Page 50 of Axle
My eyes tracked him as he crossed the room in slow, measured strides. My breath caught in my chest when he reached the chair and his fingers closed over the vest.
Holding it up between us, he didn’t say anything. But words weren’t needed right now. I knew what this meant—I was his.
This time, when he came to the side of the bed and handed me the leather vest, I took it. My fingers were steady as I slid my arms through the openings, but I gasped when he stepped in close and pulled it into place, fastening it with deliberate precision.
His hands lingered at my hips, warm and heavy, his gaze searing through me while I wore his brand. “Such a good girl.”
“Your good girl,” I corrected, heat blooming in my core.
“Damn fucking straight.”
He smirked while tracing his fingertips over the edge of the leather vest, goose bumps following in the wake of his touch. When he reached my stomach, he bent low and pressed a kiss over my belly button, the heat of it sinking straight into my bones.
His hands stayed at my hips, thumbs stroking lazy circles against bare skin. Then he tilted his head back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I love you.”
Three simple words, but they felt like a missing piece of me finally sliding into place. The tightness in my chest cracked wide open, and I didn’t even try to hold back.
“I love you, too.” My voice came out thick, threaded with relief and joy that the words I’d been carrying for days were spilling free.
His mouth curved in a slow, satisfied grin. “Marry me.”
For a beat, everything else vanished—the danger I’d been in and the uncertainty of what might come next. All I could see was Mason, the man who had walked into hell for me. And given mea future I never thought I’d have…with a family I hadn’t dared to dream about.
My answer was already on my lips before the word formed in my head. “Yes.”
Heat flared in his eyes before he pressed another kiss over my still-flat stomach, then trailed lower. My breath stuttered when his lips grazed my inner thigh, slow and lingering, like he was marking me with every touch.
Then he pushed gently at my shoulder, easing me onto my back. “Gonna keep you right here, angel, where you belong.”
EPILOGUE
AXLE
The smell hit first—smoke and charred meat, the tang of Kane’s secret dry rub burning itself into the ribs like a brand. Someone had the music up just enough to keep the quiet from settling, and there was the low hum of voices, clinking bottles, and laughter that rolled through the air the way exhaust curled off hot asphalt.
I had Ashlynn perched sideways across my lap in one of the big chairs near the long picnic tables, her bare feet tucked under her, one arm draped lazily around my neck. My other hand rested over the curve of her belly, thumb idly stroking the place where our kid liked to push back against me. Seven months along, and she still had me wrecked every time I looked at her. Hair loose and cheeks pink from the heat, she was the most beautiful thing in the whole damn yard.
We’d just moved into the new house last week. A place with enough garage space for my toys, enough light in the studio for hers, and a room already painted for the kid. She’d picked the color. I’d pretended to argue before caving because the truth was I liked the way her face lit when she got her way.
Her belly was round under the thin cotton of her sundress, and her hands curled around a glass of tea. She looked good. Better than good. The late Florida sun caught in her hair, and her cheeks were flushed in a way that made me want to drag her home and make her pink everywhere. But she was also mine and pregnant, which meant every set of eyes that lingered for more than two seconds got a look from me that promised trouble.
“Quit glaring at everyone like you’re about to bite them,” Racer cut in from my left.
I turned to find my brother-in-law holding Archer—nineteen months of trouble with wild dark hair, sharp little laugh, and the kind of boundless energy that made me seriously question how the hell I was going to keep up when ours got here.
He was wearing a tiny Redline Kings T-shirt Emily had thought was hilarious because her husband kept throwing disgusted looks at it. Kid had my sister’s eyes and Racer’s grin, which meant Emily was already doomed. Archer had both hands locked around one of those little plastic race cars Nitro had given him earlier, making engine noises with more enthusiasm than accuracy.
“Thought you’d be used to it by now,” I quipped, taking a pull from my beer.
“I’m used to it,” Racer replied, adjusting the squirming kid on his hip. “Doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining to watch everyone else realize you’re only half joking about gutting them.”
“I’m more than half.”
That earned me a laugh and a shake of his head. “Emily said you’d mellow once the kid got here. I told her she was out of her damn mind.”
“Emily’s been out of her damn mind since she married you,” I shot back.
