His Runaway Mountain Bride by Madison Faye

The bike roared, the engine thundering like Valhalla on wheels, and I grinned. I killed the throttle, letting the beast spin back down before I stepped away and smiled at the bike hooked up to the stationary track in the garage.

I’d been halfway decent with engines having grown up with Shepherd as my friend. But over the last few months, I’d gotten very good at it, and it was showing.

“It’s sounding pretty fucking good man,” Ryker grunted as he stepped forward.

“Purring like a fucking kitten, huh?”

“Yeah, a kitten who could tear your fucking face off.”

We were in the garage, but it wasn’t Mountain Steel Motors. It was the new one Ryker had helped us put together up at our new clubhouse—the same old hanger out at the airfield where we’d fought Marcello’s men. We’d built it up, added the garage, added some outbuildings, and some living quarters too, and now, it was basically ready.

I glanced up at the big skull and roses crest on the wall, and then glanced over to see Ryker doing the same.

“You know there’s always a spot for you, man. Fuck, Shep would probably even gladly give you the reigns.”

Ryker grinned and shook his head. “Nah, man. Appreciate it, but I’m all set just being your mechanic consultant.” He glanced up at the crest again though, and his smiled widened. “Fuck, I can’t even tell you how happy I am to see the Lost Devils flag flying proud again.”

Yeah, the band was back together.

After that snowy night in the parking lot of The Pines, I’d formally quit the Bureau. I got an earful from Dante, too, but I think he got it. He knew who I was and saw that I was grinding gears with how things were run. I mean, I don’t think he knew I was leaving to go start a fucking motorcycle club, but we stayed in touch a little. Word also got out quick that most of Anthony Marcello’s organization had been either killed or jailed, and his reign in Chicago was over. A few weeks later, the FBI got an anonymous tip—courtesy of yours truly—about his whereabouts, and they nabbed him up pretty quick. Yeah, I could have gone myself and put a bullet in his head, but I took the higher ground. Plus, offering up a hugely wanted mob boss to the boys at the FBI smoothed things over with Dante. And hey, that’s an I.O.U. I don’t mind keeping in my back pocket.

So now there I was, the Vice President of the newly reformed Lost Devils MC, with Shepherd as President, Oliver as our Sergeant at Arms, and Hush—

Well, Hush was our resident fucking maniac, I’ll say that much. As it turned out, the guy didn’t need “saving” at all. Or, he did, he just managed to do it himself before we ever even got close to Mexico. He joined without even blinking, and now he was our link to the old club. I guess so were Ryker, Stone, and Axe, who didn’t officially join or anything but stayed close basically as consultants as we started this whole new chapter for Blackthorn.

No drugs, no guns, no girls, and no bullshit. We were going to act more like Robin Hoods, taking from the corrupt and stopping those that would hurt Blackthorn. The whole point of starting up the club was that we’d be a force—a defense force, for all of Blackthorn. With the Lost Devils, we had a way to stop the shit from hitting us before it even got close, so no one up on the mountain would ever have to look over their shoulder for shitheads like Anthony Marcello ever again. After all, this place was our home, and we were now prepared to defend it.

And with Lucy by my side, it really did feel like home. For one, we found our own place—not the falling apart cabin where we’d fallen for each other again, but a new place all our own. We started small, but a bunch of the other guys were happy to help me add on and make it a place we could really call our own. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life in a one-room shack on a mountain if it meant I had Lucy in my arms, riding me, moaning for me, and coming for me, for forever.

But soon, we did need more than a single room. After all, where would the baby sleep?

He’s not coming for a while, but when he does get here, man are we going to be ready for him. Yeah, there’s a part of me that worries about what sort of a dad I’m going to be, being VP of a damned MC and all. But, again, we’re less “outlaws” and more “outside the law.” We’re like a police force, I guess. And I supposed as long as you can teach your kids love, and right and wrong, and how to be strong, and think your own mind, and to defend those who can’t defend themselves, and to stand up to bullies, what else do you need?

Lucy’s really excited, of course. Though she’s pissed that it means she can’t ride for a while. Oh, right, that’s something else we changed with the new club. A lot of MCs have this archaic view about them being these all-boys clubs. We skipped that. Because my woman? Well, she’s as badass as they come, and you better believe she’s a patch-wearing, bike-riding member in her own right. She got shit from one dude out at a truck stop on one of our rides, once. She about broke his hand, and word seemed to have gotten out in the bike communities not to fuck with her.

And trust me, if anyone does, they’ll also have me to reckon with.

So, lawman to outlaw of sorts. It’s not the typical fairytale, but then, I did get my princess in the end. Even if she is a badass, bike-riding, outlaw princess, she’s still mine. And nothing in this world is going to take her from me ever again.

The End.