Whispers of Fire

Book 1 of the Raven Sons

An MC Club Romance by

Cassie Kellergan

“People make mistakes.

That's why they put rubbers on the ends of pencils.”

Fleabag

Author’s note

Dear Reader,

If you love a heart-racing love story with a mute girl trapped in a cult and a swoony morally gray biker, then this book is for you.

Whispers of Fire   is an MC Club romance that includes topics that may trigger some of you. It contains mentions of mental, spiritual, and physical abuse, a cult environment, swearing, torture, gun trafficking, murders, and morally gray characters.

This is a closed-door romance with heavy, heavy swoon.

So get ready to gasp and kick your feet in the air.

Cassie

Playlist

Strangers - Kenya Grace

Son Of A Preacher Man  - Katey Sagal, The Forest Rangers

Thunderstruck  - AC/DC

Highway to Hell  - AC/DC

Bring it on  - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

This Life  - Curtis Stigers, The Forest Rangers

I Feel Like I’m Drowning  - Two Feet

Mr Brightside  - The Killers

Babydoll (Speed)  - Ari Abdul

Never Gonna Slow Down - Super Soldier, T.H.O.R, Once Monsters, E.X.A

Lost Without You  - Freya Ridings

I Remember Everything  - Zack Ryan, Kacey Musgraves

Tough  - Quavo, Lana Del Rey

Us  - Gracie Abrams, Taylor Swift

Prologue

"To cleanse our sins…" says the Shepherd.

"…We must obey," they answer, united as one.

All but me, so I sign it, showing my good faith in following the same rituals as the other members of the Faithful Lambs.

“Today, the Divine reached me and told me that one of our members must be offered in marriage.” Goosebumps appear all over my forearms. My heart quickens, and a shadow of panic builds in me.

“Rose, my little lamb, rise and come to your Shepherd,” he says, raising his arm towards me in his long white gown. The church is packed; everyone’s staring at me, envious or waiting for me to fall.

I should be happy, it’s supposed to be the greatest honor of my life.

But something is off.

Something I’ve been asking myself for a while now.

I reach the wooden stage and keep my head down, avoiding our leader's gaze.

“In my generosity, Rose, I make you worthy of love and forgiveness. I will choose your husband soon, and you shall be married and birth the children of our community, for it is your duty to multiply and spread the word of the Ascension.”

I nod, holding my hands behind my back, my eyes locked on the floor.

What would happen if I raised my head a little, just enough to look him in the eye? Would it be so wrong to entertain this idea?

“Now, child, go back to your family.” I turn and step down the stairs, walking as calmly as I can to our bench.

“Let’s sing to the Divine, thank him for his love and his acceptance,” I hear the Shepherd say, but I’m mentally elsewhere.

Running, in my head, towards a big wave that will swallow me whole and crush my bones until I’m no longer a part of this world. My hands start to sign the songs when I close my eyes for a brief instant.

There must be more to life than this.

And if there is, I must find it.

Chapter 1

Vox

2 months later,

"Done," I grunt, dropping the last box on the kitchen floor. I crack open a cold one from the cooler Shadow brought, and the boys follow suit, eager to quench their thirst after hauling my stuff.

"Thanks, fellas. Would've been a real pain without ya," I say to all of them.

"Not a bad pad you got here," Steele remarks, eyeing the spacious layout.

"Yeah, got it for a steal. Garage's big enough for all the bikes," I say with a smirk. The roar of an engine outside grabs our attention, and Shadow's old lady, Erin, steps out of the car carrying a tray of meat. She's brought enough grub for the whole crew. Half the guys head out to the garden to fire up the grill while she sets the meat in the kitchen, rummaging for cooking tools. I locate the right box and hand her what she needs.

"Always so damn organized, Vox, even on moving day," she chuckles. She's sharp, keeps Shadow on his toes. I like her; she's a solid chick. Good to have someone like her around, especially when things get dark.

My OCD tendencies have become a running joke in the club. It’s something I didn’t have growing up, but as life got tougher and my world fell apart, I began developing specific rituals to calm my nerves. Labeling every item in my home, checking windows and doors obsessively—yeah, I've got my quirks. As much as I've tried to shake 'em, I've learned to live with 'em.

I shrug in response. There’s nothing to discuss about my compulsive behaviors; it’s just the way I am.

She sighs, washing her hands.

"Met the neighbors yet?”

I hadn’t realized my house would be so close to 'em. I can literally walk into their garden from mine and see inside their living room. I used to live in a cramped apartment, but I wanted more space to work on my bikes, so this area on the outskirts of town was perfect. Just a bunch of quiet families, with white picket fences and suburban housewives.

No one would expect me to live here, least of all our enemies.

Like I said, perfect .

“Haven’t seen 'em yet. Outside looks tidy; doubt they’ll be any trouble.”

"Well, you're about to find out," she says, nodding towards the black sedan parking in front of my neighbor's house.

She whistles. "Damn, looking sharp."

I approach the window, eyeing the sleek car, expecting a normal family to come out of it but the folks in front of us don't match the usual expectation you have of what normal neighbors look like.

“Oh, that’s, hum, weird,” Erin murmurs.

More like fuckin’ strange. What the fuck is this?

What surprises me are the two people stepping out of it. A tall man in his fifties, dressed head to toe in black linen with a long beard and a strange top hat. The older woman is covered in a long black dress, as if she was coming from a funeral in the 1800s. Her hair reminds me of something from historical movies, intricate braids piled atop her head. She’s looking down, her steps faltering as if the wind could make her fall.

I take in all the details in an instant. It's my knack, observing and learning about someone as quickly as possible to figure out who they are and what they want. That’s what a good right-hand man does.

They’re both heading towards the house when I notice a third figure emerging from the car.

My body tenses.

"Pretty, ain't she?" Erin elbows me, bringing me back to reality.

"Pretty ain't the right word," I mutter to myself, keepin' my eyes on the woman who's captured my attention.

What I see is an angel, a vision out of a biblical story, a woman made of the most exquisite flesh. Golden long hair with a small figure struggling to conceal the curves under the fabric of her long dress. She has big doe eyes, full lips, and it hits me that she’s just the right size to fit under my chin.

Pretty doesn't do her justice.

Pretty is beneath her.

"Should see your face, Vox," Erin laughs. "Men." She shakes her head and heads into the garden.

I tear my gaze away from the angel's face to focus on her clothes.

What the fuck is she wearing?

Covered in a heavy brown fabric, her dress ends at her ankles and the top is buttoned all the way up to her chin. Her ashy blonde hair, that I wish I could run my hands through, is made into one long braid, reaching her lower back.

She’s like something out of an old photograph, dressed in clothes from an ancient era. But even with these strange clothes and hair, she still looks damn young.

She must be 18, 19 at most, her round cheeks giving away her youth. Before she reaches her porch, she turns her face slightly towards me.

Did she feel my gaze on her?

She must have heard the noise from my garden. I'm pretty sure this isn’t typical for this neighborhood. Her eyes scan the area until they meet mine. For a brief moment, I hold my breath, hoping she'll keep them locked on me. But she turns back to the door and disappears into her house.

Angel.

Who are you?

Rose

"We must pray, Lydia, pray all night to thank the Divine powers of the Ascension and their faith in us," says my father, excited like a kid who found out he was going to get candy after behaving himself. My mother isn't any better.

"Bless our hearts, Emerson." She puts her hand in the air, as if she could be seen by the higher power above us. "Thank you, thank you! We won’t disappoint you; the word will spread through our family. Finally, it’s our time." She's smiling like I've never seen before.

But I’m not.

All of this, it doesn’t sound right. I can’t talk about it to anyone, not that I know anyone on the outside, and not that I can talk too.

Becoming mute gives you a new perspective on life. What you used to look at, now you see. What you used to question, now you doubt. I used to give my trust to anyone around me, convinced they would make the best out of it, protecting and cherishing it. I used to obediently submit to the Shepherd and the Elders, trusting their decisions as if it was words from the Divine itself. Singing the songs of the Faithful Lambs until my hands cramped from signing so much. But the accident changed it all. And now, a small crack that used to live inside me is growing bigger each day, making me question everything and everyone around me.

"Rose! Smile, daughter, the Divine sees you right now, you must smile," my father orders me, his threatening eyes watching in the rearview mirror. I shake my head. No, I don’t want to smile, I don’t have it in me. And I… I doubt  the Divine sees me, or really exists at all.

"If you don’t smile, daughter, I will hold your head in the tub for as long as you wait to obey me." My body shivers.

Not the tub.

He’s done it so many times, I can’t even count anymore. And each time I thought I was about to die. He always tells me it’s for my own good, to prepare me for the water ritual on my wedding day.

I learned very early on how to fake happiness, so much so that I almost fool myself sometimes. It’s unbelievable how people never look beyond a smile to see how broken you are, how alone and hopeless you feel having to hide behind a mask every single day of your life. My smiles are very convincing, that I know for sure, because no one has ever asked me if I was really as fine as I look.

I keep a frozen grin on my face the whole way home, until my father parks and they walk out of the car.

With them out of the car, I can finally relax my jaw. I take a deep breath and follow them.

That’s when I hear unusual echoes of voices from the house next door.

Did the new neighbors arrive?

From where I stand, I can catch a glimpse of their garden where a lot of people are eating and laughing. They're dressed in strange leather jackets with a skull on the back and bold writing, “Raven Sons.”

Is it some kind of community like we have with the Faithful Lambs?

I turn my face to look at the window on my right, and my eyes lock with another man's. He looks as if he's holding his breath to stay still. I can’t see much from my distance, but he’s tall, with short brown hair and a jaw that could cut glass. His massive shoulders make me look at his arms, but I turn my face immediately, wishing I hadn’t succumbed to the sin of looking at a man's body, and even worse, a stranger. If anybody knew what I did, I would have to face punishment to cleanse my soul from lust.

Turning away, I head to the door, remove my shoes in the entry and rush to my bedroom.

Out of breath, I stop.

Would it be so bad to take a look at the window view?

My room is located on the second floor of the house, and I can see the garden from it, ours and our neighbors' too. My parents' bedroom is on the first floor, thankfully. Walking as slowly as I can, annoyed by the roughness of my wool dress, I reach the window.

There must be ten of them, all wearing the same kind of uniforms, jeans and black t-shirts or leather jackets. Some of them have tattoos all over their arms, and some even on their faces. The Shepherd always says changing our appearance is a sin; it tells the Divine we’re not content with what he gave us.

A woman is there too, and I blush at the sight of her clothing. A mini red pair of shorts and a black top showing her belly button. Even my undergarments have more fabric. Her clothes are glued to her skin, something I’m not used to seeing.

I wonder how I would look dressed like that.

We make our clothes ourselves by following specific rules of the shapes and colors each member can wear depending on our place in the hierarchy. I must wear brown because I’m not married yet, and brown is the color of the soil. It’s a way to remind ourselves that we are not worthy until we get married, that we are lost lambs walking in the mud until our day comes.

Once I get married, I will have to wear a long black dress, symbolizing the grief of my childhood and the gift of my soul to my husband. Mostly, our clothes are different between men and women of our community. But I got to understand with time that ours restricts our movements and hides our bodies while men have practical outfits that can easily be worn in the outside world.

From the look I get each time I walk in the street, I know mine are anything but normal.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I keep studying her.

She’s so pretty.

Her long black hair dances on her shoulders, smiling and laughing next to another man who grabs her hips from time to time. Displays of affection aren’t something I’m used to. Actually, it is forbidden in our community unless it’s for the sole purpose of making children.

I can't even remember the last time I saw my parents touching each other, or god forbid, kiss.

The man grabs a jacket and puts it on the woman’s shoulders. A name floats on it, “Shadow,” and I wonder what it means to them.

They are laughing and chatting, looking like a strange family. I wish I could experience something like that, something light, without rules and punishments to fear.

The man I saw behind the window enters the garden. My eyes are glued to his arms. Massive and muscular with veins making my belly churn in a way I never felt before. He's greeted by other men giving him what looks like a plate of meat and vegetables. His smile illuminates his face, and I suddenly wish I could see him closer.

Are you insane, Rose?

There’s something about his attitude that exudes confidence and calmness. I have to stop myself from putting my hand on the window and sticking my nose on it like a child watching through a window shop. All I see is his back now that he's talking to another person.

But he suddenly interrupts the banter and turns slowly, tilting his face towards… me .

Can he feel that I'm watching him?

I freeze while he turns his body toward my house and locks his gaze with mine. We stay like this for a few seconds. Frozen in the moment like time has paused, both stuck in a silent exchange. He doesn't turn away, so I step back, my heart racing.

He saw you, you idiot!

If my parents saw me, or worse, if the Shepherd knew, I would face great consequences.

Thank god they’re not here.

I sigh and sit on my bed, taking a look at my room.

There's a game I play alone every night before falling asleep. I close my eyes and imagine my bedroom filled with books, posters of music bands, and a closet full of colorful clothes, even jeans. I would stick fluorescent stars on my ceiling like I saw once in a movie before my dad threw it away. It carried only “evil work from the outside world,” as he said.

It just helps, sometimes, to daydream about what it could have been, what freedom could feel like.

Watching the stranger through my window tastes like that too, like freedom encapsulated in a manly body I shouldn't even dare to look at.

We ate early with another family of the Faithful Lambs, so I put on my long brown nightgown and prepared myself for bed. Brushing my blonde hair, I try to look at them in the window reflection, wishing I had a mirror to try to style it. But vanity isn't right, so I don't have one. I step outside my room to wash my face and welcome the cold water on my skin, which I didn't notice was burning me since I saw the stranger.

Then I take the stairs and join my parents in our living room.

Is it me or is it chilly down here?

Almost every piece of furniture is made of wood and comes from my grandparents on my father's side. The gray walls and the beige curtains swallow the light, making the room smaller and darker. There are no photographs or decorations except for one poster on the chimney quoting the words of our leader, “The Ascension awaits those who do not fear death.”

I kneel next to my parents, like every Sunday evening for our last prayer of the week, and my father starts to read a passage from our holy book, the Ascendium. I close my eyes and unite my palms. This takes an hour before I can go to my room and sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day, just like each day, where I'll go to the Faithful Lambs Institute. The idea of having to stay put for hours on a chair makes me hurt already.

I’d rather be gardening.

Thankfully, I can daydream, this, no one can take it away from me. That's the only thing helping me get up in the morning. Knowing that freedom can exist in a part of my mind even if I never get to experience it in my reality.

Before reaching the stairs to go to my room, my father's voice echoes behind me.

“Daughter, temptation has spread its roots next to our home. This is a test from the Divine. Don't, ever, talk to those people. They're not like us. Lost souls who will burn for eternity.” His gaze is cold and threatening as if he was unsure of my reaction.

He must have seen it, the flames that took root in me and kept spreading since the accident. Nothing can tame that kind of fire from burning inside you.

He knows it, and perhaps, it scares him.

My mother signs “Good night, daughter” behind him before stepping into the kitchen. My father doesn't say anything more and steps back into the living room.

He didn't sign like my mom. Not because he doesn't know how; he's a smart man, I'm sure he's figured it out by now by observing my mom and me interacting. No, he doesn't want to sign to me. Doing it would acknowledge the fact that his daughter is now mute because of him, and he refuses it, probably denying the truth he played a part in creating.

I go back to my room and take a last glimpse at the garden outside. They're still out there, enjoying each other's company, playing cards and fake punching each other when they talk.

It looks fun.

My stranger is sitting on a chair, watching the others, with a drink in his hand. His body stiffens suddenly, as if he could feel my gaze on him, and a small grin appears on his face. I step back and settle in my bed.

My father said that I shouldn't go near these people, but if anything, all I want is to get closer to them.

To him.

Will I be strong enough to stay away from temptation?

I sneak under the covers, listening to the echoes of their voices until I fall asleep, dreaming about my stranger.

Chapter 2

Vox

An angel was watching me all evening, hiding behind her window, thinking I couldn't see her.

Freakin’ cute.

Couldn't help but smile when she took one last look before turning her light off. Since I saw her in the driveway, my body has been hyper-aware of her, like I instantly knew each time she was near by. As if there was a magnetic force pulling me towards her.

As much as I tried to focus on my brothers and their last tales of fights and won bets, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I'm usually into small chicks with a taste for adrenaline and a good time. It's never about having something real, serious, that lasts after sunrise.

Twenty-eight years into this messed-up world made me forget about finding an old lady like some of my brothers. Each girl I came across was either eager to sleep with an MC member or tryin' to secure a decent future.

I had enough on my plate, and becoming somebody else's lifeline wasn't part of my plan.

Losing my family in a car crash at fifteen wasn't on my list of things I would've ever anticipated. Before that crap hit, life wasn't easy. We were struggling to make ends meet with shitty jobs, tryin' to protect my seven-year-old brother, Jamie, from the streets.

We were so damn poor, tryin' to stretch a can of tomato soup for days, takin' cold showers, and fightin' to stay on the right track, surviving and hoping for a better future.

But even with all this crap, my parents were doing their best, and most importantly, Jamie had decent grades at school. Working day and night at the mechanic shop, we would've been able, in a year or two, to find a new place and maybe a better school for Jamie.

We were happy.

But fate had other plans.

The night of the crash tore apart everything I ever had. And the worst part of it is that I lost my brother that day. Jamie was gone, taken from me in a split second of twisted metal and shattered glass.

The evening started innocently enough. My parents, exhausted from another long day of work, decided to take Jamie and me on a rare outin’ at a nearby diner. It was supposed to be a simple family night out, a momentary escape from the relentless grind of our daily lives. On our way home, laughter and chatter filled our old car. Jamie, way too excited, begged to sit up front with Mom and Dad, eager to soak in every moment of our family time together.

In the darkness, a drunk driver swerved into our lane, their headlights blinding us in a flash. The sickening crunch of metal and the screech of tires filled the air as my world was torn apart in fucking seconds.

My parents were gone. And Jamie…

It’s always so fuckin’ hard to remember this.

Jamie was lyin’ motionless on my mother’s lap, his innocent face frozen in a mask I would never erase from my mind.

The aftermath was a blur. Funerals and legal crap all over the place. Losing my family hit me hard and left me shattered.

After that mess, ain't no way I'm lettin' anyone else get close.

Love? Nah, not for me.

Sure, my brothers from the club tried to help. Some say finding a woman again might ease the pain. But I ain't buying it.

Too damn scared to risk that kinda hurt again.

So, I made a choice. Locked my feelings away, buried 'em deep.

I stick to my bike, my brothers, and keep moving forward.

I met Ares after the accident. He found me one night after watchin’ me fight a guy in the street. The fucker had tried to rob me so I knocked him down in two punches. And next thing I knew, Ares was there, askin’ me if I wanted to make somethin’ out of my life.

He was the enigmatic president of The Raven Sons, with a presence that commanded respect and a reputation that preceded him. I had heard of him. Ares was like a shadow in the night, drawing people to him like moths to a flame.

He took me under his wing, recognizing whatever the fuck he found in me that others hadn't seen. Showed me the ropes, taught me the code of the club, and made me feel like I belonged.

A mentor, a friend, and a leader all rolled into one.

Over the years, I climbed the ranks of the club, earning my spot at Ares' side as his right-hand man. The club became my refuge, a place where I could turn the chaos in my head into a fierce drive to protect those I cared about, letting me rewrite my story.

That’s why I had to stay away from the girl.

This blonde angel, looking like temptation incarnated and wrapped in an innocent disguise.

As the evening went on, only one thought remained in my mind. I needed to know more about her without fucking up the balance I had worked so hard to maintain.

The pull toward her is strong, but I can’t afford to let my guard down and, as much as it pains me to admit it, gettin’ involved with her is out of the question.

With every glance in her direction, I felt the weight of my past bearin’ down on me, remindin’ me of the pain I had endured and the scars I carried.

The road I have chosen is a lonely one.

So, as the night wore on and her bedroom light turned off, I made a promise to myself.

I would keep her at arm's length and try my best to ignore the spark she had ignited in me.

-

I wake up with the sun hittin’ my face, squintin’ at my new place. There's still a few boxes that need emptyin’, but everything’s pretty much settled. Not big on procrastination, there's enough chaos in my head, I don't need it around me as well.

I stroll out of bed in my black sweatpants, heading to the kitchen to make a much-needed coffee. Glancing out the window above the sink, I spy my neighbors in their living room. The mother's knittin’ while the father's reading a book.

Where is she?

I’m glad I’ve put curtains on my window, don’t want them to see my place.

Before I doze off to the club, I order a few cameras online to stick in her room.

Old school method but I’ll be enough to quench my thirst for her. For now.

I'll set them up when they're out of the house. That way I can learn more about her while keeping my distance.

Grabbing my cup of coffee, I stride to the garden and plop into a chair, soakin’ in the morning air.

Fuckin’ great feeling.

A small noise jars me from my thoughts, and I snap my head toward it immediately. Reflexes matter when you're always expecting a rival gang to put a bullet in your head.

There she is.

Kneeling in the dirt, planting flowers. She hasn't seen me yet. I can tell by the way her body moves, effortlessly bouncing her curves as she meticulously tends to her garden.

Could look at her all day and never get tired of it.

"Good mornin’," I greet, waitin’ for her reaction. Her body jerks, and she turns toward me, her eyes widening with each passin’ second. A nice flush spreads across her face at the sight of my bare chest, and it makes me smile.

So innocent.

She stands and wipes her hand on her brown apron, a bit of mud smudgin’ her cheek.

Wish I could get closer to remove it myself.

Expecting her to reply with somethin’, anythin’ that a neighbor would say, I'm met with silence. So I try again. "Nice mornin’ to garden, right?"

What the fuck am I sayin’?

I'm not used to small talk. Usually, chicks come to me at the club, and we don’t make a fuss about gettin’ to know each other. That’s the good side of never having anything serious; you don’t actually need to get involved, and that's what I need. Just enough to satisfy my hunger.

"I’m Vox. What’s your name, sweetheart?" She blinks as if caught off guard and it only makes me smile wider.

Damn, she looks like a deer caught in the car lights.

She fidgets and lowers her gaze, frowning at her hands. Her lips part before closing, and she bites down hard. Somethin’s bothering her. Her eyes meet mine briefly before she quickly grabs something on the floor behind her gardening tools.

It's a notebook.

Oh.

My angel can't speak.

I'm surprised, but I don't show it. Keeping a straight face has become second nature since I joined the Raven Sons. Hiding your emotions becomes a way to survive, not a choice. It keeps you from looking vulnerable and maintains strength and control at all times.

She scribbles something in the notebook. I wait, watching as her hand moves across the page with practiced ease, enjoying the sight of her and noticing a strand of hair falling on her cheek.

Too fuckin’ pretty.

Finally, she holds the notebook out for me to read. Her handwriting is neat, perfectly shaped letters carved by what I gather are years of strict education.

“I’m Rose,” she wrote.

I imprint her name in my mind like a tattoo etched into my flesh.

"Nice meetin’ ya, Rose," I say with a slight nod, trying to keep the conversation flowing smoothly despite the unexpected twist. She nods in return, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. My chest tightens at the sight of her dimples.

Fuckin’ adorable.

We stay like this for an instant before the sound of steps from her house break the moment, causin’ her to step back and almost trip on her fucking long skirt. By reflex, I reach forward, looking to grab her, but she lifts her palm to me, silently asking me to not touch her.

What the fuck was this?

Her eyes, well, her eyes are full of fear and panic, a look I've seen all too often in my enemies when they realize they've crossed paths with a member of the Raven Sons. She steadies herself and pulls back as if my touch could burn her, anxiously peerin’ at the inside of the house.

She’s scared to be caught with me here.

Seeing someone fear me is usually pleasant, but right now, it ain't. I don't want her to be scared of me. The whole conservative outfit, spartan house, and Amish parents look like a mindfuck, and I'm pretty sure there's a fucking long list of things she's not allowed to do. Based on her actions, I'd wager she ain't allowed to touch a man. Hence why she refuses my help. She turns toward her house, her eyes locked with mine for a second. Big, gorgeous doll eyes, lookin’ sorry for something that ain't her fault.

“Rose, it’s okay,” I say, wanting her to know I get it. But she’s already gone.

I sit alone in the garden and try to push aside the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Whatever it is, it's best left buried beneath the surface.

Rose

Vox.

What a strange name.

And he called me sweetheart.

Never have I ever, in my entire life, heard someone call me like that.

And honestly, I don’t hate it.

