Page 51 of Angel’s Claim

Not just the club. Not just a place to belong.

But her.

A woman who ran from everything she knew and ended up exactly where she was supposed to be. A woman who looks at me like I'm worth something, like I matter, like I'm more than just the prospect trying to prove himself.

A woman who's brave enough to walk away from a life that was destroying her and strong enough to build something new.

My woman.

"Angel?" she murmurs sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for finding me."

I kiss her forehead. "You found me, baby. I was just smart enough not to let you go."

She smiles against my chest, and within minutes, she's asleep. I lie awake for a while longer, listening to her breathe, feeling her weight against me.

Tomorrow, she starts work at Petals and Stems. Tomorrow, I'll check in with Phoenix and probably get grilled about tonight. Tomorrow, we'll figure out what comes next, whether she stays at the motel or moves somewhere more permanent, whether I keep splitting time between here and the clubhouse or find a place for both of us.

Tomorrow, the real work begins.

But tonight?

Tonight, I'm exactly where I need to be.

With the woman who's already wearing my cut, already carved out a space in my chest, already made me believe in things I thought I'd lost.

I close my eyes and let myself fall asleep holding her, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don't have nightmares.

I just dream of her.

Epilogue - Bree

Three Years Later

I'm standing in the kitchen of our house, trying not to burn the lasagna while simultaneously preventing our one-year-old daughter from eating the dog's food.

"Lily Rose Walker, that is not for you," I say, scooping her up just as her chubby little hand reaches for the bowl.

She giggles and grabs a fistful of my hair instead. "Mama!"

"Yes, I'm Mama. And you're trouble." I kiss her forehead and settle her on my hip, checking the oven timer. Twenty more minutes.

I can do this. I can handle lunch with my father without having a complete meltdown.

Probably.

The back door opens, and Angel walks in wearing his full Iron Phoenix cut, the patched member version he earned eighteen months ago. He's got grease on his hands from working on someone's bike in the garage, and his hair is slightly longer than it was three years ago, though still kept relatively short.

He's never looked more beautiful.

"How are my girls?" he asks, crossing the kitchen to kiss me.

"Your youngest girl just tried to eat Brutus's kibble again."

Angel grins and takes Lily from my arms, lifting her high above his head. She squeals with delight, her dark blonde curls—my hair color, his texture—bouncing around her face.