Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Savvy

Six Months Later

T he diner positively hums with energy. I've been polishing the endless stacks of silverware, too nervous to focus on any real work. Around me, everyone moves with purpose—Mandy sweeping for the third time, Helen arranging a spread of food that could feed half the town, Willie bouncing between tasks like a pinball.

"Savvy, the forks are clean," Helen chides, swatting my arm with a dish towel.

I set the rag down, forcing a smile. "Sorry. Nerves."

"No need for nerves," Crow says from his booth, where he's nursing a coffee. "Our lawyer doesn't schedule a call unless it's good news."

"Usually," Diesel adds unhelpfully from beside him.

These two have become fixtures in Shadow Ridge over the past six months, volunteering to stay behind and "keep an eye on things" after Vargan was extradited. What started as protection quickly evolved into something more—investment, community, belonging. With Hammer's blessing, they've been using club funds to buy properties Victor has been forced to sell to cover his mounting legal fees.

"They're building the first spinoff chapter of the Ironborn," Willie had explained to me excitedly last week. "The Shadow Ridge Clan. Isn't that awesome?"

Watching Crow and Diesel integrate into our small town has been surreal. These intimidating, green-skinned bikers now nod hello to Mrs. Peterson at the grocery store and help Mr. Jenkins with his tractor repairs. They've become...almost… family.

But they're not Vargan.

Six months. Six months of visits to New York for depositions and hearings. Six months of brief phone calls and longer letters. Six months of waiting, hoping, praying that the witness testimony and physical evidence would be enough to clear his name.

The first month after Vargan was taken away, I couldn't sleep in my bed. His scent was still on the pillows, and every time I closed my eyes, I'd see him being led away, hands tied behind his back. I spent most nights on the couch, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'd ever see him as a free man again.

"What time is the call again?" Silas asks, settling into his usual booth.

"Two o'clock," I answer, checking my watch for the hundredth time. "Five more minutes."

"The phone's all set up," Willie announces, patting the speakerphone we've placed on a table in the center of the diner. "Tested it twice."

I ruffle his hair, grateful for his enthusiasm. "Thanks, kiddo."

The door creaks open, and Helen straightens, her professional demeanor taking over. "Sorry, we're closed for a private—" She stops, her expression softening. "Oh, it's just you, Ash."

Ash nods in greeting, his scarred face breaking into a rare smile as he takes in our preparations. "Quite the welcoming committee."

"It's not for you," Helen quips before dashing into the back for more food.

"She doesn't mean it," I say quickly. "We're all just on edge."

Ash's smile only widens. "I know. Me too."

"Any news?" I ask, unable to help myself. My heart is a wild thing in my chest, like it's forgotten how to beat at a normal rhythm.

He shakes his head. "Just that the lawyer's optimistic. But lawyers are always optimistic until they're not."

I deflate slightly, returning to my nervous cleaning. Ash has been a frequent visitor over these months, handling club business and keeping us updated on Vargan's case. He's become a friend, an unexpected island of calm in the storm of uncertainty. This week, he's been in town to help put pressure on Victor's case and start the recalling proceedings to remove him from the mayor’s office.

Looking at Ash, I see hints of the same stoic strength that drew me to Vargan. It must be an orc thing—this ability to endure, to keep going despite everything the world throws at them. It's a quality I've tried to emulate these past six months.

Crow checks his watch. "Almost time. Should we gather 'round?"

We arrange ourselves around the speakerphone—Helen, Silas, Willie, Mandy, Crow, Diesel, Ash, and me. A strange family united by one common thread: our care for the orc who changed all our lives.

The phone rings precisely at two. Willie pounces on it, punching the speaker button before it can ring again. "Hello?"

"Willie? It's Lawrence Stein, Ironborn legal counsel." The lawyer's voice fills the diner, professional yet warm. "I have the whole team here with me. Are you all gathered as planned?"

"Yes, sir," Willie answers. "Everyone's here."

"Excellent. I'll get right to it. I've just left the courthouse where Judge Reynolds has issued his final ruling in Vargan Thronshade's case."

