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Epilogue.
Chance smiled out over the gathering on Hellfire as Bear and Thalia celebrated their wedding. It had gone off without a hitch, thanks to the two grandmothers. No one was going to argue or dare upset those two dynamos. Chance’s gaze settled on where Bear slow danced with Thalia in his arms. She looked beautiful, and his mouth curved into a smile. Drake dashed past, chasing after Dante, who was screaming after Aria, who was running as fast as her legs could take her.
Gunner flew past moments later after Amelia, who was smacking EJ happily. EJ scowled furiously, and his glare matched Gunners when he swept his daughter up. Chance was amused at the boys’ antics; Dante had laid claim to Aria when he was twenty months old. And claimed Amelia, her twin sister, for EJ. Drake and Lowrider were ready to lock their boys up. Especially as it concerned Gunner, who was a loose cannon where his daughters were involved.
Gunner lifted Amelia out of EJ’s reach and stared after Drake, who hauled Dante back by the scruff of his neck. Chance bit back his amusement at his second cousin’s antics, although he’d never admit it to Drake, who wore a dark look.
“Gunner will castrate them both,” Drake muttered as Gunner collected his other daughter.
“Better him than me, fuck me if Clio has a girl,” Chance said, his gaze swinging to his heavily pregnant wife. She was due any day now.
“What’s the odds?” Drake asked.
“Ain’t telling you,” Chance grinned.
“Asshole,” Drake retorted, and Dante lifted his head. “Shit, Phoe will kill me. The little monster came out with bastard the other day at nursery. Phoe nearly throttled me.” Drake admitted sheepishly. Dante grinned up at Chance. Dante was going to be an asshole as a teenager, Chance decided.
Chatter approached them, his face serious, and Chance felt his stomach clench. While the man always wore a serious expression, this one was dark. Chatter nodded to Drake and held out a paper to Chance. Chance took it and peered at it in the flickering lighting.
“Shit!” Chance exclaimed when he read the newspaper article. His gaze dashed towards Celt, who was half smiling at Maylene.
“Prepare for war,” Chatter grunted and moved away to get a beer from the bar. Drake snatched the paper from Chance and winced.
“They’re returning to Spearfish?” Drake asked, his own gaze resting on Celt.
“Fuckin’ looks like it. Celt will fuckin’ screw,” Chance drawled.
