by Flite, Nora
His embrace became a vice, and I knew, he needed us too.
Epilogue
Kait
“Have you unpacked yet?” I asked, repositioning my four-month old, Sean, in my arms.
Mal had suggested that we name our boy after my father's memory. I absolutely loved the idea.
It was hard to believe that it had already been just over a year since Brendan's wedding and Mal's return. Life was moving so fast, now.
I had become a wife, a mother, and I was about to buy my first home as well. It was all so adult. Too adult sometimes, but I had Mal. He kept me grounded in so many ways. After what we had been through to be together, nothing felt overwhelming anymore. Life's problems were just challenges that we hadn't overcome yet.
“I like to do it gradually. It's like Christmas every day.” Brendan loaded coals into the grill and lit it. He had on this ridiculous hat and apron that made him look the Swedish Chef from the Muppet Show.
Brendan and I had sold my father's house. It was hard, but it was also time to bury the past and start our own lives. Brendan used his share from the sale for a deposit on a nice raised ranch with a big backyard.
Mal and I were still in an apartment across town, but yesterday we started the paperwork on an incredible Dutch colonial nearby. House shopping was a very married thing to do.
Our wedding had been smaller than Brendan's, but that was fine by me. I had gotten my big wedding fix helping Mariela and wanted something more intimate for my own.
Mal's brother, Kyle, had finished boot camp and had flown out for the ceremony as a surprise.
It made my heart swell to see Mal that excited. Kyle couldn't stay long, unfortunately, because he was being deployed shortly thereafter, but it was really nice to see him as a grown man.
Kyle had mentioned that Tonya was arrested for something, but he didn't care to know any of the details. Neither of them had any contact with their mother anymore, and that was fine by them.
“Too gradually,” Mariela corrected, giving her husband a knowing look. It had been a cold, wet Spring so far this year, but seeing Mariela's yellow rose print sundress–which complemented her olive skin wonderfully—made me feel like warmer weather was right around the corner.
“Oh, he's so big now!” Mariela kissed my cheek, then kissed Sean's as well. She eagerly held her hands out to take the baby. “May I, Mamá?”
“Absolutely!” I handed my son to his aunt, who immediately began rocking him in her arms. Mariela could always make Sean smile and that, of course, made me smile. She was great with children.
“Where's that deadbeat husband of yours?” Brendan asked, setting up the patio chairs for us.
“Sorry I'm late,” Mal said as he came in with groceries and a bottle of wine. “I had to let the station know you were grilling. I told them to have the water truck ready.” He placed everything on the table, kissed Mariela on the cheek, then did the handshake-into-a-hug thing with Brendan that guys do with each other.
Mal had been hired on full time at the firehouse and was something of a local celebrity after news of his daring rescue swept across the community. He downplayed the whole thing, like he always did, but the experience rekindled his and Brendan's brotherly bond.
If you saw Brendan and Mal together now, you'd never know that there had ever been bad blood between them. They had defied nearly a decade of hostilities. I was originally so worried that their history would divide my family, but now it was difficult to pry them apart sometimes.
“Hey there, Ness.” Mal cupped an arm behind my back and kissed me, long and sweet.
I would never get tired of that.
I still worked at Children's Hope and had taken over an event organizer position. It made me miss my kids, but the promotion was good for my career. I still popped in and took Ashley and the others out to Bounce and the movies every once in a while, though.
“It's been a year, when are you two going to knock off that young love nonsense?” Brendan protested jokingly; he was quickly backhanded in the shoulder by his wife. “Here. Let me show you how it's done.” He dramatically pulled her close and gave her a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mariela squirmed away, laughing, but was caught in his embrace. When he was done, he looked at her seductively.
“I see they stole our baby again.” Mal shook his head, which was the appropriate response to most of Brendan's antics, and held his arms out. Mariela broke free from her husband and gave Sean to him. “Hey there, little guy.” Mal bounced Sean lightly in his arms. “Tell Auntie and Uncle that you're ours and that they need to make their own.”
Both my brother and his wife went uncharacteristically quiet at Mal's ribbing.
“Funny thing about that,” Brendan said with a half smile, scratching his head.
“No!” I gasped.
“Yes!” Mariela squeaked loudly, no longer able to contain her excitement, and threw her hands in the air. “Surprise!”
“Congratulations!” I shouted, hugging her. Mal shook Brendan's hand as well, patting him on the shoulder.
The cookout was wonderful and stretched late into the evening. We all had so much to be thankful for. It truly was amazing how much things had turned around in all of our lives. Occasionally, it was hard to get my head around it.
Later that night, I woke from a bad dream, one where neither Brendan nor Mal made it out of that apartment fire. It left me panting, shaking in cold sweat. Slowly, as I lay there, everything good that happened over the last year came back to me, calming my heart.
But part of me still wondered when the other shoe would drop. It all felt too perfect to be real. Would I wake up from this magical life, too?
Then Mal's big arms wrapped around me, and I knew that I was just being crazy. This was my life now, and it was okay to let my guard down and just be happy. It would be a struggle sometimes, but Mal would always be there for me.
