Page 23 of Wings (Heavy Kings MC #5)

After, I gathered her close, both of us sweat-slicked and shaking. She burrowed into me like she wanted to live under my skin, and I held her tight enough to leave marks.

"Mine," I said into her hair. "My good girl. My perfect baby girl."

"Yours," she agreed sleepily. "Always yours, Daddy."

I pulled the soft blanket over us, fairy lights casting everything in dreams and possibility. Tomorrow we'd face the world again. But tonight, she was safe and fed and thoroughly loved.

The turn signal clicked steady as a heartbeat while I waited for traffic to clear. Behind me, Ki hugged me close. She'd been vibrating with excitement since I'd told her where we were going, barely managing to eat breakfast before dragging me to the bike.

"You're sure they still have the butterfly house?" she had asked for the third time. "Sometimes places close those. Too expensive to maintain proper climate control."

"Called yesterday," I assured her. "Still there. Actually expanded since we went. They added a whole tropical wing."

She had made a soft sound of happiness that hit me right in the chest.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the Botanical Center.

It had been two weeks since she'd shown up at the clubhouse terrified and broken. Two weeks of watching her unfold like one of her butterflies emerging from a chrysalis. The woman who got off my motorcycle bore little resemblance to the ghost who'd dropped medical supplies in a parking garage.

Her hair caught the morning sun through the helmet visor, loose and free instead of scraped back in defense.

She wore one of the sundresses from the nursery—yellow with tiny flowers that made her skin glow.

When I'd zipped it up for her this morning, she'd smiled at me in the mirror with such trust it had taken my breath away.

The botanical center's parking lot was mostly empty on a Thursday morning. Good. I wanted this moment to be ours, not crowded with school field trips and tourists. Ki pulled her helmet off and hung it carefully on the handle. She bounced up and down with excitement.

"Slower, baby girl," I chuckled, catching her hand. "Butterflies have been here millions of years. They'll wait five more minutes."

But I understood her urgency. This place held memory—good memory, untainted by what came after.

We'd been so young then, sitting on that bench while Alex chased after some girl.

Ki sketching in her notebook while I pretended to read plaques but really watched her hands move across paper, creating beauty from nothing.

The entrance looked exactly the same. Same tired gift shop, same bored teenager at the ticket counter, same signs warning about climate control and not touching the wildlife. But Ki's face as we entered the main conservatory—that was entirely new.

Wonder.

Pure, uncomplicated wonder like I'd handed her the moon.

The humid air hit like a wall, thick with the scent of tropical flowers and rich earth.

Butterflies danced everywhere—morphos with wings like blue lightning, monarchs in clouds of orange and black, tiny jewellike creatures I couldn't name.

The sound of water features mixed with the rustling of wings, creating its own ecosystem of peace.

"Oh," Ki breathed, and then she was moving.

Not the careful, defensive movements I'd grown used to. This was Ki unguarded, spinning slowly to take it all in, face tipped up to track the flight patterns above us. A morpho landed on her shoulder, wings slowly opening and closing, and her laugh was bright as bells.

"Hello, beautiful," she whispered to it. "Oh, look at you. So perfect."

I hung back, just watching. This was why I'd brought her here.

Not just for the butterflies, but for this—seeing her in a place where she'd once been happy, before Alex's poison, before the running and hiding and fear.

Proof that those parts of her still existed, just waiting for somewhere safe to emerge.

She wandered deeper into the conservatory, pausing at each flowering bush to see who might be feeding.

I followed, hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her every time she made those soft sounds of delight.

An older couple passed us, smiling at her obvious joy.

She didn't even notice, too absorbed in watching a cluster of swallowtails dance around a fountain.

"Wings—Gabe, look!" She grabbed my hand, pulling me to a bench—not the same one from years ago, but close enough. "Monarchs. A whole migration's worth."

She was right. The air above the bench swirled orange and black, dozens of monarchs in some kind of aerial ballet. We sat, her hand still in mine, and watched them dance.

"Did you know," she said softly, "that monarchs can navigate using the sun? Even on cloudy days, they can sense polarized light patterns. They always know which way is home."

"Smart bugs."

"Mmm." She leaned into my side. "I used to think if I could just figure out their secret, maybe I'd stop feeling so lost."

One landed on her free hand, wings spread wide. She held perfectly still, barely breathing, and I knew this was it. This moment, with her glowing in filtered sunlight and butterflies treating her like one of their own—this was when I needed to do this.

I shifted, pulling the small velvet box from my jacket pocket. Her attention stayed on the butterfly, giving me time to steady my nerves. Three years of combat and my hands shook over a piece of jewelry.

