“Okay.” Sighing, I lean back against the pillows, and glance at the door, then at him. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Striker locks eyes with me. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, just takes my hand. He clears his throat.
“First, I need to apologize to you, Ember,” he says. “For the fight we had. I was out of line, and I knew it at the time.”
Now it’s my turn to be near tears. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely.
“You don’t need to thank me, babe,” Striker replies. “I was too damn pigheaded to say it to you at the time. Or even to myself. That’s somethin’ I’m gonna work on, though.” He hesitates. “And second, I want to apologize because as a result of my damn stubbornness, I wasn’t around to protect you from Mark last night. If I’d been there, that fire never would have happened.”
As I stare at his handsome face, I can’t help but marvel at how different Striker is from Mark. Here is this big, strong man, unafraid to admit he was wrong. Unafraid to say he’s sorry.
To me, that only makes him stronger.
“We don’t know if that’s true,” I counter. “Mark was a desperate man. We don’t know what else he would have tried, or when, if this had failed.”
“Still, the fact is, I wasn’t there,” Striker says gruffly. “The one thing I was supposed to be doing during all of this was protecting you.”
My stomach drops a little at his words. “Tank asked you to protect me from Cady’s ex,” I mumble, pushing away my disappointment. “You thought you were protecting me from the Lords’ mess. As it turned out, you saved me from mine instead.”
“I’m not talking about what Tank asked me to do,” he says. “I’m talking about us.”
I look up at him. “Us?”
“Yeah.” He moves closer. “At least, I hope there’s an us.”
He lifts my hand to his lips. It makes a mad flutter start in my chest. I’m afraid to move, afraid to speak.
“Ember, I’m not crazy enough to think I deserve you.” He chuckles. “Most people who saw us together would think you were slummin’ it pretty hard. Hell, I’d agree with them. But I was a damn mess when I met you. You make me want to be a better man. And I think we could make a damn good couple, if you’re willing to give me a chance.” He kisses my palm. “I’ve got a long history of being a fuck-up. But I promise to always cop to it when I’m wrong. Eventually, anyway.” His eyes twinkle. “And I promise to never, ever buy you flowers.”
I burst out laughing, even as tears start to stream down my face. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” I giggle.
“You better believe it,” he rumbles, winking at me. “I’m gonna do my best to be the most romantic motherfucker who ever lived.”
Striker dips down, and his lips meet mine. The kiss is gentle, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency that pulls a low moan from me. Heat pools between my legs, and when the kiss ends, I’m dizzy and gasping.
“When you get out of this hospital,” Striker tells me huskily,” I’m takin’ you back to my place. Correction, our place. And we’re gonna make up for all the lost time I wasted by being a jackass. And then some. Deal?”
I gaze up at him through my wet lashes. “Deal.”
I have half a mind to ask Striker to check whether the door locks so we can get started right here, but a soft knock changes my mind.
“Sounds like we’ve got a visitor,” I whisper.
I gaze up into his dark, dilated eyes, and I know that the next hours until my release are going to be torture for both of us.
“I love you, Ember,” he rasps.
“I love you, Striker,” I breathe.
He sits upright — not letting go of my hand — and calls to whoever is outside to come in.
And just like that, our life together begins.
Epilogue
EMBER
“Do you, Matthew Lee Barrigan, take Cady Lorelei Abernathy, to be your lawful wedded wife?”
I can barely see through my tears as I watch the ceremony unfold from my seat. I’ve never been one to cry at weddings, but this one is special to me. It’s been a long time coming.
And I’m happy to say I’ve been here for most of it.
As Cady answers the minister in the affirmative, I watch Striker standing across the room and notice he, too, is fighting his emotions. As Tank’s best man, he’s standing next to the groom, off to one side. But right now, Striker isn’t looking at the happy couple.
Instead, his eyes are fixed on Wren, the maid of honor-slash-flower girl — who is bouncing up and down on her heels next to Cady, like she can barely contain herself.
Striker winks at her. Wren winks back.
Moments later, the minister’s voice rises over the crowd. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he intones.
“Yay!” Wren yells, tossing a handful of flower petals high in the air. The entire crowd bursts into raucous laughter as she jumps into Tank’s arms, and the three of them embrace.
Finally, officially, they’re a family.
Cady’s adoption of Wren isn’t finalized yet, but that’s pretty much a technicality at this point. Their hearing in front of the judge is in two weeks, and I have every reason to believe it will all go smoothly. And even though Cady is already Wren’s mom in all the ways that count, I know she’ll be relieved when it’s finally all settled.
Wren hops down from Tank’s arms after a moment, and solemnly takes the hand of the best man, just as they’ve practiced. Together, Striker and Wren follow Cady and Tank back down the aisle as we all whistle, shout, and clap our approval. After that, the front row stands, with Cady’s Uncle Daniel, who gave her away, going first. He’s accompanied by Tray, his boyfriend from the nursing home.
