Chapter Twelve #2
My stomach dropped. Hell Night. That party had gone so horribly wrong.
I'd invited Honey to the compound for the first time that night.
Wanted her to meet everyone, see my world.
I'd been so proud to show her my family.
Then the Copperheads had attacked us, in our own territory.
And not without more than a little blood.
"That was different," I said, but even to my own ears, the words sounded weak.
"Was it?" Jack leaned back against Ghost's desk, the wood groaning under his weight. "Because I recall a night when those Copperhead fuckers decided to pay us a visit. Came in shooting. Came in with chains and knives." His voice dropped lower, more dangerous.
"They were there to send a message. To show us they could get to us whenever they wanted. And you think this guy, this Rocky—" he spat the name like it tasted bad "—is different?"
"You don't know him," I said, but the fire had gone out of my words.
"No," Jack agreed. "But I know his kind. Men who play both sides. Men who get into a girl's head, make her believe she's special, make her think she's the exception." His expression softened fractionally. "You ain't the first girl to fall for a smooth talker, Wren. Won't be the last either."
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "He told me about a shipment. Girls being trafficked. This Saturday."
Jack exchanged a glance with Ghost. "And you believed him?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "That's why I wanted to check it out. If he's telling the truth—"
"If he's telling the truth," Ghost cut in, "then it's even more dangerous. You think those Copperheads would let you walk away if they caught you anywhere near their operation? If what he's saying is true, they'd kill you without blinking, Wren. And they'd make it hurt."
The blunt assessment sent a chill through me.
They kept telling me this. I kept hearing it.
I knew they told me the truth. But I couldn’t let go.
I'd been so focused on proving myself, on the possibility that Rocky might be telling the truth, that I hadn't fully considered the consequences of being wrong.
"We protect our own," Jack said, his voice gentler now. "And like it or not, you're one of ours. Have been since Ghost brought you home that night, scared and trying so hard not to show it."
A lump formed in my throat. I remembered that night too.
The first time I felt safe in years. Ghost had given me a room with a lock on the door and promised no one would ever hurt me again.
Jack had personally vetted every man who came near me for the first year, making it clear that I was off-limits, I was family.
"I'm not trying to betray the club," I said quietly. "I just thought... if I could get information..."
"We know, sweetheart," Ghost said, his anger fading into something that hurt so much worse. Disappointment. Mixed with concern. "But this isn't the way."
Jack pushed off the desk and took a step toward me. Even though I knew he'd never hurt me, I couldn't help tensing. He noticed and stopped, keeping a respectful distance.
"We're not mad because we think you'd sell us out," Jack said. "We're fucking terrified because we know what those bastards are capable of. And if anything happened to you..." He shook his head, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
The fight drained out of me, my shoulders slumping as the truth of their words sank in. These men, these big, dangerous men who could make hardened criminals piss themselves with a look, were scared to lose me. Were scared for me. Not of what I might do, but of what might be done to me.
"I just wanted to help," I whispered.
"You want to help?" Ghost asked. "Stay away from him. Stay safe. That helps us more than any information ever could."
Jack nodded in agreement. "The club will handle the Copperheads. We always have."
I looked between them, these two pillars of my life. The father who'd saved me and the president who'd sanctioned my place in this family. The weight of their concern pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Ghost sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Go on," he said, nodding toward the door. "We're done here. But Wren—" he caught my gaze, held it "—stay away from Rocky. Please."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I turned to leave, Jack stepped aside, his massive frame no longer blocking the exit. I felt their eyes on my back as I walked out, my thoughts a jumbled mess of conflicting loyalties and emotions.
The hallway had emptied, the eavesdroppers scattered at Jack's arrival.
I was grateful for the solitude as I made my way through the compound.
Every step reminded me that this was my home, these people, my family.
They'd taken me in when I had nothing, given me everything. And here I was, risking it all for... what? Information? Trying to help girls who were in even worse situations than I’d been.