I’m flushed and breathless as I run away from him and the possibility of his touch. It would have been a sin to touch another man's skin before my husband’s.

But it didn’t feel like one.

The way he didn’t react when he figured I couldn't speak and how he tried to reassure me when I refused his hand makes me confused and intrigued.

Who is this man?

Since birth, I’ve been told that the outside world, outside of the Faithful Lambs I mean, was an evil place filled with twisted individuals and temptations.

Yet I’m drawn to him like a flower to the sun.

It was my first time seeing a man's bare chest from this close. Once in school, a classmate removed his shirt after football practice, where us girls were not allowed to participate. From a classroom window, I tried to get a closer look at what was hiding beneath the fabric, but the boy was too far away so I couldn’t really see anything.

Although the last time was more of a scientific study, this time had nothing to do with it. Vox’s chest is strong and muscular, like he was carved from stone. His tattoos come alive with every movement he makes, the ink flowing all over his abs and arms. His chest looked like a canvas of his story where the ink seemed to come alive with every movement. It was as if I could trace the lines with my fingertips and uncover the secrets hidden beneath the surface.

Rose, get yourself together.

Every muscle seemed to ripple beneath his skin, and I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the way it moved when he breathed. Like a work of art, so captivating I struggled to look away.

I’m sitting on my bed, closing my eyes and picturing his smile when he said my name out loud. There was a gentleness in his voice that resonated with me.

“Rose, down, now!” Jumping at the sound of my father's command, I hastily push aside my thoughts of Vox, removing my apron and hurrying downstairs with my Ascendium under my arm, my notebook and a pencil case.

“Come on, I don't have all day,” he says, annoyed at me when I'm, in fact, on time.

We go outside, entering the car, my father driving and me in the back. While he starts the car, I look at the stranger’s house.

His bike is parked in front of it, a black metal beast with flames painted on its sides. I imagine him seeking freedom on the open highway, feeling the wind on his face and the blood pumping under his flesh. He must be fearless and adventurous, quite the opposite of me. Too bad he’s put up curtains; I wish I could see what his house looks like inside.

Rose, you’re going to put yourself in trouble at this rate.

We arrived at the Institute twenty minutes after a long silent drive. I walk to my study class, taught by one of my least favorite teachers, Mr. Collins. He’s an Elder, a member of our community who has reached a higher state of consciousness and showed undeniable commitment, and by that, took the new role of guiding the younger members into following his steps.

My father is an Elder too. It’s a role reserved for the men of our community, the only ones worthy of reaching the highest rank to the Ascension. I used to follow their principles without asking myself a single question, but since the accident, I wonder more and more why I should even listen to them.

It’s a dangerous path I’m well aware of… But I find myself unable to resist. The more contradictions I see, the more I want to dig further.

Why must we girls be offered in marriage like sheep to wolves when our male members have the freedom to choose to marry or not?

Why do some of us ride expensive cars and wear luxurious watches when the Shepherd ordered us to spartan belongings?

Also, the wedding ritual faced by each bride-to-be isn’t written in the Ascendium, but somehow it’s performed each time even if it has killed two of our members in the past.

Questions appear in my head at the speed of a racing heartbeat, each one a thorn of doubt digging deeper into the fabric of tradition.

Something isn’t right but I can’t put my finger on it. Why so many disparities between our members?

I spend all day in class, learning about the tales of our Shepherds and his many victories, fighting holy wars in his past lives. Greta and Jezabel, my closest classmates, are listening carefully, writing every single word coming from Mr. Collins’ mouth.

“And that’s how, children, he made the ground open under his feet and called for the Divine to choose him a woman to bear the fruit of our community,” he says, his palms in the air. Stopping to write, I stare at him.

What?

Our Shepherd is about sixty years old, how could he and his wife bear enough children to create our community? And what would it make of us? Cousins? All coming from the same original womb? The thought of it makes me want to vomit.  It doesn’t add up, it must be fabricated, how could it be otherwise?

I look around searching for a reaction, anything that would show me that I’m not alone listening to this masquerade. But no one reacts, speaks, or raises their hand, questioning this tale.

“Head down, Mrs. Parker,” orders Mr. Collins. I want to ask, just to see if I fell on my head this morning, just to understand that I’m wrong and that all of this is the only truth of our world. So I take a piece of paper and write a question, extending my arm to him.

He grabs it, reads it quickly and crumples it in his hand. Acting as if nothing happened, he carries on with his lesson until the end of the day.

The clock rings and we all stand.

“To cleanse our sins…"

"…We must obey," the class answers. But this time I don’t make my lips move. And this small act of rebellion doesn’t go unnoticed by him. My classmates leave the room, and Mr. Collins calls me in his nasal voice, “You stay here, Mrs. Parker,” before I get the chance to go out.

I know I’ve misbehaved, and I’m fully aware that a punishment will be coming. Which one I do not know.

“Sit and put your fingers on the table,” he says blankly, keeping his back turned to me. “Why are you questioning the words of our Shepherd, Rose?”

I shake my head, unable to speak. If only he would give me some paper to explain myself. But he doesn’t really care; Mr. Collins loves to humiliate and hurt his students. I just gave him an opportunity too and I know he won’t let it go.

“Doubting, thinking, all of this shouldn't even be a part of your vocabulary, Rose. This is the greatest sin of all, to wonder about the truth of our world,” he says with a twisted grin on his face, making it look even more scary.

“I’m going to punish you ten times now, and then I will inform your father so he can make sure you fully understand the consequences of your actions.” My body shivers, knowing I will have to fight for my life, once again, tonight in the tub.

He turns and walks to his desk, taking out a long wood ruler.

I stay still, dissociating myself from this moment like I’ve done so many times. Training my mind to save itself by wandering into differently made-up realities in my head, taking away momentarily the hardship I’m not able to face. I look at my fingers, photographing their delicate shapes before he crushes them. I saw a classmate endure this once, and his fingers never fully recovered after.

One.

I inhale deeply.

Two.

I wince.

Three.

A small silent cry comes from me.

And then again, and again, and again.

Until my cheeks are covered with tears and my fingers throb with pain and blood, coming out of my nails, staining the table underneath.

“In your pain, little lamb, find the seeds of redemption and embrace the only truth of our world,” he says, looking at his bloody ruler, satisfaction on his face.

“Now go.” Dismissing me without a look.

I stand with difficulty, my hands weighing heavy and my eyes seeing black and white spots.

I fight to carry myself outside to my father’s car. He doesn’t say anything nor help me. Instead, he sits in the driver's seat, watching me in the rearview mirror.

“Mr. Collins called. Your mother is preparing your bath,” he says, his voice running on my skin like poison.

I turn my head to the window, knowing what’s expecting me at home. The bath punishment is the most common one in our community. We believe water can cleanse sins and help members find the truth of the Ascension in the struggle for air. My father performed it on me many times since I was a child, while my mother sat in the back, simply waiting for me with a towel. I’ve learned quickly to hold my breath for as long as I can, training myself at night in my bed.

The drive takes less time than usual, probably because for once I wished I could stay in it forever. We arrive in front of our home, or should I say our house.

Is it really called home when you’re afraid of it?

I walk directly to the stairs, then to my bathroom. There’s no point fighting it, I know my parents will do it no matter what. My mother is kneeling on the ground, her hand in the tub.

“It’s ready,” she says, as if I was going to enter it to relax myself after a long day.

I remove my wool jacket painfully, seeing the state of my fingers leaving crimson drops on the brown fabric, and let it fall on the ground. My eyes look at the emptiness of my reality and I kneel next to her waiting for my father. His heavy footsteps echo in my back, carrying the threat of my upcoming torture.

He fists my hair with his hand, enough to make me wince. “Daughter, your actions have gathered our household. Today’s punishment is not made to break you but to mold you into a stronger vessel, one that can navigate the path of the Ascension. You must embrace the challenge to reach enlightenment. Let this be a reminder of the consequences of your behavior.”

What kind of man talks like that to his child?

I wonder if other girls out there have the same life in the outside world. Is it really normal to be drowned by your own parents?

Suddenly, my head is pushed into the water, my hair sticking to my face like sand on a wet body. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and I try as hard as I can to stop myself from fighting my parents with my free arms. As each second passes, I count them in my mind like petals on a flower that never cease to grow.

One minute.

I can’t breathe; my fingers are throbbing, making it hard to focus on my breathing. I can’t think anymore. I’m too tired and I stupidly forgot to relax my body to conserve oxygen.

Two minutes.

I try to count, but the numbers get confusing, disappearing into one another each time I try to find my thread back. I push the tub with my arms as hard as I can, trying to get away from it. But someone else grabs my hands and attaches them behind my back, making me cry from the pain of my bloodied fingers.

I’m going to die, I can feel it.

It’s been too long. The water starts running inside my nostrils, leaving me drowsy and suddenly heavy. A voice talks to me. It seems far away, so far.

Father?

His tone is calm, as if he has all the time in the world. I grab onto life listening to his voice. I can’t hear him, but I feel the intention behind his words.

This was all a mistake. I should have known better.

My mind drifts into a space of acceptance and submission.

This is all for my own good. I am a faithful lamb and I must be punished for wandering off the sacred path. If this is what I get for doubting our community, then perhaps I made a mistake. My parents love me, they would never try to do something voluntarily hurtful.

Right?

Just when my body starts to let it go, consenting to death and welcoming it with open arms, the hand pulls my head out of the water. I mustn't be reacting quick enough because someone slaps my cheek, yelling at me. I open my eyes, dazzled by the harsh lighting, my body heavier than ever, my hair sticking to my face.

I made it.

They carry me to my bedroom where my father lays me down on my bed, still wet and dizzy. Narrowing my eyes on them, I see my mom putting a bowl of soup on my nightstand before retreating to the hallway. My father stands for a second on my doorframe.

Is he satisfied? Does he wish I had died in there?

Perhaps I did, when I lost the fight and accepted my fate. Perhaps a small part of me was relieved, to finally leave this life, this burden that has become my reality.

Exhausted, I drift into sleep, picturing my stranger holding me in his massive, tattooed arms, protecting me from the darkness.

Chapter 3

Vox

"So, you really don’t know anything about it, right?" says Ares, sitting in front of the leader of the Iron Celts of Chicago, tied up in the club basement. It’s fucking late and I just want to be done with this fucker.

"I swear, Ares, fuck, it was a trap! I didn’t know shit; it was Nero, I’m sure of it," yells Connor O’brian, begging for us to spare his life and not skin him alive like the traitor he is.

"I see." Ares stands up and walks to the toolbox we always keep in the back corner of the room. Connor can’t see him anymore and starts to beg, his eyes full of fear.

“Please, please, I swear I’m innocent. We can find an arrangement. I’ll do anything.”

Ares comes back to his chair, taking his time, like a lion waiting to devour his prey.

“I’m fuckin’ hungry, how ’bout we go get some steak, Vox?” he says casually, ignoring the bleeding man sitting in front of him. He knows Nero was under this, but O’brian must have tried to make a deal with him. Don’t think he’ll die today, but Ares is definitely gonna teach him a lesson about loyalty.

“Sure, Prez, it’ll give him time to find a good arrangement for us, ain’t that right, O’brian?” We’ve been at it for hours. Breaking him slowly to get what we want made me hungry. Wouldn't mind getting a good steak.

He nods and begs some more, looking more pathetic as each second passes.

Who the fuck thinks it’s okay to make deals with our enemies?

The bastard will be lucky if he walks out alive.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I reach for it with anticipation. That's the surveillance app from the camera I have installed in my angel's bedroom, an hour after she left with her father this morning. I open it and see her lying on her bed, still wearing her odd clothes.

Somethin’s off.

“Gotta handle somethin’, Prez, be back in a few,” I say as casually as I can, trying to shut down the rising fear in my chest. Ares nods and stares into O’brian's eyes.

“Oh, take your time, we have all the time in the world,” he says, grabbing the electric drill.

Looking closer at the screen, I notice she's not moving but somehow I know she's not sleeping yet. Her hair is glued to her face in a strange way, very different from the tight braid I saw on her yesterday. There's not enough light for me to see clearly, but her hands have a peculiar color, as if they had been painted with blood.

My breathing skips a beat as I walk out of the basement, hearing O’brian crying mixed with the sound of the drill.

Damn it, Ares can’t help himself.

Hope I’ll get there in time before he does too much damage.

Walking into the main hall, which is basically a massive warehouse, I pass by Carter and Steele playing cards, a chick on their lap with old rock’n’roll songs at full blast. I would normally join them, but not this time. Striding toward the bar, I slip behind it. My eyes scan the shelves until they land on the emergency box tucked away in the corner. I reach for it, grabbin’ the bandages and disinfectant. You never know if they might come in handy.

My phone vibrates again, the movement detector showing her fidgeting to find a comfortable position. I wish I could just see her now to make sure she’s okay.

That’s strange. I don’t know her.

Why would I need to know that?

This is dangerous territory, and I’m fully aware that paying her a late-night visit isn't really respecting my rule of keeping her at arm's length. But I can’t fuckin’ help it.

I take my keys and mount my Harley in a heartbeat. Every twist and turn brings me closer to her, the only thought on my mind. The idea of somebody daring to touch her makes my blood pulse harder.

Don’t give a fuck why, I just don’t like the idea.

Parking in front of my house, I keep my gear on me and walk to my neighbor's house with my helmet still on.

Visiting their home this morning was an interesting experience. The Parkers have an odd conception of home, staging it as if nobody was really living in it but just passing by, needing only the bare minimum. Couldn't find anything remotely comfy or inviting, the whole place filled with wood furniture and empty walls. All but one, where I finally figured out who they were: “The Ascension awaits those who do not fear death.”

My Angel is a member of the Faithful Lambs. A local cult with pretty fucked up beliefs. It makes sense, her appearance, her parents' austere looks, this big Spartan house.

Wonder if she knows that her cult is entangled in my underworld.

As I reach the main door, I kneel and use the screwdriver I took with me when I got out of the basement to unlock the door. The click of the mechanism releasing is a sound I've grown accustomed to. This isn't the first time I've had to break in somewhere, and it certainly won't be the last. With the door now unlocked, I push it open slowly, each movement calculated to minimize noise.

I walk in, knowing my surroundings thanks to my earlier visit that day. All the lights are off, and I’ve seen her parents have their bedroom on the ground floor. I walk to their door, checking if they are sleeping. Don’t want to have to hit them before making sure they did something to her. They haven’t closed their doors, so I take a peek, seeing them asleep. They lie sound asleep, unaware of the intrusion into their home.

People look different when they sleep, more vulnerable, easier to kill.

The house is shrouded in darkness, but I progress with ease, relying on memory and instinct. Each step on the stairs is calculated, my ears tuned to the faintest sound. At the end of the hallway, her closed door looms like the last barrier between me and my angel. The familiar scent of vanilla drifts through the air.

Fuckin’ sweet.

Despite not being in her presence yet, she already consumes my mind like a goddamn drug. My intention is simple: to ensure she's safe and then return to the club. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Steppin’ into her room, I find myself momentarily breathless, captivated by the sight of her body nestled into the mattress like an angel resting on her cloud. Her furrowed brows are frozen on her sweet face, and as I look at her, I take in the horror in front of me.

What the actual fuck?

Her hands are bleeding heavily, one of her nails is gone, and her delicate fingers look like they have been smashed with a strong object. The darkness doesn’t allow me to see as much as I want, but I notice light bruises on her jaw, her hair still sticking to her face like she had been…

…Drowned?

Fury spreads through my body like molten lava.

Who dares touch such a sweet girl?

Despite being cold-blooded when it comes to torturing my enemies, I fucking hate seeing her hurt, and I don’t know why. After losing my family, I thought I could never feel this again. Becoming vice-president of the club trained me to put my conscience away and embrace the darkness within me. There’s no other way if you want to survive in my world. But even the lost souls like mine have rules, and protecting women and children is one of them.

Removing my helmet and putting it slowly on the floor, I approach her bed and kneel next to her. Her parents must be responsible for this; otherwise, she wouldn’t be in her bed like it was a normal evening. And the fuckers are sleeping like babies downstairs. I bite my fist, fighting the urge to confront them myself and scare the fuck out of them.

Breathe. Fuckin’ breathe.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I never lose my shit, especially not for women.

It’s fuckin’ wrong, I shouldn’t even be here.

The walls around my chest are meant to protect me from getting hurt, and I’ve built them for a reason. I’ll take care of her wounds and go back to my life. She’ll never know it was me who took care of her.

Judging by the sound of her breathing, she’s completely out, so I shouldn't be bothered with her waking up.

The thing is, she made it clear she didn’t want me to touch her skin this morning. And as much as I’m dying to put my hands on her, I don’t fucking want her to think I took advantage of her being out.

How the fuck can I care for her if I can’t touch her?

Staring at her heart-shaped face and her full lips, I find an idea.

I’ll keep my black leather gloves on. This way, I’m not technically touching her.

That’s the best I can do.

Grabbing the disinfectant I brought with me, I check it to ensure it's painless before spraying it on her hands. The last thing I want is for her to wake up in shock from the burn of the alcohol. Applying it to her hands, I then take the bandages and mend her fingers carefully without moving her arms too much. I've learned to do it after each cage fight of Ares throughout the years.

She wiggles a bit, shaking her head until she rests it on the pillow, her beautiful face facing me. I'm done with her hands. There’s not much more I can do without waking her up.

Noticing her wet hair, I go out of the room and into her bathroom. It’s almost empty, just a shower and a spartan-looking sink, which I’m pretty sure isn’t usual for a young woman. But then again, nothing about her is usual. Besides the essential toothbrush and hairbrush, all I see is a bottle of vanilla soap. That’s where her scent comes from. I reach for it before stopping myself.

No, I'm not gonna steal it, she wouldn’t be able to use it after. I make a mental note to buy one for myself and put it in my bathroom. Perhaps it will help ease the desire I have to breathe in her neck since this morning.

You’re so fucked already.

I find towels under the sink and take one with me back into her room. Carefully lifting her head, I put the towel on her pillow, then hold her until she rests again on it. A surge rises in me to remove her clothes and put her in her pajamas, but even I know that would be crossing a line.

You think?

Actually, I'm aware I’m already bending standard social rules by being in her room right now. But I couldn’t give less of a fuck. Standing beside this angel, I take in her womanly curves and the way her chest rises at each inhale. I can’t help but pull the cover over her and tuck her in, knowing that, at least, she won’t be cold.

I look beside me at the camera I've hidden on her dresser, fucking glad I did it. Staying away isn’t gonna be easy but at least I will be able to watch her anytime I need to.

My phone vibrates, and I know Ares wants me to go back to handle O’brian. I sigh. For the first time in thirteen years, I’m struggling to leave a place to reach the club. My mind starts to churn with so many fucking questions, wondering if I should wake up her parents and slit their throats or if I should leave her a note that I was there.

Fuck it.

With a grunt, I grab the pen and notebook from her bedside table. My calloused fingers fumble with the small pages. I scribble a few terse words. My handwritin’ resembles more of a scrawl than anything fancy like hers.

I put the notebook down and shake my head. “What am I doin’ here?” I murmur to myself. It's fuckin' ironic, playing the role of a perfect gentleman when my life revolves around anything but. But for her, I'd put on the charade, if only to ease whatever doubts she might have.

I grab my helmet and reach for her face with my hand covered in leather, letting a gentle caress on her cheek.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart," I whisper, before leaving the place.

Turning away from the angel lying in front of me, I make my way out of the room, the roar of my motorcycle callin’ me back to the reality of the club.

I can’t let her enter my life, not now, not ever. What happened to her was her business, her life, and I can’t get more involved than I already am. I need to stick to what has been keeping me alive for the last decade: the club and my brothers. That’s where my loyalty lies. The ride toward the club helps clear my mind, and I enter the basement carrying the fury of what happened to Rose.

God help O’brian.

Chapter 4

Rose

It’s been three weeks since the night of my punishment. Twenty-one days since I woke up with my wounds mended and my body tucked under my covers for the first time in my life. My parents never did this when I was little, so I knew it wasn’t them.

I realized instantly who had done this. I never interact with people from the outside world, except last week in my garden when my stranger, Vox, talked to me. He looked at me like I was a strange enigma he wanted to resolve. But also like something else… something he wanted to look at and touch. The way his eyes burned on my skin, spreading like a wildfire, made me feel flushed and intrigued. I couldn't forget his icy blue eyes and his short dark hair that I dreamt about passing my fingers through.

Despite my initial reservations about interacting with someone from the outside world, especially a man covered in tattoos, I find myself drawn to him.

When I awoke after that terrifying night, tears welled in my eyes, not from the pain inflicted by my parents, but from the tender care he had shown. He tended to my wounds, gently wrapping my injured hands and ensuring my comfort.

It was the first time in my life I felt truly cared for, as if a guardian angel was watching over me. Despite the teachings of my community, I didn't feel uneasy about his touch. I had never experienced that kind of concern before, especially after reading the note he left me on my bedside table.

“Kept the gloves on the whole time.”

His handwriting was rugged and untamed, a stark contrast to the neat script I am accustomed to. But still, I liked it. It wasn't just about tending to my physical wounds, it was about honoring my boundaries and ensuring my comfort and safety, even when I was asleep and unable to protect myself.

He somehow knew I couldn’t let a man touch my skin and he honored it by keeping his gloves on. I close my eyes and try to imagine him standing in my bedroom, his biker clothes on, watching over with a protective eye.

The image filled me with a strange sense of security.

How could I believe the words of our Shepherd about the evil of the outside world when in fact, the hurt had come from within, and he, a stranger from the so-called dangerous outside world, had shown me more care and respect than anyone in my own community ever had?

Hearing my parents talk downstairs takes me out of my thoughts and into the new reality I've been facing for weeks. I quickly hide the note under my mattress, making sure it’s not visible. Since the punishment, my parents, once indifferent to my presence, now regard me with suspicion, as though I am an outsider in my own home. Their glances are laced with hostility, and conversations are sparse and awkward. Each interaction feels like walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around the unspoken threat of my beliefs.

For the first time, I’ve allowed myself to question the morals that had been ingrained in me since childhood, wondering if there’s more to life than the narrow confines of our community. But with doubt came fear—a fear of straying from the path laid out for me, a fear of disappointing my parents and risking the wrath of our community. The weight of their expectations bears down on me, threatening to suffocate the flicker of curiosity and skepticism that has ignited within me.

My father has almost stopped talking to me, as if I was carrying a disease, and my mother signs to me only when we’re alone in the house. Perhaps she’s also scared of my father.

The memory of that evening keeps haunting me like a relentless storm, each wave crashing against the shores of my mind with brutal force. The brutality of my parents' actions, the venom in my father's words, the indifference as they left me bleeding on my bed—it's all etched into my mind, impossible to escape. I'm torn between accepting and rejecting what happened.

Was it fair to be drowned, to be struck by Mr. Collins?   If I truly deserved it, then why do I continue to question it?

As I think back on that awful night, I'm just shocked.

How could my community, the people I've grown up with, be so brutal just because I asked questions?

The cult preaches love and acceptance, but their actions were so harsh and violent. It's hard for me to understand how they can say one thing and do another.

Was I really so wrong for being curious? Or is there something dark hiding under the surface of our seemingly perfect community?

These thoughts are weighing on me, but doubt isn’t something tolerable in our household.

As I put on my dark brown shoes in the entryway, my parents keep checking their outfits, and my mom tugs at my skirt, making sure it covers my ankles.

“Good, good, he should be pleased,” she murmurs to herself. Fidgeting with her hands, she puts on her coat before we all head out to the car.

As I open the door and slide inside, followed by my mother, I glance toward Vox’s window, peering into his kitchen. There’s no one in there; it’s been empty for days. Each time I try to take a glimpse inside, I entertain the mad idea of trying to thank him, knowing I would never be able to do such a thing in the presence of my parents. But even the smallest opportunity to see him would suffice, to at least smile at him, silently thanking him for what he did.

I just want to see him.

“ Let’s go, it’s not everyday our family is summoned at the Chapel!” my mother says, clapping her hands eagerly.

It’s weird, we usually only go there on Sundays. The rest of the time my parents work—my father as a teacher at my school and my mother as a secretary in a dental practice. They both work with people from the community.

I'm in my last year at the Faithful Lambs Institute, which is the equivalent of high school in our community. My parents always said that there was no better place for me to learn about the right values. Next year I'm expected to be married and probably pregnant, but my mind struggles visualizing this image.

