I’m picking pine needles out of my hair when I walk into the clubhouse. Doesn’t matter. Can the men walking past tell that I just fucked their sergeant-at-arms in the woods? If they can, they keep that shit to themselves.

They don’t look at me too closely, don’t ogle me or catcall or whistle. They never did before, too afraid of Cat’s wrath. Now, with Beast as my soon-to-be husband, they’re even more wary of making the wrong move around me.

As I’m heading down the hall toward my father’s office, I run right into Amber. Almost literally. She’s giggling as she exits one of the dorm rooms, knocking her shoulder into mine accidentally.

Amber Clearwater, one of the most famous and notorious groupies to ever take up residence in the clubhouse. In her early thirties, she’s one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen. Glowing blond hair that waves gently around her doll-like face. Her mouth is pouty, but free from fillers, unlike some of the other girls. She smiles when she sees me, tucking some of that frothing golden hair behind an ear.

For someone who’s been professionally fucking bikers for the better part of six years, she seems remarkably fresh and upbeat. She’s always, always, always wanted to join the ranks of the club wives, privy to their shopping trips and girls’ weekends, their private parties and all the drugs, alcohol, and fuckboys that come with it.

“Girl,” she says, reaching out to take my shoulders. I give her hands a quick look, silently voicing my disapproval at being touched. My skin is still dancing with sparks from Grainger’s rough grasp, and my cunt is throbbing in dual parts soreness and need. There are only four people on this planet who are allowed to touch me right now; Amber is not one of them. “Three months. I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

She’s not the first person to voice that sentiment. Not sure anyone in the club save those four horse-fucks thought I was still kicking—even Cat seemed shocked.

“That’s me. Like a cockroach. Impossible to kill.”

The joke falls flat for Amber, but her smile only fades for a second before she’s giving me a knowing look.

“Beast, huh?” she asks, and I can see that news has spread quickly. Not a surprise. Cat will have done that on purpose, let it leak through the ranks of the club, just to make sure that every asshole in it knows that I’m now ‘leashed’, a proper club wife. It takes a gargantuan amount of effort for me to retain a pleasant expression on my face.

I think about Grey’s words to me—basically his last words—before the ceremony.

“It’s a wedding, not a war.”

Somehow, this feels like a bit of both.

“What about Beast?” I ask, trying not to be annoyed with Amber. I don’t hate any of the club’s groupies. They make me sad, for the most part. The majority of them are very pretty girls with very ugly pasts who have nowhere else to go, girls like Nellie. Coming here, getting a solid, safe place to sleep, a chance to party and drink and smoke, it’s worth the fucking for them. They have a right to say no to any man, but then they have to leave the clubhouse. Most come here with the hopes of finding a husband, someone to keep them when the world threw them away.

Amber lifts her hand up, as if in explanation, and I see the yellow diamond glinting on her ring finger. The blood drains from my face so quickly that I feel faint, and I have to actually reach up and put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

No.

No, please, I can’t deal with that today.

Crown’s asked Amber to marry him? After all this time? I can barely breathe. Did my choosing Beast spur him to make a decision he’s been putting off for years?

“I’m engaged,” Amber tells me excitedly, her voice bubbly and full of fantasy. She should know by now what being a part of the club is really like. But if she’s still here, she must like it the way Nellie does. Likes her place in the DBD web, just a filament, a strand, but never a spider. She has no power to spin her own threads.

“Congratulations.” The word is wooden, almost caustic. Amber notices and blinks dark lashes in surprise, regaining her composure quickly. “If you’ll excuse me …” I start, intending to move past her.

She doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“Oh, thank you, Gidget. We’re thrilled.” She studies the ring carefully, features brimming with love. She loves Crown? I wonder, feeling my stomach bottom out as nausea overtakes me. That’s an expression that can’t be faked. “Your wedding takes precedence, of course, but I’d love to use the old church—”

“I don’t really have time to discuss wedding plans at the moment,” I tell her through gritted teeth. If she notices my hostility, she doesn’t comment on it. “I’m supposed to meet Cat in his office.”

