His arms tighten around me in a way that says he’s never letting go.
This time, I believe him. Afterwards, we lay there in the grass, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, my fingers drawing lazy circles over his ribs.
The sun is gone. The stars are coming out. This time, when the night settles in around us, it doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels eternal.
Epilogue II
Malachi
Thewarroomsmellsof leather, oil, and the tension of men who’ve seen too much. The kind that settles in the bones and doesn’t leave, even when the threats are handled. Even when the bodies are buried. Donovan’s gone. But the rot he fed off? Still festering.
The chairs are filled—East, Knox, Nash, Kyle, Victor, James, and the newly elected patch, Rider. Only the elected officers are present. This meeting is for strategy, containment, and control.
I look around the table and say the name that’s still dripping with venom.
“Graves.” The room stills. East leans forward, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm against the wood. “He’s too careful to get his hands dirty directly. But we know he gave Donovan zoningprotection. Moved permits through back channels. Profited from shell companies. He’s not just dirty. He’s insulated.”
“That makes him dangerous,” Knox adds. “Especially now that Donovan’s gone. Graves is going to scramble to cover the trail.”
“He won’t,” Nash says flatly. “He’ll pivot. Use the sympathy card. ‘Oh no, another tragedy in Willowridge.’ Fucking snake.”
Kyle scowls. “So what? We wait for him to make another move?”
“We’re not waiting,” I say. “We’re watching. Every dollar, every whisper, every favor he calls in, we track it.”
Victor shifts, finally speaking. “There’s something buried deeper with Graves. Power at that level doesn’t come without sacrifice. He’s tied to something. Blood, maybe. Or legacy. I don’t know yet. But he’s not just a crooked politician.”
James leans forward, his voice low and certain. “Graves is a symptom, not the disease.”
He’s right. But I’m not playing symptoms. I want the cure.
I glance at Victor. “You cross paths with Graves more than any of us. Keep your ear to the ground. If he flinches, I want to know.”
Victor nods once, no hesitation. “Understood.”
“We keep eyes on Darla,” Knox adds, his tone harder now. “Because Graves will use her to get what he wants.”
East goes quiet. Not unreadable, just thinking. And for East, that means it’s personal.
“Meeting adjourned,” I say finally. “Updates every forty-eight hours. No one moves without eyes on.”
Chairs scrape back. Boots echo against the floor. One by one, they file out. A storm contained, but never silent.
I stay seated. When the last person leaves and the door shuts, I lean back and rub the tension from the back of my neck. The war isn’t over. But for tonight, the battlefield is quiet.
Standing, I walk to the door and open it halfway, catching Kyle as he heads down the hall.
“Hey,” I call. “Tell Candace I need her.”
He raises a brow but doesn’t ask questions. “On it.”
Moving back to my chair, I sit there in the dim light, staring at the space where maps and bloodstained plans once covered this table. Now it’s just a scarred surface. But it still remembers.
The door opens ten minutes later, and I know it’s her before I look up. She strolls in, carrying herself with confidence that announces trouble before it speaks.
One hand on her hip, notebook in the other, expression sharp as glass. She’s wearing those damn shorts that barely count, and a tank top that hugs her curves, showing just enough midriff to make my blood heat. Her blonde curls are loose, wild from whatever she was in the middle of, and she looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “You better be dying or bleeding. I was in the middle of something, Hayes.”
I smirk, slow and deliberate, the kind that makes her roll her eyes even when she wants to bite me. “Close the door.”
