17. Fury
Day one
Bones
T he first thing I notice is the weight of my own body.
My arms — spread wide, bound at the wrists. My legs — locked apart, ankles strapped down. My head — heavy as a goddamn anvil, neck stiff from hanging too long.
My clothes — gone. I'm only in my fucking boxers.
The next thing I notice is the stillness. The silence. Too goddamn quiet. No bike engines rumbling. No low voices from the clubhouse.
And then — the smell. Cement. Cold air. Something metallic.
And beneath it, a ghost of perfume. Something sweet and fresh, an exquisite smell that has no place here.
I lift my head — slow, heavy, everything off-balance. My vision is blurry.
Basement. Bare concrete walls. A single overhead light, sharp and sterile, cutting through the dark. A steel door, locked tight.
I recognize the position I'm in immediately. St. Andrew's Cross. Leather cuffs. Reinforced frame. Someone didn't just throw this together last minute.
I let out a slow breath. My mouth tastes like cotton and regret.
The last thing I remember is leaving the new clubhouse. Where was I going?
And then — it all comes at once. Ely. I look around fast and my vision clouds, everything spinning. It takes a moment for things to come into focus but I finally land my eyes on her. Sitting in a chair near a long metal table. Looking at me like she's about to take a bite out of my neck. It takes a second and then she suddenly smirks.
I'm definitely in for a really bad time.
Ely
"I told you, Kane. You shouldn't have come looking for me. But you wouldn't listen. Hard-headed as always. Too stubborn for your own good."
I smirk, arms crossed, watching him strapped to my beautiful contraption — helpless. Bound tight to polished steel, muscles flexing against the restraints, but he isn't going anywhere. Not this time.
It took longer than expected to get this little beauty delivered. And an embarrassingly long conversation with a sales advisor who thought I was building a BDSM sex dungeon. If only he knew the truth.
Ria had Devil's Breath ready in six days. The St. Andrew's Cross took twelve. I almost thought I'd have to postpone my plans.
But here we are.
I push up from my chair, circling him, taking my time, cataloging every inch.
Male perfection. Muscles broader than I remember, ink crawling over hardened skin. A man built for war. Too bad the inside is rotten.
Ria and I almost broke our backs dragging his unconscious body into my basement.
"Weakness doesn't suit you, Kane," I say, voice light, amused. "Looks like you've been training."
"Had a lot of rage to work through."
I smirk. His hands curl into fists, his body tense, his stare sharp.
"Whatever you need to do, do it, Ely."
I roll my eyes. "I will," I say, dismissive. "I don't need your fucking permission for that."
I lean in close, tilting my head, watching him watch me.
"You know... what I really hate, Kane, is hearing you say my name."
His brows pull together. He doesn't get it yet.
I lift my arm, let the light catch the ink, the phoenix stretched over the scarred reminder of his betrayal.
" Ely is dead. "
His jaw tics.
"She died when Jinx slit her throat," I whisper, voice like ice. " Temperance rose from the ashes."
He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to calm down the feral beast inside his soul. "Do you want me to call you Temperance?"
I smile, all teeth, all vengeance. "I want you to suffer."
His eyes darken. He was expecting that.
"Four days," I say, voice steady, unwavering. "Four days of hell. Exactly what I went through. And when it's done? You leave. You go back to Driftwood."
His smirk is infuriating. "I'll do whatever you want, my fiery Temper . But I'm not leaving. I already moved the mother chapter to Silverpine," he says, calm as fucking death. "Half the club followed."
My blood turns molten. "You did what?" I hiss.
The edges of my vision blur with rage. He has no right.
"Whether you ever accept me again or not, I won't be far behind you," he says, voice deadly serious.
I sneer, anger thrumming under my skin. "What if I move to Myanmar, Kane? What then?"
"Then I move to Myanmar." Like it's that simple.
"There are no outlaw biker clubs there. Plus, I can disappear just like I did four years ago."
His smirk grows. "Not without the FBI's help, you can't. And you can't get them involved now. You just kidnapped someone, my beautiful, fiery bird. Also, I've made sure you never disappear on me again. I have much better resources to find you, now."
My nails dig into my palms. He planned for this. Prepared for this.
"You can reject me for eternity, El-," he swiftly corrects himself with a smirk, " fiery Temper ," he continues, unshaken. "But even if I have to watch you move on with someone else, even if I have to keep my distance, I'm never leaving. You're it for me."
