Page 52 of Raggedy Dan
Forever his Riley
The whole club had crowded into the shop to watch.When he finished the last letter and wiped the excess ink away, a roar went up—cheers, whistles, bottles clinking.Mad Dawg slapped Dan on the back so hard he nearly knocked him over.Ella wiped tears and hugged Riley until she squeaked.Tinder raised a beer in silent salute.
Dan kissed the fresh ink, then kissed her mouth, slow, reverent, confidently possessing her in front of everyone.
Outside, the phoenix on the wall caught the last rays of sunset and burned without being consumed.
Inside, two people who’d been through fire held each other like they’d never let go.
***
Riley
Riley leaned against the doorway of the new nursery, the soft glow of the nightlight casting gentle shadows across the room.It was a space they’d carved out of the spare bedroom in their little house on the edge of town, the one Dan had surprised her with after the fire, insisting it was time for them to build something permanent.The nursery had pale blue walls she’d painted herself, dotted with tiny hand-inked stars that formed constellations familiar to Dan from his military days.A mobile of miniature motorcycles hung from the ceiling, spinning lazily in the breeze from the cracked window.And in the center sat the rocking chair they’d salvaged from a flea market, taking their time to refinish it, working together on lazy Sundays.
She watched Dan rock their daughter, little Emma, named after Tinder’s late sister, a quiet tribute that had brought tears to Prez’s eyes at the baby shower.She was six weeks old now, with a mop of red hair already curling at the ends like wildfire and those storm-gray eyes that mirrored her mother’s, wide and curious even in exhaustion.Dan held her close to his chest, his massive frame somehow turned gentle, with one scarred hand cradling her tiny head as he hummed a half remembered military cadence became a lullaby.The words were mumbled, softened, something about marching through the night, but twisted into promises of safety and stars.His voice, still raspy from the old burns, wrapped around the melody like gravel and honey.
The club tattoo on his shoulder gleamed under the soft lamp, a symbol of the life he’d reclaimed.Her name—Riley—was inked on his ring finger now too, matching the “Property of Raggedy Dan” that wrapped around hers.Permanent, like their vows.Like the family they’d built from ashes.
Outside the window, the road stretched quiet and endless, the same highway that had brought them together now leading to nowhere in particular under a blanket of stars.No engines roaring in the distance tonight, no shadows lurking.Just peace.
Riley’s heart swelled, filled with the delicious mix of exhaustion and joy that only new motherhood could bring.She padded across the room on bare feet, the wooden floor cool beneath her soles, and slipped her arms around both of them.Emma stirred slightly and let out a contented sigh, her tiny fist clenching against Dan’s shirt.
“Happy?”she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
Dan pressed his lips to her temple, lingering there as if savoring the moment.He smelled like baby powder and leather, a comforting blend that grounded her.“Never been happier,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.He shifted Emma slightly, freeing one arm to pull Riley closer, tucking her against his side in the rocker.“Look at her, Riley.She’s got your fire already.Those curls.Our girl’s gonna be a handful, just like her mom.”
Riley chuckled softly, careful not to wake the baby.She traced a finger along Emma’s cheek, marveling at the softness.“And your strength.See how she grips your finger?Like she’s never letting go.”She paused, her gaze drifting to Dan’s face—the scars that once hid behind a bandana now fully exposed, a map of survival she knew by heart.“I can’t believe we’re here.Parents.After everything...the shop, the fire, Ronnie.It feels like a dream sometimes.”
Dan nodded, his eyes distant for a moment, reflecting on the ghosts they’d buried.“Wasn’t sure I’d ever get this.After Kandahar, the burns...I thought I was done for.Damaged goods.But you saw through it all.Gave me a reason to drop the armor.”He kissed Emma’s forehead, then turned to Riley, his dark eyes locking onto hers.“You fixed me, Monroe.Or maybe we fixed each other.”
She smiled against his scarred cheek, pressing a light kiss there.“We did.And now we’ve got her.Our own little Rogue Maniac.”Tears pricked at her eyes, happy ones, the kind that came from too much love to contain.She thought back to that first day in the shop, the chaos with the Horde, the way Dan had stormed in like a force of nature.How far they’d come, from strangers to soulmates, from survival to this quiet joy.The club was still their family, but this—the three of them—was their world.
