Page 88 of Rebel

“Say it again,” I murmured into her hair.

“I love you.”Clearer this time, no hesitation.“God help me.”

I laughed, the sound rumbling through my chest.“God help us both.”

We lay there in the dim light, the newly transformed bedroom a cocoon around us.Rio’s breathing gradually slowed, deepened as she drifted toward sleep.I stayed awake, my hand stroking her back in slow, gentle circles.The night wrapped around us, quiet and full of possibility.In the morning, we’d face the world -- her demons, my responsibilities to the club, the everyday challenges of building a life together.But for now, in this raw, vulnerable moment, there was just us.Just this.

Our shared journey had just begun.

Epilogue

Rio

Three Weeks Later

My hands trembled as I smoothed down the front of my wedding dress.Not from fear, but from the weight of the moment.Outside, the rumble of motorcycles announced more arrivals to the compound.The Devil’s Boneyard MC didn’t do traditional weddings, but they did do family and today was about making official what we all already knew -- Rebel and I belonged to each other.I took a deep breath, the smell of the makeshift dressing room in the clubhouse strangely comforting as I prepared to walk out and bind my life to a man who lived as dangerously as his name suggested.

The dress wasn’t white.That would’ve been a joke.Instead, I’d chosen a pale blue that hugged my curves before falling in elegant folds to my ankles.The back dipped low, exposing the tattoo spanning my shoulders -- the club’s emblem intertwined with wildflowers, marking me as both fierce and feminine.Charming had given his permission before I’d gotten it.No veil, just my hair styled in loose waves that fell past my shoulders.My only concession to tradition was the pendant my mother had given me.

I stepped outside and squinted against the harsh sunlight.The compound had transformed.Rows of folding chairs faced a makeshift altar, all arranged in the open space where normally bikes were parked in haphazard formations.Today, dozens of motorcycles lined the perimeter instead, chrome gleaming in the sun, a steel fence protecting our gathering.

“Nervous?”a female voice asked behind me.

I didn’t turn.Didn’t need to.I knew it was Josie.“Not about marrying him.”

“Just about doing it in front of everyone?”

I nodded, surveying the guests.Club members stood in clusters, leather cuts emblazoned with the Devil’s Boneyard patch on full display.Some had cleaned up -- trimmed beards and fresh T-shirts -- while others looked like they’d just rolled in from a week-long ride.Women in varying degrees of biker chic mingled among them, mostly old ladies, but two club girls had asked to attend after seeing the way I handled myself -- all part of this world that had become mine.

Allies from other clubs had shown up too.I recognized cuts from the Dixie Reapers, Devil’s Fury, and even a few from the Reckless Kings.I’d met some of them briefly before.In our world, alliances meant survival, and their presence meant respect -- both for the club and for Rebel.

My eyes found Charming at the front of the gathering.He stood on a raised wooden platform, his posture commanding attention even before he spoke.His cut looked freshly cleaned, and I’d have sworn he’d gotten a haircut.In his hands, incongruously, he held a clipboard.I couldn’t think of what he’d have on there except maybe a cheat sheet for presiding over this wedding.He’d gotten ordained online for the occasion.His eyes scanned the crowd, assessing, always the President even in celebration.

“Time to go,” the voice behind me said, and this time I turned to see one of the club girls giving me a knowing smile.“Your man’s waiting.”

I took another deep breath and began the walk.No wedding march played.Instead, the ambient sounds of the compound -- distant engines, low conversations, the whisper of wind through the surrounding trees -- created a soundtrack more fitting for who we were.

Rebel stood waiting, and the sight of him stole my breath.His cut was, for once, paired with a button-down shirt instead of his usual worn T-shirt or henley.His dark hair had been slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the intensity of his gaze as he watched me approach.Dixon Morreli -- Rebel to everyone else -- looked dangerous and beautiful, and entirely mine.

Scratch and Havoc flanked him like sentinels, both men nodding with approval as I approached.The old guard, showing their support for this union.Behind them stood Shade.

The crowd parted for me, some nodding, others offering brief smiles.I wasn’t just marrying Rebel; I was cementing my place in this family.The weight of that commitment pressed on me as heavily as the vows I was about to speak.

I reached Rebel, and his hand, warm and calloused, took mine.“You clean up nice,” I whispered.

“Speak for yourself,” he returned, his eyes darkening as they took in the dress.“Not sure I’ll have the patience to get you out of that properly later.”

“You’ll manage.If you tear it, you’ll spend our wedding night in the ER.”Rebel only grinned at me in response.

Charming cleared his throat, and the murmur of conversations died.He looked down at his clipboard, then surveyed the gathered crowd, his expression serious but with the hint of satisfaction that came from seeing his club strong and united.

“We don’t stand on ceremony here,” he began, his voice carrying easily across the compound.“But some things deserve marking.Today, we bind two warriors with a bond built on loyalty and the road we ride together.”

His words resonated through me.Not the traditional “dearly beloved,” but something that spoke to who we really were -- fighters who had found each other in a world that demanded strength.

“Rio,” Charming continued, “came to us already carrying the spirit of the road.She proved herself worthy of our trust and our protection.”

I felt Rebel’s hand tighten around mine.We both knew what Charming meant.My path to the club hadn’t been easy, and the trials I’d faced had left scars both visible and hidden.Those same trials had brought me to Rebel’s attention, and eventually, to his side.

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