Three years later.

The underground garage of the Iron Riders Brotherhood- once a dark pit reeking of motor oil and cheap tobacco-had transformed into the nation's premier custom motorcycle brand and a fully legitimate corporate security empire.

Those tattooed desperados who used to know nothing but swinging baseball bats on the streets were now squeezed into crisp black suits.

Just yesterday, Tank was sitting in a spacious glass-walled office, clumsily tugging at a designer tie, complaining to me that the silk noose was deadlier than a rival gang's chokehold.

And I, the absolute mastermind behind this empire. was currently riding on the back of Daryl's heavy-duty Harley, tearing down the asphalt of California's Route 66.

The engine's roar shredded the air, wind howling in our ears. The California sun poured mercilessly over the coastline, washing everything in a blinding, golden haze.

'How does it feel?!" Daryl yelled over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the gale.

"Fucking incredible!” I roared back, my arms locked in a death grip around his rock-hard waist.

In my mind, the suffocating tragedies of my old life had already faded into an irrelevant, distant dream.

Serena and Julian were living an elegant, secluded life on the East Coast, their twins already toddling across the sprawling lawns of their estate.

And Chloe, the girl who endlessly played the innocent victim, was permanently locked behind the iron bars of a psychiatric ward, playing out her self-serving dramas to empty walls.

As for me, in this wild world fueled by adrenaline, violence, and testosterone, I had carved out my very own throne with my own two hands.

Tires shrieked against the pavement as Daryl suddenly clamped down on the brakes.

The massive V-twin engine let out a low, guttural rumble before coming to a dead stop at the edge of a towering cliff overlooking the Pacific.

Far below, furious dark blue waves crashed violently against the jagged black rocks.

Daryl swung his leg off the bike and pulled off his helmet and aviators. As he turned toward me, his habitually hard, chiseled features softened shedding every ounce of ice and defense.

He reached into the pocket of his scuffed black leather jacket and pulled out a small, black velvet box.

With a sharp snap, the box sprang open.

Inside sat a rugged, unorthodox ring.

It wasn't some flashy, traditional diamond sparkler. The band gleamed with the cold, hard luster of dark steel, and a deep black diamond was embedded right in the center.

I recognized the metal instantly-it was forged and polished from the exact solid-steel wrench I had smashed onto his desk three years ago.

"That wedding down in the garage three years ago... it was too rough," he said. He tilted his head slightly, looking up at me where I still sat on the bike. His dark eyes burned with a raw, soul-shaking intensity.

"No priest. No vows. Just a room full of cheap booze and a bunch of bastards waiting for a punchline."

He took a step closer. His massive, calloused palm came to rest gently on my thigh. When he spoke, his voice was dark and raspy, dripping with absolute surrender.

"That day, you grabbed me by the collar, bit my lip till it bled, and nearly cracked my ribs in front of the whole crew... That was the exact second I knew I was done for. Completely gone."

The wicked sea breeze whipped through his dark hair. This brutal enforcer. a man whose very name struck terror into the criminal underworld, looked up at me with raw devotion in his eyes.

Only my reflection existed there now.

"Samantha, I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in fate. I only believe in you," Daryl said, his voice trembling slightly under the crushing weight of his restraint.

"You're not my weakness. You're my goddamn backbone. You're the one who gave a pack of wild dogs waiting to die in the dirt their dignity back. You gave me a home-something actually worth bleeding for."

"So, will you marry me again? This time, no underworld alliances. No gang codes. Just because... I love you."

Listening to this fearless, death-defying man lay down all his armor, my heart began to pound relentlessly against my ribs. It felt like blazing gasoline was rushing through my veins.

I didn't cover my mouth and cry like an ordinary girl.

I swung off the bike with brutal grace and closed the distance between us. Looking down at the ring forged from my own weapon, a feral, uninhibited grin spread across my face.

I cleanly picked the black diamond ring out of the velvet box and shoved it right onto my own ring finger. It fit like a second skin, as if the steel had naturally grown from my very bones.

"You're catching on, big guy."

I reached out, grabbing a fistful of his leather collar, and jerked the massive man down to my level.

Against the howling California wind and the roaring ocean surf, I closed my eyes and crashed my mouth against his.

He froze for a fraction of a second before letting out a rough, breathless groan.

His long, muscular arms wrapped around me like steel vises. crushing my waist and pulling me flush against his burning chest, returning the kiss with a devouring, desperate ferocity.

The air tasted of salt and adrenaline. There, on the edge of the world, we savagely stole each other's breath, two violently different yet perfectly matched souls melting and fusing together in the heat of the moment.

In this ruthless world, I didn't just survive. I thrived, answering to no one. living more fiercely than anyone else.

This was my destiny.

The empire I had forged with wrenches and bruised knuckles, and the unmatched king who willingly bowed before my throne.