Emma sighed in her sleep, nestling deeper against Dan’s chest, as if sensing the safety around her.
Riley rested her head on his shoulder, their family complete in that moment.And somewhere in the dark, far from Wilkins, far from fire, the last ghost finally stopped burning.
***
Tinder
Tinder sat at the far end of the clubhouse bar, the worn stool creaking under his weight like it knew all his secrets.The place was quieter than usual tonight—no rowdy games of pool, no prospects scrambling to fetch beers, no old ladies clustered in the corner trading stories about their men.Most of the brothers had cleared out early, heading home to wives, girlfriends, families.He nursed his beer, the bottle sweating in his hand, label half-peeled from his absentminded picking.The amber liquid was going flat, but he didn’t care.It was something to hold onto while his mind wandered.
He’d built this club from the ground up—Rogue Maniacs MC, a name that started as a joke among a handful of misfits who’d survived too many close calls on the road and in life.Back then, for him, had been all about the ride, the freedom, the unbreakable bond of brothers who’d bleed for each other without a second thought.No complications, no strings.Just the open highway and the roar of engines drowning out whatever demons chased them.
But lately?Lately, the demons were being tamed one by one.He swirled the beer, the foam clinging to the glass.Take Mad Dawg—hell, the man used to be a walking storm, all fury and fists, until Ella came along with her yoga mats and that quiet strength that somehow made him whole.Now he was a family man, with a second kid on the way and a goofy grin that showed up every time he talked about “his girls.”Tinder remembered back to the day Dawg had patched in, wild-eyed and ready to burn the world down.Who’d have thought a downward dog could change all that?
Then there was Rocker, steady as ever, but even he’d softened around Maria.She brought out a side of him that was protective without being possessive, the kind of love that made a man think twice before charging into a fight.And Gunner?The silent biker had found his match in Nora, a woman who could stare down a room full of rough-riding men and not blink.
One by one, his brothers were pairing off, building lives beyond the cut.Homes with picket fences—okay, maybe not fences, but yards big enough for barbecues and little kids’ bikes.The change was good, wasn’t it?The club was stronger for it, more rooted.Less likely to come apart at the seams.
His gaze drifted to the wall of photos behind the bar—faded Polaroids and digital prints tacked up haphazardly.There was one from last year’s run.Dan, back when he still hid behind that raggedy bandana, standing apart from the group like he didn’t quite belong.Now?The man was whole, scars and all, thanks to Riley.Tinder had watched their story unfold from the sidelines—the shop brawl, the fire, the way they’d clawed their way back from hell together.That courthouse wedding, with the whole club crammed into the tiny room, cheering like idiots.And now a baby girl, red-haired and fierce, just like her mom.Dan had named her after Tinder’s late sister, a quiet nod that hit harder than any punch.Yeah, his brothers were pairing off, all right.Finding their anchors in a world that had tried to drag them under.
Tinder took a slow pull from the bottle, the bitter hops grounding him.He wasn’t jealous—not exactly.Envy, maybe?The club had always been his family, his purpose.Being Prez meant putting them first, always.No room for distractions, no time for what-ifs.He’d had his flings over the years—club bunnies who knew the score, a few civilians who thought they could handle the life but bailed when the reality hit.Nothing stuck.Nothing felt real enough to fight for.At forty-two, with more gray in his beard than he cared to admit, he wondered if that was how it was meant to be.The lone wolf at the head of the pack, watching everyone else find their mates.
But damn, life got lonely sometimes.Nights like this, when the clubhouse echoed with absence, he couldn’t help but muse on it.What would it be like to have someone waiting at home?Someone who saw past the president patch, past the decisions that kept him up at night—the patch-overs, the rivalries, the blood on his hands from deals gone south.Someone who could make him laugh the way Riley did with Dan or challenge him like Ella did with Dawg.He snorted softly, shaking his head.Sentimental bullshit.I’m Tinder, for fuck’s sake.The man who lights the fires that keep the club alive.
The door creaked open, pulling him from his thoughts.A prospect—Buster, a kid with eager eyes and that well-known eleventh-month itch for a patch—poked his head in.“Prez?You need anything?I’m heading to bed soon.”
