Chapter Fourteen #2
Two prospects manned the gate. They relaxed slightly upon recognizing Ghost and Jack. Both men nodded as we passed through the gates.
The main building loomed ahead, windows glowing with light despite the late hour. Club members emerged from various doorways, drawn by the unusual arrival. Their expressions shifted from curiosity to suspicion when they spotted me, an outsider in their sanctuary.
Jack dismounted first, running a hand through his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair. His massive presence seemed to fill the courtyard, drawing eyes away from me.
Ghost killed his engine and swung off his bike in one fluid motion before turning to help Wren.
His hands gripped her waist with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the rigid set of his shoulders.
She slid to the ground, legs wobbling slightly, which I figured stemmed more from fright than the ride.
Ghost steadied her, his protective instinct palpable even from where I stood.
Marcus nudged me and I got out of the SUV, my boots hitting gravel with a finality that resonated through my bones. This marked my first time inside the Bound in Blood compound, a place I never expected to see from the inside. Certainly not under these circumstances.
Ghost murmured something to Wren, his voice too low for me to catch.
She nodded once, her expression unreadable in the harsh compound lighting.
Then Ghost turned to me, his face transforming as he approached.
The gentle father vanished, replaced by the vice president of Bound in Blood MC.
A man who’d earned his reputation through blood and loyalty.
He stopped inches from me, close enough that no one else could hear his words.
"You got five minutes to explain yourself before I put a bullet in your Goddamned head," he said, voice deadly quiet, each word precise and measured. No emotion colored his tone, making the threat all the more chilling.
I met his gaze without flinching. "Fair enough."
Ghost jerked his head toward the main building. "Inside. Now."
I followed his direction, feeling the weight of dozens of hostile stares tracking my every movement.
Wren walked ahead with Jack, her shoulders set in a tense line.
The emotional distance between us stretched with each step, and I wondered if I could ever bridge it again.
If she would let me try once she knew the whole truth.
Thankfully, Marcus followed us in. He could back up my story.
Any chance I had of salvaging something with Wren came down to this moment.
The walls seemed to close in as we entered, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting that revealed a space both clean and lived-in.
Worn leather furniture, pool tables, and a long bar lined one wall, while club memorabilia and framed photos plastered every available surface.
The place smelled like leather, motor oil, and decades of cigarette smoke ground into the very foundations.
Unlike the Copperheads' deliberately intimidating aesthetic, this place felt like exactly what it claimed to be.
A home for people who chose each other as family.
The kind of place Wren belonged. The kind of place I never could.
"Jack!" A female voice cut through the tension, and I turned to see a petite blonde pushing through the crowd. Had to be Honey. Wren had mentioned her friend several times and I thought I remembered her at the Valentine’s Ball.
She moved with purpose, her slight build belying the confidence in her stride.
Her eyes flicked between Wren and me, instantly reading the situation with uncanny accuracy.
"Not now, Honey," Jack growled, but she ignored him, stepping directly into his path. I guess his old lady didn’t have the same fear of him everyone else did.
"Exactly now," she countered, her voice low but firm. She turned to Wren, taking her hands and examining her face. "You okay, sweetie?"
Wren nodded stiffly. "Fine."
Honey shot me a look that said she was not happy with me, then turned back to Jack. "Office?" She made the request like it was actually a request. In any other situation, I’d be laughing my ass off at the big bad MC president being managed by his old lady.
Honey hooked her arm through Jack’s and physically tugged him aside with a familiarity that surprised me. Jack allowed himself to be led a few steps away, their heads bent together in urgent conversation.
I stood awkwardly near Wren, close enough to catch her scent. Neither of us spoke or looked directly at each other, yet I felt her presence like a physical touch against my skin. The club members continued to watch us, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility.
"She never could mind her own business," Wren muttered as she glared at her friend.
"Good thing?" I ventured, keeping my voice low.
