Page 35 of Rogue’s Reckoning

As we leave the cafe together, I feel a tiny spark of hope ignite in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, things will get better from here.

TEN

ROGUE

My head pounds as I drag myself out of bed, remnants of last night's drinking binge still coursing through my system. The events of the past few days play on an endless loop in my mind—Willow's screams, the smell of burning flesh, the look of betrayal and hatred in her eyes as I left her at her apartment. Every time I tried to sleep last night, her face was all I saw. I drank myself unconscious just so I wouldn’t have to see her.

I stumble to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, staring at my haggard reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at me is a stranger—hollow-eyed and haunted. How did I let things go so far? How could I have stood by while the woman I love was tortured? But I had no choice. There’s no going against the club. Not fucking ever. I did what I had to do and it was beyond fucked up.

Pounding on my door jolts me from my brooding. "Rogue! Open up, brother. We need to talk."

I recognize Ghost's voice and groan. The last thing I want right now is company, but I know he won't leave until I answer. Pulling on a shirt, I make my way to the door and yank it open. I spent the night at the clubhouse. There was no fucking way Icould go back to my apartment, not with everything smelling of Willow.

Ghost takes one look at me and shakes his head. "Jesus, you look like shit."

"Thanks," I mutter, stepping aside to let him in. "What do you want?"

Ghost's expression turns grim as he enters my room. "We fucked up, brother. Big time."

My stomach drops. "What are you talking about?"

"Your girl, Willow. She was telling the truth. It wasn't her who stole the flash drive or met with the Hawks. It was her sister."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stagger back, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself. "What?"

Ghost nods, his face a mask of regret. "We got some new intel last night. Turns out Willow was telling the truth when she told you about her sister, Ivy. She's the one who's been working with Lochlann and the Hawks. In fact, she’s been dating that bastard."

"Oh god," I whisper, bile rising in my throat as the full implications sink in. "What have we done?"

"Storm's handling it," Ghost says, his voice hard. "Ivy won't be a problem anymore. Get your ass downstairs. I have no doubt you want to see what he has planned."

I close my eyes as a smile forms on my face. That bitch is going to suffer. She deserves it. Her sister was tortured because of her.

"And Willow?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Ghost's expression softens slightly. "We haven't been able to locate her. She's disappeared."

Part of me is relieved to hear that—at least she's safe from us now. But another part aches at the thought of never seeing heragain, never being able to apologize for the horrors we inflicted on her.

"I need to find her," I say, already moving toward the door. "I need to explain?—"

Ghost's hand on my arm stops me. "No, brother, that's not happening."

I turn to glare at him. "What do you mean?"

"Storm's orders," Ghost says firmly. “The girl’s been hurt enough and, brother, there’s no fucking way she’d want to see you. So Storm’s orders are that you don’t find her. Leave her be.”

I grit my teeth. “I can’t,” I growl. “You have no fucking idea?—”

He sighs. “You love her,” he tells me. “It’s clear as fucking day. It was written all over your face when Storm hurt her. It took everything in you not to rip his head off. But, brother, you stood back and let it happen. No way in hell is that woman ever going to forgive you for that.”

"Ghost," I growl, anger and desperation warring inside me. "You don't understand. I need to make this right. I need to explain?—"

"Explain what, exactly?" Ghost interrupts, his voice hard. "That you stood by and watched while she was tortured? That you let her believe you thought she was guilty? There's no explaining that away, brother."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut because I know he's right. There's no justification for what I did, no explanation that could ever make it okay.

"I fucked up," I whisper, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. "I fucked up so bad, Ghost."

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