Page 67 of Fang

“Tell me,” I urge, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “What does our future look like in your head?”

Fang’s hand stills on my shoulder, his expression turning thoughtful. “Rory completes his treatment successfully. The experimental protocol works, maybe not perfectly, but enough that he doesn’t need dialysis anymore.” His thumb traces my shoulder blade with precise, gentle strokes. “He stays here while he recovers, then maybe goes to college if he wants. I’ve got connections at MIT who owe me favors.”

I smile against his skin, warming to this vision. “Rory would love that. He always wanted to study engineering before he got sick.”

“Meanwhile, we work together to systematically dismantle the cartel’s operations.” His voice grows more animated, the tech genius emerging through the injuries.

“And us?” I prompt, wanting to hear the part that matters most.

His arms tighten around me fractionally. “During the day, we work together. Your coding skills and cartel knowledge, my systems expertise. We become the club’s digital enforcement arm. And at night, we come home to each other. Maybe eventually to a bigger place than this room, but still close to the club. Still protected.”

“Your secret safe house?” I ask.

“No. I’d like to keep that in case we need to stash anyone else there. You deserve something better than that place. It’s too small for us.”

The image settles into my mind like a photograph developing—a future I never dared imagine during my years with the cartel. A life built on choices rather than coercion.

“I’m scared,” I admit, the confession easier in the darkness, in the safety of his arms. “Not of staying, but of hoping. Every time I’ve hoped for something better, the universe has found new ways to punish me for it.”

“Hope isn’t a punishable offense,” Fang says, his lips brushing my forehead. “And you’re not alone anymore. Whatever comes, we face it together. The club, you, me. Even Rory, when he’s stronger.”

I prop myself up on my elbow, studying his face in the dim light filtering through the blinds. The bruises stand out in stark relief, reminders of how dangerous our path remains.

“I’m ready to fight them,” I tell him, voicing the realization that’s been forming since I made my choice. “They controlled my past, and I’ll never get that time back. But they won’t get a single second of my future.”

Fang’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch reverent. “The future is ours. We’ll use it to dismantle the cartel, one server, one account, one corrupt official at a time.”

“Until there’s nothing left of them,” I agree, turning to press a kiss into his palm.

“I may never find out what happened to Tommy, but I’m starting to find peace. Helping Rory and talking to you…it healed something inside me.” His voice cracks.

“You saved my brother. That means everything to me. I know you’ll always have a little piece of your heart missing because of Tommy, but Rory loves you like a brother. He’ll never replace Tommy, but he doesn’t want to. He just wants to be a part of a family again.”

“He is,” Fang says softly. “He’s part of ours now and he always will be. We may not be blood brothers, but we’re brothers for life now. I’ll always have his back, and he’ll have mine. It’s what family does for each other.”

“It is now.” I smile and kiss him gently.

As I snuggle against him, we fall into comfortable silence. Outside, a motorcycle engine roars to life in the compound, the sound fading as the rider heads out into the night. Somewhere in Baltimore, Rory sleeps in a hospital bed, his body beginningthe long process of recovery. And here, in this room that smells of antiseptic and sex and possibilities, I’ve found something I thought forever beyond my reach.

Home.

Fang’s breathing deepens, sleep finally claiming him as exhaustion and painkillers win out over adrenaline. I remain awake a little longer, watching the rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the peaceful lines of his face in repose. When I finally close my eyes, it’s with the certainty that when I open them again, he’ll still be there.

Chapter 25: Mina

6 Months Later…

The scent of hairspray and perfume hangs in the air inside Babet’s bedroom, mixing with the flutter of excitement in my stomach. I sit perfectly still as Babet’s weathered fingers weave magic through my hair, pinning and spraying each section with the precision of someone who’s done this countless times before. The mirror reflects a version of me I barely recognize—eyes bright with anticipation rather than vigilance, cheeks flushed with joy instead of fear, lips curved in a smile that comes easier these days.

“Stop fidgeting, cher,” Babet scolds gently, tucking another sparkling pin into my updo. “You’ll make me mess up this masterpiece.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, forcing my hands to lie flat against the silky material of the robe draped over my lap. “I’ve dismantled security systems with steadier hands than this.”

Babet chuckles, the sound warm and maternal in a way that still catches me off guard sometimes. “Wedding jitters are a different beast, sugar. Trust me on that.”

Two years ago, I would have laughed at anyone who suggested I’d be sitting here on my wedding day, surrounded by makeup brushes and hair tools instead of computer equipmentand weapons. Back then, survival was the only future I could imagine—keeping Rory alive, staying one step ahead of the cartel. Now, here I am, preparing to walk down the aisle to a man who saw past all my defenses, who helped save my brother, who showed me that family can be chosen rather than just born into.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, and the door opens to reveal Rory, his face split by a wide grin. My breath catches at the sight of him—tall and straight, his shoulders filling out the crisp lines of his suit jacket, his face flushed with healthy color. The hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes that haunted me for years have been replaced by the vibrant young man I always knew was trapped inside that failing body.

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