Wren shrugged, her eyes fixed on Honey and Jack. Ghost had now joined the couple and they all seemed to be having a quiet, if spirited, discussion. "Depends on what she convinces him to do."
"They need to sort this shit out," Honey said, her voice rising just enough that her words carried clearly to where we stood. "Alone."
Ghost shook his head emphatically. "No fucking way I'm leaving her alone with him."
"They need space to talk," Honey insisted. "Whatever happened between them, they can't figure it out with you hovering like an overprotective helicopter parent."
Ghost's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He lied to her. Used her. And you want me to give them privacy?" Honey opened her mouth to reply. Then Ghost added, “And I’m not a helicopter parent, Goddammit!”
Honey didn't back down. "Yes. Because you know damn well she won't get closure otherwise."
Jack moved then shifted his weight, wrapping an arm around his woman. "She's right," he rumbled. "You crowd this, it only pushes the girl toward him."
Ghost looked between Jack and Honey, his jaw working as he processed their words. Finally, his shoulders dropped slightly—not surrender, but strategic retreat. "Fine," he spat the word like it tasted bad.
He turned to me, stabbing a finger in my direction. "You hurt her again, they won't find enough pieces to bury."
I nodded once. "Understood."
Honey smiled, squeezing Jack's arm, smiling up at him and mouthing a “thank you” before moving back to Wren. "Come on," she said, linking arms with her friend. She jerked her head, indicating I should follow.
We wound through the main building and out a back door, crossing a gravel yard toward a separate structure. The night air felt electric with tension, each step crunching loudly in the silence. Wren walked stiffly beside Honey, their heads bent together in whispered conversation I couldn't catch.
They led me to an apartment and stopped by the door. “I’ll check in with you in an hour,” Honey told Wren. “If you don’t text me back, I’ll send Jack and Ghost so make sure the thing’s on and the volume’s up.”
Wren opened the door and stepped inside, looking back over her shoulder and jerking her head for me to follow. Before Wren closed the door, Honey addressed me. “If you're playing her, I'll personally help Ghost get rid of whatever’s left of your body."
"If you think I’m playing her, why did you fight for me to have time with her now?" I had to know. If anyone had sway with Wren it would be this woman.
Honey didn’t hesitate. “Because I don’t think you’re playing her. I think you care about her as much as she cares about you.”
Honey shut the door as she left and the lock clicked behind her. Which left Wren and me truly alone for the first time since everything exploded between us. I had to fight my entire soul not to pull her into my arms and hold her as tightly as I could.
Instead, Wren moved to the kitchenette, putting physical distance between us. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed protectively over her chest. The harsh overhead light caught the purple strands in her hair, making them gleam like neon.
The silence stretched between us, thick and charged.
Wren stood across the room, her body rigid with tension, green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that burned.
I waited, letting her dictate how this would go.
The clock on the microwave blinked its red numbers, marking seconds that felt like hours.
When she finally spoke, her voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotion she fought to hide behind anger.
"You used me," she said, each word sharp enough to draw blood.
I stepped forward, stopping when she flinched back against the counter. "It started that way," I admitted, running a hand through my hair. "But it became something else real fuckin’ fast. And I never intended to sleep with you. Not as a means to an end."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Do I even know your name? Is it Rocky?"
"Silvester Russo. People’ve always called me Rocky. That part happened to be true."
"And the Copperhead patch? The phone calls about trafficking girls? What the fuck, Rocky?" The way she spat my name felt like a slap.
I moved to the couch, needing to sit before my legs gave out. I’d seen first hand what condition those women would be in when they got to the club. I’d done my best to help that first group and I’d do my best by this group, too. But the memory of it…
The cushion sagged beneath my weight, springs creaking in protest. "I infiltrated the Copperheads eight months ago on Vittorio's orders. The trafficking operation exists. Everything I told you about that, about the shipment coming in—all true."
"So you approached me, fucked me, all for what? Information?" Her voice rose, hands clenching into fists at her sides. "A convenient way into Bound in Blood? How does one fit with the other?"