Next to me, Margot leans in to be heard above the din. “Those two have a world of love surrounding them,” she says. “It gives you faith, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does,” I smile back at her.
After Daniel and Tray, the rest of the crowd files out — a motley mix of leather-wearing bikers and regular “civilians” who somehow come together harmoniously enough. We’re in a giant outdoor tent, with one section for the ceremony and the rest for the afterparty, so seconds after everyone has moved over to the reception area, the music cues up and the party starts. Benji, who has been squirming all through the wedding, lets out a sound like screeching tires and goes barreling toward Wren. The two of them have become fast friends despite the difference in their ages. He has also been unofficially adopted by the rest of the Lords of Carnage kids, which both amuses and worries poor Margot.
“That boy had better not get any ideas about growing up to be a biker,” she tsks as we watch him run away.
“Hey, what’s wrong with bikers?” I laugh. “Maybe you ought to get one, yourself, since John didn’t work out.”
Just then, Striker comes ambling toward us. “Well, I’ll admit that yours turned out to be a keeper,” Margot admits, nodding at him.
I let out a happy sigh. “He sure did.”
Margot and I don’t talk much about Mark. I didn’t attend his funeral, at the request of his parents, who have somehow gotten it into their heads that I was responsible for his death. The police came to a different conclusion. The insurance company, too. As Mark’s widow, his estate passed directly to me, but of course there wasn’t much to it because he was so in debt. But I didn’t want anything anyway, except for all of it to be over. Insurance paid to fix the damage on the house, but after what happened there, I never wanted to live in it again. I sold it a couple of months ago, and gave the small amount that was left over to Margot for Benji’s college fund.
I ended up moving in with Striker as soon as I got out of the hospital. The place was a little rough, and needed some fixing up, but Striker has worked like a demon to make it comfortable for me. The second bedroom is my home office for now. But someday soon, Striker and I are hoping to redecorate it.
As a nursery.
&
nbsp; The drinks are flowing and the dancing is already going full-tilt when the minister comes over to have Striker and me sign the marriage license as Tank and Cady’s witnesses. He leads us over to a table at the edge of the reception area and shows us where to sign. Tank and Cady are already there.
Wren races over to see what we’re doing.
“We’re witnessing your parents’ marriage, Bird,” Striker tells her.
“What’s witnessing mean, Mom?” she asks, confused.
“It means it makes it legal,” Cady replies.
“Oh.” Wren wrinkles her nose. “What’s ‘legal’?”
“Striker and I are signing that we saw your mom and dad take their vows and that they are who they say they are,” I add. “Legal means…” I struggle with a way to explain it to a six-year-old. “Legal means real.”
Although as I say it, I know that’s not really true.
Real isn’t always what the law says it is. As a lawyer, even I know that. And as a woman, I know it even more deeply.
“So…” Wren blinks. “Am I legal?”
Everyone laughs.
“Hey, Wren,” Striker rumbles. “You wanna go cut a rug with me?”
Now, Wren is even more confused. “There’s no rugs, Uncle Striker!” she protests. Wren has finally outgrown her speech impediment, which I know is bittersweet for Cady.
“No?” Striker glances around, scratching his head. “Huh. Well, in that case, wanna go dance with me?”
“Okay!” Wren trots over to Striker, who bows down with a flourish and offers Wren his hand. She giggles and accepts it. Cady, Tank, the minister and I watch them make their way over to the dance floor. Cady and I say goodbye to the minister, and Tank goes off with him to settle up.
“How does it feel being married?” I ask Cady.
She beams. “Like a long damn time coming, to be honest. So, when are you and Striker planning on tying the knot?”
“Oh, we’ll get to it pretty soon,” I reply. “Striker hasn’t formally proposed, but we’ve been talking about it a lot. Hell, we may just end up going down to the courthouse someday and doing the deed like that.”
The fact is, I desperately want to be married to Striker. But I don’t care much about a wedding. I had one of those, already — a big, ostentatious affair that felt like it was all for show. It did nothing to magically inoculate Mark and me against problems. Striker and I are already more real as a couple — as a team — than Mark and I ever were.
Legal or not.
“Speaking of weddings, and marriages, and stuff,” Cady continues, “Tank and I wanted to ask you and Striker something. We thought we’d have you over to our place to officially ask you, but I wanted to get your take first, just in case.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
Cady gives me a hopeful look. “We were hoping that you and Striker would be willing to be Wren’s godparents. I wanted to ask you first, alone, because I know it’s kind of a different situation, since Striker is actually Wren’s biological dad. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do it, you know?” She pulls in a nervous breath, lets it out. “So, do you think he’d be okay with it?”
