Instead, I feel... empty. Hollow.
Like I've been running on adrenaline for so long that I don't know how to stop.
A knock on the door. Zenon's voice, “Prez? Everything okay?"
"Yeah." I stand, shaking off the strange melancholy. "Better than okay. Get the brothers together. We've got news to share."
The celebration that night is loud and long.
The main room fills with brothers and clubwhores and hang-arounds, everyone drinking and laughing and toasting our victory.
The music pounds. The alcohol flows.
For the first time in weeks, the clubhouse feels like home again instead of a fortress under siege.
I stand at the edge of it all, nursing a whiskey, watching my people enjoy themselves.
Ripley finds me around midnight.
She looks beautiful—that's the first thing I notice.
She's wearing a dress I've never seen before, something dark red that clings to her curves and makes her skin glow in the low light.
Her hair is down, soft around her face, and the necklace I gave her—the little silver book—glints at her throat.
"Hey, stranger," she says, sliding up beside me. "You look like you're at a funeral, not a party."
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
I consider the question.
About Varro. About the war we just won. About all the wars still to come. About what it means to lead, to protect, to love.
"About how lucky I am," I say finally. "To have you. To have this."
Her expression softens. "Levi..."
"I mean it." I set down my drink, turning to face her fully. "Six weeks ago, I was ready to burn everything down to keep you safe. I would have destroyed the club, sacrificed everything I built, just to make sure Varro couldn't touch you."
"I know."
"And now it's over. We won. And I get to have you, and the club, and a future I never thought I'd have." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know what I did to deserve this."
"You saved me." Her voice is quiet. Fierce. "You saw what Cain was doing, and you stopped it. You gave me a place to heal, a reason to hope, a chance to become someone new. That's what you did."
"Anyone would have?—"
"No. They wouldn't." She takes my hand, pressing it to her cheek. "Most people look the other way. Most people don't want to get involved. You got involved. You fought for me when I couldn't fight for myself. That’s the most admirable and selfless thing anyone has ever done for me."
I don't have words. Don't have a response to the raw sincerity in her voice, the unwavering faith in her eyes. So I do the only thing I can think of.
I kiss her.
The party swirls around us—music and laughter and the clink of glasses—but I don't hear any of it. All I hear is her. Thesoft sound she makes when my lips meet hers. The catch of her breath when I pull her closer.
"Let's get out of here," I murmur against her mouth.
