Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance by Carter Steele (books recommended by bts .txt) 📕

longer than we should’ve and watched our old lives burn away. It was the end of an era for all of us – me and Dreamer in our nomad chapter and Sarah in her captivity. Sarah felt confident she could dig up enough evidence to link Patrick to at least several members of the Baltimore police department and when that happened that department would be in for a world of shit.

Me and Dreamer would likely be classified as dead after this whole clusterfuck, which in a way was freeing, but also incredibly inconvenient. We’d either need to clear our names, and after all the violence in the streets tonight that’d be fucking impossible, or we’d need one hell of a support network to help us out with daily living.

“So what now?” I asked Dreamer sometime later as he drove our getaway sedan up the onramp of the interstate.

“Now?” He repeated softly, before continuing as if mulling the word over in his head. “I think it’s time to go home and meet this new club president.”

“Rosewood, Ohio then huh?” I nervously ran a hand through my bloody beard then caught Sarah’s eyes and relaxed a bit. “It's a small town outside of Columbus. That good for you?”

Sarah nodded, then nestled herself under my good arm. She signed, “As long as I’m with you I don’t care where we go.”

I smiled, hearing her voice in my head and loving the sound of that. I kissed her gently, then touched my forehead to hers. I’d lost so much but part of me felt hopeful at the promise of not having to always be moving. I could build a life with this woman.

“What the hell.” I held her a little closer, then responded to Dreamer, “Here’s hoping Bravo isn’t a complete asshole.”

Epilogue

Sarah

If this wasn’t heaven, then it had to be around here somewhere. After the fifth hour of hiking and climbing I’d be damned if we weren’t at least close! Looking out the tiny plane window when we flew into Cusco a few days ago I thought I understood the scope of where we were, but being in it and walking it with my own feet… I was so incredibly wrong.

Wreck and I were miles from the nearest town and I couldn’t have been happier.

Sitting alone cross-legged on the ground beneath the straw roof of the open-sided rest hut and overlooking the rushing river far below that cut a path through the enormous Peruvian mountain range made me pretty sure the Sacred Valley went on forever. The expansiveness of it all despite it currently being a little cloudy was the biggest surprise for me.

Before me air rustled the ferns and tall grass at the walking path’s edge which was the only barrier between idiot tourists like myself and a steep, deadly tumble to certain doom. Being surrounded by such overwhelming natural beauty quieted the constant deluge of thoughts, emotions, fears, regrets and hopes so much so that I had virtually become an extension of my furiously scratching pencil on my sketchbook.

After spending so much time trapped by four walls every cell in my body soaked up the view like it was the sun to someone tanning by the beach. I never knew just how badly I needed this until Wreck told me we were coming to South America and I started researching.

Wreck trudged up the path a few minutes later and carrying not just his backpack but also mine which he wore in reverse covering the entirety of his chest and torso. I...may have overestimated my ability for a hike this intense when I excitedly agreed to this several weeks ago, but it was okay because Wreck was big and strong and dumb enough to offer to carry my burden.

Which was one of the many, many reasons I loved him.

Wreck grumbled something as he dumped both bags on the packed dirt and collapsed into the wooden benches set along the naked rock cliff wall at the back of the path beneath the straw awning. I tore my free hand away long enough from my drawing to sign him a distracted “What?”

“Just bitching,” he replied, laying down. “Don’t mind your dying packmule. Keep drawing, I’m just fantasizing about pisco sours, a massage and hot bath for a few minutes. Wake me up when you’re ready to go. ”

I closed my sketch pad, placing it on our bags and climbed on top of him. We were both sweaty, dirty messes like only a long hike on a warm day can make, but I loved every second of it. He slid to the side to make me more comfortable, wrapped an arm around me and passed right out. I thought about rousing him, but the big bad biker was so cute when he was all tuckered out.

This... this very moment was exactly what I needed after the year we’d just gone through.

I wasn’t sure what Wreck and Dreamer expected when we pulled into the Devil Kings headquarters in Rosewood all those months ago, but it probably wasn’t to be greeted with open arms. It was initially tense, especially considering we pulled up in a mostly legal sedan after probably being declared legally dead or outright fugitives from a firefight. At that time it was still too early to tell. However when the club president, Bravo, himself showed up things calmed down a bit. Despite the fact that Wreck’s chapter went nomad, Mac had never forgotten to pay dues and they all upheld the values of what the Devil Kings stood for.

Dunk, Mac, Yoga and Buck were given an official Devil Kings send off which was understandably important to both Wreck and Dreamer. In the long weeks after the service Bravo’s wife, Vikki, had begun helping us get back on our feet, legally-speaking. There were some serious favors called in and club-friendly influential eye-witnesses placed the three of us nowhere near the shootout in Baltimore so any allegations against us were thrown out by the judge.