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“They already are. Raven sent me a text that said, and I quote, ‘She’s at Hair Of The Dog. If you hurt her, I’ll cut your balls off. But you should definitely hurt her a little.’”
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the rooftop. “I love that woman.”
“I know.” He takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get back before she sends a search party.”
“Judge?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we came to Vegas.”
He looks at me, and something softens in his expression. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I needed to see them. Crimson. The girls. All of it.” I squeeze his hand. “But I’m not ready to stay.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“The road is...” I search for the right word. “Home. The road is home now. As long as you’re on it with me.”
He doesn’t respond with words. He just lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss against my knuckles, rough and reverent, and that’s enough. That’s everything.
We climb down from the rooftop, hand in hand, and I feel the grit of the concrete still embedded in my knees, the ache of him still between my thighs, the warmth of his fingers laced through mine. My hair is a mess. My makeup is ruined. I smell like sex and sweat and tequila.
I’ve never felt more alive.
Raven and Harper are waiting by the bikes when we round the corner. Raven takes one look at me and grins.
“How was the punishment?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Shut. Up.”
Harper hides her smile behind her beer bottle. “I’m glad you came to visit, Poppy.”
“Me too.” I lean into Walker’s side, his arm settling around my shoulders like it was made to rest there. “Me too.”
We ride back to the chapter house, the Vegas lights shrinking in the rearview, and I press my cheek to Walker’s back and listen to the road sing beneath us. Tomorrow, I’ll see Crimson. Tomorrow, I’ll face the looks and the questions and the reality of what I’ve become and what I’ve left behind.
But tonight, I’m just a woman on the back of her man’s bike, wind in her hair, freedom in her veins, and the taste of him still lingering on her tongue.
Three months on the road, and I wouldn’t trade a single mile.
Not one.
Epilogue
Sunset on a Rider’s Dawn
Walker
Crimson sits in a chair and stares at us while he holds a cup of coffee that went cold an hour ago. He doesn’t move. That’s mostly because of the pain, but it’s frustrating to Poppy who needs the action. Her staying still for more than a few moments is ... challenging.
“Easy,” I murmur when she twitches for the fifth time in twenty seconds. “He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
She huffs at me. “He’s not talking because he’s waiting for someone else, you arrogant ass. It’s just not us.”