That does it. A shudder passes through Amber, and she reaches out to yank me into a horrible hug, slathering me with the smell of her perfume.

“We’ll be in the wives club together,” she says with a small laugh, pulling back to stare at me with sparkling eyes. She’s so nice, like the literal exact opposite of me. I have dark hair; she has light. My eyes are the color of blood; hers sparkle like emeralds. She smells good, and she smiles a lot, and she giggles. I certainly don’t wear perfume, I frown too much, and when I laugh, angels cry.

Amber Clearwater is an angel, and I am the devil’s spawn.

Crown is … he’s really better off with someone like her.

I hate him; I’m going to kill him; I’m going to tear his balls off and shove them down his throat.

I force my aching lips into a smile, but it only serves to make Amber shudder again—just the way she did when I mentioned Cat. Crap. With considerable effort, I soften my expression.

“The wives club. Can’t wait.” Again, if Amber senses my sarcasm, she doesn’t let on.

“We should get together for lunch sometime and talk wedding plans.”

I would struggle to find, in recent memory, an invitation that sounds any less appealing. Shit, I’d be happier exchanging gunfire with the mafia.

“Sounds peachy,” I grit out, finally managing to slip past her. I head straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time while I seethe and burn and ache on the inside. “Give her to me.” Did that bastard really suggest marrying me while he had a girl on the side that was just waiting around for him? As angry as I am, part of me hurts so bad that it’s hard to breathe.

I actually have to pause just outside the door to my father’s office to regain my composure. I’m hurt. I don’t want to be hurt, but I am. He … he lied for me and then he asked Amber to marry him?

“I never said I wanted you as my old lady. And besides, you know I’ve been dating Amber.”

Crown was telling me the truth that day on the driveway; I was just too stubborn to listen.

Walking into that office with pain on my face, etching itself into my very core, won’t go unnoticed. Cat will spot it straight-off, and he’ll wonder. He’ll stare at me, and he’ll ponder all the reasons that I might be upset: that I really am in cahoots with the mafia, that I really do care about Grey, that I’m lying.

So even if this and that are entirely different things, I shove them all down, right into the same box, the one that hides beneath the shadows of my heart, the one filled with monsters of memories.

“Chin up, best foot forward, other stupid ingratiating idioms,” I grumble, and then, without bothering to knock, I shove the door in to find my dad and Crown bent over the desk. They both turn to look at me when I step inside, but I’ve only got eyes for one of them.

Crown’s entire demeanor is crafted of rage and frustration; I can feel it from here. Considering he just got engaged, you’d think the bastard would have one of those annoying Cheshire grins of his on. He can be smiley and goofy when he wants to be. Just … he only ever seems to behave that way when he’s pissing me off. Picking me up from bonfires that I’m not supposed to be at. Swimming in my family’s pool with my friends.

“Gidge,” Cat begins, gesturing me over. I’m too annoyed to bother correcting him. Screw you, Crown, I think, hissing the words in my mind as I stare at the Vice President. He goes still, his muscles tensing as he looks me over. Maybe he can sense my ire from here?

Can he tell that I wanted him to be mine? That he’s ruined the possibility for both of us. Maintaining a subtle four-way relationship with the officers is a bit of a pipe dream, but it was at least that, a possibility. Gossip travels quick on the compound; everyone will know about Crown and Amber before too long.

Once they do, it’s over. He will belong to her. And I’ll … I don’t know what I’ll do.

I have yet to decide, exactly, what my endgame plan is here.

“Yeah?” I quip, wary of my father’s reasons for bringing me here. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been allowed in his office.

“How are you feeling?” Crown asks, his voice tight but professional. His moss green gaze trails to my shoulder. The sweatshirt I’m wearing covers the wound, but this man, he doesn’t miss a damn thing. He notices the dirt stains on the sleeves, and frowns.

“Grainger’s blood is probably poison,” I offer up, and Cat snorts, swiping his hand over his salt and pepper beard. He’s gained quite a few gray hairs during the last several months. Because of me? Was he actually worried about me? It’s too strange of a thought to entertain.

