She waited for me to add the salve and bandage, then she hopped off the table and grinned. “Your turn.”
“I know.” I cupped her hips and pulled her body into mine. “Don’t know how I’m gonna sit through this without fucking the hell out of you.”
She rolled her eyes as she pushed away, then patted the bench. “Sit your ass down, Hound.”
I grumbled good-naturedly as I sat, stretching my leg out like she had and tugging my jeans up just enough to give her access to the same spot.
“What do you think about Kevlar and that waitress at the diner?”
I shrugged. “She’s worked there for a month. He’s a Hound. If something was gonna happen, it already would’ve.”
She grabbed her own gun, already sterilized so we didn’t have to waste time cleaning mine until after she was done. Then she snapped on gloves and wiped down my skin with practiced care. Her touch was gentle but confident. She’d been apprenticing officially for a couple of months now and was already booking up weeks in advance.
Clients loved her. I got it. She had a calming vibe. And her hands were fucking magic. Although, I wasn’t happy with the way some clients expressed their appreciation for them.
“You nervous?” she asked, flipping on the machine.
I met her gaze and smirked. “You mess this up, I’m spanking you.”
“Promises, promises.”
She bit her lip to keep from laughing and bent to focus.
When the needle hit my skin, I felt it all at once—heat, pressure, the drag of her presence wrapped up in the movement of her hand. She was claiming me right back, and there wasn’t a single fucking thing I wanted more. That was the difference.Every mark I’d ever worn before was about brotherhood or blood. This? This was her. Us.
When she finished and bandaged my skin, she leaned in and whispered against my mouth. “Mine.”
“Damn right,” I muttered. Then I yanked her onto my lap and kissed her like we were still in that warehouse and I’d just found her again.
Ten minutes later, we stood at the mirror with our hands entwined. She turned hers over and extended her ring finger, and I did the same. She lined up our hands and pressed our inked fingers together—thin black rings, etched the day after I proposed.
We’d make it legally official next month, but we didn’t need an altar or an audience. We already belonged to each other.
She rested her head against my chest and sighed. “This feels more permanent than any ceremony ever could.”
“That’s ‘cause it is.”
EPILOGUE
ELENA
Saturday afternoons were always the busiest. Kids of every age ran around the clubhouse’s backyard. The women lounged at the picnic tables, swapping stories over sweet tea and cookies, while the men grilled enough food to feed an army. Which was basically what the Hounds of Hellfire were in some ways.
Kayde darted between the picnic tables, a blur of dark curls and grass-stained jeans.
“Daddy, Bella’s winning!” he shouted as he sprinted past.
Reeve smirked at our son, flipping a burger at the grill. “Then run harder, kiddo.”
His cousin shot past him a second later, ponytail flying. “I’m faster!”
Domenico, lounging beside King at another table, groaned dramatically. “She’s going to give me gray hairs before I’m forty.”
Gabbi elbowed her husband. “Please. You were halfway there when she was born.”
It still blew my mind that I was connected to the mafia. I had no idea when I fell for Reeve that his family tree was socomplicated. The cousin he saw more as a second mother was Silver Saints royalty through her marriage to Mac, even though Bridget had been born and raised as a Hounds of Hellfire princess. Even more shocking, her mom had been a DeLuca, which meant she also had mafia blood. So did Ink.
It was something we didn’t share with my parents because they’d never understand. When they joined us at times like this, they just saw our extended family.
