“How does it feel being married?” I ask Cady.
She beams. “Like a long damn time coming, to be honest. So, when are you and Striker planning on tying the knot?”
“Oh, we’ll get to it pretty soon,” I reply. “Striker hasn’t formally proposed, but we’ve been talking about it a lot. Hell, we may just end up going down to the courthouse someday and doing the deed like that.”
The fact is, I desperately want to be married to Striker. But I don’t care much about a wedding. I had one of those, already — a big, ostentatious affair that felt like it was all for show. It did nothing to magically inoculate Mark and me against problems. Striker and I are already more real as a couple — as a team — than Mark and I ever were.
Legal or not.
“Speaking of weddings, and marriages, and stuff,” Cady continues, “Tank and I wanted to ask you and Striker something. We thought we’d have you over to our place to officially ask you, but I wanted to get your take first, just in case.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
Cady gives me a hopeful look. “We were hoping that you and Striker would be willing to be Wren’s godparents. I wanted to ask you first, alone, because I know it’s kind of a different situation, since Striker is actually Wren’s biological dad. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do it, you know?” She pulls in a nervous breath, lets it out. “So, do you think he’d be okay with it?”
My throat constricts. “Okay?” I turn toward the dance floor and point. “Look at the two of them. What do you think?”
Striker is holding Wren by both hands, doing some sort of insane version of maybe flamenco? I don’t even know what he’s doing, to be honest. Wren is giggling hysterically, her arms floating up above her head as she pirouettes in place. The two of them are having the time of their lives.
Cady sniffles and shakes her head as I put my arm around her.
“I think maybe he’d be okay with it,” she admits.
“We’d be honored,” I promise her. “Striker will be thrilled. I guarantee it.”
Striker and I stay at the reception until it’s late. We say our goodbyes to everyone and Striker drives us home. On the way, we relive our favorite moments of the day.
When we get back to our place, I’m confused to see a strange car in the driveway. And even more confused at how familiar it is.
“But that car looks like…” I trail off.
“… A nineteen-sixty-one Corvette convertible,” Striker finishes for me. “Complete with flames.”
“But… how did you…” I’m literally speechless.
“I found the car months ago,” he says simply. “It was in pretty rough shape, but I took it over to Twisted Pipes and had them restore it. The paint job is Hawk’s handiwork. It was ready last week. I had Jude drive it over here after we left for the wedding.”
“Striker.” I bite my lip, trying not to burst into tears. It’s almost exactly like my dad’s old car. “I can’t believe you did this!”
Tears start running down my cheeks as Striker parks his car behind the Corvette. He turns off the engine, and I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Hey, now, you’re gonna get me all wet,” he jokes, pulling me closer. “You sure you like it? It’s not too flashy for a lawyer?”
I swallow, struggling to speak. “It’s perfect,” I finally manage.
“Well, good,” he says gruffly. “Because the engine’s been overhauled, too. This thing runs a hell of a lot better than that beater you drive.”
“I wish my father could see it,” I tell him, still crying. “He’d love it.”
“I’m glad, babe. I wanted to give you a piece of your dad back.” He pauses. “Hey, check out the plate.”
The headlights on Striker’s car are still on, so I peer out the window through my tears to read the rear license plate.
PHOENIX
Not everyone would understand its meaning, but I get it right away. Striker has said more than once that Ember is much more fitting name than December for me. He says I glow from the inside, like I’ve just been waiting to start my own flame.
And I’ve told him that I feel like my life has had a rebirth. Like I rose from the ashes, somehow, toward this new, wonderful life.
And Striker was the match that started it all.
The two of us change out of our wedding outfits and into more comfortable clothes. Together, we take Bert out for a walk before bed. It’s a simple act — something we do every night. But the routine of it is something I relish, every single time.
Under a moonlit sky, Striker kisses me. Then he takes my hand, and leads me back to our house — where we stay up most of the night making love, get far too little sleep, and wake up the next day exhausted, fulfilled, and happy.
* * *
Thank you so much for reading Striker and Ember’s story! I hope it gave you all the feels!
There is one more book to come in the original Lords of Carnage MC series — JUDE!
The club is going legit. But in Book 12, there's one final story of revenge left to be told.
No one fucks with the Lords... because the Lords fuck back.
You can preorder Jude right now on Amazon!
Just click this link!
Daphne Talks Out Her Ass About Striker
When I was sixteen, my dad came home one day with a classic car he bought for cheap off a guy on the spur of the moment.
Unlike the car Ember’s dad bought, this was a 1958 Ford Fairlane. It was in amazing condition, and it was just cool as hell. Best of all, he let me drive it whenever I wanted to — which was a pretty amazing thing, considering I had just gotten my drivers license.
We didn’t have that car for very long, unfortunately. Our family was broke as a joke at the time, and we were having a really hard go of making ends meet as it was. My mom was furious that he had made such an impractical purchase, especially without consulting her. Mom was about the most practical person you would ever hope to meet. My dad, on the other hand, was always a bit of a dreamer. It’s true that buying that car wasn’t a “good” idea. And looking at it from my mom’s perspective, I can definitely understand why she was so mad. She had every right to be.
But still, there was just something so wonderful and joyous about having that car. Even though we only owned it for a couple of months, before my mom made my dad sell it. It was gorgeous and fascinating, like a time machine to another era. It was magical to drive.
My dad has been gone for sixteen years now. I can’t believe it has been that long. I still dream about him at least once a week. And about my mom, too, who died thirteen years ago.
I think about them both every single day.
And I still think about that car — about how it brought a spark of whimsy to our lives in an otherwise stressful, gray, anxious time.
It seems to me that we all are going through a stressful, gray, anxious time right now. Maybe that’s why Dad’s Ford Fairlane made it into this book, transformed into a ’61 Chevy Corvette convertible. I’m sending love to every single one of you. And I hope that we can all do our best to find moments of joy and magic, whenever and wherever we can.