Page 21 of Tempted By Shadow

I follow him onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind me. The night air is cold against my bare skin, raising goosebumps, but I barely feel it. All I feel is the weight of his stare, heavy as a physical thing.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

“You should have told me,” he finally says.

“I know.”

“About the threat. About her. About all of it.”

“I know.” I hold his gaze, even though everything in me wants to look away. “I was scared. Of losing the patch. Of losing everything you gave me. I kept thinking I’d find the right moment to come clean, and the right moment never came.”

“So you just kept lying.”

“Yeah.” There’s no excuse. No justification. “I kept lying. And I’m sorry.”

King is quiet for a long time. I wait for the blow — a fist, a dismissal, the end of everything I’ve worked for. Whatever’s coming, I’ve earned it.

“You took a knife for my sister,” he says finally.

“I did.”

“Fought three men. Outnumbered, outgunned. Could have died on that floor.”

“She’s worth it.”

“Is she?” His eyes bore into mine. “Worth the patch? Worth everything you’ve been working toward?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubt. “She’s worth all of it. I love her.”

Something shifts in King’s expression. The cold fury softening into something more complicated — not forgiveness, not yet, but maybe the beginning of understanding.

“My sister’s never been good at picking men,” he says quietly. “Tyler was a disaster. Before him, there were others. I spent years watching her make bad choices, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I’m not Tyler.”

“No.” King studies me for a long moment. “No, you’re not. Tyler would have run. You stayed and bled.”

He turns toward the stairs, then pauses.

“Church tomorrow. The brothers vote.”

My heart stops. “On what?”

“On whether you’ve earned your patch.” He looks back at me over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth — I think you have.”

At church the next day, the vote was unanimous.

I stand in the chapel, surrounded by every patched brother, still bandaged and bruised but standing straight. King walks toward me with a cut in his hands. Not a prospect cut — a full patch. My name on the back.

“You earned this,” he says. “Not by following orders. Not by keeping your head down. By working fucking hard. For protecting what mattered when it counted. By putting your body between my sister and three men who wanted to hurt her.” He holds out the cut. “Welcome to the Sons of Ruin.”

I take it with hands that won’t stop shaking. Slide my arms through the sleeves. Feel the weight of it settle onto my shoulders — leather and patches and everything I’ve spent two years bleeding for.

The brothers close in. Backslaps, handshakes, Rogue’s arm around my shoulders and his voice in my ear saying “About fucking time, kid.” Diesel’s crushing grip. Lock’s silent nod. Ghost’s brief, rare smile.

But all I can really think about is Naomi.

When we leave the room, she’s standing in the doorway, waiting. Tears running down her face, watching me become what I’ve always wanted to be. I cross the room and pull her into my arms, and she’s laughing and crying at the same time, her face pressed against my neck, saying my name over and over.