Not that I don't want to get married and have kids—I mean, I want that, one day—but I would want something different than what my parents have. I would like my husband to be a friend, with whom I’d share everything. We would talk about books, movies, and just enjoy each other's company.

The only time I get to see happy couples is when I walk in the streets, and I sometimes count the number of couples I pass by, holding hands, smiling at each other.

There's something special about observing people with their loved ones. But I doubt this will ever happen to me.

First of all, I would need to be lucky enough to be given to a man who will have the patience to learn how to sign and deal with my mutism.

So basically no one.

A strange thought comes to my mind as I remind myself that communication hasn't seemed like an issue with Vox. Since the moment I saw him, my mind and my body were drawn to him. Even when he spoke to me, I felt as if he could read me like a book, observing my body language as if it was enough for him to understand me.

I wonder if he felt that way too.

We drive towards the Chapel, the atmosphere inside the car tense. My parents exchange nervous glances. It’s raining today, making it harder to see outside from the car window, like an animal stuck in a cage.

We drive through the neighborhood, to the quiet of endless fields behind the city.

Our Chapel is about thirty minutes from our house. It isn’t like the Catholic ones, massive and made of cement. Ours is much smaller, made of one large hall and one bell tower. It’s white and made entirely of wood. I remember asking my father when I was younger why our Chapel was in the middle of nowhere, far from everything. And he would always answer me that it was to make sure we were safe, far from the non-believers.

Approaching it, I don’t see our folks in front of it like they usually do on Sundays.

Looking at my mom, who is sitting in the seat in front of me, I touch her shoulder with my fingers to ask for her attention. She turns her head to the side, watching me.

“What’s going on?” I sign.

“I, I don’t know. We’ve been asked to come with you,” she says, playing with her fingers.

Why is she so anxious?

“Who asked?” I sign, my mother watching my hands.

“The Shepherd,” she says, her voice carrying fear and anxiousness.

Why would the Shepherd want to see our family? Has he found me a fiancé already?  This thought makes me nauseous, and I suddenly don’t feel well, putting my hand on my mouth. My mom observes me.

“Don’t be sick,” she says firmly.

“If the Shepherd wants to see our family, then it is an honor he’s doing for us. You will behave accordingly,” my father’s deep voice says. We open our doors to go out into the rain, and I can’t help but have a feeling of uneasiness coursing through my veins, as if something terrible is about to happen but I can’t put my finger on it.

Ever heard about trusting your intuition? Don’t step into this building, Rose.

The large doors open, and I follow my parents into the Chapel, crossing my fingers that some good will come of it.

Chapter 5

Vox

Twenty-one fucking days since I last saw my angel, and I’m slowly but surely becoming more unhinged with each day spent without seeing her.

Ares sent me to Orlando to check our new gun supply chain. I’ve been there for three weeks with Viper and Steele, makin’ sure there were no cracks in the process. We found a few guys struggling to obey, so I took one of them and made an example out of him, cutting his tongue for daring to mess with the Raven Sons. The word will spread, and fear will loom over our men there like a constant fog.

Viper has been eyeing me like a bomb ready to explode since I cut the guy’s tongue. He offered to smash one of his fingers with a hammer, but I didn’t think it sent a strong enough message.

Also, I was on edge.

Watching Rose on my surveillance app made me feel like a lion stuck in a cage. I should have put more cameras in the house ‘cause seeing her only in the morning and at night before she slides under her covers isn’t enough anymore. I keep replayin’ each mornin’ when she fidgets in her bed, spreadin’ her arms up to stretch like the most fuckin’ adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my fucked-up life.

She wears a long brown nightdress that hides most of her gorgeous body. And the fucking worst of all is that I have forbidden myself to look at her when she gets dressed in the morning and undressed at night. Turning my head from the screen with difficulty, trying to respect her wish of keeping the sight of her skin hidden.

That’s how fucked I am.

Cutting men at work without an ounce of guilt but turning my eyes from Rose’s body like she could see me through the screen taking something that wasn’t freely given to me. All I can do is watch her as she looks out the window toward my house or takes the note from under her mattress and reads it again and again until she presses it to her chest, giving me a fucking heart attack the first time I saw her do it.

Her days seem long because she gets up with the sun and only comes back around nine, lookin’ more tired as each day passes. I like observing her and her habits, learnin’ about her routines, like the way she writes at her desk at the end of the day, or how she kneels and closes her eyes, joining her palms to pray each morning after gettin’ ready.

Wish I could tell her that the whole Faithful Lambs is all a lie, but I doubt she would believe me. Her so-called Leader comes by every month buying guns in our warehouse. It’s pretty far from the idea of having clean hands. But I’m fucking sure he doesn’t show that part of himself to his folks, keeping that dark side hidden like a shameful secret. Keeping the whole cult thing rolling must cost a lot, hence why he started the gun business, selling to the Russian mob in the north, outside our territory.

Fuckin’ rotten to the bone.

Hate guys like this, wolves hidden behind the appearance of a lamb. I’m not afraid of darkness, but I prefer a psycho to behave like one. The whole fakin’ things with a smile and nice banter fuckin’ puts me off. Never liked hypocrites, even more now that I know Rose is connected to him.

A strange feeling of protectiveness rises in me. It has happened more the last  weeks, as I was watching her every day, looking for signs of mistreatment on her. It had become a part of my routine as well, a step I must do, otherwise I will be on edge, like a fuckin’ new OCD, lookin’ at my phone compulsively, even though I knew she wouldn’t be in her room before nine each day.

She looked okay, following her routine, watching the window every night before going to sleep, as if she was lookin’ for me, pouting her full lips in disappointment at not seeing me day after day. Despite my rules of staying away, I wanted to come home fast and see her. I tried hiding my annoyance in front of the guys, but as we’re drinking a beer at the motel bar to end the day, Viper calls me out.

“So, what’s her name?” he says with a large grin.

“What do you mean?” I answer, trying to avoid him digging. He laughs, his long beard moving as he shakes his head.

“You’ve been glued to your fuckin’ phone all week, like you were hypnotized or somethin’.” I swallow hard, mad at myself for not hiding it better. But he knows me well, he was already road-captain when I got my first cut. I know he means well, but talkin’ about… things that matter isn’t my forte.

“Nothin’, just want to go back. Don’t like bein’ here too long.”

“Yeah, alright,” he says, not buyin’ it for one second.

I finish my drink and feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I resist the urge to look at it in front of Viper. Knowing my patience is about to snap, I stand up.

“Goin’ to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, brother.” He nods with a knowing smile but drops it. I almost jog to my room and take my phone out the second I close the door.

She's sitting on her bed, legs crossed, her palms holding her face. Her body convulses, and I get that she’s crying. Well, more like sobbing, actually. My chest tightens.

Fuck, why do I have to… feel? I don’t want that.

Getting closer to her is something I cannot do. My only goal is to fight for the club, making it stronger each time I get the chance and crushing our enemies to gain more territory.

I don’t need anything more.

But the sight of her crying makes me so fucking tense I punch the wall on my left, letting crumbs of it fall on the floor.

Seeing new notifications I haven’t had time to fully watch during the day, I notice a rather lively conversation with her mother in her room. Rose looks fucking mad and shakes her mom, grabbing her arms.

What’s goin’ on?

When her mom finally leaves, my angel curls up in her bed and sobs again. My hands start to shake.

Fuck it.

It’s an ten-hour drive to go back to Knoxville, but I can do it now and arrive at dawn. Perhaps I’ll get to see her, make sure that she’s okay. The business here is done, and we were planning to take the road tomorrow morning anyway, so it won’t change anything if I go now.

It changes everything and you know it.

Taking my bag, I leave the room and take the stairs to the parking lot. I put on my helmet and straddle my Harley.

It’s gonna be a long drive, but I can’t fucking help thinking that… it’s fucking worth it.

Rose

Nothing good came out of the meeting we had today with the Shepherd. My tears keep falling on my cheeks like a waterfall that cannot stop.

Earlier that day, we entered the Chapel, followed by two Elders, and reached the office of the Shepherd in the back of the building. His other office is at the top of the Institute, but this one is where members can ask for a session. My father gave me a deadly look before the door opened and our Leader appeared in our sight. His slim and tall frame sat in an expensive-looking armchair behind a massive carved wood desk. Stuffed deer on each side of the chimney gave the whole room an ancient look, as if it came from an old castle in England.

“To cleanse our sins…” he says, looking at the book in his hand.

“…We must obey,” my parents answered in one voice. Hidden behind them, I signed it.

“Come in, come in, my children,” he says, staying put, still reading his book. Ignoring our presence with his gaze.

Despite being around the same age as my parents, he refers to them like children. For some reason it gives me the ick. My parents fidget and walk inside looking everywhere with large smiles, like they got the keys to the kingdom. I stay behind them, my body tense, my nostrils stiff by the dusty smell of the place and the anticipation coursing through my veins.

He doesn’t invite us to sit.

Raising his gaze to us, he pushes on the elbows of the chair and stands, wearing his long white gown and an oddly thick silver watch.

What a strange thing to wear when you’re not supposed to display wealth.

I shake my head slightly. How dare I question my leader?

He’s the voice of reason.

“Rose, come in, little lamb.” My parents step aside, letting me walk across them toward the desk. I lower my head in sign of respect and humility as I hear his steps across the room until he stands in front of me, his chest at the level of my face. His hand grabs my chin, in a hard grasp I want to stay away from. But I stay still, behaving like my father has asked me.

I must behave; he is my leader.

Everything is as it’s supposed to be.

I mustn't fight it.

“How are you, Rose?” he asks, without giving me a notebook and a pen. All I can do is put a smile on my face and say “I'm fine, thank you,” hoping he's capable of reading my lips. Or perhaps he doesn't really care about my answer.

Why would he talk to me directly and not to my parents?

It's so strange.

“A lot going on in this little head of yours.” He chuckles. “You see, Rose,” he says with his strange high-pitched voice, putting his other hand on my shoulder. I jerk as a reflex, knowing no man should be allowed to do that. I notice my father slightly flinching on my right, but he stays put, like an obedient soldier.

The Shepherd continues, “Doubt can rise from the purest flower and become a weed hard to remove from the garden. In this case, Rose, it is best to protect the garden don’t you think?”

Not the most subtle metaphor to tell me to stop creating mess. I'm surprised it got to his ears so quickly. He doesn't look angry, even though I can’t look him in the eyes. His voice is calm, as if he was teaching me something, slowly enough for me to understand.

“Your Shepherd has found you a husband, little lamb,” he says, panic and fear building in me. He drops his hands off me and starts walking around the room.

“That's wonderful, thank you, Shepherd, we are so grateful. Could we know the name of the chosen one?” says my father, finally speaking. My mom stays silent, as she should. In our community, married women must remain by their husband's side and only speak to other men when explicitly asked by their husbands.

“Well, after thinking a lot about you, Rose, I couldn't help but notice the many difficulties you would be for any young man in the community,” he says, walking around the room slowly, gesturing with his oddly small hands.

“You can not speak, you don't mingle with the other women and you think a bit too much.” His last remark burned me more than I can admit.

I don't think too much. I think about what seems wrong.

There's a difference.

“No man here can tame a girl like you. And I don't want to have a ticking time bond parading in our community like a little liar. You need a real man to keep you on the right track,” he says harshly.

What? A liar?

My parents are shocked, my mom putting her palm on her chest, while my father's jaw drops on the floor.

“You will be marrying me, Rose. And I expect you to carry as many children as your womb can create.”

The world closes down on me, crushing my body and my soul in the process.

The Shepherd, our revered leader, taking me as his bride?

The very notion fills me with a bone-deep terror that paralyzes me. It's as if the ground beneath me has crumbled away, leaving me stranded in a sea of uncertainty and fear. I struggle to maintain my composure, but every fiber of my being rebels against the idea, recoiling from the thought of being bound to the Shepherd for eternity, a sixty year old man, more scary than my worst nightmare.

I want to shout, cry, or do anything to stop this reality from happening. But I’m powerless, like a lamb being led to the slaughter. And as the weight of my impending fate bears down on me, I can't help but wonder if there's any escape from the Shepherd's grasp, or if I'm destined to be his bride, bound to him in body and soul forever.

A voice in my head tells me that I must stay and obey; it’s what I was raised for.

“We are humbled by your kind gesture, Oh Shepherd. Rose will make the most marvelous wife and mother,” my father says with a large grin. He then pushes my mother's side with his elbow, allowing her to talk. She keeps her eyes down, but I can see as her hands shake that this idea unsettles her a bit.

“Wh-what an honor you make on, hum, our family, Oh Shepherd,” she says with her small voice. The Shepherd stops exploring the room and comes back to stand in front of me.

“Are you happy, Rose?” Grabbing my chin roughly, he makes me look into his eyes.

I nod, fighting back the tears, my brain frozen by the fear. I've seen him flogging a six-year-old for being late at the Sunday ritual, so I won’t try to make him angry. He smiles, getting closer to me, before murmuring in my ear, “Soon, Rose, soon your body will be mine.”

I freeze, trying as hard as I can to dissociate myself from this moment. I’m not here, I’m in my garden, with Vox, and we’re talking, I mean, I’m gardening while he watches me and perhaps, perhaps he would tell me about his biker life and all would be good in the world.

But I’m not in my garden. I’ve got a hand on me and black and white spots threatening me to make me pass out. I should be glad; it is an honor to marry the Shepherd. Our family will be even more admired and respected.

Only the idea of spreading my thighs for this old man makes me want to gag, and the more the idea sinks in, of this being my future, the more I feel the rise of a volcano in my chest.

One that has been sleeping for too long and perhaps needed a reminder to stay awake.

There’s something wrong with my life, I can feel it.

This is not normal.

But I need to fulfill my destiny and follow my leader's wishes. It’s what I was made for, right?

The drive back home is fast, my father talking non-stop about all the wedding preparation we must plan. My mother answers him while keeping a nervous eye on me now and then.

When we park in front of our house, I’m even more disappointed to not see Vox’s motorcycle.

He is still not home. Where could he be?

I… I need to see him.   To know that there’s still good people on this earth who don’t want to hurt or use me.

I go straight to my room after removing my shoes in the entry. My mother follows me and closes the door once she’s in my room. Her eyes are wide, and her breathing quickens. She’s pacing in the room, which is unusual given her calm and discrete nature. I sit on my bed, watching her.

“It’s… it’s an honor, Rose. I’m, I’m so happy for you,” she says in a worried tone.

Is she worried about me? That would be a first.

I stand and grab her elbow to stop her from pacing the room.

“What is it, Mother? Isn't it something you wanted?” I sign, frowning my brows.

She sighs. “It’s just, I know we must follow our great leader to reach the Ascension…”

“But?” I sign, not getting where she’s going.

“I’ve heard about a few young girls he… cared  for in the past.” She emphasizes the word cared . “Remember the girl from the Millers? The nice one with red hair?”

“Anna? Yes, she was in my class two years ago, what about her?” I sign.

“She… she disappeared. Her parents said she’d gone to live with a relative in Florida but I know her mother, and since she got engaged with the Shepherd at that time, they never saw her again.” I’m shocked to hear that he’s been engaged before, but then again, he’s a sixty-year-old man, why wouldn’t he? Anna was fifteen when she left to live with her grandparents. I still remember that she never said goodbye to us. Even though I wasn’t her friend, I knew everyone in class was shocked that one day she was there, and the next she was gone.

“Do you think the Shepherd has something to do with this?” I ask, almost looking over my shoulder. My mom freezes, quickly closing her eyes, and shaking her head.

“He, I’m sure our Shepherd did what was necessary for these girls to achieve the Ascension. But…” she swallows hard, looking nervously at my door, probably afraid of my father hearing her, “maybe, when the time comes, we’ll have to say goodbye to you too,” she says, as if insinuating the disappearance of your own child was a possibility.

I step forward and grab her arm, shaking her, looking in the depth of her eyes to try to put some sense into it.

Is she telling me that I’m going to have to leave to go wherever he sends the girls he claimed? I am going to die? What is going on?

Tears build in my eyes as I step back and sign to my mother.

“You’re going to let him have me? Body and soul?” I don’t care if I cross a line talking about lust, or the lack of it actually. I need to know if she’s really giving up on me and letting her eighteen-year-old daughter be raped by a sixty year old man. Because that’s exactly what I am asking, and she knows it. That’s why she was fidgeting at the Chapel today, because something deep inside her awoke at the idea of my flesh being ruined by this man, no matter his title.

But my mother is weak, so she didn’t put up a fight.

I know from some pictures I've found in our basement that she did have a normal life until she met my father when she was about my age. He’s the one who enrolled her in our community and she followed him blindly. But now she can’t see anymore, blinded by faith and fear. The woman she used to be, wearing a t-shirt on a beach in a polaroid I once saw, is no longer there. She was never affectionate with me, but she’s still here, making my food and making sure I have clothes on my back.

Probably not the ideal mother, but still, my mother.

And I know deep down she cares, otherwise she wouldn't be standing in front of me, struggling between reason and faith.

Is she right? Do I have to follow my heart or my duty?

“He will be your husband. It won’t be a sin…” she says.

“But, Mother, he’s, he’s an old man,” I sign, pleading, then pacing the room, crying my eyes out, turning to her.

She shakes her head, quickly closing her eyes as if the vision of me and the Shepherd was difficult for her to bear. “Rose, you must do your duty and carry his children. I’m sure with time… you will… it will all become natural,” she says with a frozen grin.

I’m in shock, trying to take her word for it and find a peace of mind. She begins to talk again when I raise my palm to her. I don’t want to hear it anymore. And I don’t have it in me to fight with her any longer. I just want her to go.

Walking to my door, I open it and show her the way out with my chin in a rough movement. There’s nothing to talk about anymore. My father is over the moon to have his child marrying our leader, and my own mother doesn’t fight the idea of my upcoming rape. I bet she just needed to appease her conscience, tell herself that at least she came to warn me. I sigh loudly, get on my bed, curl up on the cover and cry myself out.

I’m drowning in an ocean of fear and sorrow, confused about what I must do.

Freedom or duty.

I stay up all night crying, until the roar of a familiar engine gets me out of my tears. My heart quickens as I get up quietly, watching my clock. It’s five am.

Without taking a cardigan or my slippers, I reach the stairs to the living room and look over the garden.

Would it be so crazy to go out there and see him?

Chapter 6

Vox

As I tore down the open road, the rumble of my bike echoed like thunder in the night, AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" blarin’ from my speakers at full tilt. Leaving Orlando's skyline behind, I cruised through the heartland, the moon casting a silver glow over the rolling landscapes between Orlando and Knoxville. Each mile marker passed beneath my wheels, bringing me closer to her. The miles melting away until, with the dawn breaking on the horizon, I reached Knoxville.

Leaving my bike in front of my house, I walk inside, putting my helmet on the kitchen island before grabbing a bottle of water in the kitchen. I instinctively look at the bay-window. Something pulls me toward my garden, as if my body was aware of hers.

Is she awake?

Still wearing by black gear, I walk to my garden, ready to climb over the small fence and break into her house just to make sure she’s alright. But I don’t even have to cross her property when I already see her goddess silhouette glowing in the dawn light.

There she stands in her garden, as if she was looking for me, bathed in the soft morning light, still wearing her nightgown, barely hiding her curves.

Her eyes are puffy, cheeks stained with tears as if she's been crying for hours. My chest clenches at the sight of her pain, and without a second thought, I ask, “Wanna come over?” nodding towards my place.

I know she ain't keen on her folks catching wind of her hanging out with a stranger, especially one like me, but I can't stand seeing her like this. She looks up at me, surprise flashing in her eyes, tears still lingering, but she gives a silent nod.

Stepping over the fence, her nightgown shifts a bit over her leg, offering me the sight of her soft and creamy skin.

So fuckin’ perfect.

It’s chilly. I don’t want her to be cold. It feels unusually familiar, this want to take care of her even though I haven’t done it to anyone in years.

As she walks toward me, I notice her hands are still in a pretty bad state, but the scars have started to appear, so it’s healing. I know a lot about it, since I’m usually the one giving them to other people.

I left the bay window open and she steps inside as if she knew the place, as if it was hers.

A voice far away whispers to me that it could fuckin’ be.

She steps into my living-room, the scent of her vanilla perfume intertwining with the rugged essence of leather and motor oil that permeates my place. This space reflects my life as a biker—my sanctuary with relics and tales from the open road. Vintage motorcycle posters on the walls with framed photographs of my club brothers.

The leather sofas draw her attention first but it's the corner filled with books that catches her eye, and I can see the spark of interest igniting within her. She approaches the bookshelves with a determined stride, her fingers tracing the spine of each book.

Wonder what she likes to read.

Books were my escape, my way out of the poverty and struggle of my upbringing. My parents couldn’t buy them for me and my brother, but we would go to the library to borrow books every week. Jamie will never read any new books anymore, and it fuckin’ hurts to remember this hard truth.

She then turns herself, looking back and forth at me and the couch. Is she asking me if she can sit? I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I nod and watch her rush to it as if she hadn’t slept for days.

My angel looks so fuckin’ tired my chest aches.

Circling the couch, I grab a wool blanket in a basket behind it. She’s laying awkwardly on her side as if she didn’t dare to fully relax.

“Just make yourself at home, Angel,” I say, hoping to make her more comfortable. Her shoulders drop a bit and she finally allows herself to lie down.

She looks damn good in my home, like she was meant to be here the whole fuckin’ time.

I notice how her lips have a light shade of blue. She’s shivering.

Damn it, I should have seen it sooner.

Taking the blanket in my clenched fist, I try to approach her slowly to not scare her away. She sees me carrying the blanket towards her, stopping myself for her consent, and she gives me a small nod with the shadow of a small smile at the crease of her lips.

Should be illegal to look this freaking cute.

Lowering myself on one knee, I carefully put the blanket on her body, tucking it on the sides and almost touching her in the process. I try to ignore the electricity in the air, but I swear it’s so thick you couldn’t cut it with a fuckin’ knife.

Never done something so intimate in my life.

I hear her breathing quicken at our closeness and I stop to breathe for a few seconds at the sight of her, melting into my couch, getting warmer under my blanket.

Something stirs within me. It isn’t just the primal urge to protect or the instinct to provide comfort. No, it’s something deeper, something I hadn't felt in a long time and refused to allow myself to feel ever since the car crash.

Can’t fucking understand myself. She’s a stranger, well, a stranger I’ve been watching everyday for three weeks, but still, how can she have this effect on me?

Leaving her side, I walk toward my open kitchen at the left side of the house, my body completely aware of hers behind me. Opening the first drawer, I grab a notebook and a pen and start boiling some water. Going back to her, I set them next to her on the couch. Her eyes stare at it, then at me, then back at it.

Does no one ever do nice things for her?

Never been much of a talker myself, but I want to know everything about my new obsession, so she’s gonna have to write cause I don’t know how to sign.

Yet.

Yet?

I’m so fucked.

I stand next to her, the weight of her silence hangin’ heavy in the air, and I feel like a jerk for not knowing how to sign properly. She deserved a lot more than I could probably give her. The thought of learning sign language had crossed my mind in the past few days while I was taking inventory of our rifles. I’ve watched a few videos online and I think if I train myself enough, perhaps I can learn a few things to say to her. At least to show her that she’s not the only one that has to do the effort. It can come from me too. I can meet her halfway.

You don’t even know her, back off.

My walls are already starting to crumble but I hold on, trying to take a step back and just enjoy the sight of her.

Sure I can still keep her at arms length.

Sure.

Going back to the kitchen, I grab a mug and make a cup of tea. Watching her for days, I noticed she likes to take a cup with her to her bedroom at night and remove her tea bag quickly in a small dish.

I’m not obsessing about her habits, no, I’m, hum, I'm just noticing things.

That’s what a good neighbor would do.

I carefully remove the teabag before it gets too dark and bring it to her. When I hand her the mug, our fingers brush against each other for the briefest of moments, sending a fucking jolt of electricity coursing through me. Haven't felt that in a long time. It reminds me of the raw, primal desires lurking just beneath the surface.

Cool the fuck down, she’s not like the other girls you’re used to.

I’m used to the club chicks, taking any guys they feel like, not really caring about who’s who. Never been one to shame women for acting this way but I bet intimacy would feel fuckin’ different with Rose.

It would actually mean something.

Her eyes meet mine, surprise flashing across her face before softening into a warm smile. She holds the mug delicately with her injured fingers.