"Ki," I said quietly.

She turned to me, butterfly lifting off in a flash of orange. Her eyes found the box immediately, going wide.

"I want you to have something," I managed, throat tight with emotion. "A reminder that you're mine to protect. That you're safe, always."

I opened the box.

The collar caught the light, silver butterfly delicate as spun sugar but strong as steel.

The lock was tiny, functional but disguised as part of the design.

To anyone else, it would look like a pretty necklace.

But we'd know. We'd know it meant she belonged to someone who'd stand between her and any storm.

"Gabe," she breathed, and I couldn't tell if she was about to cry or fly away herself.

"It's a day collar," I explained, needing her to understand. "Something you can wear all the time, even at work. A reminder that you have a Daddy who's thinking about you, watching over you, making sure you're okay."

Her fingers hovered over it, not quite touching. "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful," I corrected. "This is just . . . marking what's already true. That you're mine. That I'm yours. That we're building something worth protecting."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she was smiling. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I want it. Yes, I want to be yours. Yes to all of it." She turned on the bench, offering me her neck. "Please, Daddy."

My hands trembled as I lifted the collar from its box. Such a simple thing, but it felt like the most important mission I'd ever undertaken. Getting it wrong wasn't an option.

"Once this is on," I said, positioning it at her throat, "it's not a game. Not something we do just in the nursery. This is real, Ki. Every day, everywhere. You wear my collar, you're under my protection. My rules. My care."

"I understand." Her voice was steady, sure. "I want that. Want to belong to you."

The collar settled against her skin like it had been made for her. Which it had—I'd spent hours with the jeweler, making sure it would be perfect. The butterfly sat right at the hollow of her throat, wings spread in eternal flight.

I found the tiny lock at the back, hidden in the clasp design. "Last chance to change your mind."

She reached back, covering my hands with hers. "Lock it. Please."

The click was soft, almost lost in the sound of water and wings. But I felt it in my bones, that tiny sound that changed everything. She was mine now. Officially. Irrevocably.

She turned to face me, fingers going immediately to the butterfly. The wonder in her eyes made every doubt I'd had evaporate. This was right. We were right.

"How does it feel?" I asked, though I could see the answer in how she glowed.

"Like coming home," she whispered. "Like I can finally stop running."

I pulled her into my arms, crushing her against me while butterflies danced around us like a blessing. She clung just as tight, and I felt her tears against my neck, but they were good tears. Healing tears.

"My baby girl," I murmured into her hair. "My perfect, beautiful baby girl."

"Your baby girl," she agreed, and the butterflies seemed to dance faster, celebrating with us.

She laughed, soft and content, fingers playing with the collar. We sat in comfortable silence, surrounded by beauty, her weight perfect in my arms.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it—nothing was more important than this moment—but it buzzed again. Then again.

"Someone really wants your attention," Ki observed, shifting so I could dig it out.

Duke's name on the screen made me frown. Three texts in rapid succession wasn't his style unless something was wrong.

I opened them, and my frown transformed into a grin.

"What?" Ki tried to see, but I held the phone away playfully.

"Patience, baby girl."

I read Duke's messages again, just to be sure. The lawyers had done it. Hospital investigation closed. Anonymous complaint traced and dismissed as harassment. Kiara Mitchell cleared to return to work immediately if she wanted.

"Gabe, what is it?" Now she was really curious, sitting up in my lap.

I set the phone aside, cupping her face so I could see her reaction. "The club lawyers did it, baby girl. You're cleared. You can go back to work."

Her mouth dropped open. "What? But—how? It's only been—"

"Duke doesn't mess around when it comes to protecting family." I traced her cheek with my thumb. "Hospital needs you. Night shift's been a disaster without you, apparently. They're eager to have you back."

Tears spilled over, but she was smiling so bright it could have powered the city. "I can work again? Really?"

"Really. Tonight if you want, though I'd suggest taking another day or two. Ease back in."

She threw her arms around my neck, laughing and crying at once. "I can't believe it. I thought—I was so sure I'd lost everything."

"Never." I held her tight. "Not on my watch. You're Heavy Kings family now. We protect our own."

She pulled back to look at me, fingers finding the collar again. "Thank you. For all of it. For seeing me in that garage and not letting me run. For the rules and the discipline and this." She touched the butterfly. "For making me yours."

"Best decision I ever made," I told her honestly.

She kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. When we finally left the greenhouse, she walked different—taller, prouder, fingers occasionally touching her collar like a talisman.

My baby girl. My butterfly. Safe and claimed and ready to face the world again.

But this time, she wouldn't face it alone.