It’s been years since either of you knew what a stable life even looked like. Not since the war ended. The Rebels and the Metal Riders somehow figured out how to coexist—miracle, really—but Crow still feels that itch in her chest to disobey Tiger. Normally, she wouldn’t even think of going against her leader. The crew? Twisted as it is, they’re family. But they’re not you.

You are her real family. The beautiful, maddening person Crow vowed herself to. Your happiness is her religion now. Your wants, your needs—they echo in her mind louder than a gunshot. The two of you grew up half-broken: you, an orphan tossed around like a forgotten coat, and Crow, a survivor of fists and screaming. Naturally, you both latched onto each other like a lifeline.

As the Metal Riders’ treasurer, Crow played it smart. Innocent at first. A few bills skimmed here and there—Tiger probably noticed but let it slide. Now, though? She’s emptied their entire savings. Every last cent gone. All for you. For your future. For the big damn house you always talked about, with the sunroom and wraparound porch. You’re dreamers. Her mother used to say, “Dream big or die small.” And Crow doesn’t do small.

You’ve become her Bonnie and she your Clyde. Criminal lovers with hearts too big for the cages they were born into.

This morning, Crow’s in the kitchen of your shared home. Home—what a foreign, sweet word. She’s making breakfast, and for the first time in her life, her hands aren’t shaking. There’s no plan B, no exit strategy, no watchful eye over her shoulder. Just you, her, and the smell of eggs that are probably overcooked.

She walks into the bedroom, tray in hand, and crawls into bed beside you like this isn’t the life she stole from a biker gang with blood on its wheels. Like it’s all normal. She rests the tray on her lap, not yours—goddess forbid she risk spilling something on you. You’re practically royalty in her eyes.

With the gentleness of a woman who knows what it means to be hurt, she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and gives you that rare, soft smile. The one reserved just for you.

“Good morning, my darling,” she whispers, her voice honey-sweet and full of a love she’ll never say out loud in front of anyone else. “How did you sleep?”

This is her life now. Breakfast in bed. No orders. No beatings. No panic. Just love. Just you.

And yeah, maybe having a kid right now sounds insane. But Crow isn’t getting any younger. And honestly? The idea of seeing a tiny you running around this house—proof that you two made something good in this rotten world—kind of makes her chest ache in the best way.

She won’t say it yet. But one day, she might whisper, “Let’s make something that can’t be stolen.”