Page 33 of Reaper's Justice
As if on cue, the heavy metal door of the safe room opens. Wilder emerges first, shotgun still at the ready, scanning for threats before allowing Evelyn to follow.
She steps out cautiously, her eyes widening as she takes in the aftermath of the battle. For a moment, I worry that this—the violence, the bodies, the blood on my hands—will be too much. That she'll see the monster I truly am and run.
Instead, she rushes toward me, crossing the debris-strewn courtyard without hesitation. Before I can react, she throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly in front of everyone.
My brothers freeze, clearly surprised by this display. No one says anything, but their expressions speak volumes. In our world, such vulnerability is rarely shown, especially not toward the president.
I place my hand on her head, gently stroking her hair.
"I promised to keep you safe," I remind her, my voice low. "My promises mean something."
She looks up at me, those green eyes shining. "You promised me a future," she adds, not caring who hears.
"And I'll give you just that," I assure her, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
Over her head, I meet Ghost's eyes. He gives me a subtle nod of approval. The others return to their tasks, allowing us this moment of privacy in the midst of chaos.
"Come," I tell her, guiding her toward the clubhouse. "There's much to do, and we have a guest arriving tomorrow."
"A guest?" She falls into step beside me, her hand finding mine as if it belongs there.
"My daughter, Emma." I squeeze her fingers gently. "It's time you two met."
The thought of introducing Evelyn to my daughter—of bringing these two separate parts of my life together—should terrify me. Instead, it feels right. Necessary, even.
Whatever storm is coming, whatever Charles throws at us next, we'll face it together. All of us. My club. My daughter.
And the woman who somehow cracked open the armor around my heart when I least expected it.
Epilogue - Evelyn
Two years later...
"Jackson, can you grab his stuffed wolf? I forgot it in the bedroom."
My husband, still strange to think of him that way after two years, nods and disappears down the hallway of our private quarters. I adjust our son on my hip, smiling as his pudgy hands reach for my hair.
"No, Jamie," I chide gently, catching his wrist. "We talked about this. No pulling Mommy's hair."
He grins, all gums and Jackson's gray eyes, too young to understand but old enough to know he's being adorable. I can't help but smile back. A year ago today, after thirty-eight hours of labor, Jamie Kane came into the world with his father's stubbornness and my determination.
Today is his first birthday, and the entire club has gathered to celebrate.
Jackson returns with the stuffed wolf—Jamie's favorite toy—and hands it to our son, who immediately stuffs one ear into his mouth.
"Ready?" Jackson asks, his hand finding the small of my back.
"As I'll ever be."
We step out of our private quarters into the main area of the clubhouse, which has been transformed for the occasion. Balloons and streamers hang from the ceiling. A banner reading "HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMIE" stretches across one wall. The bar where I worked for six months before getting pregnant has been converted into a buffet laden with food.
And everywhere, Outlaw Order.
They rise as we enter, these dangerous men who have become family. Blade approaches first, extending a tattooed finger for Jamie to grab.
"There's the little prospect," he says with a rare smile. "Getting bigger every day."
The others come forward one by one—Ghost with his quiet nod, Ace with his boisterous laugh, Viper with a wrapped package, Wilder with a handmade wooden toy.
