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He took my hands in his, his gaze locked with mine, and slowly knelt on one knee, the traditional gesture underscoring the depth of his commitment. You could hear a pin drop. Every eye in the clubhouse on us, witnessing the vulnerability and strength of the man I loved.
“Star, from the moment we met, you’ve turned my world upside down,” Riptide began, his voice cracking. “And I’m not just talking about months ago. You’ve had a special place in my heart for such a long time. And now, I found peace in your eyes, and a home in your heart. You’ve challenged me, changed me, and shown me what it truly means to love and be loved.”
He reached into his vest, pulling out a small velvet box and opened it. My breath caught. Inside was a gold ring, but not just any ring. It was shaped like a star, crafted in gleaming gold and set with diamonds that sparkled like they’d caught fire from the sun itself. The star design wasn’t dainty or delicate. It had an edge to it, bold and striking. Each point of the star was detailed with these tiny, brilliant diamonds, making it shine with a wild, untamed light.
“I want to spend the rest of my days with you, riding the roads, facing whatever life throws at us, together. Brat… Star, will you marry me?”
The room held its breath as I gazed down at him, the love in his eyes a mirror of my own feelings.
“Yes, Hudson, Riptide,” I whispered, the word a promise, a declaration, a beginning. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Cheers erupted around us as Riptide stood, sliding the heavy ring onto my finger, and we sealed our promise with a kiss, deep and sure, in front of our assembled families and friends.
But the moment of celebration was abruptly interrupted as the doors burst open, revealing dad and his crew, looking victorious but worn, their clothes splattered with blood. The room tensed, the atmosphere shifting as his voice cut through the commotion.
“We took care of Marco’s body,” he announced, shaking dirt from his clothes. “The threat is gone. For now.”
A murmur of shock and relief swept through the crowd. The sudden shift from engagement bliss to the dangers we faced was jarring. The room, still processing the news, turned back to us, the center of the unfolding story.
Looking down at Riptide’s hands, I noticed the blood outlining his fingernails. Searching his crew, I saw they too had red dots on their faces. “You, too, huh?”
“Yeah, I killed that bastard with my bare hands,” Riptide admitted.
My dad came over and patted Riptide on the back but spoke to me. “Got you a keeper, Star. Now, I’m ready for a wedding.”
Emery, ever the peacemaker, added with a smile, “And just so you know, Arizona, here, is a preacher, now.”
My brother leaving the biker life was a shock. I said as much.
Arizona spoke up. “I’ve not left, sis. Yeah. We can have the wedding whenever you two are ready. But you’ll have to make it legal with the state at some point.”
I laughed, the absurdity and beauty of our life, our world, filling me with fierce joy. “Well, let’s not rush things,” I said, looking around at the faces of our family, both blood and chosen. “We all know you can afford the trip back to Florida when we’re ready to walk down the aisle.”
The laughter and conversation resumed, a little more subdued now, but with an underlying current of triumph. I refused to think about the consequences of killing a man with connections like Marco. Not now. As I stood there with Riptide, our future together both clear and uncertain, I felt a profound sense of love and belonging. Our ride wouldn’t be easy, but with our families, our clubs, and each other, we were ready to face whatever came next.
Epilogue
Brat
A year had passed since Riptide and I got engaged, a year filled with negotiations, planning, and the gradual, sometimes uneasy, merging of our clubs and lives. Our wedding day arrived, bathed in the golden light of a Florida sunset, the perfect backdrop for a biker wedding that would be talked about for years to come.
The Roost, once a battleground of fierce loyalty and rivalry, now stood as a picturesque venue for our wedding, embodying the spirit of unity that had come to define our clubs. The transformation was stunning, with swathes of lace draped over tables and chairs, softening the usual harshness of the biker bar. Intermingled with the delicate fabric, leather accents paid homage to our roots, creating a visual representation of the blending of our worlds.
Outside, the once contentious boundary of the clubhouse was now marked by rows of motorcycles on either side of the walkway. These machines, once symbols of division, now shone under the Florida sun, forming a gleaming guard of honor for the bridal procession. Their chrome details caught the light, casting playful reflections on the ground, mirroring the joy and excitement of the day.
The air was filled with the sound of laughter and conversation as members from the Hell on Heelz and the Seville Slayers, adorned in their finest cuts and some in dresses, came together not as rivals but as guests, friends, and for some, as newfound lovers. The previous animosities had all but faded, replaced by shared stories and jokes, the clinking of glasses in toasts to the future.
Cross-club romances, once unthinkable, were now celebrated openly, with couples intertwined, sharing looks of affection and whispered endearments. These relationships were powerful symbols of the new era upon which we were embarking, showcasing the potential for harmony and understanding when old grudges were laid to rest.
Everywhere I looked, the signs of change were evident, from the mingling of the club colors in the decor to the way members interacted, their camaraderie a testament to the enduring power of love and respect. The Roost, with its history of conflict and loyalty, had become a beacon of hope and unity, the perfect backdrop for a wedding that symbolized so much more than the union of two people. Our wedding represented the coming together of two worlds, forever altered, forever intertwined.
As I made my way down the aisle, the gravel beneath my feet crunched, a steady rhythm to the beat of my heart. My dad Scar’s presence beside me was a pillar of strength, his arm a symbol of familial support and pride. My dress, a stunning creation of white lace beneath a black leather corset, flowed around me. Topped with my vest, the contrasting materials together were a striking dance of tradition and rebellion. It was a garment that spoke of my identity, a Heel with a heart open to love and change, stepping forward into a union that bridged two worlds.
Riptide, my soon-to-be husband, stood at the end of the aisle, the striking figure he was. His dress, though, was informal. After all, he was a club president. His cut carried the unmistakable essence of the biker life we cherished.
Arizona, my brother and now officiant, stepped forward to begin the ceremony. His words were more than just formalities. They were the echoes of our past trials, the celebration of our present joy, and the hopeful whisper of our future together.
As Riptide and I exchanged vows, our world seemed to hold its breath. Our promises were not mere words but heartfelt declarations. We vowed fidelity and support, certainly, but went beyond committing to a partnership of shared adventures and mutual respect. The rawness and honesty of our vows, in the presence of our families and club members, resonated in the silent spaces between words, binding us not just in matrimony but in a shared promise of a life woven together with love, respect, and the unyielding strength of unity.
