Knight's Ridge Destiny: A Knight’s Ridge Empire Epilogue

KNIGHT’S RIDGE DESTINY KNIGHT’S RIDGE EMPIRE EPILOGUE TRACY LORRAINE Copyright © 2022 by Tracy Lorraine All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Editing by Pinpoint Editing Proofreading by Sisters Get Lit.erary CONTENTS 1. Stella 2. Sebastian 3. Stella 4. Sebastian 5. Stella 6. Sebastian 7. Stella 8. Nico 9. Brianna 10. Nico 11. Daemon 12. Brianna 13. Nico 14. Jodie 15. Brianna 16. Jodie 17. Toby 18. Jodie 19. Toby 20. Calli 21. Daemon 22. Calli 23. Daemon 24. Calli 25. Daemon 26. Calli 27. Alex 28. Evie 29. Alex 30. Evie 31. Alex 32. Emmie 33. Theo 34. Emmie 35. Theo 36. Emmie Epilogue Acknowledgments The Mistakes You Make The Revenge You Seek Sneak Peek About the Author Also by Tracy Lorraine 1 STELLA Flipping the lock, I breathe a sigh of relief as the silence of the bathroom surrounds me. I knew today was going to be crazy. The whole lead up to this day has been insane. Clearly, we were naïve when we started planning. I thought it was going to be simple. Strict number of guests, nothing over the top or fancy. Just a simple day full of love and family… And then my mom and all the girls got involved… “Holy shit,” I whisper, stepping up to the vanity and curling my fingers around the granite countertop. It’s great. Everything is great. The day is—hopefully—going to go off without a hitch and I can finally relax. You should have eloped, a little voice says. Should have fucked off to Las Vegas like Bri and Nico did and leave the rest of the world behind. Pain slices through my chest just considering it. I went my entire childhood and teenage years without my mom; there was no way I could allow her to miss out on this experience. Hell, I don’t want to miss it either. It’s just… a lot. Sucking in another calming breath, I lift my head, praying that the woman who looks back at me in the mirror doesn’t look as exasperated as I feel. The make-up artist Harley found is only so good, after all. But it’s not my own reflection that catches my eye first. That would be the hooded man stepping up behind me. On instinct, I reach for a weapon—a metal soap dish—and lift it ready to strike. But I’m not fast enough and he has me locked in his arms long before I spin around and pummel him to death. I blame the mimosas we’ve been drinking all morning for my sluggish response. That is not how I operate. Ever. Confident that can redeem myself, I lift my foot and slam it down—only, he’s faster. And again, when I throw my elbow back, all I’m met with is air. Oh, this motherfucker knows what he’s doing. He knows all my moves. It’s almost like he knows me better than I know myself. We grapple together as I try to take the upper hand, my fierce weapon still clutched in my hand, ready to cause damage. It’s the best kind of foreplay I’ve ever known. And it only gets better when I trick him into thinking I’m moving left, and then dart right and free myself from his grip. “Nice try,” I gasp between heaving breaths. We stand with only a foot between us, me in an ivory satin cami and short set that doesn’t leave much to the imagination, and him head to toe in black with his hood pulled low. Most would be terrified to find this man loitering in their bathroom on their wedding day. I, however, am not most people. My lips part to say something, but he takes my moment of distraction and throws me up against the wall, pinning me there with one hand wrapped around my throat, the other locked on my hip, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric covering me. “Hellion,” he growls, dipping so low our noses brush as he stares into my eyes. “You can drop the weapon now. You’ve lost.” “Never,” I hiss, a smirk pulling at my lips, making his brows pinch. He might not have figured it out yet, but I have. When it comes to us, I’ll always win, because he’s always the first to drop to his knees to worship me. “You shouldn’t be here,” I say, knocking his hood off to get a better look at him. “What are you going to do about it? Brain me with a soap dish?” he teases. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve got a gun stashed for this very situation.” Tucking his face into the crook of my neck, he breathes, “Have at it, baby. You know it only gets me harder.” And to prove his point, he presses the length of his body against mine, hooking my leg up around his waist so he can grind into me. “And don’t even think about trying to tell me that it doesn’t get you wet as fuck.” He kisses up the column of my throat and I release the soap dish, sending it clattering to the tiled floor. My nipples pebble against the soft satin covering them, and he’s right… of course, he’s fucking right. The fabric between my thighs is ruined. He works his way across my jaw, driving me crazy with need until his lips finally brush mine. “You deserve to be punished for making me sleep away from you last night,” he growls, his dark eyes boring into mine and making tingles explode in my stomach. “It’s tradition,” I breathe. “Fuck tradition. No other motherfucker out there has ever married you. Let’s make our own.” Without warning, his fingers twist in the front of my cami and he shreds the thing with one swift move,