Page 133 of Victorious: Part 3

“It’s not just honorary,” I add quickly. “Weneedyou, Valerie.All those girls who come to us broken, who need to learn how to trust again, how to love again, they need to see what strength looks like.Real strength.The kind that survives decades in prison and comes out still believing in goodness.”

Valerie looks around at the assembled women, now hardened bikers with hearts of gold, former assassins turned protectors, survivors who’ve built something beautiful from the ashes of their trauma.

When her gaze comes back to me, there’s steel in it, the kind that’s been forged in fire and hammered into something unbreakable. “I’d be honored, Hummingbird,” she says, using my road name this time.

The cheer that goes up from the Winged Defiance MC could probably be heard back in LA. My girls whoop and holler, their joy infectious as it spreads to the LA Defiance brothers. Even Dad’s stoic facade cracks into a grin.

But then Whisper appears at my elbow, her expression tense. “Pres, we got incoming. Three cars, moving fast, not law enforcement.”

The celebration dies instantly as every woman reaches for weapons, and the positioning of my girls shifts subtly, protectively.

LA Defiance does the same, and we move almost in perfect synchronicity to protect Valerie from whatever the fuck this is heading our way.

“How far out?” I ask at the same time as my father.

We smirk at each other as Whisper shakes her head.

That happens a lot.

“Two minutes, maybe less,” Whisper states.

Dad inhales, then takes off, barking orders to his men. “Defensive positions, we have incoming.”

But I’m watching the horizon, and something about the approaching vehicles doesn’t feel right. They’re moving fast, yes,but not with the aggressive positioning of an attack force. And if someone wanted to hit us, they’d have done it when we were all stationary, all visible.

“Wait,” I call out, raising my hand. “Wait.”

The cars crest the hill, and I can see them now, three black SUVs with—

“Fucking hell,” Nighthawk mumbles beside me. “Are those?”

“Government plates,” I finish, my stomach dropping. Because if there’s one thing the last few years of leadership have taught me, it’s that when the government shows up at a biker gathering, it’snevergood fucking news.

The SUVs pull into the parking area with practiced precision, and men in dark suits emerge like something out of a drama movie.

But their positioning is all wrong for a raid.

They’re approaching openly, hands visible, no weapons drawn.

I peer back at Dad, who is standing, chest puffed as we wait for whatever the fuck this is.

The lead agent,because what else could he be, walks directly toward Dad and me. He’s older, maybe in his fifties, with graying temples and the kind of calm confidence that comes from decades of handling situations that could go sideways fast.

“Mr. Landry,” he says, extending his hand to Dad. “Agent Rockwell, FBI. We apologize for the dramatic entrance.”

Dad eyes the outstretched hand like it might be a trap, but finally shakes it. “Agent Rockwell. This is a family gathering, not club business.”

“We know,” Rockwell replies. “That’s why we’re here.”

He turns to Valerie, and his entire demeanor shifts, becoming softer and more respectful. “Mrs. Drake, my name is Agent Rockwell. I have something that belongs to you.” From his jacket, he produces an envelope, thick, official-looking, withgovernment seals. “A presidential pardon. Full exoneration for all charges. Your conviction has been officially overturned, and the State of California will be issuing a formal apology along with compensation for the years you lost.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Even the desert wind seems to hold its breath.

Montana lets out a disbelieving snort as Valerie hesitatingly takes the envelope with shaking hands, staring at it like it might disappear if she blinks. “A pardon? But… how?”

Rockwell glances at Dad, and I see something like respect in his eyes. “With the hype your case has produced over the last fifteen years, the movie deals, the social media attention, and the like… the agency found it hard not to look further into the circumstances that led up to the night and the incident that led to your arrest.”