Page 30 of Her Outlaw Biker
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Clover
The wind hums through the trees, and the sunlight bathes everything in that late-afternoon gold that makes everything feel softer.
I lean against the porch railing, one hand resting on the swell of my belly, watching Jack work on the Harley in the backyard. He’s shirtless, his back glistening with sweat, muscles flexing as he tightens something under the engine. His dark hair’s longer now, a little wilder, curling at the ends. There’s more stubble on his jaw, more laugh lines around his eyes.
He’s never looked more like home.
I let out a soft sigh, letting my mind wander like it so often does these days. The past feels like another lifetime. Like a fever dream I woke from in Jack’s arms and never had to return to.
The Iron Vultures never regrouped after Jack’s attack. I guess things were never quite the same again without Rigs as president. Cutter got nailed for weapons trafficking six months later—some federal sting he never saw coming. He’s rotting in a prison cell now, right where he belongs.
My dad was able to quit drinking, but then he passed away not long after everything settled. Liver failure. It was fast. Quiet. I’d like to think he found some peace at the end, especially after we talked one last time. It wasn’t perfect, but he looked me in theeye, told me he was proud. That he was sorry. And somehow…that was enough.
Now, my days are filled with softer, lighter things. Jack built us the cabin he promised me, out here in the hills, a good hour from the nearest town. It’s cozy, filled with leather and wood and sunlight. He fixed up a shop for me right beside the house, a little studio where I handcraft custom leather goods. Jackets, bags, wallets…even the occasional biker vest. Word of mouth travels fast in this world, and business has been good. Real good.
And Jack? He spends his mornings in the backyard with grease on his fingers, tuning up bikes like it’s therapy.
Right now, he’s crouched beside a rusted old Harley, sleeves rolled up, tanned skin glinting with sweat, and I can’t stop watching him.My man.My protector. The love of my damn life.
I’m barefoot on our porch, belly round with our first baby, holding a tall glass of cold lemonade and smiling like some domestic daydream. Turns out freedom doesn’t look like a roaring engine on an open desert road. Sometimes, it looks like a porch swing, a man you’d die for, and a life you’d burn down the world to protect.
A soft kick taps against the inside of my belly, jerking me out of my thoughts. I smile, running my palm in slow circles over the round curve. “You’re gonna have your daddy’s hands,” I murmur to the baby. “Big and strong and always busy with something.”
Jack glances over his shoulder like he heard me. He always knows when I’m watching.
“Stop starin’, little bird,” he calls with a smirk, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’m sweaty and half-covered in grease.”
“You say that like it’s not my favorite version of you.” I grin and push off the railing. “Brought you something.”
I walk carefully down the porch steps, barefoot and slow, cradling the mason jar of lemonade in one hand and my belly with the other. Jack straightens and meets me halfway, taking the drink but pulling me in first, planting a kiss to my forehead before he even touches the glass.
“You okay?” he asks, his free hand sliding around my waist, fingers splaying over the curve of our baby like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Because it is.
“Better than okay.” I tip my face up to his. “Watching you out here like this…it feels unreal sometimes.”
He sips the lemonade, then sets it aside and leans in to press his lips just below my ear. “It’s real, baby. This is ours. We earned every damn second of it.”
My cheeks flush, heat rising beneath my skin as he brushes a kiss down my neck.
“You’re dirty,” I murmur, half laughing, half aching for him.
I always ache for him.
He smirks against my throat. “You love me dirty.”
I swat at his chest, but it’s like swatting a brick wall. “We should head inside…the sun’s getting strong.”
“Mm. You mean where the bed is? Or the big, sturdy kitchen table?” His eyes glint as he leans down, voice thick with that low gravel that still makes my knees weak. “Or maybe right here inthe grass, where the nearest neighbor is twenty miles that way and we can do whatever the hell we want?”
I go red all the way to my ears. “Jack…”
“What?” He’s grinning like a devil now. “You’re blushing like we haven’t been married a year and a half and you’re not knocked up with my kid.”