Or was I doing it for the way Rocky looked at me?
For the way his hands felt on my skin? The possibility that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't lying to me this time?
I didn't have answers, only questions that burned in my chest and twisted in my gut. Loyalty to the club that saved me, or to the man who made me feel alive in ways I'd never experienced before.
Maybe Ghost was right. Maybe I was being childish and reckless. Or maybe I was the only one willing to take a risk that could save those girls Rocky mentioned. It surprised me that Ghost or Jack hadn’t immediately said they’d look into it.
I sighed. I had decisions to make. Hard ones. And for the first time since coming to Bound in Blood, I didn't know which path to take.
Once I made it to my apartment I, I shut myself in my room and I paced restlessly.
The only light came from the red neon sign outside my window, bathing everything in a bloody glow that matched my mood.
Each time I passed the window, the Bound in Blood logo flickered across my face like a warning.
The fallout from my showdown with Ghost and Jack still burned in my chest. I'd promised Ghost I'd stay put, promised I'd stay away from Rocky.
But promises always felt easier to make than keep.
But what if Rocky told me the truth this time? What if he really was working with Vittorio Luca to take down the trafficking ring? Those girls deserved someone fighting for them.
My phone buzzed on the counter, jolting me from my thoughts. I snatched it up, heart racing when I saw the name on the screen.
Rocky: Need to meet. Have crucial information. The park bench, one hour.
Fuck.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. The memory of his lips on mine sent an unwelcome heat through my body. Ghost would lose his fucking mind if he knew Rocky messaged me, let alone that I’d let him touch me again.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up.
On my way. Don't do anything stupid before I get there.
I sent the text, then tossed the phone onto my bed like it had burned me. What the fuck was I doing? This went beyond reckless into full-blown stupid territory. If Ghost caught me — when Ghost caught me, because he always fucking found out — there'd be hell to pay.
But I couldn't sit here while those girls' lives hung in the balance.
I just couldn't. I grabbed my leather jacket from the back of a chair, shrugging into it.
I hesitated, then went to my nightstand and pulled out the small switchblade Ghost had given me for my sixteenth birthday.
Better to have it and not need it than the other way around.
The red neon glow pulsed through my window as I moved silently around my apartment. Ghost had ears everywhere in the compound. If anyone realized I was sneaking out after the scene in his office earlier, they'd run straight to him with the news. I had to be careful.
I opened my door a crack, peered out into the dimly lit hallway. Empty. I slid through the opening and closed the door behind me with a soft click, moving quickly toward the stairs at the end of the hall.
Once I reached the ground floor, instead of heading toward the main exit, I turned toward a service corridor that led to a rarely-used side door.
I slipped past the storage rooms to the exit at the end of the hall.
I pressed against it slowly, easing it open just enough to slide through.
The night air hit my face, cool and damp.
The parking lot stretched before me, motorcycles lined up in neat rows, their chrome glinting under security lights.
My bike waited at the far end, partially hidden by the shadow of the garage.
When I reached my Harley, I resisted the urge to start it immediately. Instead, I pushed it slowly toward the service road that ran behind the compound, waiting until I was well clear of the main entrance before swinging my leg over the seat and starting her up.
The engine growled to life beneath me, a sound that usually brought comfort but now sent anxiety spiraling through my chest. I gave it gas, pulling away from the compound without looking back. If anyone had seen me, it was too late now.
As I hit the main road, wind whipping through my hair, I tried to silence the voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Ghost. What the hell did I think I was doing?
Betraying the only real family I'd ever had for a man who might still be playing me?
Or was I doing exactly what Ghost had taught me and standing up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves?
I didn't have answers, only questions and a gnawing certainty that by the time this night ended, I'd either prove my worth to the club or burn every bridge I had.
Either way, there was no turning back now.
The road stretched before me, dark and uncertain, leading me toward Rocky and whatever truth — or lies — awaited.