Everyone laughs. The tension breaks. People surge forward, and I brace for congratulatory hugs.
Lizzie hugs me first, and she holds tight. "Welcome to the family, honey." Her voice cracks. "For real this time."
She accepted me from day one without question. No test. No trial period. Just acceptance.
"Thank you." The words barely make it out of my choked throat. "For everything."
"Stop." She grips my shoulders. “No crying. Not tonight. Tonight is a laughter only night.”
Steel approaches, his expression neutral. The president doesn't smile much.
"Wrath. Got something for your old lady."
Rhett's hand tightens protectively on my waist and I shrink into his side as the room goes quiet. Steel turns and takes a small leather cut from Tank, who stands beside him. He hands it to Rhett, who holds it up for the room to see. I inhale sharply when I see the patches.
On the back is the the Hellbound Devils logo in perfect detail. Below it, it reads: "Property of Wrath."
Property. The word should bother me. After years of being treated like an object, that word should send me running. But when Rhett takes the vest from Steel and holds it open for me, all I feel is pride.
This isn't ownership like my father's control. This is belonging. Being claimed. Being protected.
I slip my arms through, and the weight of it settles across my shoulders like armor. Like safety. Rhett adjusts it, smooths the patches, his hands reverent. When he's done, he swallows hard.
"Perfect," he says quietly, just for me. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
I trace the stitching with shaking fingers. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful." He turns me to face him, and there's something fierce in his eyes. "And you're mine."
"Yours." I kiss him, hard and deep, not caring who watches.
The room erupts in cheers. Bottles clink together in toast. Someone cranks up the music, and the party surges back to life around us.
Someone yells for a speech. Rhett flips them off, and everyone laughs.
He pulls me close. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying. For trusting me."
I don't have words, so I just hold on.
A couple hours later, I'm behind the bar with Trix, learning to pour shots without spilling while Rhett drinks with his club brothers who have fun ribbing him about finally taking an ol’ lady.
Trix smiles at me. "You're a natural."
I love working the bar with you. I get to overhear all the juicy gossip.
She grins. "Plus, working here means unlimited access to me, and I'm a fucking delight."
I laugh. "Modest, too."
"One of my best qualities." She shows me how to mix a Jack and Coke. "See that scar on my old man’s neck?"
I glance over at the thick white line that runs from Diesel’s jaw to his collar.
"That's from when he took a knife meant for Steel. Damn near bled out on this floor." She says it casual, wiping down the bar. "Thought I’d lose him."