I move across the old wood floors toward the desk. Bookcases line the wall on either side of us, filled with leatherbound volumes of Death by Daybreak lore. Photo albums from the forties, records from the sixties, by-laws passed in the nineties. I ignore it all, pausing a bit too close to Crown, close enough to smell that violet and suede scent of his.

“You’re probably right,” Cat agrees which is a bit too good-natured for my liking. The man is never this nice. Never. He lifts his rust-red eyes up to mine, locking gazes with me. Three months away from him has given me such clarity. While he’s a formidable foe, Cat doesn’t have to be my enemy. I can play him in ways that don’t end with me an early grave. “We need you to go over everything again.”

Crown shifts uncomfortably beside me, but not enough that Cat would ever notice. The only reason that I do is because we have some sort of strange connection to one another.

I heave a dramatic sigh.

“Seriously?” My right hand subconsciously clenches in the fabric of my sweatpants as my legs ache and my shoulder throbs. I’m trying to play nonchalant here, but it isn’t easy. So much is at stake. So much happened. Where are you, Grey? What’s going on?

I wonder if he won’t try to contact me. Considering I have zero access to electronics or Wi-Fi of any sort, I’m not sure how. I wouldn’t put it past the guy to sneak a message in though, send up smoke signals, train a fucking owl to drop a letter down my chimney.

I’d love to talk to him. Or Reba. I just need a friend to vent to, someone to calm my raging fury into a smoking ember. It still burns yes, and it has the capacity to start forest fires, but it isn’t as dangerous in the interim.

Crown stands up straight and then grabs a chair that’s set against the wall, moving it in front of the desk. Our eyes meet briefly, but I can’t glean anything from his gaze. No, this is his VP persona; he won’t give a damn thing away.

And neither should I.

Focusing on Crown and Amber right now isn’t the right move. I need to keep my head on straight, my story straighter, and my emotions in check.

Crown gestures for me to sit, and I do, rehearsing the words before I even begin to talk.

“First, that idiot Cade picked me up at home …” I start, and then I spend four grueling hours going over everything that I know. The clothes the Don wore. The jewels they forced me to put on. The wedding dress. Crown and Cat make me draw a map of the grounds to the best of my knowledge. Every word that was spoken, I repeat, and I tell the truth in every aspect but for how I got there.

Because now, it isn’t just my life on the line.

I bide my time during the meeting, but I can’t forget the expression on Amber’s face, no matter how hard I try.

She’s in love; she truly loves him.

It’s a lot to process, especially with my father’s calculating gaze trained on my face. He won’t miss a single misstep, one wrong detail, a confused stutter. Somehow, someway, I manage to keep it all together.

Once Cat is satisfied that he’s gotten enough information out of me (for now), he pats me on the head while I scowl.

“That’s my girl,” he says, just like he did when I stumbled out of the church after fucking Grainger, blood oozing from my shoulder. “Now, take that goddamn ring off and leave it on my desk.”

He waltzes past me as I blink in surprise, finally dropping my gaze to my right hand to find the ring Grey gave me still perched on my finger. Just before the ceremony, Giulia instructed me to switch it from my left to my right. That way, Grey could place my wedding band on my left hand, the one closest to my heart.

I almost choke on the memory; it barely feels like it belongs to me at all.

“Your hand was too swollen to take it off before,” Crown tells me after Cat leaves, the door snicking shut behind him. I’m assuming the VP has orders to escort me back to Gram’s house aka the cemetery. However you prefer to say it. “But I see you’re still wearing it, all these days later.”

I give him such a dark look that he actually raises his brows at me. I shove up from the chair and storm into the hallway, heading straight for the bathroom. Running the water, I slather my hand with soap and start to twist and yank on the ring. It’s got blood crusted around the diamonds, but that’s to be expected. I wonder how much of it is mine?

Crown follows me into the bathroom, leaning against the wall and watching me. He’s so serious. I just wish he’d give me one of his stupid grins and laugh this whole thing off. It’s so heavy; I can barely take it.

