Harley didn’t get up.
Jo held me so tight I thought he’d crack my ribs, but I didn’t want to let go, either.
The deputies dragged Harley upright, his face a ruin, and started reading him his rights. Floyd paused, looked at me, and nodded, as if to say: We got it from here.
But I didn’t care about any of that. All I cared about was Jo, his hand at the back of my neck, his breath on my cheek, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"You’re bleeding," he said, concern under the roughness.
"So are you," I replied, gesturing to the cut on his jaw.
He grinned, then kissed me, hard and fierce, right there on the porch in front of God and everyone.
And it wasn’t just a quick peck, either. It was a claiming—an answer to every taunt, every wound, every old shame that had ever told me I didn’t belong.
I kissed him back, teeth and blood and all.
The world spun on, the sirens faded, and I realized I was home.
* * * *
Later, after the ambulances left and the bikers were hauled off in squad cars, we sat on the porch steps. My arm was wrapped in gauze, Jo’s shoulder had a butterfly bandage holding the skin together, and Ma was in the kitchen making coffee like nothing had happened.
Knox and the others were out in the yard, cleaning up the mess, talking in low voices about what would need replacing: the railing, the porch light, the piece of siding where Harlow had caved in a guy’s skull.
Jo put his arm around me, holding me close, thumb rubbing circles on my side. He was quieter now, like the fight had bled something out of him.
"You scared me," he admitted, voice low. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry," I said, not meaning it. "Didn’t want you to do all the work."
He laughed, kissed my head, and pulled me closer. "You’re mine, you know that?" he said, and there was no threat in it, only a promise.
I nodded, not trusting myself to talk.
My other hand drifted up to the collar at my throat. The brass ring gleamed in the porch light, shiny with sweat and blood.
"You really want to wear that?" Jo asked, watching me.
"Yeah," I said, voice steady. "I do."
He smiled, soft and private. "Good."
Knox came over, sat next to us, and nudged me with his boot. "Ma wants you in the kitchen. Says if you’re gonna keep getting blood on her floors, you can at least mop it up yourself."
I rolled my eyes, but stood up. Jo rose with me, hand never leaving my shoulder.
Knox lingered a second, then looked at me, real serious. "You did good," he said again. "You belong here. Never let anyone tell you different."
I didn’t know how to answer, so I just nodded and went inside.
Ma was at the stove, stirring a pot of coffee. She looked at me, at the bandage on my arm, and shook her head. "You boys and your pride," she muttered, but her voice was warm.
I hugged her, awkward and tight, and she hugged me back.
"You’re safe," she whispered.
"For now," I said.
