Page 49 of Wraith
I scramble to regain my balance and then I’m running, running past Steph who is walking towards Wing andthe rest of the men who pour like a rushing river through the open door, running into arms that last night, I doubted I’d ever see again. The agony of that pain shouldn’t have been so acute, considering we’ve really just met, but when I launch myself against the rock hard wall of his leather clad chest, when I wrap my hands around his neck the exact same way I did in my dreams, when I drag in his dusky, leathery, dark male scent, I know that our souls have always been intertwined and that they always will.
“Leena,” he breathes before he buries his face in my hair.
I can feel him trembling, my big, strong warrior biker. My man, who has been through so much in his life. My husband, who I know I love already, even though most of the world would say that it’s an impossibility. I know what’s in my heart. The words bubble up, everything I want so desperately to tell him, need to say more than I need oxygen, but he tilts his head as I raise mine and our lips meet, searing, bruising, claiming, and it’s enough.
He’ll always be enough.
Joyfully, wondrously, astoundingly, always enough. Against all odds, despite how we met, despite our pasts. Always. Always enough.
Always mine.
Epilogue
Leena
Six Months Later
I never would have pegged my father for having a family cookout. Mostly because my father doesn’t do things like that. He’s not friendly. He’s not social. The only thing that ever really mattered to him was furthering his cause—which ultimately was to have one of the most powerful clubs in the region.
That’s what I honestly thought about him.
Maybe shit changes. Maybe The Riders changed a fundamental part of him. Maybe having us taken, our lives threatened, awoke something dark and primal, a fatherly instinct inside of his tightly squeezed, black heart that he never knew he had.
Whatever the reason, I’m shocked as hell that he wanted to have a backyard cookout, complete with a real grill, actual hamburgers, deck chairs, and the works.
There are nine of us. Nine kids from nine different women. Clearly, my father never wanted to make that mistake again. He just preferred to make it with other people.
My brothers mingle around, my oldest two, with their girlfriends. I don’t really know anything about them—how long they’ve been dating or if they’re serious or not—but they seem happy. My other four brothers, Ivan included, amble around like they don’t really know what to make of the whole thing. They shift from one foot to the other, barely able to sit still, like at any second my father is going to declare the real purpose of the gathering was to marshal the troops to war.
Unless it’s a war against some other secret rival club that none of us know about, there isn’t going to be one.
Six months. My father has been president of the Jacksonville chapter of Steel Riders for six months now. Surprisingly, he loves it. Took to it like a damn fish to water. And he shocked the hell out of everyone by proving he was willing to be rational and to share. Like all along maybe he didn’t want the ultimate form of power. He just wanted to be a part of something great. Something bigger than himself. Like maybe… maybe he was searching for a form of family too, as hard as it is to believe.
My father’s house is huge, and the backyard is even bigger. Honestly, in the years that I lived there, I never saw it as full or as happy as it is today. Steph sits to my right, Wing beside her. She has his hand pressed between both of hers and looks utterly adorable. Her face is absolutely radiant and below her knit sweater, the tiny swell of her stomach is just starting to show.
Wraith sits beside me in a lawn chair that lets out a groan of complaint against his large frame every couple of minutes. He’s munching on his six burgers, though the fire in his eyes every single time he looks my way tells me he’d very much enjoy having something else for dinner. Or dessert. Maybe both.
I swear that I’ll never get tired of him. The sweet kisses he shares with me like a secret, or the rough, scorching passion that hasn’t dimmed one single bit. I keep waiting for it to get old. For us to drop out of that honeymoon stage and get sick of each other, but every time I wake up next to him, our limbs intertwined, Abby down at our feet, feels like the best day of my life.
The only dark blot on the day is the fact that Ami isn’t there. She sends me texts once in a while. She’s invited me and Steph to go to Tampa to see her a few times, but we haven’t gone yet. I want to. So does Steph. We probably will, if shereaches out again. She seems happy enough, from her updates, even if she refuses to come home.
My father shocks the hell out of me by ambling up, his usually dark features schooled into their same brooding scowl, but his eyes are different. Somehow lighter. Kinder.
“Leena. Steph. Could you help me in the kitchen for a few minutes?” The question is forced out. He’s not used to asking for anything, but we’re no longer his to command.
I bite my teeth into my bottom lip, chewing at a piece of skin that I worry off, before I finally nod. Steph, as always, is so much more graceful. She pops up out of her chair, kisses Wing’s forehead, which makes him actually blush—honestly, they’re sickening at times—and smiles at our father.
“Sure. Lead the way.” She takes my hand in her own and tugs me along in her honey scented wake.
When the large patio doors close behind us and we step into the kitchen, I face my father, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. The kitchen is a huge mess, filled with empty burger boxes, condiment bottles, heads of lettuce, sliced tomatoes, onion peels, pickle jars, and dirty dishes.
“I swear if you ask me to clean this up, I am never coming here again,” I announce snottily.
Steph giggles. “I’d help you. We did eat, after all. Maybe it’s only fair.”
“Our brothers could help, for a change.”
“And would help in a second if I asked.” She winks at me and I have to smile back at the teasing twist of her lips and the gentle blush gracing her cheeks.
