19. Marked
Temper
I sip my coffee, the steam curling in the crisp morning air, my gaze fixed on the mountains stretching endlessly before me. For the first time in years, I feel something close to peace.
It won't last. Nothing good ever does.
Bones has been out of my basement for a few days now, but his presence lingers like smoke, choking the fresh air I fought so hard to reclaim. His little gifts kept arriving all week, even while he was chained to my wall, broken and bleeding. The bastard had pre-arranged them.
I should've known.
He must've expected something. Maybe not the full extent of what I did to him, but he knew I'd make him pay.
Never mind that now. He'll be bothering me again soon enough.
But I don't care. I feel like celebrating and tonight, I'm going to dance. Real dancing. The kind that involves sweat and bass pounding through my veins, a cocktail in my hand, and a warm, unfamiliar body pressed against mine.
The kind of night that ends in sin and satisfaction.
I should call Griffin. Kidnap Ria from her precious greenhouse. We should hit the club one town over. The only place within a hundred miles that isn't filled with dust, bad beer and wannabe outlaws. I need to lose myself tonight.
The thought settles in, a small, wicked thrill curling low in my stomach.
"Hello, Temperance."
The voice cuts through my peace like a blade, shattering the stillness. Not Bones. But another annoying fucking Vulture comes to rain on my morning.
I turn my head slowly, my lips pressing into a thin line. Ghost.
"What do you want?" My voice is clipped, already done with whatever conversation he thinks he's about to have. "I don't have time for this. I'm making plans for my weekend."
He shifts, scratching the back of his neck, and my eyebrows shoot up.
Ghost, uncertain?
The man carries himself like he was born to rule the world. And yet, right now, he looks hesitant.
Interesting.
"Well," he starts, slow, cautious. "Bones said something." He exhales sharply, eyes narrowing slightly, like he's trying to read me, trying to anticipate my next move.
"That you'd like to punish the brothers." His voice lowers. "For that night."
The words hang between us, thick, heavy, electric with unspoken things.
I say nothing.
I let the silence stretch, let it settle into his skin, let him wonder where the fuck this is going to go. Let him squirm.
Finally, I lift a single brow. "And?"
He exhales again, shifting his stance. He's uncomfortable. Good.
"And the brothers and I decided that you should do it."
My pulse kicks.
He lifts a hand, shaking his head before I can respond. "Bones didn't force us. He just told us what you wanted. Said it was our choice. And we chose."
His gaze is dead steady. "We want to do it."
My stomach flips, but I keep my face blank.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
I purse my lips, tapping a finger against my chin, pretending to think, but I already know my answer.
A slow smile stretches across my lips, filled with wicked plans.
"On one condition," I murmur, voice syrupy sweet. "Bones gets to be in the crowd to receive his collective punishment right alongside you." I pause, let the words sink in, twist the knife.
"After all," I say, blinking innocently, "what are brothers for?"
Ghost's lips twitch — a quiet laugh escaping, dark and knowing. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "At this rate, he's definitely going to die by your hand soon."
Then he nods. "I'll tell him. I doubt he'll argue."
I clap my hands together, the sharp sound splitting the air.
"Well then," I purr, "that's settled. Next week. Friday afternoon, I'll meet you all at the clubhouse."
I lean forward, eyes gleaming, my smile widening as I deliver the final blow.
"Here's exactly how you're going to expect me..."
The afternoon sun spills golden light across my living room, illuminating the quiet as I sip my third coffee of the day and watch a rerun of Criminal Minds. The house is still, the silence comforting, a rare moment where my head isn't filled with the ghosts of my past or the weight of vengeance.
My plans for tonight are already settled — Griffin, Ria, the club one town over, the kind of night where I let my body remember what it's like to be alive. No hesitation, no thinking, just music, sweat, and the promise of something intoxicating. Something that isn't him.
The doorbell rings. My stomach clenches, my fingers tightening around the coffee mug. I already know it's not Griffin or Ria. It's too early.
I stand, moving slowly, and look through the peephole.
I freeze.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
I open the door cautiously, expecting a slap across the face for all the shit I've pulled these last few weeks. Instead, my eardrums are immediately assaulted.
"Elyna! My beautiful girl!"
Mama's voice shakes the goddamn walls, and before I can even brace for impact, she crushes me into a hug that nearly cracks my ribs.
I grunt, wheezing through the vice grip of her arms. "It's Temperance now, actually."
She pulls back just enough to beam at me, her face radiating warmth like a goddamn furnace. "That's such a beautiful name, sweetheart! You chose well!"
