Marlowe
King found me near the edge of the celebration, watching my reaction to Wrench's gift with an expression that told me he'd known about the bike all along, and something in his posture suggested he'd been waiting for exactly this moment to do something he'd apparently been planning for a while.
"Everyone," he called out, loud enough to carry across the whole gathered crowd, and the noise of celebration gradually quieted as attention turned toward us.
My whole stomach dropped, uncertain what was happening until King crossed the remaining distance between us and, in front of the entire assembled club, lowered himself down onto one knee.
The crowd's noise dropped to stunned silence, and I stood there, heart hammering, watching the President of the Ironclad Wolves — ruthless, contro
