Page 55 of Tank

Sophie ducks her head, pink staining her cheeks. "I love him so much it scares me sometimes," she whispers. "Is it crazy to be this happy after everything?"

"Crazy? Nah. It's a fucking miracle." I pull her in close, mindful of the delicate dress, and just breathe her in. Girly andsweet like honeysuckle. "You fought like hell to get here. Both of you. This is your goddamn reward."

Sniffling, Sophie squeezes me back fiercely before pulling away. She swipes at her misty eyes, careful not to smudge the mascara we so painstakingly applied. "No crying yet! I promised Tank I'd make it down the aisle without turning into a total mess."

“Good luck with that." Carlie pops up beside us, grinning impishly. "I give it two minutes tops before the waterworks start."

"Such a softie, our Sophie," Jenny chimes in, bumping her hip against Sophie's playfully.

Sophie huffs out a laugh, flipping them both off. "Screw you guys. I'm a motherfucking bad ass biker bride."

Carlie throws an arm around Sophie's shoulders, careful not to mess up her veil. "In all seriousness though, honey, you look absolutely stunning. Tank’s eyeballs are gonna fall right outta his head when he sees you coming down that aisle."

Sophie preens under the compliment, standing a little taller, blue eyes sparkling. "Ya think?"

Jenny nods. "That man won't know what hit him."

Pride surges through my chest, fierce and bright. My brave, beautiful little bird, ready to fly. And I'll be right there to catch her if she falters. Always.

"Alright, alright, enough chit chat," I say, slipping effortlessly into bossy bitch mode. "Let's get this show on the road before the natives get restless."

On cue, raucous hoots and hollers erupt from outside, the distinct rumble of bikes filling the air. The cavalry has arrived.

Sophie's smile is blinding, incandescent. She squares her slim shoulders, sucks in a shaky breath. "I'm ready."

And hand in hand, hearts full to bursting, we step out into the sunshine together. Toward the next chapter. The rest of our lives.

Just a couple of broken dolls, pieced back together with tears and sisterhood and the unshakable love of some damn good men.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

As we make our way outside, a wave of memories floods my mind, slamming into me with the force of a freight train. Fragments of my old life, jagged and bitter, slice through the joy of the day, reminding me of just how far I've come.

"Chloe? Honey, you okay?" Sophie's concerned voice yanks me back to the present. To sunlight and safety. Home.

I blink, shaking off the clinging cobwebs of the past. "Yeah, sorry. Just...remembering."

She squeezes my hand, understanding shining in her eyes. No need for words. We both carry our scars, visible and otherwise.

The roar of engines grows louder, dragging my gaze out the window to the long line of bikes rumbling down the dirt road. Leather and chrome glinting in the sun, an undeniable display of strength and solidarity.

And at the head of the pack, a familiar figure astride a massive black Harley. Dagger.

My heart does a traitorous little flip in my chest as he dismounts, tall frame unfolding with lethal grace. Jesus, the man is pure sex in worn denim and scuffed leather. Dangerous. Delicious.

The thrum of anticipation builds as we gather in an unused office area of Perdition. Carlie fusses with Sophie's veil, tears glistening in her eyes. Jenny secures a delicate strand of pearls at Sophie's throat. I step closer, my heart so full it aches. "Soph..."Words stick in my throat, tangled up with a thousand unspoken emotions.

She turns to me, ethereal in the soft light. "I know, Chlo." Her hand finds mine, squeezing. "I wouldn't be here without you."

"Damn straight." I laugh, blinking back the sting of tears. "You're gonna rock this wife thing."

Sophie giggles, a sound of pure joy. The haunted shadows in her eyes have faded, replaced by a fierce hope that leaves me breathless.

"It's time," Carlie murmurs, ushering us into formation.

The first strains of the wedding march reach my ears as we step into the sunlight. I falter, stunned by the transformation of the Iron Reapers compound.

Twinkling lights drape the trees, their soft glow a stark contrast to the row of gleaming motorcycles flanking the aisle. Wildflowers spill from mason jars, a riot of color against the weathered wood of the benches. Rugged men in black leather stand shoulder to shoulder with women in sundresses, a beautiful collision of worlds.

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