"Thank you," she mouths silently, her lips forming the words I can't hear but understand nonetheless. I nod and settle into the leather armchair beside her, deliberately avoiding the couch to give her some space. But damn, I wish I could be closer to her, feel her warmth against me, wrap my arms around her and tell her everythin’s gonna be alright.

“I… I had a work thing, that’s why I was out the past few weeks,” I say in an apologetic tone.

Since when do I ever justify myself?

People fear me and I never have to explain myself to anyone except Ares, but even he doesn’t give me shit about what I do. Seeing her puffy eyes, knowing she looked at her window every damn day tightens my chest and makes me want to grab her and protect her in my arms. She nods, looking at me like she thought I would never come back.

“Your parents, they did this to you, right?” I ask, studying her injured hands. I need to know.

I need to know who I’m gonna have to hurt back for wounding my angel.

As much as I tried to stay away from this feeling, telling myself that I have no fuckin’ right to dive into her life, the thought that someone had hurt her is impossible for me to ignore. She shakes her head and grabs the notebook, scribbling something then showing it to me.

“My teacher did this,” is written with round and balanced letters. Lowering my elbows on my thighs, I ask, “What’s his name?” clenching my jaw. She takes the notebook and writes her answer.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing,” is written. But it’s not fuckin’ okay. It won’t be until I find the motherfucker and at least spoon his eye out for daring to touch her.

“It’s not fuckin’ okay, Rose. Now tell me who did this or I’m going to punch every single teacher of this town until I find the fucker who did this to you,” I say firmly, letting her know she won’t escape this.

She looks surprised at my answer.

“You swear a lot,” she writes.

“You have no idea, sweetheart.” I grin at her, enjoying the contrast of our worlds.

“Now don’t try to change the subject. Who did this to you?”

She sighs, biting her lips, a sad veil passing on her face.

“Mr Collins, he’s the one who hit my hands. And the time you came in my room, it was my parents, they had punished me that night.” She puts the notebook on the table, facing me. My blood pumps harder and I suddenly feel like torturing the three of them in the club basement. That would be a fucking great thing to do to people who hurt innocent girls like my Rose.

My Rose?

My?

Putting this thought aside, I reflect on how I’m gonna get back at them. Just what any concerned citizen would do to another one.

Yeah, right.

“They should have never done that to you. It’s fuckin’ wrong.”

“I wanted to thank you for,” she writes, then raises her hand between us.

“Yeah, hum, no problem,” I grunt, swallowing hard.

It wasn’t a big deal driving ten hours at night to come check on you.

Fuck, yeah, it was a fuckin’ big deal.

“You’re okay with me hurting your parents? After all, if they like to give you punishments, it’s only fair they get some in return too.”

Her eyes widens as if she heard something astonishing. When you hurt people for a living, you tend to forget what’s socially acceptable to say out loud, my bad.

Shaking her head many times, she writes, “Promise me you won’t hurt them.” Her blue eyes beg me with intensity.

“Can’t promise you that, sweetheart. Evil folks get what they deserve when they touch angels like you.” She shivers at the word angel and I can see a glimpse of fire in her widening pupils.

“Please,” she says, moving her full lips, making me read them.

Damn, I’m used to people pleading for me to not unalive them but this, fuck, she takes it to another level.

“You can’t let them get away with it,” I state, shaking my head. If it was someone else, I would have already killed them but seeing her protect them, it’s… I just can’t do it. I fucking hope she’ll get her revenge one day, but I won’t be the one acting on it if she doesn’t want me to.

Her eyes wander around the room, and I watch her, mesmerized by the sight of her in my place.

I fuckin’ hate how much I like her being here. I shouldn’t but I fuckin’ do.

It feels right. So much so that I could grab her and carry her to my bedroom as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Too bad it will never be a reality. I made a promise to myself to keep people away and I will keep it.

That’s the only thing that kept me alive.

I watch her quietly, my gaze lingering on her as she writes in the notebook. There's something 'bout her that's got me all twisted up inside, something that I can't quite put into words. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or the strength I see in her gaze, even though she ain't saying a damn thing.

There's a flicker of something in her eyes, a vulnerability and a fire mixed together. It's strange, in a good way, communicating through written words instead of spoken ones. There's a certain intimacy to it that I kinda like.

“I like your place, you have so many books,” she wrote, handin’ me the notebook, showing the bookshelves on her right where she instinctively turned to when she entered.

“Yeah, I like to read, kind of an escape since I was a kid,” I say, my voice rough but tinged with a hint of something softer. I know I don’t look like an intellectual type with my cut and my bike, but she doesn’t seem surprised by it.

People aren’t always what they seem to be.

She nods with a small smile, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before she looks away, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Do you have any favorites?" she writes, her gaze flicking back to me expectantly. I clear my throat, scratching the back of my neck, trying to come up with titles she might like.

“‘ To Kill a Mockingbird ’ and ' On the Road. '” She furrows her brow, admitting she's never heard of them. It surprises me, but I guess not everyone's into the same kinda books.

"Guess that means I'll have to lend 'em to you sometime," I say, lifting one corner of my mouth, liking the thought of sharing something with her. But she doesn’t smile back, lowering her head she grabs the notebook. “I’m not allowed to read books from the outside world.”

I clench my jaw so fuckin’ tight I might break it.

The outside world?   How the fuck did people manage to get such a hold on her?

I fucking hate that she’s not free to discover the world as she pleases. She's trapped in this twisted community, like a bird with clipped wings, unable to soar free. I swallow hard, trying to contain the fury buildin’ in me.

"That ain't right," I growl, my voice a low rumble that fills the room. Her eyes linger on me as if she was trying to tame the anger rising in my chest.

Removing the blanket from her body, she puts the mug down on the wood table and stands before me. I try not to gawk at her petite figure but my eyes keep staring at the shapes dancing under the fabric. Blushing, she circles the couch and walks to the bookshelves, turning her head exaggeratedly on the side to read the titles.

Fuckin’ adorable.

She’s looking for something. Letting her fingers drift on the wood of the shelf, she finds what she was looking for and inhales loudly. Even though I wish I could hear her voice, I fucking love hearing the small sounds she makes with her breath.

Makes me wonder how she would sound if she was laughin’.

Turning back to me, she hands me the book she chose, To kill A Mockingbird.  I grab it with a small grin.

What does she want me to do with it?

Taking the pen back, she writes quickly.

“I’m not allowed to read it but perhaps you could read it for me?” Her gaze is full of hope and anticipation.

Damn, I could burn the world to the ground for those blue eyes.

The request she made, it's not something I've ever done before. Reading to someone, hell, it feels downright intimate. But there she stands before me, with those eyes that could make a man forget his own name. So I clear my throat, trying to shake off the nerves that gnaw at my insides like hungry wolves. I'm more accustomed to blood and torture than bedtime stories. I used to do it in the past with Jamie, but it seems so far away now.

I'm venturing into uncharted territory but as I look at her, standing there with hope shinin’ in those damn blue eyes, something inside me shifts. Maybe it's the way she managed to break through the tough exterior I've built around myself, or maybe it's just the sight of her vulnerability laid bare before me. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come.

"Yeah, sweetheart," I finally say, my voice rough. "I'll read it to you every damn day if that's what you want."

Because that’s the truth. I’d do that if she wants me to. And as I watch her smile, a warmth spreads through my chest like wildfire. She gives me the book before sitting back on the couch.

I clear my throat, flipping open the book to the first page. I begin to read, noticing her eyes never leaving mine. And with each word, I can feel the barriers between us crumbling away, replaced by a connection that defies logic and reason.

Maybe this ain't so bad after all—this whole reading to someone thing. I stop myself for a second to watch her, holding on to each word, eager to know what’s coming next.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was having a stroke from how hard my heart is pounding under my chest.

I reach the end of the chapter and I notice her grabbing one of the pillows and bringing it onto her stomach.

“Do you want me to carry on with the next chapter, Angel?” I ask her, kind of hoping she will say yes. A small smile appears on her face before disappearing as she shakes her head, looking at the bay window. The sun has risen now, and reality hits me hard. She's gotta get back before her folks catch her sneaking out in the dead of night.

“I have to go back before they notice,” she writes. I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. She searches my eyes as if she could read my soul.

“I loved it, the story, really,” I read on the paper sheet. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it tough to speak.

Truth be told, I don’t want her to go back.

“Are you sure you wanna go back there?” I ask, almost hoping for her to stay here even though I’m well aware how fucked up this would be. But knowing she’s in a house with these people capable of hurting her makes it fucking hard to let her go.

“It’s my house, it’s safe,” she writes, her eyes telling me that, no, she doesn’t want to go there. In fact, I catch how she said house and not home. But I know I can’t keep her. So I reluctantly let go.

“If they try anythin’, if you’re scared for any reason, day or night, you come here, okay?” I state, cause I want her to know there’s other people out there to help her. Her lower lips tremble a bit before she bites it and makes the smallest nod.

Fuck her parents, I’ll find a way to keep a protective eye on her.

“Come back anytime you want. I’ll leave the bay window unlocked,” I say, surprising myself, my voice low and gruff. She lifts one of her brows, waiting for me to continue.

“I’ll read to you,” I add, gesturing to the book on the table. “Just come here and I’ll take care of you,” I say, my voice trying so damn hard to conceal the protectiveness she awoke in me.

“You don’t have to,” she writes.

“I want to, sweetheart. Somebody has to,” I say firmly, determined to be the one to offer her sanctuary in this fucked up world. Everyone else may disappoint her, but not me. I won’t let a woman getting abused by some fuckers, especially not her.

I'll be her protector if she wants me to be.

She turns her face toward the window, angling it strangely toward her shoulder.

Is it tears that I see peeking at the sides of her eyes?

Looking back at me, her pouty lips begging to be kissed, she says silently, "Thank you."

I nod, reading on her lips, clearing my throat.

"Anytime, Angel," I say, my voice rough, trying so goddamn hard to conceal how her presence affects me. She stands to leave and a flash of a car accident bursts in my mind for a second. I clench my jaw, ignoring it. As she approaches the door, she steals a glance back at me, her eyes piercing through my dark soul.

The door shuts behind her and I suddenly feel fuckin’ alone, the house cold and empty without her.

I shouldn't want this.

But I hope, damn, I fuckin’ hope she’ll come back.

Rose

The sun is shining hard on our garden as I quickly inhale the fresh air before stepping back into my house. It’s not a home, it’s never really been a home, just a house where people have to live together.

How can it feel like a home when I’ve been hurt here so many times?

I walk to the kitchen to make oatmeal and reflect on what just happened.

Vox. Him and I. Alone in his living room. As if it was the most natural thing we could ever do.

Being with him felt… right. I can’t really explain, but he awoke something in me, something that I didn’t know existed until him. He has this particular way of making me feel cared for and protected. Something I never felt with anyone before.

I see it in the way he makes sure I’m not cold, or in the way he reads to me with patience, without making fun of me for not knowing what his book was about. Or in the way he took the armchair across from me to give me space while staying near, how he managed to get my tea to my liking, how he patiently waited for each of my responses while I was writing.

Not a single time have I felt an issue communicating with him. In fact, it’s quite the opposite—the way he looked at me with an intensity that shook my bones. When he read to me, with his rough and manly voice, giving me goosebumps all over my body, I wished I could have stayed there, listening to him all night long.

Sitting at the kitchen table, stirring my oatmeal absentmindedly, I close my eyes for a second, imagining what a day with him could be like.

I could be gardening while he’s working on his bike, and then we would watch a movie or he could read to me. It'll never happen but, I don’t know, it’s just nice to imagine it.

It’s funny how cold he looks from the outside, but then I can’t help but notice the kindness inside him peeking out.

Daydreaming about him all day would be a nice escape…

But reality calls, and I can't ignore it. Finishing my oatmeal, I glance at the clock and realize I have to get ready for another day of school at the Faithful Lambs Institute. I’m still torn about what I must do regarding the engagement to the Shepherd. But I push it aside. There’s still time to figure it out.

As I get dressed, slipping into the façade of the perfect daughter, the perfect student, I can't shake the feeling of emptiness that lingers in the pit of my stomach.

I miss him.

Already.

God, Rose, get it together.

I try to stay away from the window room that looks over his garden. It’s too painful to look back right now. Brushing my hair, I attempt to make one perfect braid to tame the chaos in my head. As I comb my hair, I’m reminded about his eyes lingering on my hair earlier. Like an unspoken desire, as if he wanted to touch it.

I wish I knew what he thought then.

Gathering my bag and the Ascendium, I head to the door just as my parents emerge from their room, ready to drop me off at school. They don’t seem to notice I haven’t slept the whole night and that I wasn’t even in my room this morning. If they did, I wouldn’t even be standing here right now but on my knees, head in the tub.

My father ignores me while my mother puts a strange, strained smile on her face, as if she is trying to maintain a facade of normalcy.

I’m sure our family wins the prize of the strangest one existing on the planet.

The drive to school is silent, broken only by the low hum of the car engine and the occasional sighs from my parents. Each passing minute feels like an eternity as we navigate the familiar streets, our surroundings blurred by the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. My father keeps glancing at me repeatedly as if he is trying to figure me out.

The tension inside the car is palpable. I wonder if my mom talked to my father about my hesitations. As we finally pull up to the school gates, I open the door to step out and join my classmates.

“Good day, Rose,” says my mom. She almost never calls me that. Perhaps she wants me to feel special today, for what reason I have no idea.

I don’t like it, there’s something she’s not telling me.

I hear students talking and murmuring behind me.

That’s strange.

My father turns his head to me, locking his eyes in mine with a coldness that freezes my bones. “Your engagement was announced this morning. Behave yourself today, daughter, you represent more than yourself now; you’re a part of him.”

It’s already been announced?

How am I going to figure this out if everybody already knows?

The air feels heavy, suffocating, as if every breath I take is a struggle against the rising tide of panic threatening to engulf me. My heart pounds in my chest, as if the world has suddenly tilted on its axis, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I hold onto the car door, fighting my body to not faint.

“The wedding will be in two months at the Chapel, now go on, go to class,” he says casually, pointing at the main doors of the school.

My mother stays silent, her head down, playing with her hands.

Traitor.

I close the door and they leave me there, standing under the shock of the news they just told me.

Heat spreads across my skin, flushing my cheeks crimson, while my hands are clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. I stride towards the main doors of the school, my heart still racing with a mixture of anger and fear. The weight of my parents' expectations presses down on me like a leaden cloak. As I push open the doors and step into the bustling hallway, a wave of murmurs washes over me. Whispers follow me, eyes flickering with curiosity and judgment.

They know.

But I hold my head high, refusing to be cowed by their scrutiny. As I reach my classmates in the main hall, walking toward my locker, I plaster on a forced smile, hiding how broken I am beneath the surface. I can feel their eyes on me, wondering what I did to get myself into the most wanted position of our community.

Perhaps they will assume that I debased myself, offered my virginity or else…

Shaking slightly my head at this thought, I exhale and try to find peace in my breathing.

A voice interrupts me while I open my locker.

“Impressive, Parker, never took you for a whore, but damn, you really put it all out for him,” says Adam, clapping his hands at me. Never liked him, sucker for popularity when the truth is, real popular students don’t need to try this hard. Kind of felt sorry for him until he became the head of the football team and became the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.

I look at him from head to toe with a disgusted face, telling him that one, I’m not impressed by him, and two, he can keep his judgmental comments to himself. Ignoring Adam's taunts, I focus on retrieving my books from my locker, trying to block out the whispers and stares that follow me like a shadow. But his words linger in the air, poisoning the atmosphere around me.

A whore.

I hate the implication of what he just said, because if anything, I've always followed the rules.

And still you’re trapped in this position, Rose.

"Rose?" Turning, I see Jezebel and Greta approaching, making me feel better already at the sight of my friends. Jezebel, with her fiery red hair and joyful energy, steps forward first, her eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with genuine concern. Jezebel's fiery spirit ignites as she steps up to Adam. Of course she feels something’s off. It’s not in Adam’s habit to come talk to me.

"You have no right to speak to her like that," she declares, her words cutting through the tension like a knife.

Greta, who’s always been the voice of reason between the two of them, follows closely behind. “We’ve got you.” she says, looking at me with her warm chestnut eyes.

Unable to speak, I nod gratefully, swallowing the tears in my eyes at the sight of my friends. Greta's gentle strength shines as she joins Jezebel.

“Real men don’t need to bully others to feel important, Adam,” she admonishes, her voice calm but firm.

Adam shakes his head, “Whatever,” and walks away.

“Okay, we need to talk,” says Jezebel before taking my elbow and rushing me to the girls’ bathroom where Greta checks every door to make sure we’re alone.

“So… you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to but…” Jezebel starts, walking on eggshells. I stop her right away and start to sign.

“It’s a mess, girls, the Shepherd decided to take me as his bride, but… It’s stupid but something’s wrong, and, well, I don’t know how to say this, but honestly, I’m terrified,” I sign in a rush, struggling to find the right way to say things. Greta and Jezebel are firm believers like I am.

Like I used to be.

But they’ve always been my friends since I met Greta at daycare and Jezebel in sixth grade.

I need to talk with them otherwise, I'll implode.

I sigh. “It’s just, so much is happening right now and I don’t know how to process it.”

“Rose, breathe, it’s gonna be okay. The Shepherd knows what’s best for all of us. He’s the one in direct contact with the Divine; you must trust him,” Jezebel says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. But her words don’t reach my heart.

No, please, that’s not what I need you to say.

“It’s strange but I, I feel trapped,” I sign, carrying the weight of what I just said on my shoulders. They could tell on me if they wanted, they could drag me into the mug and dance on my dead body, but I take the risk.

They exchange a worried look.

“Perhaps it’s because that’s such a big step in your life, Rose, anyone would feel shaken after getting engaged, especially to our Leader,” Greta signs. I’m grateful for them learning sign language after my accident. Apart from my mom, they’re the only ones who took the time to learn it.

But what she says doesn’t calm me at all; it’s quite the opposite.

As much as I need their support, I don’t feel it right now.

“And the wedding… It’s gonna be in two months and I’m afraid I won’t survive it like Savannah last year,” I say, fighting my tears to stay inside me.

"You’ve trained yourself for apnea like us. You really shouldn’t worry!” Jezebel signs, her voice trying to wipe my worries with her kind words.

"Savannah had never been good in the water but you are! It will be okay," Greta nods in agreement.

I don’t know what to do anymore, but I’m stuck in front of my friends and they don’t seem to understand my struggle. It’s not really this idea of being drowned for three minutes in front of the community that scares me the most.

What petrifies me is that, contrary to them, I don’t feel a thrill at the idea of it.

“Thank you, guys,” I sign with a warm fake smile, one I know no one will be able to see behind the perfect facade. I just give up because there’s nothing more to say. Despite being my friends, they don’t understand my struggle because it involves thinking about… more.

About more than what we were raised for.

They hug me and we leave the girls’ bathroom and head to our first class of the day.

Chapter 7

Vox

What a fuckin’ morning.

Just as I was about to finally crash in my bed, catch a few hours of sleep before hitting the club, my phone starts ringing.

"Ares," I grunt, my voice rough, like gravel scraping against pavement. It's been a hell of a night, driving from Chicago to get back to Rose. I still feel her vanilla scent in my house like a reminder of a treasure that will forever remain out of reach.

Damn it. So much for keeping her at arm’s length.

I snatch up the phone, my tired voice edged with a hint of annoyance as I growl, “What's up?"

“There’s a shipment arrivin’ at the warehouse, need you there. I’m off to Chicago to deal with O’brian.”

“Thought you had found an arrangement.” Hence why he only pierced one of O’brian’s knees with the electric drill.

“We did, just gotta see if the arrangement looks good before closin’ the deal,” he says, chuckling. Looks like the arrangement they found is the daughter of O’brian that they are giving to Ares. That’s how a lot of conflicts are settled in our world. I can only hope she's tough enough, cause’ once Ares gets his hands on her, there's no telling what he'll do.

When people think I’m a psycho it always makes me laugh, because compared to Ares, I’m a fuckin’ saint.

“Alright, be there in twenty.”

Hanging up the phone, I quickly throw on some clothes, my mind already shiftin’ into work mode. Haven’t slept enough but club business can’t wait.

Despite the exhaustion weighing down every muscle in my body, I get up and head to the door. As the vice-president of the club, I know my role. There's no room for hesitation or second-guessing. I grab my keys and head out, the roar of my Harley Davidson echoing through the quiet morning streets.

Pulling up to the warehouse, I spot some of the club's members unloading crates from a truck. Ares strides towards me, his frame covered in tattoos towering over the others.

“Vox," he grunts, "Carter is dealin’ with one of Jameson’s guys, Novac, in the basement and I’ve ordered Specter and Havoc to empty the truck.” He shows me, waving his chin at our new prospects and the truck pulled over in front of the gates. Jameson has a large part of the south of the country and he’d sent a few guys to sniff around our clients, which we don’t fucking like, so we’re going to send a message, letting them know they shouldn’t fuck around with the Raven Sons.

"Gonna give Mendiaz a call, get him over to pick up the snow," he growls, usin’ our code for the cocaine we're moving. Mendiaz, prez of the Mexican cartel, is one of our best customers, never causing any damn trouble.

“Carter’s been at it for hours, told him you would take over for the morning after dealing with Mendiaz,” he says casually, because torturing is something we are so used to in our world that we talk about it like normal folks talk about the weather.

I nod, “Sure.”

"Solid, okay, then I’m out," Ares replies, tossing the keys to the warehouse doors before swinging onto his Harley. The roar of the engine fills the air as he revs it up, ready to hit the road. I turn my attention to the other guys and enter the warehouse, the clanging of metal echoing off the walls.

I step into my office. Contrary to Ares’s, filled with paper and stuff I have no fuckin’ clue where it comes from, mine is tidy as fuck. Every item in its proper place. I even put equal distance between the pens on my desk. Makes me feel at peace when there’s too much chaos in my head.

Removing my cut, I carefully put it on my chair. My leather jacket is my second skin, meticulously maintained and never neglected, a symbol of my loyalty and commitment to our club. Even during fights, I never let it touch the ground.

Only true bikers know how fuckin’ valuable it is.

I take my phone and call Mendiaz. We settle the details of the delivery quite fast which gives me more time to go into our basement. I knock two times on the door, letting Carter know that I’m here to take over for him. He usually likes to stay from beginning to end with his hostages, but he’s capable of forgetting to eat and sleep and when that happens, he fuckin’ loses it.

I mean, more than his usual sociopath self.

Opening the heavy metallic door, he grunts, “Was about time, Vox, I’m fucking hungry,” showing me a guy hung by the wrists from the ceiling.

“Alright, alright, go get yourself some food.” I chuckle, cracking my fingers and getting suddenly in the mood to break skulls.

How can such a giant fuckin’ killer like him can lose it if he doesn’t eat every few hours?

He puts down the machete he had in his hand and gets his cut from the coathanger we’ve put next to the door.

“He spilled out almost all of it. We just need the last name of the food chain,” he says, adjusting his leather on him. I nod and give him a tap on his back. “Good job, Cart,” I say. Even though Carter can’t exactly feel, I still want him to know we appreciate what he does.

When I see torture as a means, Carter makes it an art.

That’s his thing.

Closing the door behind him, I roll up my sleeves and step toward the guy bleeding in front of me.

“Novac? That’s right?” I say casually. The body barely moves, just a small moan escaping the guy's lips. Carter has skinned his left leg and cut him in about ten places then sewed it back together so he could keep on with the interrogation.

Like I said, a fuckin’ artist.

I’d say he’s still got one or two hours before dying so I’ll make this quick.

“Not a patient man, ya know… So what's the name of the guy you last sold to?” I say while searching for the hammer on the desk at my right.

“F, F… fuck you,” he manages to say.

I sigh and shake my head. “See this hammer?” I show him the tool casually. “I’m about to smash your skull with it in about one minute if you don’t talk.” Fear flashes in his eyes. He’s a big guy, bold, bulky, but I can see the exhaustion in his gaze and the knowing fact that these are his last minutes on this earth. I continue, “You’re bleedin too much to make it, so you can either choose to die quickly with a bullet in your head, or badly with a hammer.”

“Your choice.” I mimic the gesture of rising the hammer to him, but his voice breaks the silence of the dark room.

“W-wait.” His voice is as dry as sand, his body trying to move but struggles while his arms have dislocated due to hours of being hung.

“There’s a guy,” he says, out of breath.

“A guy? Who?” I ask patiently, waiting with the hammer in my hand.

“Don’t know his name… but he’s like a religious chief of somethin’.”