And that was all that mattered.
END
SPECIAL BONUS NOVEL INCLUDED BELOW!
OUTLAW ROAD
A Bad Boy Romance
FROM USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Nora Flite
&
Adair Rymer
Prologue
Ronin
“What's your name, hon?”
The speaker—a bored Irish girl in a buttoned up leather halter top and tight, cut-off denim shorts—slipped into the seat next to me with practiced ease. She propped her head up to look at me, diluted emerald eyes fluttering. It was an expression that was just flirty enough, keeping this interaction from feeling too forced.
I knew immediately that she was an old lady—a girl claimed by one of the much older Road Devils club members sitting across the room. They'd sent her over to feel me out; to see if I was a cop, a part of a rival MC, or just some stupid fuck that had lost his way.
This charming dove was a warning shot. They wanted me to know they were watching and that I should vacate the bar while I still had use of my legs enough to walk out of here.
Otherwise, I'd end up leaving in a black body bag.
“Trouble, to most,” I said with an easy smile. A spark of interest flashed across her eyes. Maybe I was looking for a black bag my size. It would certainly explain my compulsion for shitty bars like these.
Nah, I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. Living, to me, wasn't the same as just being alive. It was why I chose the nomad MC lifestyle instead of falling in with any one chapter. Freedom within a free institution. Nowhere else on earth could I have what I had now.
“Buy me beer,” I said, reveling in the confusion that marred her fair features. The comment took her off guard. If I were a betting man, I'd say that this was the first time she'd ever been on the other side of such an instruction.
And I was sure as hell a betting man.
I disregarded her, calling out to the bartender. “Killians, if you have it.” Then I leaned in and breathed in the fruity satin tang of her cheap perfume. “What's your name, love?”
The surly bartender popped the bottle cap and poured the heady, dark auburn brew into the glass that he'd set down in front of me. “Four-fifty,” he said, eying me suspiciously.
“Put it on Tash's tab.” I shifted my gaze to the girl with a smirk, daring her to say otherwise. The bartender followed suit and looked at her, his brows furrowing.
Tash regarded each of us in turn. “It's alright, Pete.” Her voice was silky with curiosity.
I had her now.
The bartender disappeared to wait on another member. Tash's full lips trapped a hanging cigarette as she brought her lighter to it. She pulled the smoke in, long and slow, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure me out. “That was ballsy for man who knows where he is.” She blew a long line of ghostly white out of the far side of her mouth “Who are you?”
It was the second time she'd asked me. Answering her only seemed right. “Your old man can call me Ronin.” I brushed a hanging strand of her hair behind her ear, then closed the gap between us. I was close enough for her to feel the heat of my breath on her cheek. I looked past her at the fifteen grizzled bikers, all of whom were staring at me. “Now run along, Love. Before I find something thicker for those pink lips to wrap themselves around.”
My audacity left her wide eyed. The corner of her agape mouth betrayed her by wrinkling into the edges of a startled smile. “Are you crazy? They're gonna kill you.” She slipped easily off the stool. Her night had just got a lot more exciting.
“They can try.” I smiled and nodded for her to go.
I was just getting started.
She looked me over, biting the creased side of her lip to stifle a smile before she turned back toward her Devils. She was flirting with danger. I could tell that she was the kind of girl that loved to be the center of attention.
The thought of a man beaten to death for coming on to her must've really gotten her juices flowing.
The Road Devils were a small MC, just west of my club's territory. They weren't openly hostile to us but that was only because they didn't have the members or the firepower to challenge any of our chapters. They were relegated to being just another dwindling remnant of the violent, mid-eighties biker wars. In twenty years, no one would even remember their name.
They knew they were on their way out, too. The Devils were relics of the badass bikers of old. They didn't even try to blend with their community, instead they lived out the old days as fast and as often as they could, waiting for the end. Spiteful, racist and pissed off at the 'perversion' of the old ways; the Road Devils had cultivated a deadly reputation for dealing with anyone foolish enough to cross their path.
I was very much looking forward to meeting them.
Tash sat on the lap of her old man and relayed what had happened during our talk; her opinions of me, whatever they were. The old man, who looked to be almost three times her age, nodded, never breaking eye contact with me. He was a gnarly-looking, bearded, long haired man that had gone completely gray. He was obviously their president.
Had the old man thought I was a just reckless nobody, they'd have rushed over to stomp me the second I leaned in to get a taste of Tash's perfume. The table he and three other members sat around was bigger and nicer than the rest. They probably used it as their meeting place when they called church, deciding things on behalf of the club.
Tash was pushed off onto her own chair while the men discussed how they wanted to handle me. She beckoned me with sultry glances, daring me to be suicidally brave enough to pursue her. Lucky for her, I was in a brave mood. I was only in that bar to get my dick sucked and to win some money. I didn't care which came first, as long as I came eventually.
Those two things would only happen if I went to church and sat down with the Devils. I stood up, downed the rest of my beer and slowly made my way across the smokey room toward them. No one approached an outlaw biker gang on their home turf without being invited first.
