Black Hills Redemption
Rook blinked. “Gia, no. It’s not safe. The clubhouse is—”
“Is where your president is questioning your loyalty,” she cut in, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “Because of me. Because you chose to protect your brothers when they needed you most.” She stepped closer, meeting his intense gaze. “You stood by me. Now I stand by you. That’s what family does, Rook. And like it or not, you’re my family now too.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then a flicker of warmth softened his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything,” she said, grabbing her jacket.
The ride to the Iron Hounds’ clubhouse was tense, the rumble of the engine mirroring the turmoil in Gia’s stomach. The compound was a fortress—high chain-link fences, armed prospects patrolling, the air thick with tension and the acrid scent of smoke. Inside, the main room bore the scars of battle—shattered glass, overturned furniture, bullet holes pocking the walls. Mack sat at the bar, his left arm in a sling, face pale but eyes sharp. He looked up as they entered, his gaze narrowing on Rook, then shifting to Gia with open surprise.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, girl,” Mack said, his voice gravelly.
“Didn’t expect to be here, Mack,” Gia replied, stepping forward. Rook hovered protectively at her shoulder. “But Rook needed to be here. And I wasn’t letting him face this alone.” She met Mack’s assessing stare. “He told me what you said. About his loyalty.”
Mack’s expression hardened. “Club business, Gia. Not yours.”
“It is now,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “Because Rook is mine. And I’m his.” She felt Rook stiffen beside her, but she pressed on. “You questioned his loyalty? He left me—his old lady—to come defend you. To defend his brothers. He put the club first, Mack. Even when it tore him apart.” Her gaze swept the damaged room, the battered but resolute faces of the Hounds. “He’s the most loyal man I’ve ever met. And if you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve him.”
Silence fell, thick and heavy. Mack studied her, then Rook, for a long, tense moment. Finally, he let out a slow breath, a flicker of respect in his eyes. “You got fire, girl. Just like your old man.” He turned to Rook. “You gonna let her fight your battles for you, brother?”
Rook stepped forward, his hand finding Gia’s, intertwining their fingers. “She’s not fighting for me, Prez. She’s fighting for us. For the life we want. And I want that life. With her.” He met Mack’s gaze squarely. “I’m still your brother. I’ll still bleed for this club. But she’s my future. And I’m not giving her up. Not for anything.”
Another beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mack nodded. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Guess the Iron Hounds are gaining an old lady.” He raised his voice, addressing the room. “Meeting’s over. We rebuild. We ride.” His gaze landed on Rook and Gia. “You two… go sort your shit out. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Relief, potent and sweet, washed over Gia. Rook’s hand tightened on hers, pulling her close. “Let’s go home, baby,” he whispered, his tone raw with feeling.
They rode back to Sturgis as the sun began to paint the sky in streaks of pink and gold, the open road stretching before them, a promise of freedom and a future. Pulling up outside Pepe’s Customs, Gia dismounted, her gaze drawn to the shop sign, its neon letters glowing softly in the gathering dusk. Rook parked his bike beside hers, the chrome gleaming. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her head.
“Looks good,” he murmured, his voice a warm rumble against her back. “Like it was always meant to be there.”
Gia leaned into him, a sense of rightness settling deep in her bones. The shop, her father’s legacy, now flanked by Rook’s bike—a symbol of their joined paths, their chosen family. She reached up, stroking the stubble on his jaw. “It was,” she whispered. “We were.”