Fuck, I already know who’s name he’s gonna drop and I don’t fuckin’ like it.

“Be more specific.”

“He, he said he needed money.”

“Why?” I fire back at him.

“Cause he’s getting married and he wants to have a big wedding and shit.”

Fuck no, please say it’s somebody else.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, he said he needed to impress his people, like a fuckin’ messiah.” I am almost one hundred percent sure who we’re talking about by now, but I need to know more.

“Did he say anything else?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Nothin’ important.”

“Talk.” I get closer and push a finger in the wound of his shoulder.

“Stopp, plea-please.” I remove my finger after digging into his flesh to my knuckles.

“Don’t remember shit, he just talked about a chick, the one he’s marrying.” A strange feeling pulses through my veins, making me notice that I’ve held my breath for a few seconds.

“What about her?” I ask as casually as I can, hiding my worries behind an unbothered mask.

“He just said she’s got a nice piece of ass and also,” the guy says, spitting blood at the same time.

“Also WHAT?” I yell, losing my patience over him for talking so fuckin’ slowly.

“That he picked one who’s fuckin’ disabled so he could get his way with her easily. He took a mute chick, that’s all he said. He just laughed after,” Novac says, out of breath while the world around me seems to blur, the weight of his words hitting me like a sledgehammer.

Alexander Skarn. The leader of the Faithful Lambs.

I fuckin’ knew it.

And they were talking about Rose, like they had any right to.

My angel.

Wasn’t sure at first that he was talking about her, but deep down I knew it. Too many emotions rise in me, between fear and anger, and I don’t know how to fuckin’ process them. I haven't felt like this since I lost my family.

Fuck.

The idea of her being forced to be with someone else, or even just the idea of her being with anyone, makes me see red. But knowing that she has to tie herself to this old fucking piece of shit is the worst.

I take my Glock in my back strap and raise it to Novac’s head. He doesn’t say anything, perhaps relieved of knowing he’s gonna get a clean death, well as clean as you can go after being bled out like an animal.

I shoot him between his eyes, his head falling backward. Didn’t even give me any satisfaction. My mind is already focused on what he said.

My angel is getting married and I don’t like it one bit.

Rose

I’m lying in bed after what seemed like a never-ending day. Between the classes, prayers and the people murmuring about me, I’m exhausted. Thankfully I didn’t have my last class at the end of the day. Mr Collins called in sick.

That was the highlight of my day.

My nightgown itches and I wish I could just remove it and wear a t-shirt like the one Vox was wearing the first time I saw him in his garden.

My clock says it’s nine thirty. I want to get up and look at the window, to perhaps take a glance at him, but my body is drained and my eyelids are heavy. Too many feelings make me feel like a storm is coming and I don’t know what to do about it.

Should I accept my fate and obey?

Or should I allow myself to think of… more?

I’m scared and despite trying to reach out to my mother or my friends. I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

The only thought that brings me comfort is him.

So I close my eyes and imagine that he’s here, in my room, holding me in his large, muscular tattooed arms. His leather and manly scent hits my nostrils while I melt into his body and drift myself to sleep.

Suddenly, darkness descends upon my imaginary sanctuary, shattering the illusion of safety I’d found in Vox’s arms. Instead of peaceful dreams, I find myself trapped in a living nightmare.

I’m standing in a grand, sprawling mansion. It looks fancy with high ceilings and golden molding, but the walls are in flames. I try to breathe but all I can do is choke on the smoke filling the house. I try to run to another room, but each door keeps sending me back to the same room I was in. Panic courses through my veins as I realize that I am trapped, the heat of the fire pressing in on all sides, leaving me with nowhere to run. I try to call for my parents, but no sounds come out of my mouth. The flames are getting bigger and hungrier, voices inside them calling my name. I look everywhere around me but there’s no escape, and each second that passes makes my lungs burn with every breath.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of footsteps behind me, making the floor squeak like in a horror movie. “Come here, little lamb,” says a voice with a cold, dark laugh. I dare not look back, for fear of what I might see, but I can feel the presence of someone—or something—lurking just beyond the reach of the flames.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I try to run to the only window in the room, desperation driving me forward as I search for a way out of this hell. But no matter how hard I try to open it, it remains shut.

Panic takes over me, the flames dancing around my feet, the smoke filling in every corner of my lungs while my eyes spot something behind the window.

And there, in the distance, I see him—a man on a motorcycle, a dark knight standing in the obscurity.

Him.

“Vox! Vox, I’m here, please, help me!” I try to shout but no sounds come out of me. In the distance, I hear the sound of laughter—a cruel, mocking sound that sends a chill down my spine.

“He can’t save you, little lamb, you’re mine.” His high-pitched laughter makes my body shiver with fear.

No, please, god, no!

And then, with a sudden jolt, I find myself back in my bed, trembling and disoriented, a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close.

Vox?

"Rose, it's okay, Angel. You're safe now, I’ve got you," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.

A nightmare, it was just a nightmare.

I’m out of breath, my nightdress sticking to my back as if I had just run a marathon.

“Breathe,” he says, humming in my ear. I locked my eyes with him, confusion and relief written on my face. He’s sitting next to me, on my bed.

“Don’t ask,” he says with his deep warm voice, like he doesn’t want me to know how he got there, or how he even knew I needed him.

It should worry me, but it doesn’t. I’m glad he’s here, no matter how he got there.

I suddenly notice that his hands are still holding me, and I don’t hate it. It’s actually quite the opposite. I know it’s wrong and my future husband… the Shepherd, should be the only one to touch my body but at this moment I don’t care about those rules.

All I want is to be safe in his arms.

He starts to remove his hands reluctantly, but I gently grab one of his forearms, trying to tell him to keep them on me. Hesitation crosses his gaze and I see how much he doesn’t want to push me further than I can take it, which makes my chest swell ever more.

But something even more surprising shines in the depths of his eyes.

Fear.

I don’t understand why, but I want to erase it from his breathtaking blue eyes and make it all better.

Keeping his forearm in my hand, I pull it toward my shoulder in a silent request.

“Is this okay?” he says in a worried tone. I make a small nod, my breathing getting back to normal as each second passes in his presence.

“Do you want me to hold you, Angel?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

Such a strong man, and yet, he’s showing me more respect than any person I’ve ever met.

I nod again, wordlessly pleading for him to stay by my side a little while longer. With a soft exhale, he pulls me towards him and wraps his arms around me, keeping me close to his chest. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the new familiar scent of leather and musk.

With one arm he circles my back in a protective embrace while his other hand strokes my hair.

This is the most intimate moment of my life and I’m living it with him.

Not someone from my community, not my, ugh, fiancé, but him.

Inhaling his manly scent, goosebumps appear all over my skin and a warm sensation churns in my belly.

I just want this moment to last forever.

As Vox's lips brush against my forehead, a shiver runs down my spine, sending a rush of tingling warmth through my veins.

“Feelin’ better?” he asks with a breathy voice. It’s too dark to write in my notebook and show it to him, but I can still see his face with the reflection of the moon. Gathering all the courage I can find, I furrow my brows and swallow hard. Making a small, almost appreciable moan in response.

His body freezes for a second, surprised to actually hear me.

When my vocal chords got damaged two years ago, I lost all ability to speak, but if I push myself enough, which is extremely painful, I can manage to make extremely small sounds that you can only hear in complete silence.

For him, I overcome the pain, wanting to offer him a piece of me that I don’t give to others.

His response is immediate, his grip tightening around me as if to reassure me that he's there. His arm pulls me tighter to his chest until I can feel his heartbeat against mine, his lips pressed against my forehead.

Can a person become your safe place?

I can’t help but think that he feels like coming home at the end of a long day. The way he keeps putting his lips on my forehead makes me want to stay here forever.

Silence surrounds us in the depth of the night, making me cling to his chest even more.

I don’t want to be alone tonight. I wish I could be at his place.

But that’s crazy.

Why would he want that?

And how could I allow myself such a behavior? I’m supposed to be a good lamb who follows the rules.

Removing my face from the crook of his neck, I lift my eyes to his as if they could give me the answers I’m desperately looking for.

“Is it true, you’re gonna get married?” His voice breaks as he says the last word- married. I can sense the tension in his body, the subtle shift in his demeanor as if he was trying to hold back something.

What can I tell him? Yes, I’ve been chosen by my sixty-year-old spiritual leader and I must fulfill my duty despite gagging at the idea of it?

He looks in my eyes with so much intensity, a shiver shakes my body. Tears build in my eyes and threaten to spill when he cups my cheek with one of his rough hands.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says as if my eyes had given him the answer he was looking for. He exhales, keeping his voice low enough so we won’t be heard.

“You ever want to leave, to escape, to hide, you call me.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. I lean into his touch, my heart skipping a beat at his words.

“You need me, Angel, for any reason, I'll be there in a heartbeat,” he says like a promise, his tone as heavy as if he was taking a vow.

As tears trickle down my cheeks, I feel Vox's thumb brush them away, his touch gentle yet firm, anchoring me to the present moment. I wish I could tell him how lost I am, but somehow he doesn’t seem to need me to write it down; he just senses it.

"C’mon, you need to rest," he says, kissing my forehead again. He lifts himself from the bed, making me ache for the loss of his closeness and sits on the chair next to my bed.

"I'll stay here tonight, watchin’ over ya. If you have another nightmare, I'll be right here.

Why would he ever want to do that?

The sight of him sitting next to me with his black clothes and veiny hands resting on his thighs makes my heart pump harder.

Instead of keeping myself awake with questions, I choose to embrace him being here, with me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but I sure will enjoy every single minute I can spend in his presence.

With a small nod, I lie down again and let him pull the covers over me.

Could this moment last forever?

I drift into sleep surprisingly fast, knowing he’s there, in arm’s reach.

For tonight at least, I am not alone.

Chapter 8

Vox

Been away six days to meet Mendiaz and a few new guys there who’ll work for us from now on. Was nice being in Mexico but I was eager to come back to see her. Especially since I know she’s getting married to a so-called Messiah.

Hell no.

I promised myself to not fall for a woman, but I haven’t said anything about protecting one. And despite the situation, I'm pretty sure Rose isn’t keen on the idea of marrying this old guy.

Or perhaps she is? If it’s her Leader, then perhaps she’s glad she’s getting married?

Nah, from the look she gave me last week, she wanted it as much as someone would want a death penalty.

I take my phone in the basement of the club and open my app, looking at the rewind of her morning.

I fuckin’ miss her.

As I watch her, a sense of calm hits instantly. She's got this way about her, real peaceful, each move smooth as she braids her hair. It's like she's got this magic, quieting the storm in my head, pulling me right into the moment. Every flick of her wrist, every gentle tug on her hair, drags me deeper into her orbit, hooked on what she's doing.

I’m like an addict waiting for his next fix.

I shut down the app when she leaves the room. The idea of her being tied to another man, trapped in a life she might not want, stirs up a primal sense of possessiveness deep inside me.

The word echoes in my head like a fuckin’ relentless drumbeat.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

It's a dangerous thought, one I know I should resist, but it clings to me stubbornly. I haven’t even thought about the implication of dealing with a client from our club.

What will Ares think?

If anythin’ I’ve always been a loyal soldier to him, ready to die in battle at his orders without hesitating.

Pacing back and forth in the dimly lit basement, the scent of metal and blood hits me, reminding me of who I am and where my loyalty lies.

What the fuck should I do?

Can I get her out of her cult without wanting, well, more from her?

The image of Rose, with her golden hair and curves that’d make any man fall on his knees, flashes through my head. Skarn circlin’ her like a damn vulture, ready to claim her and I wanna tear him apart with my bare hands.

But what should I do about Ares?

Even though he’s only ten years older, he's been like a mentor to me, showin’ me the ropes, teaching me what it means to be a true brother. Going against him feels like stabbing my own blood, a betrayal I ain’t ready for.

You’d be a traitor, an outcast.

He always said, don’t mix women and business, and that’s why this is tearing me up. Defyin’ Ares is a risk I never thought I’d take, yet leavin’ Rose to her fate is a burden I can't bear.

The club or my angel?

For the first time in a long time, I don’t know where my loyalty should lie. The only thing that'll clear it up is the look in Rose’s eyes. That’s where I'll find the answer: does she really want this marriage, or is it forced on her? If she wants it, then I won't stand in the way of her happiness, even if it kills me to say.

For now, as I pace the cold concrete floor of the basement, Novac’s body still hangin’, his blood pooling at his feet, I'm caught in a damn mess, torn between loyalty and… something I never wanted to feel again. Thought I could roll through life with my brothers, the club, and my bike. That I’d never need to get close to anyone, never risk losing someone I cared for.

But here I am, trying to protect myself with walls while she keeps knockin’ 'em down, one by one.

Can I be strong enough to push her out?

-

It’s six, the music is blasting hard in the main hall, and I decide to shut down my office for the day. Wrapped up club business, checked the basement, balanced the books, and even shared a beer with Viper and Steele to try to distract myself. But throughout it all, one thing kept naggin’ at me—a vivid image of a thick, blonde braid.

"Up for a ride, Vox?" Steele asks, itching to hit the mountain roads for a sunset cruise.

"Not today, brother. Got some things on my plate," I reply, grabbing a spoon from the bar before heading out.

Mounting my bike, I feel its power beneath me, the engine's rumble a comforting presence. Navigating the busy streets, the city noise fades into the background as I lose myself in the engine's rumble. Rose's presence lingers, stirring somethin' deep inside me.

You already know what you’re choosing, just get ready to face the consequences.

Luckily, I’m heading toward something that could help me let off some steam. A small, cold smirk creeps onto my face.

It’s always nice to know you’re about to make the world a better place after killing a piece of shit.

Time to pay a surprise visit to Mr Collins. Wasn’t hard to find his address on the internet, and knowing what he did to my angel, it’s only fair I return the favor. He’d hurt what’s… mine . Can’t let this happen.

Mine you said?

I touch my jacket inside my pocket, feeling the spoon under the leather. Won’t kill him too fast, that would be too easy. Nah, I’m gonna make this hurt a bit more than it should.

An eye for an eye.

Literally.

I maneuver through traffic easily until I reach a comfortable neighborhood, with white fences and tidy lawns, similar to my area. Parking in front of his house, I keep my helmet on, wondering how best I can scare the shit out of him. Hearing noise in his garden, I step on the perfectly mown law and walk to the side of the house.

This guy even has garden gnomes and cutesy crap all over. Fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He’s there. I recognize him from the pictures I saw online. He’s cuttin’ wood with a saw, without a fuckin’ care in the world, not knowin’ what’s about to happen to him.

I like it. The element of surprise adds a bit of fun.

I’m not a patient man, so I step towards him, his eyes widening at my sight, his mouth about to cry for help before I shut him with a firm hand and put my Glock 27 on his temple.

He’s much more docile now.

“On your knees,” I order, forcing him on the ground.

Where he belongs.

A cold chuckle comes out of my mouth. This fucker has no idea what I’m about to do.

“You did somethin’ wrong, hurting someone who didn’t deserve it,” I say, pressing the barrel against his flesh, making his body shake at its contact. I can see the panic from the pulse under his jaw and how he keeps lookin’ left and right for a way out.

“You made the mistake of hurtin’ Rose, and fuck, that was a dumb move,” I say with a bitter laugh. I lift his face to lock my gaze with his, tilting my head slightly. “I know you believe in punishment… and so do I.” I take the spoon out of my pocket and show it to him, his eyes confused at the sight of the utensil.

That’s my favorite part.

“I’m gonna kill you for what you did to Rose, but first we’re gonna take your eye out. Won’t be right if you don’t hurt, ya feel me?” I say with a low threatening tone.

“Now I'm gonna remove my hand and you're gonna shut the fuck up if you don’t want me to bring you back to a friend who’s particularly good at torture, alright?”

Almost sorry for Carter cause I know he would have had a blast, but I need to kill him myself. This shit is… personal.

He nods eagerly, probably thinking I’m gonna spare him if he behaves.

Pathetic.

Keepin’ my gun pointed at him, I take out manacles from my jeans pocket.

“Wrists out,” I order. He lifts his trembling thin arms towards me, and I restrain him, closing the manacles enough so that the metal digs into his skin, making him bleed. I look around and find a small piece of dirty cloth on the floor. He must have used it to wipe his sweat while cutting the wood. Grabbin’ it, I shove it in his mouth, gagging him, and enjoying the distress in his eyes.

I enjoy scaring the shit out of him. That's what he deserves for hurtin’ an angel.

Restrained and unable to yell, I take a look around, checking that no one can see us.

Perfect.

Putting back my gun in my holster, I fist his hair, angling his head towards me, his reflection in the glass of my helmet, making him watch himself terrified.

That's when I take the spoon and shove it in his left eye, in a precise movement learned after years of practice. His body fights me, tryin’ to escape the assault so I hold on tighter to his scalp, letting him know that there's no escape.

Turnin’ the spoon in the hollow of his eye, I pull it toward me in a slow motion, lettin’ him feel his eyeball leave his head. His cry is swallowed in the cloth. I know there’s a chance he'll faint, but I can't have that.

Wouldn't be fair for Rose.

I need him to be present to hurt. Lettin’ the spoon and his eyeball fall at his knees, I slap him hard in the face.

“See, doesn’t feel good when someone hurts ya. Should have thought about it before breakin’ her fingers, don’t ya think?”

His face bleeds hard from his missing eye. I punch him, makin’ him fall on his side like a fuckin’ pathetic weak man. Ignoring his pleas, I secure my gun with a silencer.

Alright, I’m done here.

I shoot him in the head, his body jerking back as if a truck had hit him.

Problem solved.

I head back to my bike, thankful for my black gear to conceal the blood drippin’ all over me. It would be a shame to scare the housewives chattin’ on the other side of the street.

We wouldn’t want that, would we?

-

The sun has set when I arrive to my house. Parkin’ my bike in my driveway, I sigh. It's been a long day but I want to see her before fallin’ asleep. After removin’ my helmet and puttin’ it on the bench of my entry, I decide that I will break in her house after havin’ dinner. Just want to look at her like last week, when I watched her sleep, tucked under her covers, her breathing echoin’ in the room, making my chest tighter. I enter my living room when I hear a noise.

Taking my gun from my holster, I raise it in front of me, ready to kill whoever is here.

Gettin’ closer from the noise I heard, I walk to the back of the couch, trying to be as quiet as possible.

At this distance, there's no clean shot. Whoever is in my house will have his brain blown up everywhere in the room.

Fuckin' pain in the ass to clean.

Reachin’ the couch, I make one last step and freeze.

My angel is curled up in a ball on my couch. Her eyes are shut, while her slow breathing tells me she’s been asleep for a little while.

She knew she could come here, and she did.

She fuckin’ did.

She took the blanket I gave her the other night and used it to cover her body, but the fabric must have slipped cause it only covers her legs now. I want to put the cover back on her, but it feels wrong to let her sleep here. She won’t be comfortable enough to spend the night and I don’t want her to be tired cause of it.

Circlin’ around the couch, I kneel in front of her body and wrap my arms under her knees and back, carryin’ her in firefighter mode. She’s as light as I thought she would be. Reachin’ the stairs, I take them carefully to make sure she won’t wake up and carry her to my bedroom. I would normally never enter this room with my boots on, with my habit of always puttin’ them in the entry, below the bench, on the left, like the maniac that I am, but it doesn’t even bother me right now.

I’m about to set her down on the edge of the bed when I catch myself.

Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my fucked up life.

She fits perfectly in my arms, warm and smellin’ like vanilla, and I can't help but bury my face in her hair and kiss her forehead.

Crossin’ the lines I swore I wouldn't cross.

Carefully, I lay her down on the bed. It's new havin’ Rose in my space, but at the same time, it feels… right. Like she's supposed to be here.

She's the first woman I've brought here. I don’t usually bring anyone into my home. I prefer to stay at the club or some crappy motel when I've got a girl with me.

I pull my arms away, and she squirms a bit, grabbing onto a piece of fabric on my forearm, yankin’ it towards her like she's cravin’ my closeness.

No, don’t do this.

I freeze, my breath hitching as Rose's fingers grip my sleeve. It sends a jolt through me, my blood pumping harder under my skin. Her hold tightens, like she's reachin’ for some kind of lifeline in the dark. She's lying there, so peaceful, so vulnerable, and yet even asleep I can see how strong she is.

This girl is trapped in a cult, mute and goes through punishment like it’s a damn normal thing. Gotta hand it to her, she's got more backbone than most men I know.

I can't peel my gaze away from her, even though I'm wrestling with a whole mess of memories hitting me hard.

Flashbacks from my little brother Jamie sleeping on the couch when we were younger. Then from his blooded face as we crashed into a car that night that changed it all.

A part of me wants to pull her closer but there's another part, a more rational one, that knows I need to keep my distance.

Keep her at arm’s length. Keep your walls up. That’s what kept you alive all those years.

I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

Fuck it.

Screw the rational part of me, screw the consequences. If I can't hold her in my arms, at least I can stay close to her and watch over her while she sleeps.

That’s what she came for anyway, right? If she came to sleep here, perhaps that means I can help her fight her nightmares?

Lettin’ her grip fall from my sleeve, I lay her down completely on my bed and I settled into the armchair beside it.

Close enough to reach out and touch her if I want to.

Far enough to keep my sanity.

Resting my forearms on my thighs, I take her in, every detail of her, from the wild tangle of her hair to the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

Fuckin’ love when she lets her hair down.

She's like a damn goddess lying there, so peaceful, so innocent. And for the first time in a long time, I feel somethin’ stir deep inside me, somethin’ I thought was long dead and buried the night of the car crash.

I sigh and lean back in the chair, my Glock pressed against my back.

Maybe it's reckless, but right now, it feels like the right thing to do.

Rose is here and that's all that matters.

Rose

A warm touch is caressing my face, making me wish it was Vox’s hand. I’m still asleep, curled up in soft sheets that smell like musk and soap. The hand keeps stroking my cheek until a finger reaches my lower lips.

“Hi, sleepyhead.” A deep raspy voice wakes me up instantly.

Where am I?

Opening my eyes, I locked them with the only man I feel safe with. I should hate his touch, I should push his hand away and listen to the rules of my community, but I don't.

Instead, I embrace it.

Vox.

“Breathe, Angel, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he says, lowering his hand on my jaw and taking my chin between two of his fingers. My eyes must be wide with confusion because I see a glimpse of a smile at the corners of his lips.

“Found you on my couch yesterday. Just put you in my bed so you’ll be more comfortable.” He swallows, looking deep in my eye with his cobalt gaze. “I stayed on the armchair the whole night,” he adds, answering the silent question he saw in my eyes.

How could he know I felt overwhelmed at the idea of us sleeping in the same bed?

Truth is, even if the idea of sharing a bed with him feels unusual, it doesn’t feel wrong. Not at all. I’m actually surprised by how comfy his bed is, how tidy everything is and how right it all feels.

Like I could be living here and it would be the most natural thing in the world.

Something inside me love the fact that he carried me to his bed knowing I would be more at ease there. Knowing that he slept on the armchair, beside me, respecting my boundaries while still protecting me.

Are you insane, Rose? Get it together.

Looking at the clock on his bedside table, I see that it's only six in the morning. He must have noticed that I get out of the house by eight every day to go to the Institute and wanted me to have a bit of time to go back to get ready for the day.

“Don’t know if you want to get ready here but if you do, the shower is behind the door, and the towels are under the sink,” he says, clenching his jaw, making a motion of his chin to the door in front of the bed.

I always shower in the morning, but I could go back to my house and do it there, and besides, it would be, hum, inappropriate for me to shower in his home, especially now that I’m, well,  engaged .

Ew.

He stands and walks toward another door on the left side of the room.

“Gonna make you breakfast, take your time, Angel,” he says, looking at the bed, as if his eyes were trying to avoid me. His body is suddenly tense, the opposite of when he was stroking my cheeks a minute ago.

This is all crazy. I shouldn’t even be there.

But I am.

Because yesterday, laying on my bed, I couldn’t find sleep after trying for hours, and the only thing that kept going through my mind was him and the invitation he gave me last time I was there.

So after days of waiting for his return, I did what I shouldn’t have done days ago. I walked out of my bed, tiptoed to the garden and stepped inside his house through the bay window just like he said I could. I fell asleep on his couch waiting for him to return.

I wanted to be close to him, to be protected from the nightmares by his warm presence.

And I must have had a lucky star because he came back that night from wherever he was.

