Page 23 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)

PHOENIX

Pioneer Saloon sits like something out of an old Western movie, all weathered wood and charm. The parking lot is gravel, and there are actual bullet holes in the walls from some long-ago gunfight. It’s exactly the kind of place that has stories to tell.

“This is perfect,” Clover chimes as we park. “It has so much character.”

Dracula meows from his makeshift carrier, probably smelling the history of a hundred years’ worth of bar fights and bad decisions.

“Stay here, demon cat,” I tell him, cracking a window. “We’ll bring you something.”

“You realize you’re talking to him like he understands you, right?” Clover points out, clearly amused.

“He does understand me. He just chooses to ignore everything I say.”

“Sounds familiar,” she teases, and I can’t help but grin.

The inside of the saloon is even better than the outside. Dark wood, vintage photographs, and more bullet holes in the walls. The kind of place where stories are born and legends live on forever.

We grab a booth near the window where I can keep an eye on the truck and Dracula. The owner, a weathered guy who looks as if he might have been here when some of those bullets were flying, comes over with menus. “First time at Pioneer?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Clover says. “This place is incredible. The history you must have seen.”

His eyes light up. “Oh, the stories this place could tell. Built in 1913, and I swear some of the original customers are still hangin’ around.”

“Hanging around?” I ask.

“Ghosts,” he says matter-of-factly. “Place is haunted as hell. Had a paranormal investigation team come through last year. They said there’s definitely unfinished business keepin’ spirits tied to this place.”

Clover and I share a look across the table. Unfinished business. The words hit different when you’re sitting across from someone who’s become your unfinished business.

“Must make for interesting nights?” Clover asks.

“You have no idea. But they are friendly enough. Just… reluctant to move on, you know? Sometimes the best things are worth staying for.”

I glance across at Clover, knowing exactly what he means. A life with Clover as my Old Lady is going to be a fight, but she is worth fighting for.

Every. Damn. Day.

After deciding what we would like to eat, he takes our order and heads off. Then Clover reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Unfinished business,” she says quietly.

“What about it?”

“Is that what this is? What we are?”

I turn her hand over in mine, tracing patterns on her palm. “Maybe. Or maybe we’re just getting started.”

She smiles widely, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I like that better.”

Inhaling deeply, I nod. “Yeah, me too. This is just the beginning for us, Clo. Are there some hurdles in our way? Yeah, sure. But every great romance had obstacles to overcome. Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose, Bonnie and Clyde, Noah and Allie, Anakin and Padmé, Buffy and Angel…”

She blinks, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Phoenix… they all died, or had their hearts ripped out. Emotionally or literally.”

I wince. “Okay, yeah, maybe not the best motivational speech.”

She laughs, that bright sound lighting me up from the inside. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Dipping my head, I grin at her. “Damn right it is.”

Her smile softens, and across the table, her thumb brushes against my wrist. “Still, I like where your head’s at. As long as we’re writing our own ending.”

“Deal,” I say, lifting her hand to my lips and kissing her knuckles. “No tragic deaths. No sinking ships.”

“No lightsaber massacres,” she quips.

I smirk. “Only the good kind of fireworks.”

“The kind our cat creates for us.”

Chuckling, I glance out the window, seeing the little shit staring me down from the truck. “Yeah… our cat,” I finally admit, and Clover smiles as though I’ve made her the happiest woman on earth.

We continue to chat about everything and nothing, and when our food arrives, the burgers taste like they’ve been perfected over a century of practice, the fries are crispy excellence, and the beer is so cold that it cuts through the desert heat.

We eat, talk, and laugh, and for a while, it’s easy to forget that Vegas is waiting just ahead.

Easy to forget that real life is about to crash back in.

“What happens when we get to Vegas?” Clover asks suddenly, voicing the question that’s been hanging between us all day.

I set down my beer, considering her question. “Honestly? I don’t know. I know what’s supposed to happen. We check in with Sin. You do your work. I keep you safe.”

“And what do you want to happen?”

“I want to find out what this is,” I say, gesturing between us. “I want to see where it goes when we’re not running from Cartels or sleeping in the desert holding ourselves back from wanting each other.”

“And if it’s complicated?”

“Everything worth having is complicated, Clover.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, playing with her napkin. “I don’t want this to end,” she says finally. “Whatever this is, whatever it becomes… I’m not ready for it to end.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Doesn’t it? Vegas is real life . Vegas is work and obligations, and my brother checking in every five minutes to make sure I’m not…” She gestures vaguely.

“Not what?”

“Not falling for the guy he sent to protect me.”

I lean back in the booth, studying her face. “Too late for that, isn’t it?”

“ Waaay too late.” She meets my eyes. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

“We figure it out as we go,” I reply honestly. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

“Just… together?”

“Together.”

She smiles, but there’s worry in her eyes. “When we tell Maverick about us—”

“Let me worry about Maverick.”

“He’s protective.”

“I know. But I’m not going anywhere, Clover. Not unless you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to.” The sincerity in her eyes makes my chest squeeze in the best possible way.

I tighten my grip on her hand. “Then… we’re good.”

We finish lunch in comfortable silence, both aware that this is our last stop before Vegas.

Before everything changes.

When we finally head back to the truck, Dracula greets us with indignant meows and accusatory stares, like we’ve personally betrayed him by leaving him alone for ninety minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, we missed you too,” I tell him, scratching behind his ears, and slyly handing the little bastard a scrap from my burger that I kept for him. The little asshole actually purrs in delight, making me half smile at him.

“See?” Clover says, grinning. “You love him.”

“Maybe the cat isn’t so bad ,” I admit begrudgingly.

We slide into the truck, Dracula’s breath hot over my shoulder as we pull out of Pioneer Saloon and back onto the highway toward Vegas, and I catch Clover’s hand, bringing it to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Whatever happens next,” I say. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We got this shit,” she agrees.

Vegas glitters on the horizon ahead of us, all promise and possibility.

But for the first time since this journey started, I’m not thinking about the destination.

I’m thinking about the woman sitting next to me, the cat purring in the back seat, and the fact that somewhere between LA and here, I stopped protecting Clover and started living.

Maybe that’s what unfinished business really is. It’s not something that holds you back, but something that propels you forward.

Something worth staying for.

Something worth fighting for.

Something worth everything.

The desert highway stretches out ahead of us, leading toward whatever comes next.

And the uncertainty of that is both electrifying and terrifying. Because I know my life is with Clover.

That is a certainty.

The uncertainty is whether we will be permanently in Las Vegas because our family back in Los Angeles has been completely and utterly annihilated.

And that thought is terrifying.