My throat constricts. “Okay?” I turn toward the dance floor and point. “Look at the two of them. What do you think?”
Striker is holding Wren by both hands, doing some sort of insane version of maybe flamenco? I don’t even know what he’s doing, to be honest. Wren is giggling hysterically, her arms floating up above her head as she pirouettes in place. The two of them are having the time of their lives.
Cady sniffles and shakes her head as I put my arm around her.
“I think maybe he’d be okay with it,” she admits.
“We’d be honored,” I promise her. “Striker will be thrilled. I guarantee it.”
Striker and I stay at the reception until it’s late. We say our goodbyes to everyone and Striker drives us home. On the way, we relive our favorite moments of the day.
When we get back to our place, I’m confused to see a strange car in the driveway. And even more confused at how familiar it is.
“But that car looks like…” I trail off.
“… A nineteen-sixty-one Corvette convertible,” Striker finishes for me. “Complete with flames.”
“But… how did you…” I’m literally speechless.
“I found the car months ago,” he says simply. “It was in pretty rough shape, but I took it over to Twisted Pipes and had them restore it. The paint job is Hawk’s handiwork. It was ready last week. I had Jude drive it over here after we left for the wedding.”
“Striker.” I bite my lip, trying not to burst into tears. It’s almost exactly like my dad’s old car. “I can’t believe you did this!”
Tears start running down my cheeks as Striker parks his car behind the Corvette. He turns off the engine, and I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Hey, now, you’re gonna get me all wet,” he jokes, pulling me closer. “You sure you like it? It’s not too flashy for a lawyer?”
I swallow, struggling to speak. “It’s perfect,” I finally manage.
“Well, good,” he says gruffly. “Because the engine’s been overhauled, too. This thing runs a hell of a lot better than that beater you drive.”
“I wish my father could see it,” I tell him, still crying. “He’d love it.”
“I’m glad, babe. I wanted to give you a piece of your dad back.” He pauses. “Hey, check out the plate.”
The headlights on Striker’s car are still on, so I peer out the window through my tears to read the rear license plate.
PHOENIX
Not everyone would understand its meaning, but I get it right away. Striker has said more than once that Ember is much more fitting name than December for me. He says I glow from the inside, like I’ve just been waiting to start my own flame.
And I’ve told him that I feel like my life has had a rebirth. Like I rose from the ashes, somehow, toward this new, wonderful life.
And Striker was the match that started it all.
The two of us change out of our wedding outfits and into more comfortable clothes. Together, we take Bert out for a walk before bed. It’s a simple act — something we do every night. But the routine of it is something I relish, every single time.
Under a moonlit sky, Striker kisses me. Then he takes my hand, and leads me back to our house — where we stay up most of the night making love, get far too little sleep, and wake up the next day exhausted, fulfilled, and happy.
* * *
Thank you so much for reading Striker and Ember’s story! I hope it gave you all the feels!
There is one more book to come in the original Lords of Carnage MC series — JUDE!
The club is going legit. But in Book 12, there's one final story of revenge left to be told.
No one fucks with the Lords... because the Lords fuck back.
You can preorder Jude right now on Amazon!
Just click this link!
Daphne Talks Out Her Ass About Striker
When I was sixteen, my dad came home one day with a classic car he bought for cheap off a guy on the spur of the moment.
Unlike the car Ember’s dad bought, this was a 1958 Ford Fairlane. It was in amazing condition, and it was just cool as hell. Best of all, he let me drive it whenever I wanted to — which was a pretty amazing thing, considering I had just gotten my drivers license.
We didn’t have that car for very long, unfortunately. Our family was broke as a joke at the time, and we were having a really hard go of making ends meet as it was. My mom was furious that he had made such an impractical purchase, especially without consulting her. Mom was about the most practical person you would ever hope to meet. My dad, on the other hand, was always a bit of a dreamer. It’s true that buying that car wasn’t a “good” idea. And looking at it from my mom’s perspective, I can definitely understand why she was so mad. She had every right to be.
But still, there was
just something so wonderful and joyous about having that car. Even though we only owned it for a couple of months, before my mom made my dad sell it. It was gorgeous and fascinating, like a time machine to another era. It was magical to drive.
My dad has been gone for sixteen years now. I can’t believe it has been that long. I still dream about him at least once a week. And about my mom, too, who died thirteen years ago.
I think about them both every single day.
And I still think about that car — about how it brought a spark of whimsy to our lives in an otherwise stressful, gray, anxious time.
It seems to me that we all are going through a stressful, gray, anxious time right now. Maybe that’s why Dad’s Ford Fairlane made it into this book, transformed into a ’61 Chevy Corvette convertible. I’m sending love to every single one of you. And I hope that we can all do our best to find moments of joy and magic, whenever and wherever we can.
XOXOXO
Daphne
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STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC Page 24