I wasn't no one, and I was done waiting around for them to fucking deliberate.
Hang-arounds—friends of the Devils MC and patrons who understood the pecking order in the bar—gave me the wide berth of a plague victim. They saw me as an oblivious dead man out for a casual stroll along the green mile, every foot fall bringing me one step closer to execution.
They didn't know if it was courage or stupidity that guided me to the ominous table that was meant only for patch holders, but whatever it was, they knew it was contagious in the eyes of the brutal Road Devils, and they sure as hell didn't want to be standing next to me when shit got really ugly.
There were no free seats where the bikers were, so I grabbed the back of a chair from a nearby table. The man sitting in it quickly shot up to let me have it. I cocked my head towards him in thanks. Not a step away, I realized that I was still thirsty and the bartender wasn't going to be coming over unless the Devils called on him. I doubted they'd do that just for me. Left without a drink, I took the generous man's beer off of him as well before parking the chair next to Tash at the Devils' table.
“Greetings, friends.” I swept my mid-length, wavy hair back, taking a sip of the stolen beer as I sat down.
“The name Ronin supposed to mean something to us, friend?” It was their President who had asked.
“Guess not.” I shrugged, took another sip and pulled out a small wad of bills. “Deal me in, maybe I'll tell you another name that will.”
“How 'bout we just stab you in the fucking face and take your money instead,” said a large, surly man with a bush for a mustache.
I chuckled. “You don't think you're good enough to win it from me? If you come over here, you're liable to bust your hip, old man. I’m guessing you're not as spry as you used to be.”
“You motherfucker!” The big, mustachioed biker stood up, pulling out his gun and pointing it at me. “The only thing I'm gonna be bustin' is your ass!”
The room hushed. People behind my chair moved out of the line of fire. Others just straight up left, not wanting any part of the coming bloodshed.
I put my elbows on the table and leaned toward the biker's gun. Then I out stretched my hand in a motion that said oh well, before clasping them back together. I met the eyes of the other four guys. “Seems the old man is out, who else wants to win some money?”
Impressed, or entertained at my carefree demeanor, the other guys just laughed.
“Sit down, Jerry,” Tash's old man chuckled. “We'll kill him after the game.”
I smiled, snapped up the cards and started shuffling. “Five-card?”
They nodded.
I dealt out the poker hands to all four members, even the mustachioed behemoth—Jerry. He snarled at me before reluctantly picking them up.
Five-card draw was the simplest variation of poker, easiest rules to remember when you've been drinking, so it was the game I tended to play the most. I've done the rounds enough in shitty bars like this to be scary at darts, pool and craps, but poker...
Poker was my first love.
I was downright deadly in a game of poker. These assholes had no idea what was in store for them.
The first few hands were butter, I was just lubing them up to get fucked down the line. I lost more games than I won, which was all part of the plan. If you want to run a table and make real money, you have to throw a few hands, lull them into a false sense of superiority. Play smart first, then, when they feel like they have you beat, you play mean.
The stack of cash in front of me grew like cancer. Three-four-five hundred... Tonight would be a nice haul. Honestly, I wasn't here for just that. I wanted to see how far I could push it. Every dangerous situation had a hard line that, when crossed, there was no coming back from. It was just bullets and bodies. The thrill for me was finding that razor's edge and seeing how far I could stroll down it without falling off.
“Another beer, Wrex?” Tash asked her old man.
He grunted in affirmation, not paying her any real heed while sliding the glass towards her. Wrex had stopped telling stories when he realized how much money he was down and started really focusing on the game. The other three bullshitted everything and anything. I could see Wrex's frayed, edgy disposition finally surface. He was getting tired of losing money.
Tash looked me over again. “You want something, stranger?” The girl was as subtle as a sledgehammer, not that any of the other bikers cared enough to notice. They all had their own girls hovering around. Tash was unfulfilled and hungry. Her eyes damn near screamed for some actual excitement. That was probably how she'd gotten mixed up with these rabid, old dogs to begin with.
I downed the last sip from my glass and matched her heavy glance. “Always.” I slid my cup away from her as she reached for it, forcing her to stretch across my body to grab it. When her perky tits hung like small water balloons a few inches from my face, I stopped pulling away and let her grab the the glass.
I didn't let it go. Amusement melted into playful disbelief, her eyes giving me an Oh really glare. She was close enough that I was able to whisper, “Bathroom. Five minutes.” Then I released the glass without so much as a cracked grin. My cock swelled at the sight of the spike in her breathing, it made her tits heave. I knew she'd heard me.
Tash slipped away, doing the best she could to conceal a mischievous smile from the other bikers.
“All in,” Wrex loudly declared, tossing his remaining few twenties onto the pot in the middle of the table. The pot, which was the collective bets of each player this round of the game, was the biggest yet, coming in at just over five hundred.
Two other members folded. Whatever play Wrex had was too rich for their blood, they couldn't meet his bet without bankrupting themselves. Me and Jerry hung in there, ponying up enough money to play it through.
There was no quicker way to find that hard line in a situation like this then when a lot of money was at stake. One way or another, this would be the last game of poker tonight.