And I don’t mean the mafia stuff.

I mean the personal shit.

“Are you in love with the mafia kid?” Crown asks me, his voice as solid as a steel beam. That’s his problem, that he refuses to bend with the wind, trying to weather every storm with a straight spine. Except … except, no matter how angry I am with him, no matter how much he’s lied, or fucked around, he’s the one who took the biggest risk for me.

He lied for me.

But first, he had to tell Sin. And Beast. And Grainger. Each one of them was a risk, a chink in his armor that could’ve ended with him dying at the hands of the club. The very club that he’s the vice president of.

I finally get the ring off, turning and throwing it at Crown. He manages to catch it in midair which just further pisses me off.

Don’t let anger rule you, Gidge. Didn’t you just tell Grainger that you wouldn’t?

My nostrils flare, but I force myself to close my eyes and let out a long, ragged exhale.

“Why would you ask me that?” I clarify, finally opening my eyes to see Crown staring down at the ring like it’s poisonous. I have never in my life seen a man look at an inanimate object with such hatred. Eventually, he tucks it into his pocket and returns his gaze to me.

“You know why I’m asking.”

We can’t talk freely here, but …

“My humanity means everything to me, Crown,” I explain slowly, trying to parse out my own motives. My emotions are a strange, tangled mess. I’m still getting used to being back here after everything that happened. I was in a different world when I was with Grey, the princess to an entirely different throne.

Since I know that Crown will follow, I shoulder past him and into the hallway, heading back downstairs and outside.

He keeps a healthy distance from me until we’re closer to my grandmother’s house, hidden in the shadows of the woods. Then he gets close. Too close.

His hand grabs my upper arm, squeezing just a bit too hard.

“If you’re in love with him, tell me now,” he whispers. “I’ll do my best to get you out of here.”

That … that does me in.

I’ve been fighting for so long. Against Cat. Against the club. Against the world. I’m tired. So damn tired. When I think about my future—regardless of which path I choose—I see heartache and struggle and pain. But when I look at these men, I see something else alongside all of that.

A dam breaks inside of me, one that I’ve been struggling against for years. It unleashes a great flood, one that even Noah’s ark couldn’t withstand. Those cracks ripple through me and some of the fight leaves. Not much, but a little. I give in.

I give in, not because I’m weak, but because I want to be the sort of person who can feel a spectrum of emotions. I don’t want to leave this world with nothing but the brilliant red of rage painted across my soul. I might not be ready for a rainbow just yet, but the deep blue of sadness is something that I know very well. Instead of shoving that down like I always do, I let it out.

It consumes me.

Tears rip through me, salty and hot. I make no sound, clamping my hand over my mouth, but somehow, Crown knows anyway. Then he hugs me the way he did that night, pulls me in close and envelops me in his warmth. Ahh, that’s why I woke up wanting this from him. He gave me the smallest, most tantalizing taste once upon a time, and I want more.

“It wasn’t about Grey,” I whisper finally, still wrapped in his arms. He’s huge, this man, blanketing me from behind, a wall of muscle and steel and warmth. “I didn’t want to kill someone who didn’t deserve it. Cat was … he was trying to take the very last shred of my humanity.”

I find the strength to pull away from Crown, turning around to look at him. He’s hard to see, considering how dark it is now. Actually, I think dawn is on the horizon, that’s how long I’ve been in Cat’s office. I’m exhausted. And I’m reeling. I have ideas about what I want to do, feelings, intuition.

But concrete plans? Those I do not have.

After what the club did to the mafia, heads are going to roll. War is on its way back into town, and I’m caught firmly in the middle of it.

“You were going to let him. That’s the part I hate the most. You knew what he was doing, and you didn’t stop him.” Crown lets me rant, waiting there in his typical ‘bad boy biker’ pose, the one I like to make fun of the guys for. I guess it really does make them look badass (even if it kills me to admit it). “You let Cat put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. Shoot my …” I choke when I think about my black and white husky, Feminist. He must still be with Reba. It’s in both of their best interests that I don’t contact her. I should let them be, safer without me. “Shoot my dog,” I finish, lifting my chin proudly. “You once basically admitted that if Cat really had intended to kill me, you’d let him. I could see your shame.”

