Link nodded. “Tattoo shop is a go. I’ve already got one lined up downtown. Clean, good income. Good foot traffic. Raven will be the lead with Spider helping out.”
“Betting shop,” Riot added. “But we keep it legal. No backroom bullshit. High-end, clean books.”
Lucy leaned in. “What about a community buy-in? Use your old names but build trust. Include them in your plans, show the public that you want to rebuild the town and work with them.Offer them jobs and reliable businesses. ‘Dead Knights Ink’ could be a brand. Same with custom bike builds.”
I looked at her. She wasn’t just talking. She knew things, and goddamn if I didn’t want her running the empire with me.
“Who the hell are you again?” Keno asked with a smirk.
She shot him a look. “The woman who kept half your asses alive and found the intel that ended the Fangs.”
Finn snorted. “She’s got you there.”
I felt a spark of possessiveness flare.Yeah, that’s my girl. Don’t forget it.
“Alright,” I said, dragging a hand down my face. “We build it. Smart. Quiet. Controlled. No more Fangs. No more wars.”
Riot looked at me. “You ready for that kind of peace, brother?”
I looked at Lucy, and damn if my chest didn’t tighten at seeing her here. I wanted her close.Ready to protect her. Always.
“I think I finally am.”
Chapter 62
Lucy
Three Months Later
The smell of leather, gasoline, and brewing coffee had somehow become my version of home. It clung to my hair, seeped into my clothes, and curled warm in my lungs every morning when I woke.
Three months. That’s how long it had been since the war ended, since the Fangs scattered like rats from a sinking ship, since the last echoes of violence finally gave way to something like peace. Three months since I stood in the smoke of my old life and chose not to look back at the ashes.
Things at the club were going well. Better than well.
The tattoo parlour opened the previous week. It was Link’s brainchild but had the whole club’s blood in it. Raven, a club girl and my new friend, was one of the tattoo artists. The chairs were still shiny, and the walls were lined with sketches and old photos Boxer would’ve loved.
The betting office was in the works, which was Keno and Spider’s project. Even Riot, who swore he’d never care about anything but fights and booze, had started talking about investing in a mechanic shop down the highway. The brotherswere focused, sharp, their energy turned towards building instead of breaking.
Even I was happy, working as a teacher for the club’s kids who were homeschooled. That had surprised me most of all. I’d given up my old job, packed my old life into a storage unit, and moved into the clubhouse with Jay.
I had a key to the front door of the clubhouse and a room that smelled like him, filled with records stacked haphazardly and too many pillows he pretended not to like but never pushed away.
And I had Jay.
He still didn’t say much when it came to feelings, still more fists and fire than soft words, but I didn’t need declarations. Not when he looked at me like he did. Not when his hand on my hip could still feel like a vow.
Most nights, I’d find him propped up at the bar, knuckles resting on ink-stained plans sprawled across the table, barking orders at prospects and half-smirking at Finn’s constant commentary, and every time, without fail, he’d look up when I walked in. That quiet flicker of light in his eyes, like I was the only damn thing in the room that mattered, never failed to undo me.
I thought moving there might feel like losing something. That I’d miss the quiet of my apartment, the distance of my old job, the illusion of control. But the truth? I didn’t miss any of it. I missed Caleb, sure, and always would, but the rest of it—the silence, the loneliness, the grief I carried like a second skin—was gone, and I didn’t want it back.
I hadn’t only found answers about Caleb, I’d found something bigger.
A family. A future. A reason to not just survive but to stay and live.
I wasn’t going anywhere. Not ever.
The sound of laughter drifted up the hall, pulling me out of my thoughts. I pushed to my feet and smoothed the hem of Jay’s Henley, mine now even if he’d never admit it. The floorboards creaked as I headed for the bar, the smell of coffee growing stronger with each step.
