EPILOGUE
One year later
Ethan
The Blackrose Saints clubhouse smelled like spirits, old nicotine and men who believe in loyalty because they have nothing else left.
It’s quite a sentimental place, really, misfits coming together for a cause, to become a family.
Sarah has never belonged in places like this, with the raw harsh reality of life, surrounded by loyal people.
Instead she preferred soft lighting, money and attention.
To rely on her looks to try and get ahead in life.
That was the first thing I took from her.
I had arranged for Marcus to keep her in a back room that used to be storage.
No windows. Just one large cell covered in mirrors instead of brick walls, where she can’t escape the scars, where she would not be able to forget who put them there.
Death is too good for her. Slowly stripping away her vanity and freedom is what she deserves, and for someone like me it has provided much entertainment.
I visit every few months when I need that dose of adrenaline, to perk up my day.
When she’s not locked up here she works in the clubhouse, everything from cleaning to bar work.
She should be grateful, I could’ve made her into a club girl, whoring herself every night, but why does she deserve touch?
Leo is currently meeting with a potential client, so I thought I would take advantage of coming for a visit to distract myself from hunting him down instead.
As I enter the room, Sarah is sitting on the floor against the bars at the front of her cell, staring at herself in the mirror across the backwall, spine straight, chin lifted. Good posture. Even in here she thinks she is superior. After a year in captivity she is still plotting, I can sense it.
I close the door behind me without locking it and she looks over her shoulder.
Her eyes flick over me fast, checking for any potential weapons, assessing why I’m here and what I will do.
She thinks we’re still playing the game, naively assuming we’re equal.
If it wasn’t so pathetic it would be endearing.
“Ethan,” she says, carefully. She doesn’t ask why I’m there, she doesn’t say anything at all. But I don’t miss the anxious spike in her breathing, the fear of me that has built over time. I love watching it. Seeing her unravel, become a shell of her former self.
“Sarah,” I say. “You look… different.”
There is the smallest tightening around her mouth. People who rely on their appearance always hear the subtext, which is what I intended, as different never means better. The scar on her face is fully healed, but it has left a longterm reminder of who she should never fuck with.
I take my time crossing the room, stopping close enough to see her clearly but not in touching distance. I lean against the chair that is next to the cell, my posture casual, like we were catching up at a bar.
“They’ve been feeding you, right?” I ask. “You look a little thin, we don’t want you to waste away. That wouldn’t be fair.” Her fingers curl in her lap as she remains silent.
I tilt my head, studying her the way I would a problem that had already been solved. “Do you know what I realized, Sarah?”
It takes a couple of minutes before she shakes her head once. Those once fierce and bright eyes now dull and vacant.
“You were always the loudest in a room, so confident. But you were out of place, too common, too desperate. This place suits you,” I say, and her eyes snap up, sharp and offended. There it is, as usual she mistakes vanity for pride.
“I guess you want to know why I’m here. Well, Leo, he is at a very important meeting for his sculptures,” I say before moving a little closer to her and crouching so we are eye level, the dirty bars of the cell our only separation.
“You should see him, Sarah. He’s calmer, smiles more. He takes care of himself, but I guess that’s what money does to you, and my god does he earn a lot of money now, Sarah. He’s the talk of New York with his art. Impressive isn’t it?” I say and watch her face contort into disgust and disbelief.
“You expect me to believe that? You’re a liar, Ethan,” she says, her voice curt but with a tremble of uncertainty.
My face remains passive. I don’t care what she thinks, I just want to break her down.
“Am I?” I ask. “Because from where I’m standing, the only thing you ever gave him was uncertainty that you tried to dress up as confidence. And confidence…” I gesture at her, slow and deliberate, “is a terrible substitute for safety.”
Her shoulders shake when she catches the meaning, before trying to put herself back together. I do admire the effort.
“You know what’s fascinating?” I continue.
“No one asks about you, not even your parents anymore. The police have put you in the back of a filing cabinet, another case unsolved, a probable case of a spoiled bitch running away for a new life. Instead, people ask about him. About what he needs. About what’s best for him. ”
The old Sarah would be shouting at me, trying to get the upper hand.
But after so long in confinement and being treated no better than a stray dog, her will is dying.
Unable to keep up the fight. I’m not dumb enough to ever trust the whole fight has left her.
One day she will gain the courage to try again, take advantage of a moment, and that day will be glorious, because that’s the day she will die.
