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“Don’t need to.” I swung my legs off the stretcher. “I had help, but I’m guilty. However you look at it. I did my time. Now, I just want to move forward.” I shrugged. “It’s all part of the consequences of my actions. And I’m OK with it.”

“Are you sure?” Lana looked from Ethan to me and back.

“I knew what I was doing.” I stood, found my shirt on the chair where Pain had tossed it. “Maybe I didn’t know everything at the time, but I did my part for a payday. I made choices, and I paid for them.”

Ethan pushed off the counter, coming closer. “You’d still be a convicted felon. Record stays. Employment, housing, everything that follows you --”

“Follows me already.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I have my family. Here. We’ve all made mistakes and we’ve all paid the price. If the rest of the world won’t accept me?” I grinned. “Fuck ‘em.”

“All right, then.” Lana straightened. “I’ll file it all away. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“Are you sure, Dane?” Brielle looked up at me as she handed me my cut. She’d done her best to get any blood clean from the leather, but I would definitely have to have some repair work. The damned bullet exited out the side of my vest, leaving a nice hole in the leather. Then again, maybe I’d leave it.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

The smile she gave me was brilliant as she leaned into me carefully and placed a soft kiss on my mouth. “I’m good with whatever you’re good with. As long as we’re both free.”

Lana smiled. “Yeah, honey. You’re both free.”

* * *

Later that night, after the run finished and all the prominent citizens of Nashville who’d attended the event to see and be seen by us normal folks had gone home to their stuffy upscale lives, the members, prospects, old ladies, and even the few club girls still hanging around put on a party the likes of which would probably make those same prominent citizens of Nashville clutch their pearls and collapse onto their fainting couches. The clubhouse roared. Black lights made light-colored objects glow eerily in the dim illumination.

Somebody had strung orange pumpkin lights along the bar. There were also skeletons in tiny leather cuts hanging from the rafters with their plastic bones clacking when the bass hit, looking like some kind of macabre puppet show. Costumed bodies packed the floor, leather and latex and one idiot in a full banana suit. Sutton might have taken the morning from us, but he wasn’t getting the night.

I found Brielle near the pool tables, arguing with Oktober about whether a corner pocket shot was possible from where he stood. She wore a witch hat with a crooked brim, and her face was flushed from whatever she’d been drinking. Oktober saw me coming and scowled. “I hope you’re here to be my backup, Dane.”

“Your backup?” Brielle leaned against the cue stick. “You’re the one not listening to reason.” She turned to smile up at me. “Hi, baby.”

“Come here.” I pulled her into my arms for a brief, soft kiss, then led her through the crowd, past the bar where Knuckles stood with Gunnar beside him, past the old ladies clustered near the kitchen. The center of the main room had cleared somehow, a space opening like water parting, and I knew everyone had seen me coming with Brielle. They knew what was about to happen and everyone smiled with genuine happiness. For me. For us.

I stopped in the center of everyone and turned to face her. The property cut I intended to give her rested in my hands. Black leather, the Kiss of Death logo on the back, “Property of Dane” proudly displayed around the emblem. The raucous music and partying gradually softened until the clubhouse was more hushed than I’d ever witnessed.

Brielle’s gaze went to the vest. Then to me.

“You said we’d talk about it later.” I handed her the vest, giving her what I hoped was a defiant look. “It’s later.”

Brielle looked at the vest, then to me. “Um, this isn’t exactly talking.”

“Nope.” I still held out the vest, stepping closer until she had to either take it, or refuse me in a very, very public way.

With a grin, Brielle took the vest and slid onto her slim shoulders. “‘Bout fuckin’ time.” The clubhouse roared in approval. Congratulations all around.

Without warning, the overhead lights flipped on, sharp and bright. Everyone groaned.

“The fuck?”

“What the hell’s goin’ on?”

“Put out the fuckin’ light!”

“Turn the music back on!’

“I need to pee…”

I have no idea who said that last.

Pain moved to the center of the room. His hair stood on end, and in his hand, a stack of papers that looked like they’d been crumpled and smoothed and crumpled again. His face was flushed, and he looked like he was convinced the universe had conspired to kill him. Behind him, Nadine stopped mid-drink, her glass frozen halfway to her mouth.