Page 76 of Gonzo's Grudge
“Don’t get sentimental,” I warned.
“Eat me,” he said, and flicked ash at my boot.
We laughed long enough for the night to remember how.
We didn’t make it a ceremony when she became my old lady. It happened one random day. She had her hand tracing the letters on my cut. I asked her if she understood what it was to be fully engulfed in the Saint’s world. She nodded. For IvaLeigh, wherever I was, she wanted to be. The club was my life and so was she. That night, I slid a small leather strip around her wrist with the Saint’s Outlaw skull stamped in it—property of Gonzo. A promise. She held it like it weighed five pounds of gold.
“What do you feel?” she asked, testing a joke that was absolutely our own
“Alive,” I said, because that’s still the only word big enough and small enough to fit.
I’d never had a chapter close without a fight or a fire. This one closed like a door you meant to shut. No exit. Just home.
No woman had ever set terms and then stood in them with me. None had ever let my bad plumbing water her field and still called it rain. She did. I wanted to be the man those terms deserved.
Pop Squally always said the road tells you the truth about yourself because it shakes the lies loose. He was right. The road shook me clean. All that was left was a heartbeat under a scarred palm and a girl who put a toothbrush in my cup.
For life.
Epilogue
Gonzo
The music rolled heavy through the clubhouse, bass thumping the floor, laughter carrying louder than the jukebox. Cigarette smoke curled in the air, bottles clinked, boots thudded on scarred wood, and for the first time in a long damn time, I felt calm, still even.
At peace.
Pop’s ghost lingered, but not like a weight anymore. More like a presence that gave me a nod from the shadows, letting me know he was proud. We’d avenged him, honored him, kept the code he taught us. Tonight was about more than loss—it was about everything that came after.
And she was on my arm.
IvaLeigh moved through the clubhouse like she’d been born to it, chin up, eyes steady, smile soft but sure. She wasn’t trying to blend, and she wasn’t trying to stand out. She just was. And every brother saw it—the difference in me when she was there.
I caught Burn smirking from across the table, muttering something to Disciple that made the man laugh into his beer. Tower raised his bottle in a mock toast, and Shanks elbowed GJ like look at your old man now.
Yeah. Look at me now.
The woman at my side was the only thing that had ever calmed the fire in my chest. She’d said “for life,” and I’d taken it like gospel.
Later, when the whiskey had been poured and the food was gone and the music dropped into the background hum of engines idling out front, I stood.
The room stilled.
“Brothers,” I said, voice carrying across the table. “You know me. You know when I make a vow, I keep it.”
“Amen to that,” someone muttered.
Before I could go on, GJ’s voice cut in, loud and proud. “I’m free because of that.”
The room rumbled—agreement, respect, cheers muffled by the weight of truth.
I nodded at my boy. He’d earned the right to say it. Then I looked back at the table, at my brothers, at the family Pop left me to carry.
“I’ve made vows of vengeance,” I said. “And I’ve kept every damn one. But tonight, I want to make a vow not of blood but of loyalty. To this club. To all of you. As your president, you’ll never doubt where my loyalty lies.”
A murmur spread through the room. Respect. Trust. The kind of sound men make when they believe what they hear.
Then I turned.
