We stay like that for a long time, the only sound our ragged gasps for air. The sun begins to set, casting a golden light over the Forge, and I’ve never felt more secure.
"I'm building that crib tomorrow," Blake whispers against my neck, his voice finally level. "And I’m putting a lock on the bakery door that only my thumbprint can open."
I laugh, a bright, clear sound of pure happiness. "I love you, my monster."
"I love you, my Queen."
Behind us, out on the mountain road, I hear the distant rumble of a motorcycle—I think of the silver hair of Dominic Costa catching the light on the Eastern Cliffs, a storm on the horizon that thinks it can challenge the Gunnars. But up here, behind the steel and the stone and the heart of the man who would burn the world to keep me safe, we are untouchable.
Our happily ever after isn't just a story; it’s a fortress.
And the mission is finally, perfectly, complete.
The End
Dear precious reader, thank you so much for readingOwned by the Prospect!
Blake Gunnar used to be a weapon with no purpose, but now he’s a husband and father who has turned his mountain forge into a fortress. Feel the heat of a predator's devotion as the club's prospect-turned-member claims Tiffany against the bedroom wall, reminding her that no matter how many ghosts are in her past, she is the only redemption he ever needs.
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P.S. If you enjoyed Blake’s dark, protective obsession, then I think you’ll enjoyLocked by the Treasurertoo! Elias is the cold, calculating giant who locks a pink-wearing auditor in a vault to save her from the feds, only to realize he’s found the one woman he’s never letting go. Swipe to the next page for a sneak peek…
LOCKED BY THE TREASUER (PREVIEW)
Federal agents want me in a cage, but the scarred giant in the black truck just claimed me.
He snapped a man's wrist just for touching my car door.
I’m a forensic auditor framed for a federal crime.
Elias Gunnar is the cold, calculating treasurer of the Broken Halos MC.
He’s a mountain of muscle who counts my breaths to keep from losing control.
He locks us in an underground vault for seventy-two hours to find a digital mole.
I’m all pink cardigans and neon pens; he’s gunmetal gray and lethal PTSD.
When his restraint snaps, he pins me against a metal cabinet and devours me.
Elias doesn't just want to save me from the Feds.
He wants to mark me as his and fill me with his future.
Am I his lucky rescue, or the prey he’s never letting go?
MIA
My check engine light is a passive-aggressive little jerk.
It flickers on just as I pass the rusted sign welcoming me to Pine Valley. It’s mocking me. It knows my bank account holds exactly three hundred dollars and twelve cents. It knows I’m running on straight caffeine and a half-eaten bag of stale pretzels. The dashboard warning clearly understands that my entire career as a forensic auditor—my meticulous, spreadsheet-governed life—just went up in flames three hundred miles back in Seattle.
"Don't you dare," I whisper to the steering wheel. "I will turn this Honda Civic into a planter. I will do it."
The engine sputters in response. A wet, coughing sound absolutely destroys my remaining confidence.