My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure everyone can hear it. Under the table, Helen's hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. The moment stretches, each second an eternity of anticipation and dread.

"After reviewing all the evidence—the witness testimony, the security footage, and most critically, the recantation from Jason Meeks' girlfriend admitting she encouraged him to attack Mr. Thronshade—the judge has dismissed all charges."

The room erupts in cheers. Willie punches the air, Crow slaps Diesel on the back hard enough to make him cough, and I press my hand to my mouth, tears threatening to spill over. Relief floods through me with such force that I nearly collapse. Six months of fear and uncertainty dissolve in an instant.

"There's one condition," the lawyer continues once we quiet down. "Mr. Thronshade has to agree to never return to the state of New York."

"Easily done," comes a deep, familiar voice through the speaker, but it sounds... closer somehow.

I look up, and the world stops.

Vargan stands in the diner doorway, cell phone in hand, his amber eyes fixed on me.

"Vargan," I whisper, not trusting my voice.

Then I'm moving, crossing the diner in what feels like a single heartbeat. He catches me as I launch myself at him, his strong arms lifting me effortlessly, holding me against his chest as if he's afraid I might disappear.

"I can't believe you're here," I say against his neck, breathing in his scent—leather and cedar and something uniquely him. It's like oxygen after months of not being able to breathe properly.

He holds me tighter. "I asked Hammer to delay the call long enough for me to catch the first flight down here. I wanted to see your face when you heard the news."

Around us, the diner has erupted in celebration. Willie is explaining something excitedly to Mandy, his hands gesturing wildly. Crow and Diesel are toasting with coffee mugs. Helen is pretending not to cry while Silas pats her shoulder awkwardly.

Helen asks Ash if he had anything to do with this surprise visit, and he shrugs, but his grin gives him away.

But in Vargan's arms, it's just us—the world narrowed to the warmth of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart, the brush of his tusks against my cheek as he smiles.

"Put me down," I say finally, though it's the last thing I want. "Let me look at you."

He sets me on my feet, and I step back to take him in. He looks different—his hair longer, pulled back, a new scar on his forearm. He's leaner, prison food and stress having carved away some of the bulk I remember. But his eyes are the same, amber and warm and looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

"You look good," I say, inadequately.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "So do you."

Hours pass in a blur of celebration. Helen serves the food she prepared, Silas tells increasingly embellished stories about keeping Victor and Royce in line while they await trial, and Crow entertains everyone with tales of the Shadow Ridge Clan's formation.

"We've got five members already," he explains proudly. "Word spread about a safe spot for orcs and the club. Hammer's coming down next month for the official charter."

Through it all, Vargan keeps me close—a hand on my waist, an arm around my shoulders, as if reassuring himself I'm still there. I can't stop touching him either, fingers brushing his arm, shoulder pressed to his, needing the physical confirmation that he's real, he's here, he's free.

As the afternoon wanes, Willie approaches Vargan, suddenly shy. "Your bike is still in our garage," he says. "Silas has been helping me take care of it. Well, keeping it clean anyway."

Vargan's expression softens. "Thank you. Both of you."

Willie brightens. "Do you want to go for a drive? I've been practicing, and I'm really good now. Got my license last month."

Before Vargan can answer, Silas clears his throat, tapping Willie's shoulder. "Maybe another time, son. I think these two need some alone time." He winks at me. "Why don't you take me for a spin instead? Show me how well you handle that truck."

Willie's face falls for a moment, then understanding dawns. "Oh! Yeah, sure. Next time, Vargan?"

"Definitely," Vargan promises, ruffling Willie's hair much as I often do.

Helen begins collecting plates. "I'll clean up here. Why don't you two get going? No arguments, Savvy. I've got this."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I say, grabbing Vargan's hand. "Let's go home."

We walk to the farmhouse hand in hand, the cool fall air warm against our skin, the setting sun painting everything in gold. Six months ago, I wasn't sure I'd ever see him outside a prison visiting room again. Now he's here, fingers intertwined with mine, returning to the home that's been waiting for him.

