Page 37 of Rogue’s Reckoning

When we’re finished with our revenge on Ivy, she’s barely conscious, her body covered in bruises and blood. Storm nods to Ghost, who steps forward with his gun drawn.

"Send our regards to the Hawks," Storm says coldly.

The gunshot echoes through the basement. It's done. Ivy is dead, the real traitor punished. But as I look down at her lifeless body, all I feel is emptiness.

Once we’re finished cleaning up the remains of our revenge, Ghost pulls me aside.

"You okay, brother?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I shake my head. "No," I admit. "None of this feels right, Ghost. We hurt an innocent woman. Killing her sister doesn't change that."

Ghost sighs heavily. "I know. But it's done now. All we can do is move forward."

But as I walk away, I wonder if there's any moving forward from this. The Saints Outlaws have been my family, my whole world, for so long. But now, for the first time, I'm questioning everything.

I think of Willow, out there somewhere, carrying the scars of what we did to her. And I know that no matter what happens next, nothing will ever be the same.

“Son,” Storm says as I reach for the whiskey bottle, “you think drinking yourself to death is going to help?”

I look up at Storm, my hand still on the whiskey bottle. "No," I admit gruffly as I take a seat. "But it might help me forget for a while."

Storm sighs and sits down next to me. "I know you're hurting, son. What happened with Willow, it was a mistake. A terrible one."

I laugh bitterly. "A mistake? Is that what we're calling it now? We tortured an innocent woman, Storm. We branded her. And I stood by and let it happen."

"We all did," Storm says quietly. "We thought we were protecting the club. Protecting our brothers. We’ve lost too many as it is at the hands of the Hawks."

"And look where that got us," I spit out. "Willow's gone, traumatized for life probably. And for what? Because we were too fucking paranoid to listen when she told us the truth."

Storm is quiet for a long moment. "You loved her, didn't you?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"I'm sorry, son," Storm says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I truly am. If I'd known?—"

"It wouldn't have changed anything," I interrupt. "The club comes first. Always has, always will. Isn't that right?"

Storm doesn't answer, but his silence speaks volumes.

“There’s no making up for what we’ve done,” I say, more so to myself than him.

“One day, we’ll meet our maker, son; then, and only then, will we have to repent for what we’ve done.”

Christ, does he truly believe that? Does he not realize that I’ll be fucking reliving this for the rest of my life? That hurting the woman I love has pushed me to a dark place and nothing, not a fucking thing, could ever make me forget it?

I stand up abruptly, no longer able to sit still. "I need some air," I mutter, heading for the door.

As I step outside, the cool night air hits my face. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. But all I can think about is Willow—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me like I was someone worth loving. And then I remember her screams, the fear in her eyes, the hatred in her voice when she told me she never wanted to see me again.

I've lost her. I know that. And the worst part is, I deserve to lose her.

As I stand there in the darkness, I make a silent vow. One day, I’ll make it up to her. I’ll let her know how fucked up it was for me not to protect her. One day, I’ll see the woman I love again. And one day, I pray that she’ll find it in that big heart of hers to forgive me.

ELEVEN

WILLOW

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

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