Maelstrom

by Susanna Strom

  “Like us.”

  “Yes, like us,” I agreed.

  Ripper planted his boots on the floor of the porch, halting the back and forth of the swing. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, then extended his clenched fist toward me. “Got something for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Look and see,” he said.

  I peeled his fingers back, revealing a pair of gold-and-diamond wedding bands. My gaze flew to Ripper’s face. “Frank and Evelyn Blossom’s rings?”

  “Yeah. Frank had tied them to Evelyn’s grave marker with a ribbon and a note saying ‘Wait for me, darling. I’ll be along soon.’”

  My throat ached, remembering. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.

  “They loved each other,” he continued. “Built a good life together. Somehow, I think that they’d like the idea of another man and woman wearing their rings. People who love each other and who want to build a life together, just like they did.”

  “What are you saying?” I whispered.

  Ripper touched the platinum charm necklace I wore, the one he’d crafted for my birthday. “This says you’re mine.” He raised his hand to my property necklace, trailing a finger over the beads. “This says that you’re my old lady.” He pointed to the slim, diamond band resting on his palm. “And this ring says that you’re my wife.”

  “Your wife,” I repeated.

  “There’s no state to issue a license, no minister around to perform a ceremony,” he said. “But I don’t care about that. The only thing that matters are the promises we make to each other and the commitments we keep. Here and now, I’m asking you to be my wife, and I’m asking you to take me as your husband. I promise to love, honor, and protect you for the rest of my life.”

  “Ripper,” I breathed.

  “Unless a wedding is important to you, the white dress and bridesmaids and all that stuff. We could drive back to Mt. Hood and ask Pastor Derek—”

  I threw my arms around his neck. “I’ve never cared about a fancy wedding and if I had, going through that sham ceremony with Pastor Bill would have knocked that fantasy right out of my head. Who needs a white dress and bridesmaids? All I want is to love and be loved by somebody I trust and respect. That’s what matters to me. So—here and now—I promise to love, honor, and protect you for the rest of my life, too.”

  Ripper plucked the slim wedding band from his palm. “You ready?”

  “Yes.” I picked up the wider gold band. I held out my left hand, and Ripper slipped the diamond band onto my ring finger. He spread his fingers and extended his left hand toward me. I slid the wide gold band onto his finger.

  “That’s it?” I asked, laughing.

  “Yup. Except the kissing the bride part.” Ripper seized my shoulders and hauled me close for a smoldering kiss, a kiss so protracted and enthusiastic that Hector lifted his head and whined.

  “And the wedding night,” I reminded him.

  “Sorry to break it to you, darlin’, but we’re not waiting for tonight to consummate this marriage.” He jumped to his feet, leaned over, and threw me over his shoulder, leaving my ass in the air and my head dangling down his back.

  “Hey,” I protested. “This is not how you carry a bride over the threshold, Mr. Solis.”

  “No?” He swatted my ass. “Deal with it, Mrs. Solis.”

  Holy shit. Mrs. Solis. I kicked my feet happily and was rewarded with another swat. I giggled as Ripper carried me across the threshold. He jogged down the hallway to our room, then deposited me across the bed. Toeing off his boots, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and shoved his jeans down his legs. Standing naked at the foot of the bed, palming his cock, he grinned down at me.

  My bad boy biker. My walking wet dream. My hero. My protector. My friend. My husband. Mine.

  EPILOGUE

  Kyle

  I traipsed back and forth across the front porch. I didn’t want my restless, middle-of-the-night pacing to wake anybody, so I was careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard in front of the swing.

  At first, when I had trouble sleeping, I’d walked off into the night, prowling the ranch. I’d carried a lantern so I wouldn’t trip over anything in the dark. The first time that lantern light reflected a pair of glowing eyes—only a dozen feet away—I decided to stick closer to the house. Bear had found cougar tracks on the property and warned us to be on our guard against the big cats.

  Couldn’t head off into the night, couldn’t hold still, so I trudged from one end of the porch to the other.

  “Gonna wear a rut in the boards if you keep that up.” Ripper stood in the doorway, a tall, shadowy figure, outlined against the faint glow of the lantern that sat on the entry table.

  “Sorry if I woke you,” I said.

  He stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, barechested, wearing only a pair of jeans. “You didn’t.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched. “Mac was thirsty, so I got her a glass of water. Saw you on the porch.” He sat down on the top step and tapped the spot next to him, inviting me to sit. “How you doing?”

  I shrugged, at a loss for words. A couple of months ago, Ripper called me a waste of space. His respect was hard earned, and now that I had it, I didn’t want to lose it. How could I tell a badass like Ripper—a former soldier, an outlaw biker—that I was having nightmares? That I’d jerk awake, gasping for breath, bloody images running riot in my mind?

  I’d shot Miles. I’d killed my friend. I hadn’t known how to deal with that truth, so I’d wrapped the memory of that night up tight and shoved it into the darkest corner of my mind. Something I’d drag out and deal with later. When our survival wasn’t at stake. When I had time for the luxury of grief. The sheer horror of Dwight and Darryl’s fiery deaths had unraveled the ties that held that memory at bay. Now, every time I closed my eyes, I saw the scene play out.

  I sat down next to Ripper and leaned my elbows against my knees.

