Page 106 of Twisted Steel

Epilogue

Ride With Me

Steel

The clubhouse yard smells like smoke, grilled meat, gasoline, and bad decisions.So, basically home.The sun hangs low over Vegas, bleeding orange across the compound, turning chrome into fire and making the rows of parked bikes look like beasts resting after a hunt.Music pounds from inside the clubhouse, something heavy enough to rattle bottles and poor enough in taste that Fury must have picked it.Men laugh too loudly.Women yell louder.Prospects run around like terrified waiters in cuts, carrying trays of meat, beer, and Mama M’s orders.

Nobody is bleeding, and that’s how I know the party is going well.

I stand near the garage with my back against the open bay door, beer untouched in my hand, watching Harper argue with Milo over a plate of ribs.

She is wearing dark jeans, boots, and a black tank top that shows the faint scar at her wrist where the rope cut too deep.The bruises are gone, the stitches are out, and her lip is healed.I know because I kissed it this morning until she threatened to be late for work.Then I kissed it again.

She’s laughing now, head tipped back, hair loose around her shoulders, sunlight on her face like the world hasn’t tried to take her from me more than once.

My hand tightens around the beer bottle as the memories threaten to flood me.

One month.Thirty-one days since the slaughterhouse.Thirty-one days since Reaper learned that breathing can become a punishment.Thirty-one days since Harper looked at my bloodstained hands and chose to hold one anyway.

Now, she comes to the compound when she wants, and leaves when she wants.She works her shifts, drives her car, and keeps her apartment.She also yells at me when I park outside her station too long, which I still do because I am not a reformed man, only a better-supervised one.

And she rides with me.Not every day and not because I demand it.But because sometimes she walks out of Station Eight, helmet under her arm, eyes tired, mouth sharp, and says,“Take me somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic.”

Sometimes we end up at the desert overlook.Sometimes we end up in my bed.Sometimes we don’t talk at all.And that might be the closest thing to peace I have ever known.

Across the yard, Milo raises a rib like a weapon.“I am telling you, sauce belongs on the side.”

Harper stares at him like he has insulted her ancestors.“That’s the weakest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I have boundaries.”

“You have issues.”

Raven, sitting on the tailgate of Savage’s truck with sunglasses on and a beer in her hand, lifts her bottle.“I’m with Harper, sauce is a major commitment.”

Milo points at her.“I expected better from you.”

Raven smiles.“That was your first mistake.”

Savage stands between her knees, one hand resting on her thigh like he thinks he is subtle.He’s not, but nobody tells him that because he is the President and because Raven already knows.

Mama M storms out of the clubhouse with a bowl in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.“Who put an empty tray back on my table?”

Every prospect in the yard goes still.Fury points at Tyler.Tyler, still a little fragile after almost dying, even though he’s mostly healed, points at Fury.Saint points at both of them because he enjoys accuracy.

Mama M’s eyes narrow.“All three of you.Kitchen.Now.”