Page 39 of Rage's Warpath

The sound of Eli clearing his throat makes us separate slightly, though Rage keeps one arm firmly around my waist.

"If you guys are done being gross," our son says with feigned exasperation, "I think I'm ready."

He stands in the doorway with his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking impossibly grown up and heartbreakingly young all at once. For a moment, I see the echoes of the seven-year-old boy who welcomed me into his life with such easy acceptance, who called me "Mom" for the first time after Rage and I married two years after we met.

"You have everything?" Rage asks, his voice gruff with emotion. "Phone charger? Extra shoes? Emergency cash?"

"Yes, Dad," Eli says patiently. "And the knife Uncle Beast gave me is hidden in my boot, the burner phone from Uncle Tank is in my backpack, and I remember all the security protocols Uncle Shadow taught me."

I stifle a laugh at Rage's expression. "What? You think the uncles didn't have their own safety briefings?"

"Jesus Christ," Rage mutters. "It's college, not an undercover operation."

"Tell that to the uncles," Eli grins. "Uncle King gave me a forty-minute lecture on maintaining awareness in public spaces."

Now I do laugh, remembering how the entire club had rallied around our decision to send Eli to college, even while collectively fretting like mother hens. The Savage Riders might have evolved over the years, but their protective instincts remained unchanged.

"Well, they love you," I say, moving to straighten Eli's sweatshirt needlessly. "We all do."

"I know, Mom." His cocky facade softens, and he pulls me into a gentle hug, careful of my belly. "I'll call every week, I promise."

"Every day for the first month," I counter.

"Every other day," he negotiates, making Rage chuckle behind us.

"Deal." I press a kiss to his cheek, then step back. "Now go, before your father reorganizes the truck again."

As Rage helps Eli into the passenger seat, I notice the subtle exchange between them—a handshake that turns into a fierce hug, words too quiet for me to hear that make Eli stand a little straighter.

Then Rage turns to me, gathering me close for a final kiss.

"We'll be back tomorrow night," he promises. "Call Luna or Jenny if you need anything. Beast is on standby too."

"I'll be fine," I assure him. "The shop's closed for the week, and I've got a whole Netflix queue to tackle."

"Rest," he says firmly, placing a hand on my belly. "Doctor's orders."

"Yes, sir," I salute mockingly, then soften. "Drive safe. Love you both."

"Love you too, Mom!" Eli calls from the truck.

Rage kisses me once more, his lips lingering. "Love you, always," he murmurs against my mouth. "Thank you for our family."

As I watch the truck pull away, Eli's arm waving from the window, I feel the gratitude and disbelief that has colored the past decade. How did the terrified woman running from an abusive relationship end up here? Married to a man who cherishes her, mother to an amazing young man, another child on the way, a business of her own?

The journey wasn't always smooth. There were nightmares and setbacks, moments when the past threatened to overwhelm thepresent. There were club dangers and close calls, times when I questioned whether I could truly belong in this world.

But through it all, there was Rage. Steady, devoted, fierce in his protection and gentle in his love. There was Eli, accepting me into his heart with a child's perfect faith. There was the extended family of the club, each member contributing to the safety net that allowed me to heal, to grow, to become more than just a survivor.

I place my hand on my belly, feeling our daughter's movements beneath my palm.

"Your big brother's off to change the world," I tell her. "And you, little one, are going to have the chance to do whatever you dream."

That's the gift Rage and I have fought to give our children. The freedom to choose, to live without fear, to write their own stories. Eli might eventually return to the club, might choose to follow in his father's footsteps, but it will be his decision, made from a place of strength rather than necessity.

As the truck disappears around the corner, I turn back toward our home, the same house where Rage first brought me that fateful night, now expanded and renovated to accommodate our growing family. The basketball hoop still hangs above the garage, though these days it's adjusted to Eli's height rather than a child's reach. The flower beds I planted in my second year here bloom with late summer colors.

It's not the life I imagined when I first fled Tommy's abuse. It's better. Richer. More complicated and more rewarding than I could have dreamed.

I step inside, closing the door on the past and walking into the future we've built together.

One day, one choice, one act of courage at a time.