  “Talk to me, brother.”

  Brother. The honorific made it worse. After what he’d seen, would the badass call me brother if he knew how rattled I was by a handful of deaths?

  “I’m...unsettled,” I said, then winced. Unsettled. What a lame word.

  He slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm. “What’s going on?”

  I owed Ripper honesty. “We’re in a good place. Things finally broke our way. We’re safe, or at least as safe as anybody can expect to be in this crazy new world.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “The battle is over. That means you got time to think, to remember.”

  “Memory is a bitch,” I said. “And I have to find a way to live with the memories.”

  “Miles?”

  “Miles. Dwight. Darryl. Shit, even Tuck and Boyd. I’ve seen things in the past three months—done things—that I never would have imagined.”

  Ripper dropped a hand on my shoulder. “You need to talk, you need anything, you come to me.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  He tilted his head back and turned his gaze to the full moon, riding low in the late summer sky. “I see the moon and the moon sees me,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Some old poem that Mac recites when she’s scared of the dark and I light up her moon lantern.”

  “You’re good together.” I glanced at the wedding band that glinted on his ring finger. “I didn’t always think so, but I do now.”

  “We are good together,” he agreed. “The biker and the college girl. Who would’ve thunk it?”

  “Someday, I want what you guys have,” I confessed. “I want to love and be loved by a woman who sees the real me, and who likes what she sees.”

  Ripper was silent for a long moment. Maybe I’d made him uncomfortable with all this talk about feelings.

  “You’re a good man, Kyle,” he finally said. “You deserve love. Gonna be harder to find it now—the way the world’s gone to hell—but my money is on you.”

  I hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about something,” I said slowly
.

  “What’s that?”

  “Now that we’ve rescued Bear and Valhalla is secure, I’ve been thinking about going back to Boise. For a short trip. Not forever. I want to check on my folks, see if anybody might have survived the flu. Valhalla is home, and you guys are my family now, but I need to know about the people I left behind in Boise. If I find anyone, I want to bring them back here.”

  “I understand,” Ripper said. “You need company on the trip?”

  I laughed. “Kenzie would have my head if I tried to take you away from her now.”

  “Did I hear my name?”

  Ripper and I twisted around. Kenzie stood in the doorway wearing one of Ripper’s old Harley tees. It hung halfway down her bare thighs. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and her eyes were sleepy. She yawned.

  Glancing at Ripper, I gave a slight shake of my head. I didn’t want to tell Kenzie about my plans to go to Boise. Not now, in the middle of the night. She’d try to talk me out of it, and when I refused to be dissuaded, the argument would rob her of a night’s sleep. I’d tell everybody tomorrow at breakfast.

  “You got a major case of bed head going on there, sweetheart,” I said.

  Kenzie stuck out her tongue, distracted from her question.

  Ripper stood and offered her a hand. “C’mon, darlin’. I’m taking you back to bed.”

  Kenzie took his hand, then bent over to kiss my cheek. “Goodnight, Kyle.”

  “Goodnight, Kenz.”

  The screen door slammed shut behind them.

  I leaned back, resting my elbows against the porch. Moonlight illuminated the barn and outbuildings, dark silhouettes against the starry sky. Insects chirped, the only sound that broke the stillness of the night.

  Valhalla was my new home, the people inside the ranch house my new family. And I was leaving them, taking off into the great unknown, a journey that had to be fraught with peril. I wouldn’t risk any of their lives by bringing them with me. They deserved to catch their breaths, to focus on building a good future, the happily ever after from Kenzie’s romance novels. It would be hard to leave them behind, but I had to know what happened to my people in Boise. And I’d be back.

  Nothing and nobody would keep me from coming home.

  The World Fallen Series continues with Bedlam, Kyle’s story.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m grateful to the many people who made the publication of Maelstrom possible.

  I can’t imagine releasing a novel without the advice and assistance of my developmental editor, Christina Trevaskis. Tina always says, “Write fearlessly and from your heart.” Her knowledge and skills are unmatched. Hiring Christina Trevaskis was one of the smartest things I’ve ever done.

  Raven Dark—a gifted author and dear friend—is unstinting in her support and encouragement.

  Many thanks to my wonderful friend, Debbie Morley. When I need to bounce plot ideas off someone, Debbie is my go-to person. Her wild imagination and gleeful exuberance make the process a joy.

  I couldn’t ask for better proofreaders than Brittany Meyer-Strom and Sharon Shook, women who read The Chicago Manual of Style for fun. I swear, ladies, someday I’ll figure out how not to mangle compound words.

  The fabulous Lori Jackson designed the gorgeous cover for Maelstrom. Lori is one of the best cover designers in the business and is a dream to work with.

  Thanks to the brilliant photographer, Wander Aguiar, for providing the perfect cover image.

  Thanks to Korrie Noelle—an angel among us—for her encouragement and support. Her kindness and friendship mean the world to me.

  Thanks to Debi Eby-Ganter for helping to craft my depiction of Pastor Derek.

  Thanks to Bill Hoefer for explaining the types of weapons a survivalist might stockpile.

  Thanks to Harry Shook for sharing his knowledge of Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

  And finally, a big thank you to my husband, John Hoefer. I couldn’t do this without you, baby!