I nod at his words, accepting the shower and the breakfast he’s offering me. His eyes tell me that he knows as well that what we are doing is crossing a line. One that can’t be reversed. My house is a few meters away. I can eat and shower there.

Why would I do this here?

As my heart quickens, I tuck out the covers and walk to the shower, feeling his eyes on me. His gaze is like hot lava running on my skin and making me almost whimper. The tension in the room is thicker than I’ve ever felt, and I hear his exhale before walking outside the room and storming downstairs.

God.

Is it me or does the room suddenly feel like a hundred degrees?

As I walk into the bathroom, I catch a whiff of mint soap and notice how spotless everything is, just like the rest of his place. Then my eyes land on something familiar.

No way.

There it is, on the edge of the bathtub—a bottle of my favorite vanilla-scented shower gel. He must've spotted it the night he came to mend my hands. I can’t believe he took the time to notice this and to actually buy one for his place.

Did he know I would be coming here one day?

I let out a soft sigh as I pick up the bottle, feeling its comforting weight in my hands.

Or did he buy it for him…? To smell my scent whenever he wants to?

A strange primal urge in me wants him to have bought it for himself. So he could feel my scent even when I’m not around.

You’re crazy.

Turning toward the sink to grab a towel, I stare at myself in the mirror. Something has changed in my reflection. Barely noticeable but it does change. As if the veil of obedience was slowly slipping for my face, revealing a stronger version of me.

A braver one.

Touching the surface of the mirror with my finger, I wonder who this girl is. I thought a version of me died two years ago in the fire, taking away my voice with it and burying it under layers of fake smiles and silence. But perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps losing my voice was only the beginning of something more.

The old Rose would have never slipped out of her bed at night to sleep in a stranger's bed.

The old Rose would have never let a man touch her.

The old Rose would have stayed put, too scared of punishment.

But becoming the fiancée of our leader and discovering what a true connection feels like with Vox… just turns my world upside down. It’s making me question everything. As I remove my clothes slowly, I fold them on the counter, entering the shower and enjoying the hot water burning my flesh.

This act of transgression should make me feel embarrassed but I’m not.

If this is what freedom tastes like, then I want to savor every drop of it.

I'm standing naked in his shower. In his home. The thought of his tattooed body, wet and standing in the exact spot where I am now, sends a warm shiver through my stomach. Each drop of water cascading over my skin awakens a sensation both foreign and exhilarating.

The steam surrounds me, clouding my thoughts in a haze of desires. As I massage the vanilla-scented shower gel onto my skin, its fragrance wraps around me like his arms, easing away my uncertainties.

I recall our first meeting in the garden, trying to remember every inch of his tattooed skin, the intricate designs across his athletic muscles. I imagine his strong, veiny forearms pulling me close, and—

Shaking my head, I pull myself from my fantasy, pressing my hand against the wall as the water continues to fall around me.

This is wrong. I should never imagine those kinds of things.

What if my parents knew I was here? What would my community say? Could I live with myself then?

Turning the water off, I dry my skin with one of his cushy towels. I reach out and touch the fogged mirror, clearing it to meet my own gaze.

What do you really want?

-

Putting my nightgown back on and trying to do something with my wild thick hair, I sigh.

I wish I could have worn something more… pretty. Like a t-shirt and jeans, molding my body, not an ankle long brown shapeless dress made to hide my figure. When I see what girls my age wear in the street, I can’t help but envy them. It must be nice to wonder what you will wear every day and try to mix and match different patterns. And to be able to enhance your features, just enough to feel… feminine .

For the first time in my life, I want him to see this part of me. To look at me with desire and want, not just a weirdly dressed girl wearing the same brown clothes every single day. My dress looks more like a potato sac than anything else.

It’s not about the dress, Rose, he’s not like that and you know it.

He seems like a free man, riding his bike, coming home at strange hours, having a tidier home than most people I know. The kind of man that have women crawling at him everyday. And by my memory of the girl at his barbecue, he’s used to seeing women wear way less clothes than I am.

Why would a man like him desire a girl like me?

My hands shake as I grip the staircase railing and join him in the kitchen, trying to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks from having just showered in his house.

A pen and notebook are waiting for me on a stool next to the island while he makes a mug of tea, watching me with attentive eyes, like a lion studying its prey. I feel his gaze like wax dripping over my skin, each passing second leaving a searing sensation.

"Sit," he says in his warm voice, sending shivers down my spine, as he gestures to the stool in front of him, the island separating us.

Thank god. I don’t think I can handle more tension right now.

He's dressed in a black t-shirt that accentuates his thick, tattooed arms. I have to force myself to stop staring, closing my jaw before sitting. A corner of his lips lifts.

Come on, Rose, be more subtle.

Circling the island, he puts the mug in front of me, briefly touching my jaw with the back of his hand, making me melt at the contact. It feels natural, him touching me.

I wish I could stand and rush into his arms, burying my face in the crook of his neck, but it goes against everything I’ve been told since the day I was born.

“Made pancakes, do ya want some?” he says, putting away a jar of flour.

He made me breakfast.

I had never seen a man cook.

Never.

In the Faithful Lambs, only women are allowed in the kitchen, for some strange reason, so men have no idea how to cook. When a woman is ill, another one from the community has to come and cook for her husband, making sure he never has to make anything by himself. I must look shocked because a slight grin flashes on his handsome face.

“Is that a yes?” I nod eagerly, feeling hungry and unexpectedly cherished by the fact that this man, this biker covered in tattoos, has cooked for me. He chuckles as he places a plate with four huge pancakes in front of me.

It looks so good.

"Maple syrup or butter?" he asks, holding each option in his hand. I point to the butter with a large smile.

"Here, Angel," he says, handing me the butter.

That nickname still takes my breath away each time he says it.

I silently mouth "thank you," watching as he reads my lips and nods slightly in return. I enjoy communicating with him in my own way, knowing that simple things can be understood through lip reading by most people, though I rarely do it. With him, it feels different. I want him to understand me, to find our own language. As I reach for another bite of the fluffiest pancakes I've ever eaten, I pause to look at him for a moment.

I want to know everything about him. But I don’t even know where to start.

I'm not sure how I should act right now, it's so far out of my comfort zone, so different from the rules I've followed my whole life. Raising an eyebrow, he looks amused and asks, "Want somethin’, sweetheart?"

I pick up the pen and try to think of something to ask without appearing too eager to know about him.

"What are you doing today?" I write in the notebook and show it to him.

A small smile appears on his face. “Well right now, I’m enjoying breakfast with ya, and after, the usual,” he sighs, “Club business.”

Club?

Looking at his house and the people I saw in his garden, it looks like he’s a part of some community. But I don’t know anything about motorcycle clubs and he certainly looks like he won’t tell me more about it.

Circling the island, he takes a mug of steaming coffee and sits on the stool next to me with a larger smile on his face.

“Can almost hear the questions in your mind. What do you wanna know, Angel?”

Angel. That word makes my knees weak and my blood pulse each time his lips say it. His blue eyes lock with mine and my breathing quickens at the sight of his angular jaw, chocolate short hair and tattoos on his neck.

It should be illegal to look that attractive.

Reaching over me, his arms brushing mine, he grabs the notebook and the pen.

“C’mon, shoot.” I’m surprised by his gesture. He doesn’t look like an open book; why would he be okay with me knowing things about him?

“What do you do at the club?” I write and hand over to him.

As Vox turns towards me, I'm totally focused on his reaction. His expression shifts subtly as he reads it, eyes flickering with indecision. It's like he's not sure about letting me in on a part of himself.

I'm holding my breath, waiting anxiously for his reply, unable to look away from him. I can feel the conflict inside him, torn between wanting to share with me and wanting to protect himself.

Then, something changes. I see it in the way he straightens his shoulders and the determined look on his face.

“I’m the vice-president of the club. I deal with our men, make sure orders are followed and shipment arrives on time. I also negotiate with other… clubs and take care of the different issues we can have with some, hum, individuals.”

Vox's words sink in, and I watch as he suddenly avoids eye contact.

That’s strange.

I can't shake the feeling that there's more to the story than he's letting on, like he's afraid to tell me what he really does.

“Like a manager?” I write.

“Not really, Angel.” He runs a hand over his chocolate hair, as if he didn’t know how to explain it to me. I bite my lip, trying to read his expression for any hint of the truth. His eyes, usually so warm and inviting, now seem guarded, almost distant.

No, I didn’t want this…

It's like there's a wall between us now. A wall I’m determined to break through. As if he could feel my uncertainty, he sighs, his large rough hand covering mine on the countertops, making my belly filled with butterflies.

“Truth is, Rose, I’m not a good man. Far from it. The things I do… they should never come close to an angel like ya.”

I frown.

Why would he say that?

He’s only been good to me since the day I met him. Writing with my other free hand, I shake my head and hope that he will understand my humor, perhaps that will manage to break his walls. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, it’s not like I will say it to someone else.”

Tightening his hold on my hand, he shakes his head, warmth coming back into his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips.

“Rose, Rose, Rose,” he says, like a prayer, his eyes slowly drifting to my lips. I shrug one shoulder, smiling back at him. Pushing slightly back in his stool and leaving my hand, he gestures something to me.

My jaw drops on the floor.

What?

What did he just do?

Did Vox just sign something to me?

Vox

The look on her face is priceless as I sign “ You are beautiful ” one more time, hoping she got what I was tryin’ to say. I’m about to ask her if she understood when I suddenly see her eyes filling with tears, her lower lip trembling.

Shit, what did I do?

“Angel? C’mon, come here,” I say, standing and reaching for her, surrounding her with my arms, hoping it will appease her tears. I’ve never really been sensitive to people's emotions before, especially with the amount of men ending up practically dead in front of me, begging for their lives. It has become so common that I’m surprised by how Rose gets to me. How she carries her emotions on her face, like a book she opened for me to access, somethin’ precious she’s allowing me to see.

Did I do somethin’ wrong signin’ to her?

I wanted to show her that she didn’t have to do all the work and that I could learn sign language for her. After watching a few videos last night when she was sleeping, I learnt a few things.

What about keepin’ her at arm's length then?

Her body is still shaking a bit, but the tears have stopped. Kissing her forehead and sliding my arm up and down her back to soothe her, I try to push back a bit to look at her. Damn, touching her is really becoming a vital need now. I take her chin between my thumb and my index and raise her breathtaking face to me.

“Just wanted to tell ya,” I try with a reassuring smile. Her lips are so close to mine I wish I could fuckin’ devour them. But I hold on. Don’t want to scare her away.

What? Why?

A part of me wants me to scare her, push her boundaries so far so she would never come back and leave my walls in place, far from her full lips and pure heart. But another part tells me to stay and take care of her, to let her break my walls, push the bricks one by one and allow her sweetness into my dark soul.

Our gazes connect, her proximity drawing me in but I know I can't indulge in the temptation. With restraint, I step back, stoking her delicate cheek with my rough hand.

She closes her eyes and relishes in my touch, biting her lip as she smiles.

Good. Thought I’d fucked up for a sec. How can this tiny woman make me so nervous all of a sudden? Damn, and that fuckin’ smile? It shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.

No wonder Skarn chose her for himself. That’s some old lady material I got right in front of me.

Old lady?

My mind makes a double spin at the thought.

When have I ever thought about a woman becoming MY old lady?

It has NEVER happened.

Also, Rose is too pure for my lifestyle. She would run away as soon as she knew what I was really doing.

Right?

How could I tell her, this beautiful angel, that I’m the one doing the dirty work for the club? Sending messages to other gangs when Ares asked me to. Messages in the form of cutting throats and torturing men.

How can I tell her that I actually don't feel anything doing that part?

The dark side of me is numbed by the idea of making my enemies bleed.

No, she wouldn’t wan t anythin’ to do with a man like me, and she would be right. How could an angel like her want to dance with a devil like me?

Tugging a strain of her damp hair behind her ear, I inhale loudly, remembering that she was in my shower a few minutes ago while I was frozen in front of my sink, my knuckles white from pressing the wood countertop with my hand. Thought my teeth would actually break from how clenched my jaw was at the thought of her a few meters from me.

Never thought she would take my invitation to shower here. I mean, not that I’m complaining, but she could have gone home.

Why did she do it?

Can’t even fuckin’ process why she came into my home last night. Was she lookin’ for a shelter away from her nightmares? Or was she lookin’ for me?

The small pressure of somethin’ on my chest takes me out of my thoughts.

What is she-?

Her index draws somethin’ on me. She repeats the patterns a few times before I get it. It’s an question mark that she’s writing. On my fuckin’ chest. I have to take a sec to breathe slowly and gather myself at this fuckin’ adorable gesture.

I could fuckin’ get used to that.

She wonders how I learnt it?

“Watched a few videos while ya were sleeping. Not too bad for a newbie, right?” I smile, taking a sip of my coffee.

She smiles, shaking her head as if she was in awe of what I just told her. Can’t help but stare at her gorgeous angelic face. Fuckin’ love the habit she has to scrunch her nose when she smiles. Wish I could see those pouty lips every fuckin’ day.

I’m so fucked.

Rose is slowly getting under my skin as each day passes and I’m not sure if I’m gonna be able to push her out. Not that I am a part of her plan anyway since she’s about to get married to another man. This thought makes my body tense and there’s an urge to protect her like I’ve never felt before. The pull is so strong she must see it on my face.

“Tell me about the wedding,” I ask coldly, trying to hide the fury bubbling under my skin like a volcano about to explode.

Furrowing her brows, she puts the palm of her hand flat on my heart, leaving my t-shirt as the only thing between our skin.

Don’t do this, Angel, my black heart’s gonna burst if you keep your hand on it.

Her gorgeous lips form a small “o” as she feels my fast heartbeat.

Taking a quick glance at my eyes, she then turns herself to take the notebook and starts to write quickly. After what seems like two whole minutes, she turns towards me, handin’ me the note with a shaking hand. I don't want to seem too invested so I take it slowly when in fact I'm just that close to snapping.

“The Shepherd, our leader, chose me as his bride. My parents are over the moon with the idea, it's a great honor for our family. I was raised for that, to get married in the Faithful Lambs community and make as much children as possible. I don’t expect you to understand. It’s… complicated. I don't really have a say in it,” I read with my blood sizzlin’ under my skin.

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

It's written like a poem learnt by heart, just like when I put my Glock on people's heads and they suddenly start to talk. I guess I have to find who's making her do this, cause from the pale look on her face, it’s not her choice. The last sentence makes me bite my fist, wanting to pace the room like a lunatic.

No fuckin’ way I'm lettin’ her go through with it.

“You don't have any say in this? At all?” I snap, making her step back as if I had physically push her.

Shit.

Last thing I want is to scare her, but right now I want to burn the world to the ground and find the fuckers who are planning on taking her freedom away.

“When is the, fuck, the wedding?” I say between gritted teeth.

“In two months,” she writes.

“The guy you're marryin’, he's sixty, right? Have you thought about what you would have to do with him to get children? Do you even want children now?”

Fuck, I've snapped . Happens rarely to a calm guy like me but fuck, if you don't get out of your skin for stuff like this then are you even alive?

I fist the note in my hand, crushing it, and throwing it on the counter between us. Then I stare at her, wishing to see any form of rebellion in her eyes, anythin’ that will tell me that's she's not okay with this. But she's not looking at me, avoiding my eyes, her hands fidgeting with the pen, her lips murmuring somethin’ I'll never be able to hear.

Scared.

That's what she looks like .

Tilting her head she writes, “How do you know that he is sixty years old?”

That's what she's wonderin’? Damn it, if I tell her that her fuckin’ fake Messiah buy guns from our warehouse to sell to different cartels around the country, will she believe me?

Giving her that piece of information would also give away what my club actually does.

Am I ready for her to run away so soon?

Yeah, you have to let her go.

Fuck, I can't keep that from her just for my sake. Running a hand in my hair, I exhale loudly like I'm about to jump off a cliff.

Will I will able to forget the look of disgust in her eyes when she'll eventually walk away from me?

For her, I'll do it. She needs to know the truth and I sure won't be another person lying to her.

Perhaps, fuck, perhaps she'll stay even knowin’ what I do.

“Your dear Leader buy guns from my club to sell to another gang,” I state blankly, like a cold truth that needed to be said. "He's not the saintly figure you've been led to believe. And I can't stay fuckin' silent watchin’ ya get trapped in this thing.”

Rose's eyes widen in shock, her hand trembling as she processes the revelation. She looks at me with a mixture of fear and disbelief, shaking her head like I just told her a lie. I can almost hear her lips sayin’ over and over, “No, no, no.”

“It's true, Rose, it's the fuckin’ truth.” Her smile disappears, looking at me with daggers coming from her blue pools, watching me like a stranger she must be wary of.

No. Fuck. No.

Is she mad at me because I deal with weapons?

Or is she shocked about the news of her freaking Shepherd?

I'm startin’ to spiral like a fuckin' maniac.

“Rose, please, talk to me, don't push me away.” I'm shocked at what just came out of my mouth.

Since when did I ever beg for someone to stay near me?

Not since the day I saw life escapin’ my little brother's eyes when I was begging for him to stay with me in the car crash.

Don't think about it, stay right here with Rose .

She takes the notebook and scribbles fast. Her writing is suddenly harsher than before.

“I don't believe you. It's all a LIE. Perhaps YOU are the one who wants to trap me. You're the criminal dealing with GUNS!” She underlines the last word. Her note hits me like a punch in the face.

What I was fuckin’ afraid of just happened .

She's turning her back on me as I follow her, tryin’ to make it all alright again even though I know it's too late. But perhaps I can still make her change her mind.

Perhaps .

Trying to calm my voice down, I inhale and gather myself.

“You can run away, Rose, but deep down, you know I’m not the one who’s tryin’ to hurt ya. I'm not the one pushin’ ya to do things you can't stomach the idea of and I'm not the one hittin’ your fingers and drownin’ your head in the fuckin' tub,” I say, more harshly than I wished. I'm too fuckin' overwhelmed to cool down as my mind is desperately tryin’ to keep her close anyway I can. Right now, all I want is for her to realise that the people she cares for are not doin’ her right, that it's all been a fuckin’ lie since day one. And if all I've got is now to hit her with the truth, then I'm takin’ it.

“I get you don't want to trust me on this, but–just look then. Just open your eyes and see who's truly takin’ care of ya.” I step towards her, towering over her petite figure.

“Those people, your folks, they just want ya to follow them blindly, but you know that's not meant for ya. Otherwise you wouldn't be here with me, you wouldn't try to find other ways to exist.” She flinches.

Good, I struck a chord.

Her eyes fill with tears, making me want to step to her and make them go away but it's not the time.

“Tell me I'm wrong, Rose, tell me it's all been a mistake, you coming here, and I fuckin’ swear I won't bother you anymore.”

That's the last blow, the last thing I say before she collapses on the floor as I reach for her and manage to grab her body before it touches the ground. She's shaking like a leaf, fisting my t-shirt like I'm about to disappear, her head crushed in my neck. Can feel my t-shirt dampen at the amount of tears fallin’. She raises her face toward me, shaking her head and patting my heart with her palm.

So no, she doesn't think we, whatever the fuck we are, is wrong .

I exhale loudly, my body relaxing a bit at knowin’ that she won't push me away.

“Thought you'd never talk to me again,” I say, squeezing her body even closer to mine, her legs straddling my thighs, both of us sat on the floor of my living room. I'm suddenly aware of our position and try to remove myself to not make her feel uncomfortable, even though I fuckin' burn for her.

But when I try to let her go, she nestles herself even closer to me, her legs locking my waist like she never wants to let go. I take her face in my hand like a crystal glass ready to shatter, wondering what she's thinking. And I think I get it, she's shaking her head in disbelief but also in a sort of warm way, her eyes swingin’ from my eyes to my lips. She keeps her arms around my neck and lets her forehead fall on mine.

“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear,” I murmur. Because she was born in such a shitty situation, I can’t help but feel sorry for my angel.

A sad smile dances on her face. She’s gonna need time to accept this truth but maybe one day she will. I try to fight the relief of this sight, keepin’ my walls up, but it's fuckin' hard especially when we’re this close, my arms now on her neck and lower back, her curves meltin’ into my body like a perfect fuckin’ puzzle.

We stay like this for a while before a noise takes our attention away.

Her parents must have woken up.

Damn it.

I help her get up carefully and I squeeze her hand before letting it go.

“Wait a sec, got somethin’ for ya,” and walk to the kitchen, opening a drawer where I keep burner phones. Can come in handy when you're on the run.

You never know when you might need one.

Comin’ back to her, I take her hand, open her palm and put the phone in it. Nothin’ fancy, just a classic burner phone. I chosen an easy one for her, knowin’ that she probably never got the chance to use one.

“All you gotta do is turn it on. My number is already in the contact. Just hide it well and always keep it on mute.” She furrows her brows.

“You ever need me, you text me, and I'll find you,” I say, still surprised by my words, but that's the truth. I won't let anythin’ happen to her anymore. Can't fuckin' stand the idea of her gettin’ hurt.

Careful, Vox.

I don't tell her that this specific phone has a tracking app connected to my phone. No need to scare her away, but at least I'll know where she is at all times. Perhaps I'll be able to relax a bit by tracking her down.

Nothin’ wrong with a little bit of stalking.

Her lower lips tremble a bit at my words, her eyes looking over the phone in disbelief. I hate that she doesn't get to know about the world and that seeing this phone in her hand is like a strange device from another galaxy.

Closing her palm, she hides the small phone in her hand and steps back, turning toward the bay window of the garden. I hold my breath, watching her silhouette leave my home. Right before disappearing from my sight, she turns her head to me, locking her blue eyes in mine for a few seconds.

Goodbye, Angel.

Then she goes away, takin’ with her another brick from my already crumbling walls.

Chapter 9

Rose

As I sneak back into my room, I sit on my bed and stare at the phone Vox gave me. My hands are still shaking.

So much just happened, I don't even know how to process it. Between him carrying me to his bed, waking up to his hand stroking my face, showering in his house, then arguing with him and then the phone. God, I never even thought I would be able to argue with him given my inability to speak but Vox doesn't seem to care about that. He actually doesn't treat me like a disabled girl, this is just normal to him. Like we have our own language and he doesn't care about it. And when he signed to me, god, those words.

You are beautiful.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

He finds me beautiful.

And knowing it makes everything ever more confusing. Learning about what he does at the club, I understand better why he told me he wasn't a good man.

He deals with guns, Rose.

A part of myself is repulsed at this idea, but another part can't forget the care he keeps giving me, treating me with more respect than I’ve ever experienced.

How can this man be also a ruthless gun dealer?

By the way he avoided my gaze when he mentioned the guns, I guess there's a lot of other things going on at this club. And when I think of what he's accusing our leader of doing… The man I've known and looked up at all my life cannot be a criminal. He's our holy leader, the voice of reason, the one who will guide us to the highest point of consciousness, the Ascension. Vox must have mistaken him for another man.

Does Vox look like someone who would make that kind of mistake?   How could this be true?

If it was, then all I ever believed in would be a lie. Our community, our customs and traditions, our goals and roles.

What if it was all a lie from the start?

No, you're wrong, this is your life, your beliefs, you don't get to give it up just because Vox told you he saw something .

But that's not the first time I noticed, well, inconsistencies in our community. The expensive cars, the punishments, the rules dedicated to women, the few girls that disappeared…

Could Vox be right?

No, no, he can't, he's mistaken.

I flinched when he talked about the making of children, because I actually know how it works. Even shielded from everything, I got to hear a lot of things at the Institute, eavesdropping on my girl classmates. I’ve never done anything but I got the picture. And from what I gathered it seems like a painful and dreadful experience that you have to share with your husband to create life. I'm not gonna lie, imagining having to do such a thing with my, ew, fiancé makes me want to vomit.

But imagining it with Vox, well, that’s a different story.

I sigh and let my back fall on the bed, remembering his hands on me when we hugged before I got out of his home. Just like I felt in the shower, the same foreign feeling comes back, churning in my belly like hot lava searching for a release. His touch isn't something I try to push away anymore, now it's something I long for.   I wish I could have gotten even closer from him at that moment, crawling under his skin until we became one single piece of flesh.

God, Rose, get it together.

I wonder if he felt it too, the electricity around us, how right and natural it was t o be as close to him. I long for his touch, for his forehead kisses and the way he squeezed me in his arms like he wished I stayed there forever.