Crown is already shaking his head, running his inked fingers through his hair. Rumor has it that the tattoos on his body tell a whole story. That’s what the club-whores say anyway. It occurs to me that for them to know that, Crown would actually have to spend time talking to them—something that many of the men don’t do. Also, it’s clear he never told them what, exactly, that story was or else the gossip would be all over the compound.

I so desperately want to know that I can feel a churning pain in my chest.

“No.” Just that one word. He steps up to me, his boots toe-to-toe with the rubber-soled slippers I put on after Beast told me to head to the clubhouse. When he grabs my chin, I reach up and curl my fingers around his wrist, feeling the throbbing of his pulse. “Like I said, you only think you’re a master strategist, Gidge.” Crown pauses and wets his full lower lip, drawing my attention to his mouth. Amber’s mouth now. Her property. I don’t want to accept that. “The shame you saw that day was because I would never—could never—allow Cat to truly hurt you.”

“Are you in love with Amber?” I blurt, because Crown is telling me something that I’ve always wanted to hear. Yet he’s engaged. After all this time, he’s done it. Found the woman he’s been waiting for. My question echoes his from earlier. We might not be together, but we can’t stand the thought of the other choosing someone else.

“Amber?” Crown asks, releasing my chin and blinking a few times, like he isn’t sure where the question came from. “What does any of this have to do with Amber?” He sounds mystified, like I’ve thrown a glass of cold water on the tenderness between us.

“How can you say these things to me when she’s waiting for you?” I wonder, trying to decipher the look of annoyance that flashes across his face. “She showed me her ring earlier.” I offer that up, so that he’ll know that I know, but I won’t have to hear him say it.

“Did she?” he asks dryly, looking away from me toward the endless darkness of the woods. God forbid we were ever stuck on this compound during a zombie apocalypse; the ground would come alive. Lord only knows how many bodies are buried out here.

I find it peaceful anyway.

“It’s a pretty ring,” I add, and Crown gives me a harsh look. He knows I’m full of shit. There isn’t a single instance in the multiverse where Gidget Kesselring would say something that shallow and stupid, and mean it seriously.

“Prettier than this?” Crown asks, patting the pocket on his vest where he stashed Grey’s ring.

“I don’t know,” I reply glibly, tossing my hair over my shoulder and acting like there aren’t fresh tears drying on my cheeks. That I didn’t cry for the first time in fucking forever. “Did you blow a half-mil on it?”

“That would be silly,” Crown says slowly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he stares up at the dark canopy above our heads. “I’m the sentimental type.” He looks back at me. “I wanted to give my wife the ring that my aunt inherited from her great-grandmother—my great-great grandmother.”

His aunt. Interesting. Why would he have his aunt’s ring?

Another story that I want to know all about. I want to know everything there is that Crown could possibly tell me.

“It’s not a very traditional sort of ring,” he continues, circling me slowly. I don’t know much about rings or diamonds or whatever, but a yellow diamond isn’t far outside the norm. “It’s got this deep red ruby, almost six carats.” He pauses in front of me again and lifts his brows. “I had it appraised; it’s worth almost a hundred grand now. But I guess that isn’t much compared to this.” Again, he pats his vest pocket, and I frown.

“A ruby?” I ask, this strange, gross sparkly feeling coming over me. It freaks me out; I won’t lie. It tastes like … hope or something. I almost gag on its sickly-sweet taste. “What do you mean?”

Crown puts his hands on his hips and sighs.

“You are still far too young for any of this,” he says, and that does it. I’m annoyed all over again.

“Amber had a yellow diamond on her hand,” I tell him, like he’s an idiot. Or maybe I am, because I keep saying I want to trust these men, and yet, I won’t allow myself to fully commit.

“I’m sure she did. Big Jack and I spent a lot of time picking it out. Looks nice with her hair, doesn’t it?”

