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“Where?” I asked in a small voice.
“There. The place where they’re meant to be. With who they’re meant to be with.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though there hasn’t been near enough drama for it to be the end of this.”
“There’s been drama,” I countered. “More than enough of it. Maybe we’re done.”
He laughed. Actually threw his head back and cackled. “No, my girl, done is something we aren’t, nor will we ever be,” he said once he’d finished. “Especially you. You aren’t one to live quiet, my girl. Not one to love quiet. It’s comin’. Just make sure the causalities are other fuckers who ain’t you,” he ordered.
I smiled. “Of course. You taught me well.”
He grinned back, full of melancholy that I’d never glimpsed on Steg’s face. Every funeral, every injury, every battle, Steg was dry-eyed and determined. He was the face of the Sons of Templar, after all, and emotions meant weakness.
The Sons of Templar weren’t weak.
But now, in the corner of the room, I was watching. Not weakness, but some other kind of strength.
“It’s in your blood,” he said. “Your daddy did the real work, raisin’ a little girl who could outshoot me before she finished elementary school, instilling loyalty in you that almost made you throw away your own happiness for the club that your father taught you to die for. I just picked up where he left off. And even at seven, the job of raisin’ you was done. Only thing I had to do was give you enough space, enough freedom to be, but enough direction not to get yourself killed.” He squeezed my hand. “You’re a good woman, Rosie. You’re the heart of this club, just remember that. So making decisions to fill that heart up is never going to break the club.”
His eyes went to Luke once more, whose eyes were on me, dancing with a playfulness that I didn’t think would’ve been possible today.
Maybe wishes did come true.
For a time, at least.
Chapter Nineteen
Two Months Later
“Motherfucker is dead,” I said as soon as I opened the door.
Just because it had been two months of what I could only call peace, that didn’t mean I wasn’t prepared for chaos.
I had expected it to be my own. I was okay with that. I was ready for that. Partly because I was used to it. Mostly because I had Luke at my side and felt all corny and cliché that with him, with us finally together, we could do anything.
It wasn’t perfect. Life never was.
But it was something close to it.
We fought. A lot.
We also made up. A lot.
We were basically living together. Most of our time was spent at his place because it was bigger, closer to all my favorite restaurants and had more exciting surfaces to have sex on.
He had tried to get me to move in with him almost immediately after we’d gotten home from Amber. I’d said no. Not because of the normal reasons about it being too fast or that I needed to keep my independence or whatever bullshit women spouted when they were too afraid to make a dangerous decision.
Because no matter how much I liked the space and location of Luke’s or the coziness and residency of my shoe collection, neither of them were home.
Now that I’d decided to jump in with both my Manolo-clad feet, I was going all in, in Rosie style. So we were looking for a home.
Together.
But I was not about to rush into where that new home would be. Like Cher said in Clueless, “You know how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.” That was my attitude about our home. And also my shoes.
Luke was patient. “If this is going to be your home, your real one, your first real one, then take ten months to choose, babe. Take ten years. I’ve found my home. I’m holding it in my arms. So I’ll wait for the perfect four walls and roof. As long as I fall asleep and wake up with you, the rest is just details.”
Of course he just had to go all romantic. And I looked like an asshole for caring about the four walls and a roof. I loved him. A lot. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want the perfect house.
It was busy, house hunting, working together, hanging out with the family I’d missed greatly, and having all the sex. So busy that there wasn’t time for too much drama. Or at least stuff that was out of the ordinary. Being in love with a man who you also worked with bounty hunting and such could be perceived as drama.
I perceived it as just another Tuesday.
But now drama was at my door. In the form of Polly.
With an eye so bruised and swollen that she likely couldn’t see out of it.
