But it wasn’t.
It was Zero.
And fuck me, but I’m relieved. I’m relieved that Spike is still here, his chest rising and falling, his arms warm and heavy around me. That relief burns like acid. Guilt churns in my gut, sharp and sour, and I think I might throw up from it.
What kind of twisted person feels grateful someone else died as long as it wasn’t the man she loves?
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the thought back into the pit it crawled out of. Of course I’m glad it wasn’t him. That doesn’t mean I wanted Zero dead. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel the loss like a blade to the heart. It just means… I love Spike. I’ve always loved Spike.
And if that love makes me selfish, so be it.
I roll onto my side, seeking him out, pressing my ear to his chest. His heartbeat greets me, slow, steady, stubborn as hell. It thuds against my cheek, grounding me. A living reminder. Proof that he’s still here. Still mine.
I let out a shaky breath, my hand sliding across his ribs. My fingertips trace the tattoos carved into his skin, familiar even in the dark, sliding over old scars, the stories of his body. Stories I should’ve been there for. Stories I missed because I was too busy being angry, too busy being afraid, too busy pretending I didn’t still belong to him.
All that time we spent apart feels so fucking pointless now. Years of wasted words, wasted nights, wasted chances.
And for what? Pride? Fear? The illusion that I could live without him?
I hate it. I hate myself for it.
But maybe… maybe that distance is the only reason we’re stronger now. Maybe the hell we both crawled through apart is the only reason we know we can’t walk away again.
I curl tighter against him, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. He murmurs something low, incoherent, in his sleep, and his arm tightens around my waist like he knows I need the anchor. Like he’s warning me not to go anywhere.
A sob escapes before I can swallow it. I kiss his chest quickly, as if the act can erase the sound.
What comes after all this? When Xavier’s gone, when the blood settles, when the dust clears, what then?
There’s no question I’m his ol’ lady again. That’s carved into stone. But what does that mean to him? To us? Is it just a patch on my back, a claim for the world to see, or does it mean what it used to mean. The forever we never quite got right?
The thought used to scare the hell out of me. The idea of being tied down, of losing myself in the shadow of his kutte. Not anymore. Because I know who I am. I know what I want.
And what I want is to stand beside him. Not behind him. Not running off on my own, begging someone to do something, screaming into the void while women like Tessa get eaten alive by men like Xavier.
No. I can do something. I can be the change I keep wishing the world would show me.
I don’t need to abandon the club to make a difference. I can be here, with him, with them, and still fight. Still protect. Still help the women who don’t have anyone else.
That’s my duty. My calling.
I press my forehead into Spike’s chest, tasting the salt of my own tears as they slide over my lips. My chest aches, but for once it’s not just fear. It’s resolve.
I picture the shelter, the scared faces of the women we saved, the ones we couldn’t. I think about how many more are out there, trapped, waiting. I think about Zero bleeding out in Spike’s arms, his last breath buying us one more chance.
I won’t let it be for nothing.
Spike shifts, restless, his hand brushing over my hip. Even in sleep, he holds on. My tears spill harder at that.
“I love you,” I whisper into the dark, words muffled against his skin. Words meant only for him and me.
He doesn’t stir. But his heartbeat answers me anyway.
I wipe my face on the back of my hand, taking a deep breath. The nightmare fades, leaving only the pounding in my chest and the promise blooming in my bones.
I know what I have to do.
All that’s left is convincing Spike, Leo, and the rest of Chrome Creed that sacrifice isn’t just risk—it’s salvation. That saving women like Tessa, taking down men like Xavier, is worth every goddamn scar we carry.