I barely have time to process her unbreakable cheerfulness before another pair of arms latch onto me like a lifeline.
This time, it's desperate, clinging, trembling.
"I fucking missed you so much."
Layla's voice is wrecked, thick with the kind of grief that cuts straight into my chest. She's crying.
She shakes against me, her sobs muffled as she buries her face in my shoulder. "I was home that night," she chokes out, voice cracking. "Sleeping. Sleeping, of all things! I didn't even know. By the time I woke up, it was too late. They wouldn't tell me anything. Apparently, if you don't have a dick, you don't get to know club business! But you weren't club business. You were my friend."
My breath catches. My throat tightens.
Fuck.
"I missed you too, hellcat."
The words come out broken, fractured, because I hadn't let myself think about this — about what losing Layla had done to me, about how I had locked it all away because survival didn't leave room for mourning.
But now? Now it's crashing down.
We stand there, clutching onto each other, grieving the years lost between us.
A warm hand settles on my shoulder, grounding me. Mama.
"Come on, girls," she murmurs, voice gentle but firm. "No need to cry in the doorway. Let's drink something and catch up."
I nod, blinking away the moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes. I turn to Layla, gripping her shoulders, staring straight into her big, bright eyes.
"I am so happy you're here."
She sniffs, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. "I'm so happy, too." She laughs weakly, shaking her head. "I just got in today, actually. Joker came first with the brothers, but I had stuff to wrap up in Driftwood. I ended up arriving at the same time as Mama and Pops."
I quirk a brow at Mama as we start toward the kitchen. "Pops is here, too? What does he think about all this, moving the club here?"
She smirks and waves a dismissive hand. "He's given up on stressing over the stupid stuff his Einstein of a son does. He does approve of the muffinhead chasing after you, though. Personally, I'm smarter. I'm staying the hell out of it. This mess is between you and the rotten fruit of my old man's loins."
I choke on a laugh. "Mama, that's your son, too."
We settle around the kitchen table, Layla already raiding my cookie stash like the little thief she's always been. I set out water, juice, and Coke, watching them with something close to nostalgia, something that stings more than I expected.
Mama picks up her drink, eyes sharp with curiosity. "I hear you had a hand in giving him a reality check."
I still, my fingers curling around my glass. "What exactly did you hear?"
She takes a slow sip, too calm, a little amused.
"He wouldn't say much," she muses, setting her drink down. "But the bandages were pretty obvious." She smiles, kind and knowing. "Thank you for leaving him alive and in one piece, though."
Layla snorts and nearly chokes on her juice.
I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. "Umm... I just wanted him to leave town, initially." I scowl. "But of course, he's too stubborn for that."
Mama's hand covers mine, warm, steady, grounding.
"He's always been stubborn," she says softly. "And fearless. I've never seen that boy give up on something he truly wanted. Not once."
She watches me, expression unreadable, before exhaling, leaning back. "I won't tell you what to do. This is your choice. What he did was awful. And whatever price he owes for his stupidity and cruelty, that's for you alone to decide."
She squeezes my fingers, her voice dipping lower, softer.
"But, again, I am thankful you let him live," she murmurs. "Because even though he's an absolute numbskull, he is still my son."
The words settle in my chest, heavy as a boulder.
Then she claps her hands together, bright and mischievous.
"Now — tell us everything you've been up to these last four years!"
Five hours slip away like minutes, and when I finally glance at the clock, panic slams into me instantly.
Shit. I'm late.
I bolt out of my chair, nearly knocking over my glass. "Oh, God, I have to meet some friends tonight! We're going dancing, and I'm so, so fucking late."
Mama stands, completely unbothered, and pulls me into a quick but firm hug, her warmth wrapping around me, laced with affection. "We'll leave you to it, sweetheart," she murmurs, kissing my cheek. "Didn't realize how late it got."
Layla follows, hugging me tightly, squeezing just a little longer than necessary, just enough to make my chest ache. When she pulls back, she pouts.
"When can I see you again?"
I smirk, my mind filled with wicked plans. "Oh, I'll be at the clubhouse on Friday for a little... fun with the brothers."
Layla's eyes go wide.
Mama snorts, shaking her head, amused but unsurprised.
"Really?" Layla's voice is a mixture of delight and anticipation. Her lips curve, matching my devious expression. "I'll see you Friday, then. Judging by the look in your eyes, you're planning something beautiful. I can't wait to see it."
We're barely halfway to the door when a sharp knock echoes through the house.
I pull it open, not bothering to check, because I already know who it is.
And there he stands. Griffin.
