"Yeah." I lean into a curve, feeling the Triumph respond perfectly. "Better than good."
"Portland office going to keep you busy?"
"Probably. Multi-agency task force work, ongoing investigations. But I can base here and commute when operations require it." I accelerate slightly, enjoying the rush of speed and freedom. "What about you? VP responsibilities keeping you occupied?"
"Always work to do. Club's expanding, need to manage growth carefully. But I'll make time."
"For what?"
"For you." His response is simple, direct, with no hesitation. "For this."
The road stretches ahead, empty and open. No traffic, no distractions, just two riders and the night and the choices we made to get here.
"I'm not running anymore," I say into the comm. "From Blake's death, from Ryan's murder, from what happened with Kline. I'm done running from ghosts."
"What are you doing instead?"
"Riding toward something real." I glance over at him, his profile visible in the moonlight. "Toward you. Toward the life we're building. Complicated and dangerous and honest."
"Yeah." His voice carries satisfaction and possession. "That's what this is."
We ride in comfortable silence for several miles. The highway climbs higher into the coastal hills, fog thinning as we gain elevation. My Triumph handles the curves perfectly, responsive and powerful between my thighs.
Eventually Cole signals and pulls into an overlook. I follow, both of us killing our engines. The sudden quiet is profound, broken only by wind and distant ocean waves.
We dismount and walk to the railing. Below us, Anchor Bay spreads along the coastline, lights twinkling in the darkness—the Forge, Ironside Bar, the harbor, all the places that have become familiar.
"This is home now," I say. "Not just a temporary assignment. Home."
"Good." Cole pulls me against his side. "Because I'm not letting you go."
"Didn't ask you to." I lean into him, solid and steady and dangerous. "I chose this. Chose you. All of it."
"The darkness didn't scare you away."
"No." I turn to face him fully. "The darkness is part of who you are. Delta Force, Brotherhood VP, protective brother, lethal when necessary. I see all of it, and I'm still here."
"And I see you." His hands frame my face. "Federal agent, undercover operative, woman who lost her partner and herbrother and kept fighting anyway. Capable, dangerous, honest. All of it."
We kiss, deep and claiming, two people who know exactly what the other is capable of and choose each other anyway.
When we break apart, Cole rests his forehead against mine. "You're mine now. Portland office, Anchor Bay, all of it. No running."
"I'm not running."
"Good." His hand tightens on the back of my neck. "Because I won't let go."
We return to the bikes and ride back toward Anchor Bay. The highway unwinds beneath us, stars overhead, ocean to our left. Cole's Harley rumbles beside my Triumph—two predators choosing the same hunting ground.
When we pull into his driveway, he kills the engine and waits for me to park beside him. His hand finds mine before I can dismount.
"Inside."
It's not a request.
I follow him through the door. He closes it behind us, locks it, and presses me against the wall in one smooth movement. His mouth claims mine—no gentle exploration, just possession.
"Mine," he says against my lips.
