Page 3 of Rogue’s Reckoning

"Anything else?" I ask, knowing there's more. Bones is thorough.

There's a pause which is quickly followed by a sigh. "Yeah, there's one more thing. She's been seen with Lochlann. Nothing too nefarious, just images of them together."

The information hits me like a punch to the gut. Of all the complications, I never saw this coming. Lochlann is the son of the president of the Shadow Hawks. Fuck. This could be a set up.

"You sure about this?" I ask, my mind already racing with the implications.

"Positive," Bones confirms. "I’ve got surveillance photos and everything."

I thank him and end the call, my head spinning. Willow, the girl who's been occupying my thoughts, has a direct connection to our enemies. It's the kind of coincidence that sets off alarm bells in our world. Is she playing me?

Part of me wants to wash my hands of the whole thing. Return the notebook anonymously and forget I ever saw her. But another part, doesn’t want to. I want to see her again.

I stand up, pocketing the notebook, and grab my keys. I need to clear my head, and there's only one way I know how.

As I fire up my Harley and peel out of the compound, I feel the eyes of my brothers on me. They know something's off but none of them dare to ask.

The night air whips against my face as I push my bike to its limits, tearing down empty back roads. My mind races faster than my motorcycle, trying to make sense of this mess I've found myself in.

Willow Bennett... The name echoes in my head like a siren's call I can't ignore. But now I know she has a connection to the Shadow Hawks, everything's changed. What seemed like a chance encounter now reeks of a potential set-up.

I park my bike on a cliff that overlooks the city and light up a cigarette. The glittering lights below seem to mock me, reminding me of the stark divide between my world and Willow's.

The memory of her shy smile and innocent eyes makes it hard to believe, but I've been fooled before. In this life, trust is a luxury we can rarely afford.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's Ghost.

"Where the hell are you, brother?" he asks before I can say anything. His voice is tense, worried.

I take a long drag of my cigarette before answering. "Needed to clear my head. What's up?"

"Prez has called an emergency meeting. You need to get your ass back here. Now."

The urgency in his tone sets me on edge. "What's going on?"

"The Hawks made a move. They hit one of our shipments. It's bad, Rogue."

"Fuck," I growl, already moving toward my bike. "I'm on my way."

As I race back to the clubhouse, my mind goes into overdrive. Is this connected to Willow somehow? Did I inadvertently tip our hand by asking Bones to dig into her background?

I push the thoughts aside as I pull into the compound. Now is not the time for distractions. The club needs Rogue—the enforcer, the protector. The man who gets shit done.

The clubhouse is a hive of activity when I walk in. Storm's face is thunderous; his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table everyone’s gathered around.

"Nice of you to join us," he growls as I take my seat.

I ignore the jab, focusing on the matter at hand. "What happened?"

Storm lays it out for us. The Hawks hit our shipment hard. It's a bold move.

As Storm outlines our response, I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. This is what I'm good at—planning, strategizing, bringing the pain to those who cross us.

But even as I throw myself into the discussion, a part of my mind keeps drifting back to Willow. The timing of this attack, right after I asked Bones to dig into her background, seems too convenient to be coincidence.

"Rogue, you'll lead the strike." Storm's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast. Show these bastards what happens when you fuck with the Saints."

I nod, pushing thoughts of Willow aside. "Consider it done, Prez. They won't know what hit 'em."

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