Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
The words hit harder than I expect.
A seat. Not a test. Not a favor. A real fucking seat.
After church, I step outside and light a smoke with shaking fingers.
Toon joins me a second later, slaps the back of my head just hard enough to sting. “You finally getting your shit together,” he says as I smirk. “About damn time.”
We share a grin.
But all I want to do is see her. Taste her once again.
When I get back to the trailer, Cambria’s barefoot in the grass, talking to Laura, Hawk’s ol’ lady, over coffee like she’s been doing it for years. She’s laughing—head back, mouth wide, that sound filling the air like a song I didn’t know I missed.
She sees me, and her smile changes—softer, private.
She walks up and presses a hand to my chest.
“You okay?” she asks, leaning in close.
I’m more than okay. I kiss her—full, slow, claiming. For the first time, I don’t care who’s watching, judging.
This lie?
It’s starting to feel a lot like the truth.
And I’m not sure I want to go back. I think I want to take her away and elope. No one has ever gotten me feeling these feelings and being accepted.
EIGHT
CAMBRIA
Everything begins with the first step.
It’s the quiet that gets me.
Not the silence, exactly—there’s always noise in the compound. Engines roaring, boots crunching gravel, the occasional burst of laughter or shouting. But it’s not the kind of noise I grew up with. Not the kind that follows violence or screams through thin motel walls.
This is different. This is safety dressed up in chaos. And I’m starting to let myself believe it might last.
Little Foot’s different now. There’s a weight to him—like the club finally gave him permission to become who he always was. I see it in the way the guys look at him now. Not just as Shooter’s kid or Axel’s brother, but as someone who stands on his own.
He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know something shifted during that Memphis run. When he came home, there were shadows in his eyes, but also pride in his chest. A piece of him clicked into place that night.
And I felt it too.
He doesn’t call me his wife around the compound anymore like it’s part of the lie. He says it like it’s truth.
And I catch myself responding like it is.
Today I’m helping Yesnia, Laura, Caroline, and Tessie in the clubhouse kitchen. There’s a party tonight—one of the older members is retiring from their day jobs, and the Hellions don’t do anything halfway. There’s going to be meat, beer, and enough music to rattle the windows. Caroline’s elbow-deep in a tray of marinating ribs while I chop onions and try not to cry like a rookie.
“You’re getting better at this,” she says.
“At what? Crying?”
She smirks. “Fitting in. Feeling confident in being here with us”
I shrug. “Still feels like playing dress-up most days.”
“You’re not pretending. You’re surviving. And surviving here? That’s as real as it gets. You’re an ol’ lady. You matter, Cambria.”
I nod, wiping my eyes on the back of my wrist. When has anyone told me I matter?
Not my mother.
Not a single teacher in school.
Not Frankie.
No one.
It’s strange how right it feels to be here. Even with the dirt, the violence, the scars that everyone wears like patches of their own. It’s not a fairytale. It’s not clean or kind or easy.
But it’s honest.
And I’ll take honest over fairy dust any day.
Tonight, I’ll wear the black dress Little Foot picked out. I’ll stand beside him with a drink in my hand and a smile on my lips. I’ll be his. Not just in name, not just in story—but in truth. Our truth. Our connection.
Even if the past tries to find me.
Even if the lie we told at the start comes back around.
I’m not running this time.
I’ve got something to fight for now.
And I’ll fight to keep it.
The party starts just after sunset.
The compound lights up like a small town—lanterns strung from trees, bonfires kicking up sparks, grills blazing with slabs of meat that sizzle and spit as the smoke curls into the sky. There’s music, loud and gritty, pulsing through the yard like a heartbeat.
I stand just inside the edge of it all, drink in hand, watching.
Little Foot is standing with Rex and a few of the other officers. He’s laughing, easy and open, all night. When he’s near me, one hand resting on the small of my back every time he shifts. That small gesture—it’s nothing to anyone else, but it anchors me. Tells me I’m not just here by chance. I’m not just part of the background.
I’m his.
And he wants everyone to know it.
Toon spots me and wanders over with a bottle of whiskey and a lopsided grin.
“You clean up nice,” he says, tipping the bottle toward my dress.
He raises his eyebrows, then leans in close. “You know, people were watching at first. Wondering how long you’d last. Lotta bets being placed.”