Page 50 of Vargan

Vargan is silent behind me, but I can feel the slight tensing of his muscles. He knows exactly where this is leading.

"So," I say, "you thinking about applying for the job?"

His low chuckle vibrates against my back. "What? And become the law around here? Not a chance."

"Why not? They already trust you. Victor won't touch you. It's a perfect fit."

Vargan wraps his heavy arm around me, tugging me in tighter, his warmth seeping into my bones. "I plan to put as much distance between me and human law as possible for the foreseeable future."

I laugh as he holds me closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Good, because Ash has already applied for the job, and..." I turn my head slightly, meeting his amber gaze, "...well, I plan to keep you occupied with other activities."

His mouth drops to my ear, his tusks grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that makes heat pool in my belly all over again. "That's good," he murmurs, "because I have a lot of time to make up for, Savvy Greene, and I plan to do most of that from right here in this bed."

The promise in his voice makes me melt against him. As twilight deepens outside our window, I know with absolute certainty that Vargan will never let me go again. And I'll never want him to.

We've both spent too long running—me from vulnerability, him from his past. But now, having found each other against all odds, we've both finally stopped.

And started living instead.

Epilogue

Savvy

Six Months Later

Ayear can change everything. Last April, I was a woman desperate to save her family's legacy, fighting Victor Hargrove at every turn, and utterly alone in my battle.

Now, on this perfect spring morning, I stand on my porch watching Shadow Ridge blooming with life.

The diner has been busier than I can ever remember. I had to hire two new waitresses to help Helen and Mandy handle the weekend crowds. It seems the "dangerous biker" reputation that initially made folks nervous about the Ironborn has transformed into something closer to curiosity, even admiration. It doesn't hurt that the bikers spend generously, tip well, and have brought an economic boost to our struggling town.

From where I stand, I can see the back of Silas’s old garage that Vargan converted into his custom motorcycle shop three months ago. "Thronshade Customs" reads the hand-paintedsign, with "Bikes Built for Orc Bodies" in smaller letters beneath. It still makes me smile.

Victor's black truck rolls down Main Street, but these days it's just another vehicle. People don't scurry away or watch nervously as it passes. Victor and Royce may still live in their mansion on the hill, awaiting trial for fraud and conspiracy charges that keep getting delayed, but their power has evaporated along with their development contract.

Willie bursts through the screen door behind me, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I'm heading to the shop after school," he announces, taking the porch steps two at a time. "Vargan's letting me help install the custom exhaust on Crow's new bike."

"Just be home by dinner," I call after him. "And wear your safety gear!"

He waves without looking back, already jogging toward his truck.

The rumble of motorcycles draws my attention to the road, where a convoy of Ironborn riders approaches the house. They're a common sight now, these caravans of green-skinned bikers passing through on their way to or from the Shadow Ridge chapter. What's unusual this time is the rider in the lead—Hammer himself, his massive form unmistakable even from a distance.

As they near, I see Helen's truck following behind them. She pulls into my driveway while the motorcycles continue on toward town, all except Hammer's, which makes a circle in the diner parking lot then pulls in behind Helen.

"Morning, Savvy," Helen calls, climbing out of her pickup. She's wearing a crisp blue blouse I've never seen before, her silver hair twisted into an elegant knot instead of her usual practical bun. "Thought I'd stop by on my way to the diner."

"Morning," I reply, noticing the extra care she's taken with her appearance. "You look nice today."

A faint blush colors her cheeks as Hammer dismounts his bike, removing his helmet to reveal a face weathered by years on the road but still handsome in a rugged way.

"Ms. Greene," he greets me with a formal nod. "Hope you don't mind me stopping by. I wanted to thank you personally for hosting our chapter meeting tonight."

"It's Savvy," I remind him, smiling. "And it's no trouble. The diner's closed Mondays anyway."

Hammer turns to Helen, his stern expression softening noticeably. "Helen, you look nice."

"As do you, Gorrin," she replies, using his real name with a familiarity that raises my eyebrows.

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