Page 129 of Victorious: Part 3
“Come on, wife,” Alpha says, taking my hand. “Let’s go see what that gorgeous dress looks like on the floor.”
Laughing, I follow him toward the parking lot to head back to the clubhouse, toward our future, toward whatever comes next.
Because whatever it is, we’ll face it together.
Always together.
But probably naked.
Epilogue
POPPY
Fifteen Years Later
The roar of fifty motorcycles fills the air as our convoy approaches the California Institute for Women. I adjust my position on my Harley, the leather of my president’s cut pulling tight across my shoulders as I raise my fist, signaling the convoy to slow. Behind me, the Winged Defiance MC rides in perfect formation.
My birds, my sisters, my responsibility.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen fucking years since we tore down Javier’s empire, and today, we’re completing the final piece of that victory.
Today, Valerie comes home.
I glance in my mirrors and catch sight of Nighthawk riding point behind me, her red hair whipping from beneath her helmet. At thirty-eight, she’s become everything I hoped she’d be when I was eight years old and watched her choose our family over the Cartel. My wise one, my mentor, the woman who taught me that leadership isn’t about being the toughest, it’s about being smart enough to know when to fight and when to protect.
To my left, the rumble of LA Defiance mingles with ours as Dad leads his brothers alongside us. His hair is now more silver, lines carved deeper around his eyes from years of leading, loving, and losing. But the way he sits on his bike, the authority in his posture, some things never change.
He’s still the ‘Alpha’ who saved me, who let me become who I was meant to be.
Even if it scared the shit out of him at the time.
Haven rides behind him, her black hair streaming likea banner. She’s traded her assassin’s blade for a wedding ring, but the predatory grace never left her movements. She’s watching the perimeter, always watching, always protecting—my stepmother, who became my sister, my teacher, my friend. The woman who taught me that strength comes in many forms, and love is the fiercest weapon of all.
The prison looms ahead, its concrete walls no longer holding the terror they once did. We’ve spent fifteen years dismantling what Javier built, piece by piece, woman by woman.
The underground breeding facilities—gone.
The network of corrupt officials—exposed and imprisoned.
The pipeline of stolen children turned into weapons—burned to ash.
I slow my bike further as we approach the designated meeting area, my heart hammering against my ribs in a rhythm that matches the Harley’s engine.
This isn’t just another club run.
This is history completing its circle.
With the wind slowing in my face as I come almost to a stop, I spot Montana’s truck already parked near the visitor entrance. He’s standing beside it, thirty-seven years old now, his once-boyish face weathered by years of marriage, fatherhood, and the weight of watching his mother serve time for crimes she honestly should never have been put away for.
Rhyan stands beside him, her hand resting on the shoulder of their eldest, Nathan, named after Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs from that trip to New York that sealed their love. At eleven, he has his father’s determined jaw and his mother’s gentle eyes.
Seven-year-old Liberty bounces on her toes beside them, all kinetic energy and barely contained excitement. She’s been asking about Grandma Valerie for months, ever since they told her today was the day. The New York theme for their kids always makes me smile. It’s a testament to the love they found whenthey visited New York in honor of Valerie. Back before they even realized they were falling for each other.
I kill my engine and remove my helmet, my blonde hair falling in waves around my shoulders. The wind catches it immediately, and I have to resist the urge to tuck it behind my ears.
Presidents don’t fidget.
