Walk Through Fire (Chaos #4)(183)

It was majestic. It was classy.

It was ostentatious.

It was not where a biker lived.

No way in f*ck.

His eyes went from the house to his daughters racing up the steps toward the agent, his woman following them, her ass swaying with her excited strut on her high-heeled boots.

He watched Millie make it to the terrace and shake the agent’s hand.

Then he watched Clee-Clee latch on to her on one side, Zadie grab her hand on the other, Zadie so out of it with joy, she was jumping up and down, jarring Millie as she took his woman with her.

Millie didn’t mind. She just smiled down at his baby girl so huge High could see it all the way to the street.

Oh yeah.

Fuck.

He looked back to the house.

His girls could each have their own bedroom, Millie could have a guestroom and also her junk room.

The basement was finished, so High could also have space of his own.

Further, it had a three-car garage, room for his truck, hers, all his bikes plus plenty of space to park the RV.

And the yard was so damned big the Club could party there with his entire family coming from Durango for a 4th of July bash.

Not to mention, he’d been to dinner at Dot and Alan’s. They had a four-bedroom ranch, which was far from shit.

But it wasn’t a turn-of-the-century Denver mansion.

When Alan saw this place, High wouldn’t need to make the man eat his words.

Alan would have no choice but to choke on them.

On that thought, slowly, High felt his lips curl up.

Slower still, he rounded the hood of his truck and walked up the path to the house.

No.

Not to the house.

To his girls.

The next day, they put Millie’s pad on the market.

Two months later, Logan “High” Judd moved his girls in to what Denver had to offer as a castle a mile high in the sky.

Millie

The buzz of the needle sounding, I lay curled on the reclining seat with Logan, watching the ink penetrate his skin.

Logan and I had agreed to a different placement of the tat because Logan wasn’t big on shaving and he didn’t want my ink obscured in any way.

So it wasn’t being inked into his throat.

It was being inked curled around the base of it.

The artist wasn’t all that thrilled with me being up on the seat with Low. To be able to be close to him, I’d promised him I wouldn’t move and I wasn’t.

This was partly because I wanted the tattoo to be perfect.

It was mostly because I was too overwhelmed with the feelings I was feeling, watching me tatted back into Logan’s skin.

The... only was done when Logan muttered, “Break, bud.”

Without a word, the artist wiped him down, rolled his stool away, and took off.

I watched him do this, sliding my hand from where it was resting on Logan’s bare abs up his chest. I moved my eyes to his.

“You good?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah,” he answered.

I tipped my head to the side. “Then why do you need a break, Snooks?”

“ ’Cause it’s time to do this,” he replied, his hands moving, one circling my wrist at his chest, the other one going from around me and into his jeans pocket.

When I saw what he was doing, my breath hitched and my chest started to burn.

This continued as Logan slid a heavy ring with a large solitaire diamond encased in a solid rectangle of filigreed white gold on my finger. The sides leading up from the band expanded wide at the rectangle. One was embedded with an infinity symbol inside which was an M and an L. The other side had the stem of a rose entwined with a snake.

It was specially made.

No.

It was an engagement ring especially made for the old lady of a biker.

Primarily, me.

In other words, it was perfection.

I looked from the ring to Logan and I did it not breathing.

“Best moment of my life was lyin’ beside you, watchin’ you ink me into your skin while you did the same with me,” he stated softly.

When we’d done it together, he’d felt the same as me.

But of course he did.

My whole body bucked as my breath caught and his hand closed around mine tight, the weighty ring digging into my finger.

“I f*cked that up,” he whispered.

“Low,” I whispered back, shaking my head.

“So I’m fixin’ it.” He held my gaze. “Marry me, Millie.”

I stared into his eyes until I couldn’t see him anymore because he’d washed away with the unshed tears.

Then I dropped my face and buried it in his chest.

He cupped his hand on the back of my head even as he kept hold of my other one, doing this tight to his chest.

He gave it a few moments before I heard him rumble, “That mean yes?”

Was he crazy?

My head jerked up, my fingers closed around his, and I replied, “Fuck yes, that means yes.”

His body started shaking with laughter.

Mine didn’t.

I got closer, pressed deeper, and kissed him hard.

He finally let my hand go so he could wrap both his arms around me and we could make out in a tattoo chair.

We did this until the artist called, “Dude, you go at your babe much longer, I’m gonna need a different kind of break.”