Does he do this with every girl? Or is it just, hum, us? The idea of him being so close to another woman feels icky. It's silly, what right would I have to claim this man? We barely know each other, and yet he fills my every thought .

I need to stay focused and prepare myself for the day. Maybe if I try to forget about the last events with Vox, I'll manage to stay focus on my classes.

Yeah, right .

Sure .

I take my notebook, pencil case and Ascendium before getting back downstairs to find my parents eating their breakfast, visibly not noticing that I only came back a few minutes ago.

“Morning, daughter,” my mother says as she takes a mug and puts it in front of my father, reading one of our authorized books on how to spread our message to the outside world.

“Morning,” I silently say, knowing she can read it on my lips.

“I'll take you to the fabric store after your classes,” she says, resting her hips on the countertops of the kitchen, her long black dress hiding most of her body from ankles to wrist.

I frown, signing, “Why?”

“To make your bridal gown. Rose, aren't you well awake!?” she asks, exasperation in her tone.

My bridal gown?

Well, more like a large piece of white cotton looking more like a grandma nightgown than a bride dress like I saw in a shop window once in town. I should love this idea of picking up the fabric to make my special dress, but somehow it makes me freeze, as if I was stuck in a block of ice.

“Isn't it too soon?” I sign.

“Too soon? No!” my mom says, while my father interrupts her.

“It's in a month, we must be ready. You're not marrying an average member of our community, you are marrying our leader, and people will expect us to be as prepared as possible,” he says, watching me over his book with daggers in his eyes.

“I just think we still have time. I'm not even done with my studies at the Institute. If I become a wife in a month, I won't be able to finish the year,” I sign to my mom.

“And why would it be an issue?” she asks, putting her fist on her hips, tilting her head.

“Don't you want me to graduate?” I sign.

“No, if you become a wife, Rose, that's the only thing that really matters,” she says, as if she couldn't understand my point of view for something so obvious.

I sigh, looking at my feet.

Why would I even try to argue? It's already been decided for me.

Opening a drawer, I take out a bowl, ready to make my oatmeal. As I sit and eat my breakfast, I can't help but remember the last time I saw a bridal gown in our community.

It was supposed to be a happy day.

Yet, it became one of the many memories haunting me at night.

-

1 year ago, at the Chapel.

My thighs were itching as I was waiting, sat next to my parents on our family bench at the Chapel. We were waiting for the bride to enter the room and marry one of our Elder members, Paul Atkins, a forty year old man who was looking for a woman to care for his five children after his wife died 6 months ago of cancer.

To my surprise, Savannah has been chosen as a replacement. I didn't really know her but she was quite popular at the Institute, always surrounded by large groups of girls, laughing and smiling a lot, her red shining hair like fire as her signature. She was known in the community for volunteering a lot, especially with disabled children. She was nineteen, only two years older than me, still had braces and pimples on her creamy light face. She had been chosen because she was from a large family, with six siblings, so they assumed she wouldn't have a hard time caring for Paul's children.

The organ rang, and all the members rose to their feet, looking over the large doors. She started walking toward the altar, her father by her side, all eyes on her. Her long white dress was hiding her whole body with long sleeves and a shapeless cut, making her disappear under the fabric. Her hair was loose, like it is traditionally done on a wedding day, just like she was also barefoot, a reminder of our birth and how marriage signifies a rebirth for us women. I swallowed hard when my eyes found her face.

The smile that I used to see glued on her face had disappeared, her eyes puffy like she had spent the whole night crying. Her jaw had a strange blue shade, like, oh god, it couldn't be a bruise, right? Her lower lips were carrying a significant fresh red scar as if it had been open a few moments ago. She was walking strangely slowly, and then I noticed her dad wasn't really taking her arm like you'd expect a father to do it on your wedding day.

No, he was dragging her there. Her feet tried to stop walking but the pressure of her father's arm made her carry on to the altar, while her shoulders were fidgeting like she was trying to get away.

At the altar, her father gave her hand firmly into Paul's and turned back to his bench next to his wife. Paul didn't acknowledge Savannah; he only seemed to be annoyed by her distress attitude with the way he tilted his head on the side, one of his feet tapping on the floor.

The Shepherd, who stood at the higher step of the altar, settled himself in front of the bride and the groom, opening his arms.

“To cleanse our sins…” he said, with his loud, strange high-pitched voice.

“…We must obey,” the whole room answered. He lowered his arms in a sign for all of us to sit down on our bench.

“We are gathered today to repair the loss of Paul's Atkins wife, Anna. Sickness, coming from the outside world, has taken her from you and your children. But the Divine has chosen to reward you for your suffering with a new bride.” The Shepherd has a stern face, putting one of his hands on Paul's shoulder, his mouth wincing like he can feel Paul's pain.

I wondered why they were not talking to Savannah.

She didn’t look happy to say the least.

Something seemed off with those three standing on the altar.

“Paul Atkins, the Divine has chosen for you this woman. Open your palm to me as a sign of your willingness to make her worthy of you and the Ascension.” Paul raised his arm and opened his palm to the Shepherd.

“Child,” the Shepherd said, ordering Savannah to do the same. But she didn’t do it, trying to turn around and flee the altar before Paul managed to grab her shoulders and turn her towards our leader, forcing her to open her palm to him in a firm hold.

“And with his blood, she becomes him, his wife, his eternal shadow,” said the Shepherd, before taking a knife from a pocket of his large white gown and slicing a cut in each of their palms, then uniting their hands into one hold, affirming their unity.

I always thought this was the most romantic part of the ceremony, but right now, it was hard to look at.

“Now is time to make your bride your wife and give her the holy water bath. If she's worthy of you, she'll become your wife. If she's not, she'll die and will never reach the Ascension.”

Murmurs echoed in the room. People were usually a bit tense when this part of the ceremony arrives. Tense or excited, I don’t want to know. I've only been to three other weddings before. Children are not allowed until the age ten. Each time, it felt like a small part of me was dying, watching those girls go through the holy bath. I kept on waiting for someone to interrupt the ritual, but it'd never happen. Thankfully each time the girls managed to survive, so I'm confident she will succeed too.

That's traditional, and we must embrace it.

Right?

The Shepherd nodded at Paul and walked to the side of the stage, behind a wood pulpit, letting us see the small pool in the middle of the stage, with one transparent glass aimed at our side for all of us to witness the ritual. The pool isn't large but it's big and deep enough to hold a woman's body fully underwater.

Grabbing Savannah's hand, Paul tried to make her walk to the pool, but she didn’t follow, keeping her ground and fighting his hold.

“No, no! I won't go in there, Dad! Dad! Please!” she yelled, thick tears in her throat. Looking at her parents, they didn’t even flinch at her distress while my heart started to pound more and more in my chest.

“Please, no! I don't want to, please, I beg of you!” She kept on crying to Paul, punching his chest with her free hand. I couldn’t breathe. This wasn't right, she should, she should be happy, why isn’t she happy? Marrying an Elder member of our community is an honor, why is she fighting it?

The Shepherd looked at Paul with a raised brow, as if he was expecting him to correct her. My blood turned to ice when I saw Paul fist Savannah’s hair and literally drag her to the pool, until he knelt, putting his arm under her back and her knees and pushing her whole body in it, making the water splash all round it.

The room went silent, waiting for the ritual to begin. I looked around, expecting someone to do something but no one looked appalled by this show.

No one seemed to care.

Savannah emerged from the water, trying to catch her breath with loud inhales.

“Good, now, Paul, you’ll submit her to you, and by this ritual, our community will recognise her as your wife and mother of your children. If you fail us, if she doesn't become your wife, you too will be punished,” said the Shepherd, adding more pressure to the situation like a thick layer of gasoline on an already raging wildfire.

We all know Paul's punishment if he doesn't succeed in the ritual. I've known about it since I was a child. When a man doesn't succeed in this task, he'll lose a hand cut by a holy sword our Shepherd had been given by the Divine itself. I saw one or two men without a hand in my life, not more. Because once this happens, it is known in the community that you are too weak to submit your women, and therefore are not as worthy of your place. Most of them become social outcasts in our community, often losing their ranks to lower ones. So I knew Paul had a lot of pressure on his shoulders to have a favorable outcome, and by the look of determination in his eyes, he didn’t seem receptive to Savannah misery.

Grabbing her hair by his fist in a hard grip, he raised her head so their eyes locked for a few seconds, before crushing her head under the water, his arm struggling to keep her down while she fought with everything she had.

It was my first time watching someone fight back against the ritual. The last girls I saw were extremely calm, a dead look in their eyes as they went through it, knowing it couldn't be avoided.

Savannah kept fighting under the water, her arms trying to remove Paul's fist from her hair. She's panicking, large bubbles coming out of her mouth, making me scared for her to not have enough in her lungs to go through with it. Some girls in my class say that staying calm is the best way to survive the three minutes under water and avoid spending energy that would make this even harder.

She must stop moving or else… or else she'll….

Water kept splashing outside the pool, but her movements were slowing down as if she was getting calmer all the sudden. The large clock on the wall indicated that it'd been more than two minutes. Maybe she could make it. Paul's hold on her loosened as he stared at the water underneath him like he's searching for something, his face going back and forth from the water to our Shepherd, his eyes widening more and more.

Could she…?

No.

It couldn’t be.

I couldn’t take it anymore and tried to stand to go help her. Somebody needed to. But I was stopped as I tried to rise on my feet by the heavy and firm hand of my father on my arm, silently ordering me to stay put. I wished I could yell, alert people, or do anything to help her. But I’m just a lamb and our Shepherd knows what’s best for us, so I sit back on the bench.

But even the reassuring presence of our Shepherd doesn’t ease the fire rising in me.

Are we sure about this? Is she… alive?

Tears started to fill my eyes as I witnessed Savannah's body floating like a dead fish, the blood on her hand bleeding like red ink, disappearing into the water.

It was too late.

We waited too long.

It was supposed to be a happy day.

Vox

“Got a new one for me?” Carter asks me as he makes his way out of the basement and into the main hall of the warehouse, washing his bloody hands and forearms with a damp cloth after his last session  with another snitch from Jameson.

Damn it, those guys really can’t take a hint.

They keep sniffin’ around our warehouse looking for ways to take over us. I laugh at the idea, a bunch of fuckin’ amateurs sending their prospects onto the battlefield like fresh meat ready to be slaughtered.

It’s been a week since Rose came to my home. The house feels too empty since she was here. I just wanted to ride on my bike and get to the club as fast as possible. I activated my surveillance app and I saw her lying on her bed, the phone in her hand and her fuckin’ adorable pout on her face.

Can’t bear the idea that she’ll want to stay away from me. Even knowing what I do, I don’t think I'll manage to stay away. At least I can watch her and know where she is.

It kills me when I’m not in control. And with her, I’m not.

I have no idea what she’s going to do next. Her world and mine couldn’t be further apart.

“No, brother, haven’t found another one yet,” I say, almost sorry for him cause I know how Carter likes to, well in his words, play . I circle the bar and pour two whiskeys, putting them on the counter. Making my way back to the stool, I sit on one of them and drink the brown liquor, deliciously burning my throat. Carter takes the seat next to me, taking his glass and swaying the whiskey in it, his mind elsewhere, just zonin’ out.

That’s how he got his nickname, Ghost. Cause most of the time he’s here without being there with us, lost in the darkness of his mind.

I’m used to it, we all are. Carter is, well, different. He doesn’t have the social skills you’d expect from a twenty-five year old guy. One minute you have a conversation with him and the next he’s driftin’ away, his eyes lost, unreachable. But you’d be wrong if you’d think his behavior displays calmness, because there’s another side of him.

Another side way darker than the cold exterior he presents.

An unhinged one.

Saw him losing it once when he saw one of our enemies hitting a random woman in the street; he couldn’t stand seeing a woman being hurt. So he took the guy back to the basement and shredded him into literal pieces with a chainsaw and posted it to his prez. It took him a whole day. When he finally got out of the basement, covered in blood, he sat next to Viper and drank a beer with him like nothing had happened.

“Too bad, had fun with the last one,” he says, his eyes focusing on the brown liquid in the glass.

“When was the last time you got out of the club?” I ask, trying to make him more comfortable. Small talk isn’t his forte.

“Why?” he asks in a defensive tone.

“Just askin’,” I try to act as casually as I can while reading him.

“I get out.” He pauses. “At night,” he says, taking the glass to his lips and drinking the whole thing in one shot.

“Found a new girl?” He doesn’t reply, his jaw clenching hard. I sigh.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“We’ve talked about this, Carter, you know you have to stop sending them pieces of bodies.” My voice staying as calm as possible cause I know it’s a sensitive topic for him. Carter likes to, well, show his interest in girls in his own way. Which is kind of terrifying for most people, especially the last one who received the foot from his last session. I get that my stalking habits aren’t the best, but there’s a line for most people, and parts of human bodies are pretty common.

“Yeah, no shit. Don’t you think I know?”

I stay silent, hopin’ he’ll talk more and I’ll get to know what mess I'll have to clean after his nightly visits.

“Didn’t do anythin’ since the last girl. I, well, they never like my presents anyway. So I don’t see the point in continuing.”

Thank fuck.

“So, a new girl, huh?”

He nods and pour himself another drink from the bottle on the counter.

“Don’t want to fuck it up this time.”

“Alright, good, that’s, yeah good.” I’m a bit surprised but relieved at his words. Let’s just hope this girl will know how to handle him.

“You know Alexander Skarn, right?” Perhaps he’ll have the answers I’m looking for.

“The fuckin' Messiah or shit?”

Bingo.

“Yeah, him.”

“What do ya wanna know?” he asks, tilting his head on the side.

“Anythin’ you have on him.” I already knew he was a crooked guy, but Ares was the only one dealin’ with him, somethin’ he has always insisted on, even if I'm usually the one doing those sort of things for the club.

“Well,” he said, brushin’ his chin with his tattooed hand, “That fucker is a wolf dressed in sheep clothing, that I can tell ya.” He whistles. “Fuckin’ dangerous guy.” Tiltin’ his head, his brows narrows.

“Anythin’ specific on him?” I say, closing my arms, my head churnin’ fast, explorin’ the possibilities of why a man like him would wander in our dark world.

“Other than fuckin' insane and poor as fuck?”

I nod, already knew that, but I need to know as much as possible before gettin’ to him.

“Does have a few bodies on him.”

“Who?”

“Six girls,” he says, his eyes driftin’ faraway. “Young girls, kids basically.” His fist clenches. Out of all of us, Carter has the hardest time dealin’ with women and kids gettin’ hurt; it gets under his skin every single time and triggers the fuck out of him.

“Raped them and buried their bodies up in the valley. Got a friend there lookin’ out for us at night near where we put some bodies sometimes.” We also have our fair share of blood on our hands, and we have a few spots in the area to hide bodies, makin’ it easier for us to dispose of them without any additional trouble.

His cold eyes find mine, his hand runnin’ in his blond hair. “This guy isn't what he seems; there's hundreds of people out there listenin’ to him like he's a fucking Messiah. Know a few folks who fell into his trap. The bastard had a fuckin’ ego complex and turned it into a religion. If I had him, I swear, I would fuckin' rip him apart,” he says, chuggin’ the last sip of whiskey.

I let his words sink in, lettin’ me think about how I could get to him and find a way to save Rose.

Fuck. That’s if she even wants me to save her.

She would probably hate me for tryin’ to push her away from her cult, but I can’t fuckin’ stay here doin’ nothin’ while she’s slowly losin’ her spark there.

Won’t fuckin’ stand it .

Words keep bangin’ in my mind. Words I want to shove away but always seem to come back.

Mine, mine, mine .

Opening my phone, I check my surveillance app. As I watch the footage from her getting ready for school, I can’t help myself and take a glimpse at her when she removes her nightgown to put on another of her awful brown dresses.

I know I’m out of line, but fuck, haven’t we blurred them so much already? I’ve tucked her in my bed for god sake.

Lookin’ at her toned body, plump curves and perfect creamy skin, I have to bite my lips to swallow a growl.

Fuck.

She’s so fuckin’ perfect.

And now I’m not even sure she’ll want to come back to me. Makes my sore chest fuckin’ ache for her.

Those fuckin’ walls… Each day spent in her presence breaks more bricks than I can build, lettin’ her sink into me like invisible ink .

Since my family’s accident, I haven’t got scared. Not from our numerous fights with other gangs, not from the time I got in a hell of an accident with my bike flyin’ into the air and crushin’ on the ground like a hundred pounds on my body, not even from the time I almost died with a bullet in my lung five years ago when we took over Arkansas in a bloody fight with Jameson.

Hence why we keep an eye on this fucker and whoever he sends to sniff in our territory.

Even bleedin’ to death, I haven’t been scared until now.

Until her.

I gritted my teeth, the memories flooding my mind like a damn tsunami. I pride myself on being one tough son of a bitch, never backin’ down from a fight, never flinchin’ in the face of danger. But this, this is messing with my head in a way nothing else ever had. The thought of Rose—of her trapped in that fuckin’ cult, surrounded by those brainwashed bastards—makes my blood boil. I want to show her the truth, to save her.

But would she want to stay with me after knowing what I do?

I'd seen and done things that would make most people run for the hills.

Would Rose be able to handle that?

Could she accept me for who I am?

The thought of her rejecting me, of running away because of what I do for the club, cuts me deeper than any knife ever could. I want her to see me, the real me, but I know she'll run away as soon as she discovers who I am.

No clue if she still wants to talk to me after this mornin’ and patience isn't really my forte. I remind myself that I gave her the burner phone.

No way I'm waitin’ until tonight to know if she'll show up.

Cause that's the fuckin' recipe for my impatient self to break in her room and carry her to my home myself .

I bite my lips, sinking my teeth deeper than it should. I should give her space, give her time to think about everything that happened this morning and what I told her about Skarn. She's been raised in this cult, no wonder she'll need time to realize the scam. But I'm a fuckin' impatient guy and so I can't help myself but take my phone and text her. I don't even expect an answer; perhaps she didn't have time to get used to it since I gave it to her.

Vox : Will I see you tonight Angel?

Putting the phone back into my inside pocket, I finish my drink and tap Carter's shoulder.

“Thanks for the intel, brother.”

“I'm serious when I say I'd rip his throat if I could. Ya need help to get him, you tell me, okay?” His gaze locks with mine for a second.

“Will do, thanks, brother.” I stand up, walking toward my office, passing by the high ceiling shelves where some of our drugs are held. Leaving my cut on my chair, I sit in front of my laptop with my phone next to it.

I sigh; lots of stuff to do today and never enough time. Accounts to check, new supply to order and a little surprise visit to some newbies in town to emphasize the rules. I open my laptop when a familiar buzz echoes in the room. Taking out my phone, I freeze as I see the name appear on my screen.

Angel : If I come, will you read to me?

Fuck yeah .

She answered. She must have known how phones worked before even if she never had one cause I wasn't expecting that long of an answer. I feel like a fuckin’ teenager, my heart hammerin’ in my chest.

She wants me to read?

I’ll fuckin' read her my whole bookshelf if she wants me to.

Vox : Anything you want, Angel.

She answers right back, as if she had been eagerly waiting for my text.

Angel : Just reading, I don't want to talk about anything else.

Yeah, just like I thought. Damn it, why do I feel the pull to know her every thought and reaction?

Right now, I just wish I could see her face and read her icy blue eyes, tellin’ me everything I need to know to make sure she's okay. But I'll have to wait for tonight to know that.

Vox : Just reading Angel, I promise.

I sit down on my leather armchair, my skin burning from texting my angel.

Fuck, I don't even feel a thing when I get club chicks on my lap but a few texts about reading and I'm fuckin' blushing .

Shaking my head I start to work. I’m gonna try to finish it as fast as possible so I can get home soon to see my girl .

Chapter 10

Rose

As I step into the wedding dress shop, my hands suddenly shake, hinting at the suffocation waiting for me inside.

I don’t want to do this.

I can almost taste the pressure, heavy with expectations I never wanted. I glance around the room and see rows and rows of dresses stretching out like an endless sea of white waves. Everywhere I look, it’s just more dresses, each one fancier than the last.

Lace, glitters, silk, everything I will never have.

“Come on Rose, we don’t have all day.” My mother's voice cuts through the air like a knife, her excitement palpable as she gestures towards rolls of fabric at the back of the store.

No pretty dresses for me. A true little lamb must know where she belongs .

It suddenly feels hard to breathe, as if the shop didn't have oxygen in it. My heart pounds in my ears and all I can think of is how trapped I am. Like a bird with clipped wings, forever watching the world from a window. I reach my mother and force a smile on my lips, one I’ve perfected over years of practice.

“Found what you were looking for?” I sign to her.

“Not quite, come here,” she says, pulling out a rough white fabric and putting it under my chin. I look at her while she contemplates the fabric on me, a heavy pout on her face. “No, this one makes you look sick.” She turns and grabs another one, adjusting it on my chest, facing the mirror in front of us.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” says a small brunette with an “Anna” tag on her chest.

“No, thank you, we already know what we want,” my mom answers with a dry tone. Despite her claims of disdain for the outside world, her eyes sparkle with joy and excitement.

Does she miss it? Her old life before entering our community?

"That’s the one!" Her declaration cuts through my thoughts, her smile wide as she points towards a fabric with fervor. But she doesn't bother to show me what she's chosen for my wedding dress. In our community, it's tradition for the mother of the bride to sew the dress, and I can see how thrilled she is at the prospect, as if she's suddenly found a purpose.

"Can I see it?" I sign faking interest.

"Sure, look. It’s simple, yet there’s a shine on it, just like you." I’m caught off guard by her compliment.

There’s love, somewhere in her heart, there is love for me. Even if I don’t understand how she can snap from ice cold to warm and gentle like now.

A part of her loves me, I know it.

Her fingers delicately grasp the fabric, and with a gentle motion, she manipulates it to catch the light. It glimmers, casting a mesmerizing glow that dances across the surface.

It should be a happy moment, between mother and daughter. Only this time the wedding isn’t a joyful occasion. I know what this fabric represents—binding me further to a fate I never chose. As my mother beams with pride, I suddenly feel guilty. She's found purpose in this task, she’s, well, content.

Why can’t I act the same way?

“Perfect,” I sign, forcing a smile and masking the turmoil within me, but inside, I'm screaming. I wish we had a better relationship, so I could have told her about my doubts and my fears. About how scared I am to fulfill my duty and how disconnected I feel from our community.

She wouldn't understand. After all, she’s the one who prepared the bath my father drowned me into the night of Mr Collins' punishment.

For now, all I can do is nod along, pretending that the fabric in my mother's hands holds the key to my happiness, while inside, I'm drowning with no one to turn to.

Well, maybe not no one.

Last week, when he told me about our leader, when he took that commanding tone I didn’t know he could have, I felt it in my bones, like a hammer crushing me with a truth I was not ready for.

Could it be true?

The community, our leader, our rules and traditions. Could it all be… a lie?

I need time to think, but I’m running out of it, each day pulling me closer to the wedding. I have the strange feeling that something massive is going to happen, like a storm brewing on the horizon, ready to unleash its fury and reshape everything I've ever known.

Can I go through with this marriage? What if I got out? What if I was out there, in this world, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a man like Vox by my side.

No, no, I can’t allow that kind of thinking. It’ll only make me miserable, and how could I even break free?

He did say he would be there for you in a heartbeat, a voice in my mind whispers.

Running away would mean losing everyone and everything I’ve ever known. I know what they do to people who get out of the Faithful Lambs. They’re not allowed in anymore, shunned from the community forever.

Could I handle it?

-

Sitting at my desk doing my homework for the Institute, I hear a small vibration coming from my nightstand where I've hidden Vox’s phone.

Even if it's my first time having one, I've seen enough people in the street with them to understand how it works. Also, I was kind of spying on a lady in front of me at the supermarket while she was typing a text.

It didn't look that hard.

Phones are forbidden at the Institute and apart from Elders like my father, it's not usual to have one in the community. Especially if you're a woman. Needless to say, the internet is a concept I've never had the opportunity to discover.

No phone, no laptop, nothing. Only allowed books and the Ascendium,  of course.

My heart skips a bit as I read Vox’s message. He's wondering if I'll be coming to his house tonight.

God, I wish I would tell him no, that I need time to think and such. But he's been on my mind the whole day, his words and touches haunting me.

Despite the rules and the risks, there's a magnetic pull drawing me towards him. We’re both so different and at the same time so alike. I can’t get enough of the thrill I get each time I spend in his presence. Especially with his way of taking care of me. It's… intoxicating . But with every heartbeat, there's a pang of guilt, knowing that by indulging in him, I'm betraying the trust of my family and the principles of our community.

