bishop circle us, softly caressing my hair. We’re complete, all four of us, together.

Donella just shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Never thought I’d see the day,” she mutters, but I can hear the warmth in her voice as she starts sewing, her fingers sure and quick.

Bishop stands, stretching the tension out of his back, and leans over to look at the patch. “Gonna need a bigger space for all our names,” he says, but I catch the way his hand lingers on my shoulder, gentle, careful.

Reaper slips his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You sure about this?” he asks, voice low and serious.

I meet his gaze, feeling the truth settle in my chest. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He nods, then presses a kiss to my temple, just light enough to make me want more. Dog squeezes in on my other side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Hope you’re ready for this, kitten. You know we’re a handful.”

Bishop’s hands curl around my neck, tracing goose bumps. “Good thing she likes trouble.”

The room settles, the noise fading into a softer kind of energy. Laughter gives way to the low thrum of conversation, thekind that fills a space with comfort and belonging. The others drift in and out, offering congratulations and little jokes, but no one questions it. No one pushes back. It’s just accepted, as simple as the patch being sewn, as natural as the way these three men make me feel.

When Donella finishes, she holds up the cut, the names stitched together in bold white thread. “All done,” she says, her eyes soft. “Welcome to the family, Katya.”

I slip it on, feeling the weight settle across my shoulders, feeling all the pieces of my life click into place. For the first time, I’m not an outsider or a secret, not a pawn in someone else’s war. I’m theirs, and they’re mine, and we’re stronger for it.

Dog whoops, Bishop grins, Reaper just holds me close. Around us, the Ravagers cheer and clap, the clubhouse filled with the kind of wild, loyal energy that feels like home.

I smile, letting the moment sink in, letting myself believe that this—these people, this place, these three impossible men—is finally where I belong.