I keep staring at him.

Big Jack. It takes me a minute to place the name. Ah. Big Jack is one of my father’s best … mechanics. In that, he can break down an entire car and have the parts sold in less time than it takes most men to replace a carburetor.

“I was hoping my ring would match my girl’s eyes. Not a lot of girls out in the world with red irises. Seemed like fate or some shit.” Crown runs his hand over his face as my heart hammers, and I feel dizzy on my feet.

“You’re not engaged to Amber,” I correct, looking up and into the shadows of his face. He hesitates for a moment before nodding. Just as I can no longer lie to him, he can’t lie to me either. He’s lying to everyone else, so it’s me that will get the full and complete truth from him.

“How could you think that?” he demands after a few seconds of silence. “I … fuck, I put everything on the line for you. What sort of man do you think I am, that I would run off and get engaged to a groupie that I barely know?”

“You’ve fucked her before,” I breathe, and he laughs. It isn’t a very nice laugh.

“Maybe. If I did, I don’t remember. Do you care? Because I don’t.” He moves close to me, and even though I can’t see him very well, I can feel him. His heat, his anger, his need. “The only girl I’ve ever given any thought to is you. So when you …” Here he grits his teeth for a second. “Tased me. Stole my bike. Took that kid. All I could think about was how to keep you safe. Gidge,” Crown begins as I start to tremble. “I wish I could tell you that I did it for some noble reason.” He laughs, the sound harsh and bitter. “I wish I could tell you there was some plot involving your father, that he’s a traitor to the club, anything to make it sound less desperate than it is.” I wait with bated breath, and the stars in the sky pause their winking, the whole world waiting to hear the truth from Calder’s lips. “But it’s not. It’s just about you.” Crown swallows hard and puts his hand over his mouth for a minute before dropping it by his side. “You know how I feel, don’t you? You voiced it once. You told me you didn’t want to be my old lady.”

There’s a long pause there where neither of us quite knows what to say.

“If I asked for you, Cat would’ve told me no. He doesn’t like when you stand up for me, even just a little.” I think about that time in the kitchen before Gaz beat my ass, when Crown tried to protest. The time at the funeral when he spoke up in my defense, those two times he murmured Boss as a warning before Cat’s stunt with the gun to my forehead. “He wouldn’t like me having that much power.”

Crown exhales sharply, the sound electric in the dark. I can feel it in my blood, in every beat of my heart.

I once equated marrying Crown—or any of the men in the club—to shooting Grey in the head. Two different actions with the same result: I’d be trapped. Bound to the club. Bound to its dark deeds. Bound to my status as a second-class citizen. Bound to danger and bullshit and evil and murder.

I’m starting to rethink that.

Instead of a cage, why couldn’t it be armor? Steel and chrome and leather against the world.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want …” How did he phrase it again? When he told me he wanted a wife? “Someone to talk to. Someone to start a family with one day. Someone who’s always on my side, no matter what.” Crown hasn’t moved, but he’s listening to me. Intently. So intently that I shift, suddenly uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny. “I just can’t decide who I want that person to be.”

“There are candidates?” Crown asks softly, but then he answers his own question. “Beast. Sin.” He waits for a moment before daring to add, “Grainger,” with a bit of a tired sigh. That man really is exhausting sometimes, I’ll admit. “Mm. You have good taste, Gidge, I’ll give you that. But only because you’re including me.” He almost smiles but it doesn’t quite stick, and then he starts walking. I keep up with him, shoulder to shoulder, as we make our way to my grandmother’s house.

Crown pauses just beyond the pool of light cast by the porch. Meanwhile, I stop half inside of and half out of it. Light and shadow. It cuts me right in half.

“I’m glad you’re not engaged to Amber,” I tell him quietly, even though it’s hypocritical for me to be engaged to Beast in the same breath. Crown doesn’t respond for so long that I almost wonder whether he heard me or not.

“Goodnight, Gidget,” he says finally, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the diamond ring. He studies it for a long moment before putting it back, his eyes meeting mine before he turns and disappears into the shadows of night.