I take a slow breath. Steady myself. I won't let him get under my skin. This fucking stalker. It's just the first day. By the end, I will break him. His scars will be as deep as mine and whether he stays in Silverpine or not, it won't matter.
He tilts his head, watching me like he's already figured out my next move. "What are your plans here, Temper? I'm ready for whatever you have in store. I was ready when I accepted dinner at your place. When I drank the coffee you offered me. I was ready four years ago."
I walk to him, dragging my nails down his abs with slow, deliberate movements. He shudders under my touch.
"You know," I murmur, "I lived years in the Riders' clubhouse. Jinx's personal toy. But those years? They were nothing compared to the four days that followed when you sent me back to him."
His muscles coil like a loaded gun.
"Jinx couldn't even get it up to fucking rape me," I laugh softly, mockingly. "Apparently, you broke him. The fact that I let you touch me ruined him. At least you were good for that one fucking thing."
Bones doesn't blink. Doesn't twitch a muscle.
"But the rest?" I whisper, leaning in closer. "He still had his rituals. The ones the FBI matched to his other victims." I smile, bright, wicked. "That's why my wounds made sense to them."
His breathing is uneven now. I let the words sink in. Let him picture it.
"Do it, Temper," he finally says, quiet, solemn. "Take all your pain and anger out on me."
He looks me straight in the eyes. Unwavering.
"If the brothers come knocking, just tell them one word — fury . They'll understand. They'll leave."
I pause. Interesting.
Not that it matters. I had plans for them anyway. But still... how
thoughtful.
I smile sweetly. "So considerate, Kane."
Then, I turn my back on him, scanning my metal table lined with tools.
"It all started with a basement interrogation. We've got that covered. Time for the mark," I murmur, trailing my fingers over my selections.
Then I pick it up. The wireless tattoo gun. I turn, flicking it on. The buzzing fills the air.
Bones watches, his expression unreadable.
"You see, Kane," I say, stepping closer, climbing onto the chair beside him to reach his arm. "I'm no tattoo artist. Not like Sketch. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing with this thing," I say, shaking the tattoo gun around a little. "Unfortunately, your arms are already covered in tattoos but I am determined to see what I can create over them!"
I drag the machine across his perfectly inked skin, ruining the mythology he carefully curated.
"I promise I'll give it my best shot!"
Bones
She dives in like she's on a mission from the gods of vengeance themselves. Focused. Deadly. No hesitation. No mercy.
I barely suck in a breath before the pain rips through me like wildfire. A thousand burning needles, digging straight through flesh, straight through muscle, tearing their way down to bone.
Fuck.
She has no fucking idea what she's doing with that thing. None. The needle digs too deep, scrapes in jagged, uneven lines, slicing through my ink.
There won't be a new tattoo when she's done. Just an ugly, jagged scar. Just a wound carrying a piece of her pain with it.
I don't care.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the buzzing of the machine. Let it drown out everything else. The fire in my arm. The raw edge of her fury. The weight of her breath as she leans over me, destroying me one inch at a time.
The pain doesn't just stay in my arm. It travels. Straight to my spine. Up my neck. Embeds itself in the back of my skull like a fucking bullet.
She needs this.
And I need it, too.
Because it wasn't just her I destroyed four years ago.
I destroyed myself, too.
I close my eyes, breathe slow, steady. Let the pain settle deep in my marrow, let it burn through every last nerve in my body. I won't fight it. I won't stop her.
I'll give her this. Every second of it.
Because she deserves to carve her pain into me. And I deserve to wear it.
Day two
Temper
It's cathartic, really.
All this time, I hated Bones more than I ever hated Jinx. Because with Jinx, I knew what to expect. He was always evil. Predictable in his monstrosity.
But Bones?
He was the man I loved. The man I thought loved me. The man who should have protected me. Who should have heard me out. And instead?
He stomped on every expectation I ever had. Ground them into the dirt like they were nothing.
I can feel something deep inside me starting to close. Every mark I leave on his skin feels like it erases another one from mine.
I lean back in my chair, cigarette burning between my fingers, watching him.
Bones is holding up well for a man who hasn't had food or water in 24 hours. I'll have to give him a few sips of water, though, and soon. Three more days to go. He knows it.
He watches me, silent, intense. Blood dried and crusted over his arm where I carved into him, where my hands made him bleed.
