I pull out my phone.
Nicoletta picks up on the first ring. “What happened? Are you all right?”
"We're out," I say.
“And the money?”
“Safe with us.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?” she asks again, her voice weak with stress.
“Rest up. I’m on my way home.”
Home. I don’t think I ever used that term for my apartment over The Tropics—but with Nicoletta there waiting for me, it is home.
I swipe away the call and rest my head against the seat. Exhaustion is hitting me hard too.
“His face looks just as I pictured it.” I take a long pull on my beer as Nicoletta runs the footage over again. The satisfaction of seeing Clark Williams alone and desperate on his front lawn is priceless.
“He has the smugness of a man who’s not used to losing—except this time.”
I move closer to Nicoletta on the couch as we watch Clark Williams stomping back into gardener's shed.
We don’t have sound, but it’s not hard to imagine what he’s yelling as he flails his arms around in a frustrated, manic rage. Flower pots are smashed, bags overturned, tools thrown.
“Maybe now,” Nicoletta says, “he’ll know a little bit about feeling desperate and powerless.”
“I’d like to agree with you, but people like him will just blame somebody else. Never owning their shit.”
Nicoletta stops the tape. “This scene in front of the AG couldn’t have helped him much.”
“Hopefully, he’ll finally get what he deserves.”
EPILOGUE
NICOLETTA
Two Months Later
This section of the beach is empty, which is why we picked it and what makes it perfect. The shoreline curves into a sheltered cove, with the sunset burning just over the horizon, tinting the ocean with orange flecks.
It’s beauty adds to my exhilaration and excitement tinged with apprehension.
Bolt cups my face. “You’re even more beautiful in this light.”
“The biker can be romantic,” I tease.
“The biker wants his woman to relax,” Bolt counters.
His woman. Yes, I’d agreed to wear his patch, but, no, I still hadn’t gotten used to the “property” term. I understood the whole club commitment, and I’d seen it firsthand. How they all worked together taking down Clark Williams, then how they pampered and stood by me after I got shot.
In the last two months, the women of the Royal Harlots have been my support system and became my best friends, sharing with me the intricacies of club life. Me sharing my honest feelings with other women was a new experience Iembraced. With their help, I secured a position at a local women’s shelter, with people who needed me. I come home at night feeling fulfilled, and the best part—Bolt loves hearing about my day, and he and the Royal Bastards do their part for the community too. We are in the process of putting together a carnival for local children, with the proceeds going to the shelter.
I also made a large donation from the money in the duffel bags. The rest of the money is secured for our future.
Clark Williams is being held without bail at the request of the attorney general, who claimed he was a menace to society and tried to threaten him with bodily harm. Myself and the other Royal Bastards know the real reason—the attorney general doesn’t want it leaked that he had anything to do with Clark Williams. All Clark’s other connections died just as quickly. Seems none of the rich and famous wanted to be tied to that burning ship.
My mother, while securing all the off-shore accounts, now runs a very successful podcast instructing women about the importance of knowing the men they’re married to and playing an active part in all things financial. To date, she has two million followers.