"I still can't believe our luck," I say as we cross the yard. The farmhouse looks different now—Crow and Diesel helped me paint it over the summer, the cheerful yellow a far cry from the peeling white it was when Vargan first arrived.

Vargan stops at the porch, leaning against the banister and pulling me between his legs. "It wasn't luck," he says, his large hands settling on my waist. "The judge told me, when it came down to it, it was my insistence on innocence that tipped the scales." His eyes soften. "And without your strength, without you giving me something to fight for, I never would have had it in me to fight that hard."

My heart swells at his words. After years of struggling alone, of being the strong one for everyone else, hearing someone acknowledge that strength—value it—is overwhelming.

"I think that means I've earned something special," I say, stepping closer until our bodies press together.

Vargan's grin is wicked, all tusks and a hint of evil. In one fluid motion, he throws me over his shoulder, drawing a surprised squeal from my lips.

"You've earned my whole damn world," he growls, carrying me toward the house.

I laugh, playfully beating my fists against his broad back as he takes the porch steps two at a time. Inside, he navigates the familiar path to my bedroom and deposits me gently on top.

"I've never missed anything in my life the way I've missed you," he says, his voice rough with emotion.

Standing at the foot of the bed, he looks down at me with such hunger that my body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly. I've dreamed of this moment for six months, imagined his return in a thousand different ways, but nothing compares to the reality of him here, his honey colored eyes burning with desire.

"I've never been more afraid in my life than I was that I'd never see you again," I whisper, sitting up to reach for him.

He catches my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. "Six months," he murmurs against my skin. "Six months of thinking about this. About you."

Slowly, deliberately, he pulls off his shirt, revealing the tapestry of tattoos and scars across his green skin. My breath catches at the sight. He's leaner than when he left, but he’s no less breathtaking.

"I'll have to make it up to you, then," he says, lowering himself onto the bed.

His weight dips the mattress as he crawls toward me, his movements predatory, focused. When he reaches me, he doesn't kiss me immediately as I expect. Instead, he takes hold of my ankle, lifting it to press his lips against the delicate skin there.

"I'm going to kiss every inch of you," he promises, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers racing up my spine. "To make up for every day I couldn't touch you."

He works his way up my calf, pushing the fabric of my dress higher as he goes. His tusks graze my skin, a sensation that once seemed so foreign but now feels so right. When he reaches my knee, he takes his time, exploring the sensitive spot behind it until I'm squirming beneath him.

"Vargan," I breathe, my hands fisting in the bedspread. "Please."

He looks up, his gaze locking on mine. "Please what?"

"Touch me," I plead. "Really touch me."

His smile is almost feral as he continues his journey upward, hands sliding beneath my dress to caress my thighs. When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he hooks his fingers into the waistband, drawing them down my legs with agonizing slowness.

"I've thought about this moment every night," he confesses, settling between my thighs. "About how you taste. How you sound when you come apart for me."

Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, his tongue exploring with a hunger that takes my breath away. My back arches off the bed at the first touch, a cry escaping my lips. It's been so long—too long—and my body responds instantly, desperate for the release only he can provide.

His large hands grip my thighs, holding me open for his assault. One thick finger slides inside me, curling to find that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. He adds a second, stretching me deliciously while his tongue continues its relentless rhythm against my most sensitive spot.

"Vargan," I gasp, my hands finding his hair and. "I'm going to—"

He growls against me, the vibration sending me over the edge. I shatter, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me as he works me through it, gentling his touch only when I become too sensitive.

When I can focus again, he's looking down at me, satisfaction evident in his expression. "Still as beautiful as I remembered," he says with a smirk that has me already on edge again.

I sit up, suddenly desperate to touch him, to prove to myself he's really here. My hands go to his belt, fumbling in my eagerness. He helps me, standing to remove his jeans and underwear in one efficient motion.

The sight of him—fully naked, aroused, and mine—steals my breath. He's all corded muscle and green skin, his cock heavy and ready against his stomach.

"My turn," I say, sliding off the bed to kneel before him.