“You used to be the center of his world, the popular woman at work, the confident bitch who grabbed every man’s attention at a party,” I murmur. “Now you’re a footnote, a cautionary one.”
Her eyes burn with rage, humiliation and terror. All fighting for space.
“This is the part that hurts the most, isn’t it? Not losing him. Losing the idea that you mattered more than everyone else,” I say as I stand to walk over to the door.
“You can keep whatever version of yourself you need to survive in here,” I say as I’m about to leave. “But out there? The world’s moved on.”
I inwardly smile, watching that cut up face trying to come up with a fight, with a comeback to try and dominate, but it’s too late. She is already fading away. Just as I open the door to leave, I stop.
“Oh and Sarah?” I glance back. “He hasn’t mentioned your name since the day you left.”
I leave her slumped in the light, alone with the sound of her own breathing, knowing the worst part wasn’t what I’d said. It was how easily it had all been true.
Leo
We’re standing on the top floor of the new Infinity Hotel in Bali, Ethan’s latest acquisition, with the sun bleeding out over the horizon like it knows something I don’t. Ethan’s hand is at the small of my back where it usually is when out in public, possessive.
A year ago, I was still pretending my life was my own, it’s strange what success does to you.
My metal sculpting business exploded in ways I never planned for with commissions stacked months deep, collectors fighting over pieces I welded with great affection.
Ethan likes to say he made me more focused, that before him, I was wasted potential.
Now I’m disciplined and taking center stage in the art world and he’s right.
Although the path there was done in typical Ethan style.
He funded my first international show without asking.
Bought half the guest list so the right people would see me.
Told me which interviews to accept, which galleries were “beneath” me.
When I argued, he smiled like I was adorable for trying.
Adjustment is a very polite word for what happened between us.
You don’t adjust to a man like Ethan, you either adapt or you break.
I learned fast how to read my loveable robot, how long I could linger in conversation, how to stand just close enough to signal availability without inviting flirtation.
When we are in public, his fingers tighten when I forget.
In private, he reminds me using his hands on my ass.
This trip has been amazing. The sun and beaches are just what I needed and it also serves as the perfect honeymoon we never took. I remember only four months ago how I was taken on an outing to the courthouse.
He didn’t tell me where we were going that morning.
Just said to dress nicely, said he had something “important” planned.
I thought it was another building for his hotels, or something for my business.
Instead, it was a courthouse, papers, rings, Marcus and a clerk who wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I don’t even want to know what they said to that poor woman.
“Ethan, this is another level for you. Marriage? Really?” I say, exacerbated. Marcus just stands behind him in the courthouse entrance, laughing, dressed in his biker gear. Not even a suit.
“This is the final step. For you to have my last name,” Ethan said calmly, like he was correcting a typo. “I don’t like loose ends and I hate your surname.”
“Whats wrong with Jones?”
“It’s not Taylor.”
“Oh my god you are so romantic,” I say with a theatrical swoon. This can’t be happening. My divorce only came through last week. The penny drops. He’s been waiting.
“How long have you had this planned?”
“Since you first stayed over. Now can we get on with this? I’m ready to consummate the marriage,” he says, face stoic and annoyed.
So, like the good boy I’ve turned into, I didn’t say no.
I don’t think I really have ever said no.
With each day it’s becoming easier to just go with the flow, because I trust he has the best intentions for me.
He hasn’t gone wrong so far, even if it’s been unconventional with how he goes about things. I’m certainly never bored.
Now, in Bali, married and renamed, I watch him scan the hotel floor below us. His gaze tracks a waiter who lingers too long near us. Ethan leans in, mouth brushing my ear.
“You don’t need to talk to him, he’s trouble,” he murmurs, his arms holding me tight around the waist.
The jealousy is sharp and erotic in the way danger always is.
It coils low in my stomach, heat and fear tangled together until I can’t tell which one I crave more.
Like when he straightens my collar, or when he presses a thumb to my throat just long enough to feel my pulse, I feel owned. And god help me — I feel chosen.
This year gave me everything I thought I wanted, recognition and wealth. Living a dream as a career, something that makes me feel close to my dad, knowing he would be so proud.
It also gave me Ethan’s name and a life I would never leave. Just like he would never let me go, I would do anything to keep him, too. Nobody will ever take away what we have, because Ethan would destroy them, and I would stand beside him and watch.