The same moon that had watched Vladimir die in the sand was washed over her now and somehow made her look even more alive.
It was fucking beautiful.
Shewas fucking beautiful.
I knew, in the stupid, sudden way some things just land, that I was going to see this exact image in my head for the rest of my life. Her face tilted up, blue eyes catching moonlight, safe key glinting at her throat. The war behind us for the moment. More battles ahead.
“You planning on sharing what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Thinking about the beach,” I said. “About the boardwalk. About that stack of patio chairs.”
Her mouth tugged up at one corner.
“King and Queen,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
We’d been pinned down. Outnumbered. Trapped. We’d counted together. One, two, three. We’d decided that if we went out, we were going to do it on our feet, standing next to each other.
“We meant that, right?” I asked. “That wasn’t just the adrenaline talking?”
“I don’t say shit like that lightly,” she said. “Not in my clubhouse. Not in yours. Definitely not behind shitty patio furniture while people try to ventilate us.”
“That’s a high bar,” I said.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “It is.”
I took a breath. It didn’t stick in my throat the way it would have even a week ago.
“You quiet the noise,” she revealed.
I blinked. “What?”
“In my head,” she said. “It’s loud in there most days. Responsibilities. Liberty. The girls. The compound. The shit from before I ever picked up a patch.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then you walk into a room and it changes. Goes from static to something I can actually hear myself think through. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it was there.”
My chest did something tight and aching.
“You do the same thing,” I said. “I get so wrapped up in being the one who swings first, who takes hits so other people don’t have to, that I forget I’m allowed to want things too. You show up and suddenly I remember there’s more to this than just not dying.”
She huffed a small laugh. “We’re a mess,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “But we’reourmess.”
“You sure about this?” she asked quietly. “About me. About whatever comes with it. I’m not easy, Evan. I’m not soft. I’m not going to suddenly turn into Quinn. I have a club full of women who depend on me, and I’m not giving thatup for anyone.”
“I don’t want you soft,” I said. “I don’t want you easy. I want you exactly how you are. The woman who walked into our Church and showed a room full of Devils that she wasn’t afraid of any of them.”
She smiled softly.
A silence then stretched, but it wasn’t empty.
A gust of wind passed and shifted her hair. I reached up, slowly. My fingers brushed her temple, guiding the strand of hair back off her face. My fingers then continued gently along the line of her jaw. Her eyes fluttered half shut, then opened again, locking on mine.
It was a small gesture. Stupid, almost. But it felt like it was truer than any other shot I fired tonight.
“This isn’t going to be simple,” she says. “You know that. Different presidents. Different patches. Different territories. Liberty and Blackjack will back us, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be conflicts down the line. Times when our clubs want different things. Times when we’re on opposite ends of a decision.”
“I know,” I say.