Tall. Imposing. His hazel eyes rake over me, drinking me in like I'm an oasis and he's dying of thirst.
His lips tug into a slow, lazy smile.
"You're not ready, beautiful."
The way he says it, like it's a sin, like he's already stripping me down with his gaze, makes something delicious curl low in my stomach.
I lean against the doorframe, tilting my head, letting him have his fill. "Had some visitors. Give me a few minutes."
I introduce him to Mama and Layla and then they leave, both giving me matching thumbs-ups behind his back.
Jesus.
I wave them off, biting back a smirk, before turning back to Griffin. My smile shifts into a sultry promise, laced with challenge.
"Ready for a night of fun?"
His grin sharpens, and as he steps closer, the heat between us spikes, thick and charged, promising nothing but trouble.
The bass thrums through my body, the beat sinking under my skin, pounding in time with my pulse. Some old-school Lady Gaga track fills the air, electric and intoxicating, the kind of music that makes you forget, makes you move.
Ria is at the bar, laughing, flirting, already working her magic on some poor bastard who doesn't know what's coming. Griffin is pressed against my back, solid, warm, his hands gripping my hips as we move in sync. I tilt my head back, rolling my body into his, letting myself feel him, letting myself get lost into the moment.
I slide my arms up, twining them around his neck, turning just enough to catch his mouth with mine. The kiss is slow, teasing, a promise we both already know the answer to.
Griffin knows what's happening tonight. We've been fuck buddies for months, ever since he moved to Silverpine and strolled into Ria's shop. He's good — too good. A fucking machine in bed. But we don't connect beyond the physical, and that's fine with me. Connection is dangerous. Desire is enough.
His hands roam my body, his fingers pressing, his touch sparking heat low in my stomach. I let out a slow breath, my body lighting up, ready — and then I see it.
A shadow moves behind Griffin, just outside the haze of the club's neon lights.
My stomach turns to ice. Of course, it's him.
Bones. Fuck my life.
He's standing there, motionless, his storm-grey eyes locked onto Griffin's head like he's contemplating caving it in with his bare hands.
I roll my eyes, grabbing Griffin's hand without a word, dragging him through the crowd, straight to the bar.
Ria barely glances up from her new toy before I snap, "Bones is here."
She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Mama or Layla probably blabbed. Not their fault. But I want to leave," I say, already annoyed. "What's your plan with him?" I tip my chin toward the man she's been talking to.
Ria grins, teeth showing. "You can go with Griffin, Tempe. I'm having plenty of fun right here." Then, just as quickly, her face sobers. "Unless you want me to come with you. I can take care of your biker problem."
I huff out a laugh. "I don't have a biker problem, Ri."
She gives me a flat look. I ignore it.
"You be careful," I murmur, watching her. "We're going together to the clubhouse next week, right?"
Her grin returns, sharp enough to cut. "Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Little psycho."
She winks. "Big psycho."
I lace my fingers with Griffin's and start pushing through the crowd toward the exit, the tension in my spine slowly unwinding.
Right as we exit, a hand grips my arm.
"Temper."
I sigh, turning to face him. Griffin tenses beside me, eyes narrowing, ready for a fight.
I pat his chest. "Give me a minute, okay?"
He doesn't like it, but after a pause, he nods. "Are you sure?"
I nod back at him, and after another hesitant look at Bones, Griffin steps back.
I fold my arms, tilting my head, watching Bones like he's an insect I could crush under my heel.
"What, Bones?"
His jaw flexes, tight.
"Who is that guy?" His voice is low, almost a growl.
I smirk. "None of your business."
His nostrils flare. "Why are you stalking me?" I ask, my tone dripping with boredom. "You want me to get a restraining order?"
His lips curl, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "No piece of paper would keep me away from you, Temper."
I roll my eyes. "Jail would."
He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "Not even that, baby."
His eyes darken. "Now tell me, what are you doing with that guy? He's not your type."
I roll my eyes slowly, like this whole interaction is the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to me. "Oh? And what exactly is my type?"
He exhales sharply through his nose, jaw working. I don't let him answer.
"Wait, let me guess. Big, stupid, asshole bikers?" I smirk. "No, thank you. Leave me alone, Bones. I think I made myself perfectly clear a few days ago."
I turn to walk away, but he steps forward, closing the distance. He looks straight into my eyes and brings his hand up, his fingers brushing the side of my neck.
"And I already told you, Temper. I'm not going anywhere. Have your fun with your boy toy, but I'm not giving up."
His look is too intense, too determined. My gaze drops.
And that's when I see it.
My breath catches in my throat, my pulse stutters.