I push up from my chair, taking a slow drag from my cigarette, the nicotine curling in my lungs, burning like vengeance.
"I haven't smoked in years," I muse, tilting my head. "Not since Jinx started leaving me packs of my favorite brand all over the Riders' clubhouse. Apparently, he liked a woman who smoked."
I smirk, exhaling the smoke into the dim light. "Someone should have told him I wasn't a woman back then. Just a girl."
Bones' jaw clenches. His fists twitch in the restraints.
"He had a fascination with cigarettes, you know," I continue, stepping back just enough so he can see all of me. "I found out why during those four days."
I lift the hem of my dress. Slowly.
His entire body goes rigid.
His eyes go murderous.
He sees them.
The small, puckered scars, lined in perfect symmetry on the inside of my thighs.
Twenty-four in total. Twelve on one side. Twelve on the other. Arranged in four perfect rows of six.
I watch his face, watch the way his breathing turns sharp, his muscles locking like he wants to tear through the restraints.
I take another slow drag of my cigarette and exhale. Unbothered. Detached. Because I lived it. And he? He only gets to see the aftermath.
"Day two," I murmur. "That's when I found out."
The tension in the room thickens, tightens, coils around us both like the shadow of a nightmare.
"After this," I say, flicking ash onto the concrete floor, "I'll let you down for a few minutes. Call it a bathroom break."
His eyes snap to mine, but he stays silent.
I smirk, tilting my head. "If you try anything, think again. I already have a backup plan to put you under again. And next time?" I step closer, voice dropping. Soft but lethal.
"There won't be any more bathroom breaks."
He nods slowly, voice gravel and steel.
"I'll take my punishment any way you want to give it, Temper."
Bones
The cigarette burns sting like a motherfucker.
I deserve this.
I know I do. But fuck, what I wouldn't give to throw myself into a tub of ice water right now.
Every inch of my body screams. My muscles are torn to hell, my skin a patchwork of welts, burns, and open wounds. Crawling to the small bathroom nearly broke me. Arms useless, legs barely functioning. Two more days.
I can do this. I have to.
I glance at her — Temper.
She stands a few feet away, gripping a long stick, watching it with disconcerting fascination. The kind of curiosity a scientist might have before an experiment.
Fuck.
"This looks harmless compared to a big, brooding guy like you, right?" she muses, shaking the stick lightly. Her lips curl into a vicious smile.
I say nothing.
"Think again, big guy." She twirls it once, the movement fluid, controlled. "This thing is a hazel stick. You don't need to be strong to use it. You just need repetition."
She steps closer, tilting her head, mocking sympathy dripping from her voice.
"With enough repetition," she continues, "welts turn bigger, uglier, deeper. And finally?" Her smile sharpens. "Skin breaks."
She pauses.
"It's especially painful on hands, feet, ribs."
She's going to fucking ruin me.
I expected pain. Humiliation. I prepared myself for whatever she was willing to give me.
This is nothing compared to what she went through.
I flash her a grin that barely holds together.
"Just watch the face, Temper." My voice is rough, but I push through. "You'll be looking at this handsome guy for the rest of your life. Might as well keep something nice to stare at."
Brave words. Weak delivery.
Two days of starvation, dehydration, and pain have worn me thin. But she survived four. I'll do the same.
I have to.
She tilts her head, considering. Plotting.
"Tell me, Kane," she says, voice syrupy sweet, dripping poison.
"If you insist on moving your club here, do you think it would be my right to take my vengeance on your brothers?"
My body locks up.
Her smile doesn't waver. Not even a flicker.
"The ones who stood by that night," she continues, "and watched you drag me to that tattoo chair? Watched you throw me in the basement? The ones who watched you give me away?"
Her head tilts the other way. Amused. Curious.
"Seems like you're ready to do anything for my forgiveness. Would you give me the chance to punish your precious brothers?"
I don't hesitate. Not for a second.
"I would."
Something flickers in her expression — surprise.
"I wouldn't force them," I continue, voice gravel and blood. "But I know at least Ghost, Tank, and Joker would do what it takes."
"Oh," she breathes, eyes gleaming with excitement.
She twirls the stick again, slower this time. Thinking. Pondering.
"Well," she hums, "I guess we'll see what happens after this."
And then, she swings.
The stick whips through the air, cutting with a sharp whoosh.
Fuck.
This is going to hurt like a bitch.