The renovation of Grandma Emma's house was just the beginning. Once the Iron Eagles threat was eliminated, the Savage Riders turned their considerable resources and talents toward rebuilding Blackwater Falls itself. The abandonedstorefronts on Main Street now house thriving businesses. The old lumber mill reopened with modern equipment and better safety standards. The town that was dying when I arrived is now growing, drawing young families looking for affordable housing and a tight-knit community.
And at the center of it all are the Savage Riders. No longer just feared, but respected as the guardians who made this renaissance possible.
Every member of the club has found something worth building alongside their brotherhood. Some have found partners, others have started families, all have discovered purpose beyond the violence that once defined them. Yet none have left. Instead, they've put down deeper roots, committed to protecting what they've helped create.
"Tank's cookout still on for this weekend?" I ask, finally getting Rose to finish her dinner and wiping her face clean.
"Yeah, he's been smoking that brisket for two days already," King says with a smile. Tank, once so suspicious of my presence in the clubhouse, has become one of my strongest allies and a devoted uncle to the twins. "Beast is bringing that potato salad you like."
Beast cooking potato salad. Another image that would have seemed impossible three years ago, yet now feels perfectly natural. The gentle giant discovered a passion for cooking somewhere along the way, his massive hands surprisingly delicate when crafting elaborate dishes for club gatherings.
"Perfect. I'll make the strawberry pie." I stand to clear Rose's tray, but King stops me with a gentle hand on my arm.
"Sit. Rest. I've got this." He transfers Lily to his other arm and starts cleaning up the dinner mess one-handed, moving with the confidence of a man who's done this many times before.
I sink back into my chair, taking a moment to appreciate the scene before me. Our beautiful old Victorian house, lovingly restored and expanded; our daughters, healthy and thriving; and this man, my husband, who is so much more than everyone believes he is.
The dangerous club president and the gentle father. The fierce protector and the patient lover. The man who built an empire through violence and then transformed it into something that creates rather than destroys.
He finishes cleaning up and comes to stand behind my chair, his hand resting warm and heavy on my shoulder. "What are you thinking about with that look on your face?"
"Just... how far we've come," I admit, reaching up to cover his hand with mine. "Three years ago, I stepped off that bus with nothing but a suitcase and a deed to a ruined house. Now look at us."
He squeezes my shoulder gently. "Any regrets?"
It's a question he still asks occasionally, as if part of him still can't quite believe I chose this life—chose him—and expects me to wake up one day and realize I've made a terrible mistake.
"Not a single one," I tell him, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "Well, maybe one."
His eyes narrow slightly. "What's that?"
"I regret not getting off that bus years earlier." I smile up at him. "Think of all the time we wasted."
He leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head, inhaling deeply as if memorizing my scent.
"We're making up for it now," he murmurs against my hair.
Rose chooses that moment to bang her sippy cup demandingly on the high chair tray, and Lily joins in with enthusiastic babbling, breaking our moment of quiet connection. King straightens with a laugh.
"Bath time?" he suggests.
"Bath time," I confirm. "I'll run the water if you wrangle the tiny terrorists."
We move through the evening routine with the efficiency of parents who have learned to work together through trial and error—bathing the twins, dressing them in matching pajamas, reading stories, singing lullabies (him, not me—another surprise discovery was King's surprisingly good singing voice), and finally tucking them into their cribs.
We stand in the doorway of the nursery for a moment, watching our daughters drift off to sleep, the night light casting a gentle glow across their peaceful faces.
"I never thought I could have this," King says so quietly I almost don't hear him. "Never thought I deserved it."
I slip my arm around his waist, leaning into his solid warmth. "Good thing I'm stubborn, then."
"Good thing," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple before guiding me down the hallway to our bedroom.
As I get out the first aid kit to tend to his split knuckles, some things never change, I think about the journey that brought us here. The fear and uncertainty of those early days, the violence of the war with the Iron Eagles, the gradual rebuilding of both my grandmother's house and the town itself.
It wasn't an easy road. There were moments when I thought we wouldn't survive, when the weight of the danger seemed too heavy to bear. But through it all, King was my constant. Theimmovable force that stood between me and harm, the man who promised to protect what mattered to me and never once failed to keep that promise.
"There," I say, securing the last butterfly bandage over his knuckle. "Try not to punch anyone for at least 48 hours, okay?"