His sharp intake of breath is reward enough as I take him in my hand, marveling at the contrast between my pale fingers and his green skin. I lean forward, taking him into my mouth as far as I can, drawing a strangled groan from deep in his chest.

His hand comes to rest on my head, not guiding, just connecting as I work him with my mouth and hand. I can feel him trembling with the effort to stay still, to let me set the pace.

"Savvy," he warns after a few minutes, his voice strained. "If you keep that up—"

I release him, looking up to meet his gaze. "I want you," I say simply. "All of you."

That's all it takes. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, tossing me onto the bed and following me down. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that tastes of both of us, intense and claiming. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard length of him press against my core.

"I love you," he says suddenly, the words startling both of us. His eyes widen slightly, as if surprised by his own admission. "I should have told you that before. Before they took me away. I love you, Savvy."

My heart threatens to burst. "I love you too," I whisper, cradling his face in my hands. "I think I have since the moment you walked into my diner."

Something in his expression breaks open—vulnerability that he rarely shows, even to me. He kisses me again, gentler this time, as he positions himself at my entrance.

"Mine," he murmurs against my lips as he pushes inside, filling me inch by torturous inch.

"Yours," I agree, gasping as he seats himself fully within me. "Always yours."

He begins to move, setting a rhythm that's both familiar and new. We've done this before, but never with the knowledge that we have time—all the time in the world now. No deadlines, no impending separations, no looming threats.

Just us, finding our way back to each other.

I lose myself in the sensation of him moving within me, the weight of him above me, the sound of his breath growing ragged as his control frays. My second climax builds more slowly than the first, a gathering storm that breaks when he shifts, hitting a spot inside me that makes me cry out his name.

He follows me over the edge moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure that leave me trembling beneath him. For a long moment, we lie tangled together, breathless and glowing, his forehead pressed to mine.

"Welcome home," I whisper when I can speak again.

He rolls to his side, taking me with him. His hand traces lazy patterns on my back as our breathing slows, our heartbeats gradually returning to normal.

"Home," he repeats, as if testing the word. "I've never had one before you."

I curl closer, head resting on his chest where I can hear the steady beat of his heart. He holds me tightly against him, almost painfully so, but I understand—he's making sure I'm real, that this isn't some dream he'll wake from in a cold cell.

I burrow deeper into his embrace, content in a way I haven't felt since my father died. For years, I've carried everyone and everything—Willie, the diner, the farm, the weight of my parents' legacy. I've been so afraid to show weakness, to need anyone, that I closed myself off from the possibility of being supported.

But here, in Vargan's strong arms, I find I'm ready to let someone take care of me. Not because I'm weak, but because I'm strong enough to be vulnerable. To trust. To love.

I shift slightly, turning away from him to nestle my back against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him envelop me. "The town's looking for a new sheriff."

"Is that so," he says, his fingers gently brushing aside a strand of hair from my neck. The simple touch sends a shiver through me.

"Some of the citizens are saying it should be an orc," I continue, trying to keep my voice casual.

Vargan is silent behind me, but I can feel the slight tensing of his muscles. He knows exactly where this is leading.

"So," I say, "you thinking about applying for the job?"

His low chuckle vibrates against my back. "What? And become the law around here? Not a chance."

"Why not? They already trust you. Victor won't touch you. It's a perfect fit."

Vargan wraps his heavy arm around me, tugging me in tighter, his warmth seeping into my bones. "I plan to put as much distance between me and human law as possible for the foreseeable future."

I laugh as he holds me closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Good, because Ash has already applied for the job, and..." I turn my head slightly, meeting his amber gaze, "...well, I plan to keep you occupied with other activities."

His mouth drops to my ear, his tusks grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that makes heat pool in my belly all over again. "That's good," he murmurs, "because I have a lot of time to make up for, Savvy Greene, and I plan to do most of that from right here in this bed."

The promise in his voice makes me melt against him. As twilight deepens outside our window, I know with absolute certainty that Vargan will never let me go again. And I'll never want him to.

We've both spent too long running—me from vulnerability, him from his past. But now, having found each other against all odds, we've both finally stopped.

And started living instead.