Bold, black ink. Stretching across his neck. Right to left. A brand. A scar. A confession.
TRAITOR.
My fingers twitch. My lips part. My vision narrows to nothing but those fucking letters.
What did he do?
Before I can stop myself, my hand lifts. My fingertips graze the ink, tracing the letters, slow, reverent, horrified. A weakness starts forming inside my heart. I hate it. It makes my eyes mist over.
I feel him holding his breath, his entire body frozen.
"What did you do?" My voice is barely a whisper, but it shakes.
His eyes soften, something raw and broken bleeding into them.
"You couldn't slash my throat, so I did it for you," he murmurs. "Because I deserve it. Because I was the real traitor that night. I betrayed you, the only woman that will ever hold my heart and soul. Out of fear, out of anger, it doesn't even matter anymore. I deserve this brand. I deserve it to be seen by everyone."
His thumb drags softly over my lower lip.
"Temper," he breathes, his voice ruined.
I can't move.
He lowers his head, pressing a single, chaste kiss to my forehead.
Before I can react, before I can pull away, before I can make sense of the chaos inside me, he drops his hand from my neck and takes a step back.
"Hurt me however much you want, Temper," he looks sadly at me. "My body, my soul, my heart are yours. I'll take all the pain and hurt for just the chance to look at you."
And then he turns and walks away. Just like that. Leaving me with a storm inside my soul.
I stand there, pulse thudding in my ears, something breaking inside my chest.
At some point, Griffin comes to me and touches my arm, cautious. I barely register it.
"Can we just watch Criminal Minds tonight?" I murmur, my voice a whisper.
His brows furrow, but he nods. "Sure, beautiful. Whatever you need."
The taxi ride home is silent. My mind is anything but.
Bones
I stand on the side of the road, swallowed by darkness, watching as the last light in her house flickers out. She took him home.
An agonizing, brutal ache slams into my chest, carving deep, splitting me open from the inside out. I swear I hear it — my heart actually cracking.
It feels like no matter what I do, no matter how hard I claw my way forward, I can't fucking reach her. She keeps slipping through my fingers, just out of grasp, just far enough to remind me how much I lost.
But I won't back down. Not now. Not ever.
Temper
The next morning, I wake up feeling fucking fantastic.
So what if Bones tattooed his goddamn neck in some twisted, misguided attempt at redemption? That's his problem, not mine. Sure, I won't lie, it does make me feel good. Real damn good.
Knowing he's walking around with a brand as bold and damning as the one he forced onto me. Knowing that every single person who lays eyes on him will see it, see his sin carved into his skin. A permanent reminder of the betrayal he can never outrun.
I spend the entire week with excitement dancing through my veins. Because I have things to look forward to.
By Friday, the package I ordered arrives. With all the little tools and trinkets I plan on using. God bless Ria and her thriving BDSM obsession. Truly, she's a gift. She was the inspiration behind this entire idea.
By the time she swings by to pick me up, I'm buzzing.
The anticipation thrums beneath my skin, a live wire, an electric hum that refuses to quiet. I wonder if Ghost and the brothers actually listened to my instructions. If they took me seriously.
Something tells me they did.
We pull up to the new Iron Vultures MC clubhouse, and the second I lay eyes on the place, I nearly choke on my own surprise.
This is a fucking luxury lodge.
I whip my head toward Ria, staring at her like I need confirmation that I'm not hallucinating. She just grins, unbothered, enjoying the moment.
I get my shit together, masking my shock, and step out of the car. The place is impressive — new, sturdy, built to last. As we move toward the back of the building, my gaze sweeps over the area, noting the other structures in various stages of construction. They're setting up something serious here. Interesting.
And then we round the corner.
And fuck me.
I stop dead in my tracks.
Twenty men. The ranked members of the club.
Completely, utterly, shamelessly naked.
Well, almost. The only thing they're wearing is their leather cuts, draped over broad, bare shoulders. Their bikes are perfectly lined up behind them, standing at attention like soldiers prepared for war.
Each man stands with his hands cupped in front of him, hiding the most precious parts.
Their expressions? Dead serious. Determined. Like they're about to pledge allegiance to something far bigger than themselves.
And right in the middle?
Bones.
Wrapped in bandages, bruises, fresh ink marking his throat like a scar. Looking like a warrior who refuses to lose. Even when he’s already lost.
My smile stretches impossibly wide.
Beside me, Ria loses her goddamn mind. She doubles over, cackling like a full-blown lunatic, clutching her stomach as tears stream down her face.
I tilt my head, taking in the spectacle before me.
This is going to be so fucking beautiful.