He waits until we’re alone, then takes a breath. “I wanted to thank you. Not just for the patch—for everything.”
“You earned it,” I tell him. “I didn’t do shit.”
“Still.” He looks down at the patch in his hands, running his thumb over the embroidered colors. “This means more than I can say. I never had... I mean, before the club, I didn’t really have people. A family. You know?”
I do know. Group homes, foster care, a military stint that gave him skills but not community. He came to us hungry for something he couldn’t name.
But I knew. He needed to belong.
Now he has his place, his family, his club.
Now he belongs.
I clap him on the back. “Go on,” I tell him. “Put that patch on. The women are planning some kind of celebration tonight—there was talk of a banner and confetti. You might want to brace yourself.”
Steel groans. “Ginger?”
“Who else?”
“She’s going to make it embarrassing, isn’t she?”
“Almost certainly.” I clip him over the ear, playfully. “Welcome to the family, brother. For better or worse.”
He’s laughing as he heads for the door, the patch clutched in his hand.
We’ve still got a long road ahead—for Josie, for the club, for all of us, but we’re going to walk it together.
27
Election day dawns bright and clear.
My bruises have faded to a sickly yellow-green, easily covered with makeup, and my lip has mostly healed.
The town is buzzing with energy—people heading to polls, campaign signs everywhere, a sense of anticipation that’s almost tangible. After everything we’ve been through, this feels like a victory lap.
And when the results come in, it’s not even close.
Duck wins by a landslide.
The “PUBIC Servant” incident, it turns out, only made him more popular. The man who could laugh at himself was the man they wanted running their town.
The clubhouse erupts in celebration. Music blasting, drinks flowing, brothers cheering like they’ve won the Super Bowl. Duck is mobbed by well-wishers, his face splitting in a grin that might be permanent.
“Can you believe it?” Kya appears at my elbow, practically bouncing. “A biker for mayor. The town council is going to have a collective aneurysm.”
“That’s half the fun.” I clink my beer against hers. “Here’s to aneurysms.”
Stone finds me in the crowd, pulling me against his side. “Hell of a day.”
“Hell of a week.” I lean into him. “Hell of a year, really.”
The women cluster on the deck outside like groupies at a concert, waiting for Steel to exit.
“You do this for every new patch holder?” I ask Ginger.
She laughs. “Yep. What goes on in Chapel is their business.” She waggles a finger at me. “But what happens outside of that male dominated room is our responsibility. It’s good these new boys know we’re the boss from the beginning.”
I tilt my head back to smile up at Stone. “Is that right? Am I the boss?”