Should I stay at my house or break the rules and find him?

With trembling fingers, I compose a brief reply to Vox, my heart pounding with each keystroke. That's when I see the name he has chosen for me, making my belly fill with butterflies.

Angel : If I come, will you read to me?

I type before hesitantly pressing send. The rush of adrenaline floods my veins, mingling with the anticipation of what awaits me tonight.

Could we just have tonight, with no revelations, no pressure, just us?

I close my eyes, putting the phone on my chest like a treasure. I try to say it out loud, “Vox” training myself for him just like he did, learning some signs.

As I sit back on my desk, the phone still in my hand, I know that I’m breaking the boundaries I tried to keep up since the day I met him. I'm longing for his deep voice and his rough hands on me, knowing that in a few hours I'll sneak out of my bedroom to join him and hopefully nestle in his arms while he reads to me.

God, I didn't know I could feel this way, obsessed and curious, eager and frightened, all at the same time.

Vox.

The man I've never expected.

A dark night on a metallic beast, haunting me like the sun chases the stars at every sunrise.

Vox

Removin’ my cut on the wood bench of my entryway, I tuck my leather boots and head to the kitchen to fix myself a drink.

Been a long day, but a good one. Tried to do as much as possible to keep my mind away from the anticipation of tonight. Which ended up finishing the accounts and orders quickly enough that I got time for one more surprise visit in town to a fuckin' baby dealer who thought he could just set foot on our territory and sell like nobody's watching. Carter's toolbox provided the tools I needed to make him regret his mistake.

Blood stains mar my hands as I wash them in the sink. Hurting people gives a certain thrill but tonight, there's a different kind of anticipation coursing through me. One that has nothing to do with the usual chaos of the club.

Just wanna see my girl.

It's late. I knew I couldn't stand waiting for her, so I took a longer ride to get back home, drove through the forest and pushed my Harley to its limits, enjoying the adrenaline rush for a while before being reminded of her.

I walk to my bookshelf and reach for the book I've been reading to her, running my fingers over the familiar spine, remembering the time I read to her. How good it felt to know that she was hanging on to every word, her blue eyes widening as each new character made its way into the story.

And mostly because of how fuckin' adorable she looked then.

Sittin’ on the couch, I reach for the blanket draped over the armrest. She’s not here yet but somehow, I want things to be right for her arrival, wanting nothing more than to make her comfortable. The blanket in hand, a whiff of vanilla hits me. It's been imprinted in the wool since her last time here.

Damn.

A small knock takes my attention to the bay window.

There she is.

Wild blonde hair falling on her chest like Venus herself knocking at my door.

My girl.

Despite my reluctance for whatever this is between us, there’s no fuckin’ doubt for me anymore that she is indeed, mine .

Her tiny silhouette drowns in her long brown nightgown, only revealing the shapes of her hips against the fabric. Her thick blonde hair dances on her shoulders, making me ache to run my fingers through it. I don't even have the time to open it for her, she's already in, barefoot, leaving her shoes at the door, a tiny smile on her face, her icy blue eyes filled with something wild inside them.

“Hi,” I say to her, and she answers me back, her full lips mesmerizin’ me. I noticed that there’s a few words I can read on her lips, basic stuff like “Hi” and ‘Thank you”. As she walks toward the place next to me on the couch, I make a mental note to find a course on lip reading to complete the one I already follow.

As she settles beside me on the couch, she fidgets, playing with her hands. There's a subtle tension in the way she holds herself, a yearnin’ that mirrors my own desire to feel her close. I don’t move, trying to not overwhelm her.

I’m already fuckin’ grateful she’s even here since our last conversation.

I watch as she shifts slightly, her movements almost hesitant as if she's unsure whether to bridge the distance between us.

C’mon, sweetheart, just get in here.

Without a word, I open my arm, silently inviting her to come close. Her brows relax and she leans into me, biting her lower lips, her body molding perfectly against mine as if it belonged there all along. She nestles against my chest, her head finding its rightful place on my shoulder. I feel her hand tentatively reach out, fingers grazing lightly over the fabric of my shirt, before coming to rest over my heart. I freeze instantly, caught off guard.

She must feel my heart pounding like crazy underneath the fabric.

Gonna be hard to pretend I don’t feel anything now.

For a moment, we simply sit there, the book on my lap while she’s melting into my arms.

Where she belongs.

“Alright, you wanted me to read to ya?” She nods against my chest. “Do ya want the same book or another?” Fidgeting in my arms, she points to the book on my lap.

“Thought so.” I take the book with my free arm and make myself comfortable enough to be able to turn the page with my other arm. I pull her even closer into my chest, surrounded by my body at all sides. She pulls the blanket onto her body, but I tuck it even higher.

Don’t want her to be cold.

Still talking about walls?

Fuck.

“Alright, you need anythin’ you tell me, Angel,” I say before kissing her forehead. I’ve been dying to do that since she stepped into my home a few minutes ago. I hear her sigh lightly, as if she was finally letting go, like she had been waiting for me to do that since she arrived.

“Chapter 3,” I start reading for her and hopefully it will shut up my mind, keep it away from drifting into dark territories and questions about why I should try to keep her away from me.

It's just her, me and the book, with nothing else mattering in that moment. No fuckin’ cult, no club, nothin’. Just my girl and I, like a fuckin’ picture of what our life could be if I had the guts to let her in. I sneak glances at her from time to time, takin’ in the way her eyes sparkle with each turn of the pages, the way her lips curve into a smile at the funny parts.

Those lips.

Clenching my jaw, I try to remind myself where she comes from, her story, her life. Her being here with me, in my arms, is already way outside her comfort zone, and I don’t want to scare her away. Rose has nothin’ to do with the chicks hangin’ out at the club, ready to open their legs for anyone, wearing revealing clothes that leave nothin’ to the imagination. Not saying that I’m a big fan of her long brown dresses. I actually would rather see her with a tight pair of jeans, a black t-shirt molding her chest and a property cut with my name on it.

A property cut now?

Yeah, I’m so fucked.

The vision of her wearing a property cut makes my blood pump harder. I shake my head, trying to calm down and fight the urge to imagine her wearing my name on her back. After two more chapters and almost an hour and a half, I close the book.

“Want more, Angel?”

She shakes her head against me. Damn, even if I’m learning more sign language everyday online, I'll never get tired of her way of talking to me with her adorable gestures. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and I can't help but smirk back at her.

"Thank you," she silently says as I watch her perfect mouth move and catch her gaze on my lips at the same time.

Does she…?

Does she want me to kiss her?

I want it so bad I could crush a wall with my fist right now. I brush a stray strand of hair from her face, tuckin’ it behind her ear.

"Anytime, Angel," I reply, my voice hittin’ a lower tone I didn’t know I had. Putting the book back on the table in front of us, I incline my body towards her, pullin’ us even tighter, her lips so close I could just drop my head to her and crush them with hers. The tension between us thickens and I lean in, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Surely she must feel somethin’, it can’t just be in my mind, or could it be?

From the moment I first saw her, I’ve been fighting the undeniable pull she has on me and that seems to become stronger as the days pass. The heat of her breath mingles with mine, her eyes searching mine for somethin’. My heart pounds in my chest as I inch closer, my senses on high alert, every nerve ending tinglin’ with anticipation. The sweet scent of vanilla surrounds us, her fragrance filling the air of my home. I lift my hand and cup her cheek, the other one drifting on her lower back.

I’m fuckin’ burning for her.

Her lips part ever so slightly, like a silent invitation I’m dying to accept. It's like we're suspended in time, caught in this moment where nothing else exists except us.

Just as our lips are about to meet, she exhales, her lower lips trembling before opening up for me.

“Vox,” I hear in a barely audible whisper, wincing while the sound escape her perfect lips.

She, fuck, did she just talk?!

She said my name, with the sweetest broken voice I've ever heard. But it looked fuckin’ painful and that won’t do.

“Angel,” I say, strokin’ her jaw with my thumbs, “I hear ya,” pulling my forehead on hers, amazed by what she just did. One day, I’ll ask her what happened to her voice, why it is so painful for her to make any sounds, but not right now. Right now we don’t need fuckin’ words. She’ll tell me when she’ll want to.

“Love hearin’ your voice, Angel,” I tell her, “But if it’s painful for you to talk, I’ll never want to hear another word comin’ from your perfect lips,” I manage to say despite my longing to hear more of it. Despite loving her sweet voice dripping like hot lava on my heart, I don’t want her to hurt herself, especially not for me. I never cared that she couldn’t talk, not since day one. We have our own way to communicate and that’s more than enough for me.

Her skin is warm beneath my touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. I can hear the sound of her inhale, shallow and ragged, echoin’ in the silence between us. She wets her lips with her tongue, sendin’ a surge of heat coursing through me. It's like she's gettin’ ready to kiss me, to finally give in to the pull that's been drawing us together.

But before I can close the remainin’ distance, she recoils, a look of shock flashin’ across her face. Panic flares in her eyes as she stands and puts the blanket back on the couch.

Fuck, I went too far.

“Angel, it’s okay,” I tell her, fuckin’ hating myself for pushin’ her too much. I stand to get to her but she’s already joggin’ to the bay window. Putting a strong hand on the handle of the window, I stop her from running away from me.

Stay, please, Angel, stay.

“Don’t run away from me, Angel, not again.” Not like last week. I’ve never been a fuckin’ begger but this time I would be ready to kneel for her and make sure we’re  okay. Her leaving me like this triggers the hell out of me and sends me back to the night of the accident when I lost my family.

Placin’ my palm on the center of my chest, I move it in a clockwise motion, meaning “please” in sign language. Don’t fuckin’ care that I have to beg. I’m not lettin’ her go like that, just before we were about to fuckin’ kiss.

Her eyes widen at my gesture, shocked to see that I’ve just signed to her.

“C’mon, come here, I know you don’t want us to talk but I can’t fuckin’ let you go like that,” I say, lacing my fingers with her hand, pulling her toward the kitchen. I know she’s scared, so I’ll have to go slowly if I want a chance to see her again.

What about the walls?

Reluctantly, she allows me to lead her towards the kitchen. With a swift motion, I retrieve a pen and notebook from the drawer, setting them on the counter before her.

"Still learning," I explain, gesturing towards the notebook. "We'll have to use these till I get the hang of it." The look of astonishment on her face is priceless. She clearly hadn't expected me to learn sign language for her.

Well, I fuckin’ am.

"Why did you run away?" I ask, leaning back against the sink, giving her space.

She writes a response before sliding the notebook across the countertop.

"Are you learning ASL?"

"Yeah," I reply casually, shrugging off the significance. "Figured I might as well.”

How can I tell her the truth behind it?

Cause I want us to be able to fuckin' talk, like a couple.  Cause I want to know every corner of her mind. And it turns out my girl speaks sign language so that’s why I’m learning it too. But I can’t tell her. Fuckin’ tough to show my soft side when I’ve been livin’ in the shadows for so long.

"Why?" she signs, touching her forehead with her fingers then bringing her palm down. I kinda like that I get what she signed to me.

"It’s not a big deal, Angel, really," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Her mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise to my cold answer.

Is she disappointed? I can tell I caught her off guard. Taking hold of the notebook, she writes fervently, almost angrily. But I cut her off before she can protest, determined to make her understand.

"I'm learning ASL for us , Angel, and you're gonna be okay with it."

Did I fuckin' say us?

I assert firmly, crossing the distance between us and resting my hands on her hips, pulling her towards me while I read “but” on her trembling lips. She tries to interject, but I shake my head, caressing her jaw with the back on my fingers.

"But what, Angel?" I inquire softly, my voice softer as I gaze into her ocean eyes. With trembling fingers, she writes, "You don’t have to."

How can I tell her that she's been on my mind like a damn drug, that every time I close my eyes, all I see is her face and her blue eyes filled with that spark that ignites something deep inside me? How can I admit that she’s the first person I’ve allowed myself to feel this way about since losing my family? It scares the hell out of me.

I’m not good with words, so I just pull her closer, wrappin’ my arms around her, holding her tight like she's the only thing keepin’ me grounded in this fucked-up world. And hope she’ll get whatever answers she needs to understand why I’m learning sign language.

"Rose," I rasp out her name, the scent of vanilla swirlin’ around us as I pull her closer. Most addictive scent I ever tasted.

She fits against me, her petite figure a stark contrast to my rough edges, her long blonde hair like silk brushing against my black shirt. Her skin, soft and creamy against the calloused hands of a man who's seen too much, too soon.

I clench my jaw. "I ain't cut out for this stuff,” I confess. It's tough admitting it, but it's the truth. "But one thing’s for sure, I ain't lettin' you go."

She meets my gaze, her eyes searchin’ mine, and for a moment, it feels like she's peerin’ into the depths of my soul.

"Vox," she silently says as I now know the exact pattern of her lips when she says my name.

Damn, I want to see those lips every fuckin' day of my existence.

Her fingers trace the stubble along my jawline, makin’ my dark heart skip a bit.

“C’mon, wanna show you somethin’ before you go.” Takin’ her hand in mine, I move us to the living room, guidin’ her toward my collection of vinyl records neatly stacked in the corner. With a flick of my finger, I browse through the titles, searching for somethin’ she'd like.

Sinatra.

Just like in the old days.

I place it on the turntable and let “Fly Me to the Moon” fill the room as I watch her eyes spark from the melody. Then, cause I'm just a man in front of a goddess and keeping my hands away from her is becoming unbearable, I kiss her palm, lockin’ my eyes with hers. “Wanna dance, Angel?”

She nods, saying somethin’ I don't fully get, but I catch “don't know” and “dance.”

“I got ya,” I say, leadin’ her to the center of the room.

An image of my past flashes in my mind.

Laughter, love, family.

That’s what she’s remindin’ me of.

Of what it feels like to belong.

I’ve never tried to seduce a chick from the club or anyone else. It's so fuckin' strange and effortless at the same time. We start to move, balancin’ ourselves with the music in the background.

Haven’t listened to this song for thirteen years.

Never felt right back then.

But here, today, with her.

It just makes sense.

I hold her tight, feeling her heartbeat against mine. We swing like that for a couple minutes. As the song comes to an end, I press a rough kiss to her forehead. With a shy grin, she looks up at me, her eyes sparking with vulnerability and somethin’ warmer.

Raisin’ her index to my chest, she taps it twice gently, watching me like I'm her whole fuckin' world.

Don't know what she said but I get that it's important for her.

“Want ya’ to stay the night,” I whisper, kissin’ her temple.

A sad smile appears on her face, her hand fisting my shirt, telling me silently that she wants it too but she can't. Gotta give her time to process what I told her earlier this week. I can almost see her mind churning, putting the pieces together.

She sighs, detangling herself from my body and stepping back. She's fidgeting, that’s fuckin' adorable, like she's suddenly shy after spending hours in my arms.

“Come back tomorrow,” I say, feeling suddenly empty without her skin on mine. “Or I'll break into your house and drag ya down myself,” I say with a soft grin on my face.

She's my girl  now, won't let anythin’ between us. Just need to think of how I'm gonna get rid of Skarn and her parents. Won't be a walk in the park for her but I'll do what must be done to protect her.

I walk her out, listening to her breathing as if it could indicate somethin’ to me. Damn I better learn to sign fuckin' fast cause I want to know everythin’ about her. As she leaves, givin’ me one last look, making my knees weaken, I take out my phone as soon as she's out of sight. I watch her entering her room on my screen and preparing herself to get to bed.

Once she's tucked under her covers, which I damn wished I did myself, I open my laptop on the kitchen counter and search for the sign she did after our dance. The one I didn't get.

Clicking on a video, my jaw drops to the floor, and my heart tightens at the same time, so fuckin' much it hurt.

Mine.

That's what she said as she was signing on my chest.

Mine.

Thirteen years ago,

"See, told ya, your old man still got a few moves!" my dad says with a smug grin, makin’ my mom dance to Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon."

"Garett," my mom laughs, swattin’ playfully at his shoulder. "Oh god," she exclaims, gigglin’ as my dad twirls her around our tiny living room. The evenin’ sun's light spills through the curtains, makin’ everything look golden. Kinda like in the movies. They move like they've done this a million times, totally in sync.

Our livin’ room is small but super clean, thanks to my mom. The furniture is all second-hand—nothing matches, but it all kinda works together. The couch has seen better days, but it's comfy. The coffee table has scratches and dings, but it’s alright. Shelves filled with old books from my dad and family photos make the room cozy.

"Isn't this the song we danced to at our wedding?" my mom asks, her eyes sparkling.

"You bet it is," my dad replies, grinnin’ even wider. "And you still got the moves, Maria."

I gotta say, they're disgustingly in love even after twenty years of marriage, but I know my brother and I are damn lucky to have them. Their laughter mixes with the nice song. It just tastes like somethin’ money can’t buy.

"Vox! Vox! Look, Daddy's making Mommy turn!" my little brother, Jamie, tugs at my sleeve, his eyes wide with excitement.

I smile at him, shakin’ my head because fifteen-year-old me is too proud to talk about feelings and stuff. But deep down, I know how special our family is. Seen enough around here to know how valuable what we have is.

"Watch out, kids, that's how I seal the deal!" my dad says, all proud, before holdin’ my mom and dippin’ her dramatically. They freeze like that for a moment, smilin’, their eyes locked, and then he kisses her. Like dancers at the end of a performance.

"Yoo-hoo!" Jamie claps his hands, runnin’ towards our parents. "Dance with me now, Mommy!"

"Alright, my little prince," my mom says, scoopin’ Jamie into her arms and spinnin’ him around, makin’ him giggle.

Just as I'm about to head to the shower after my shift at the mechanic shop, I pause and notice my parents exchangin’ a look.

One I know all too well from watchin’ them for years.

"How was work today, hon?" my mom asks, not missin’ a beat in her dance with Jamie.

"Same old, same old," I reply, tryin’ to sound casual, but the warmth in my voice betrays me. It’s fuckin’ hard. The job. But seeing them like this makes everythin’ worth it.

My dad chimes in, "Did you fix that old Chevy? I heard Mr. Jenkins talkin’ about it at the store. Says you're a miracle worker."

"Yeah, it's runnin’ like new," I say, shruggin’ off the compliment. "Just took a bit of elbow grease."

"Mr. Jenkins said you're the best mechanic he's seen in years," my mom adds, a hint of pride in her voice. "He couldn't stop singing your praises."

"He's just being nice," I mumble.

"Don't be modest, kid," my dad says, winkin’ at me. "We know how hard you work."

I run my hand in my hair, bending my head to hide the red colorin’ my cheeks.

“Gonna take a shower,” I rumble before joggin’ to the bathroom as fast as I can. Facin’ the mirror, I look at my reflection. Our family may be poor, but we’ve got more warmth under our roof than any folks I know.

The song is still playin’ in the livin’ room. A corner of my lips rises when I remember how my parents looked at each other just a minute ago.

I know this look.

Pure, strong, unconditional.

It was love.

I step into the shower and turn on the water, wondering if I'll ever get to experience the same kind of look one day.

Chapter 11

Rose

Last night was magical. Like what you see in romantic movies, or at least, I imagine that’s what it seems like, because I’ve never actually seen one. But Jezebel, whose parents only came into the community a few years ago, told me she saw plenty when she was younger. She talked about them with stars in her eyes, still swooning over the main characters.

Wished I had seen one.

All I know is what my parents taught me to expect from a husband and the few marital classes we had last year. Classes where we were specifically explained how the reproductive organs worked with drawings of one single physical act the man and women, married obviously, must perform in order to make children.

Our teacher, Mrs Ellies, gave us extensive details about the act to become with child. So not the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Actually, physical touch, even between married people, is seen badly in our community and should only take place in the aim to make children.

Which is why I’m so confused.

Vox and I shared many intimate moments since the first time I stepped away from him in the garden, shocked by his handsome bare chest and his tattoos still inked in my mind like permanent marker on a blank canvas. Being with him feels right and wild at the same time.

Should I indulge in it or back away?

Before losing my voice, I was a faithful follower, never arguing or questioning anything. But since then, a lot has changed. Losing my voice became a strength, something I didn’t see coming, just like Vox.

Which is why I don’t get it when most people look at me with pity.

They don't realize how powerful it is.

Becoming mute made me focus on the things that I used to overlook and the many inconsistencies of my beliefs. As each day passed, I started questioning more our traditions.

Why did I have to dress like this? Why wasn’t I allowed to watch a movie like any other girl?

So many things just don’t make sense.

Never, in my many years at the Institute, from the age of two, did I learn who wrote the Ascendium, our holy book where all our guidelines and principles are written. Our Shepherd always refers to it as the most sacred text, but the origins remain a mystery to everyone. The Shepherd says our teachings are sacred, but I'm starting to wonder.

Were all those rules written for our own good, or to control us?

The more I think about it, the more I see how sheltered I've been. I’ve been living in a bubble, away from the real world. The outside world, the one I see glimpses of with Vox while he reads to me or makes me listen to the sweetest music I’ve ever heard. It just seems… colorful . It's as if Vox had opened a window to a world I never knew existed, one where laughter is free and smiles come naturally.

With him, I find a glimpse of freedom, a taste of a life I've never dared to imagine. His presence ignites a fire in me, urging me to break free from the chains of the Faithful Lambs and explore this new world that lies beyond our walls.

But what if I’m wrong?

The thought of defying the Shepherd and his teachings that have shaped my entire existence fills me with fear.

What if there's no life beyond our community, and I'm doomed to lose myself in the darkness of the outside world, taking for granted the life I always knew?

Vox told me about our Shepherd working with his club, buying… guns.

Dear god.

I don’t want to believe him, but then, why would he lie to me? He’s the only one who ever took care of me, despite not being from the community.

I want to know more, look for the signs that he’s indeed right. I need to talk with the Shepherd, just him and I. Only Elders can ask for a meeting with him, but if I am to become his wife, I believe I have the right to know the whole truth. My hands are sweating at this idea, but I need to know.

With Vox by my side, I feel stronger, less… alone.

Confronting the Shepherd is a risk. He could punish me for it, for daring to speak up my fears.

What if Vox is wrong? What if the Shepherd's intentions are pure, and I am simply misinterpreting his actions?

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself, pushing back the doubts that threaten to consume me. If the Shepherd accept to see me, it won’t be a walk in the park and the idea of being alone with him in a closed room is enough to make my anxiety spike through the roof. I know I need to prepare myself for whatever truths may emerge because confronting him is the only way I'll find clarity about my future.

On one side, there's the path I know, the one that's safe and predictable. It's about adhering to tradition, following the rules laid out for me since birth. But then there's another path, the one Vox embodies—a path filled with uncertainty but also with the promise of freedom and so much more .

Do I keep following blindly, or do I look for truth outside our community?

I don't know what's next, but finding my own way feels like a tiny light in the dark.

-

I arrived at the Institute after my father drove me a few minutes ago. I told him I wanted to talk to the Shepherd to express my gratitude towards him for making me his wife. Don’t know how they bought it, but here I am, waiting in the corridor, outside the Shepherd's office. My skirt prickles against my legs. I’d rather be wearing a shorter skirt; it would feel less suffocating.

The Shepherd's office doors loom before me, huge and scary.

Just like him.

Alone on a plastic chair, I wait anxiously, my hands clammy from nerves. My mom opted to stay home, and my father, surprisingly, remained in the car. I expected him to accompany me so I wouldn’t be alone with another man, but he didn’t. My fingers fidget, twisting and turning, as I anticipate the moment the dark doors will swing open.

I glance down at my bag resting on the floor by my feet, my lifeline containing only a notebook and pen. And then, my hand brushes against it—the phone Vox gave me. I'm not sure why I brought it, perhaps for comfort, to feel his presence beside me. I want to reach out to him, text him about the last chapters he read to me, but the doors interrupt my thoughts with their abrupt creaking.

"Rose," the Shepherd's voice pierces the silence. I nod in response, unsettled by his departure from our customary greetings. He should normally say “To cleanse our sins” to which I would answer “we must obey”. This is the only form of greeting in our community.

Why is he not applying his own rule?

"Come in, child." He gestures with an outstretched hand, his tone commanding yet oddly cold. I rise from the chair, all of the sudden wishing I had never come. Something feels off about the Shepherd today, a darkness lurking beneath his facade. With a deep breath, I follow him into the office.

As I step into the dimly lit room, the heavy door closes behind me with a dull thud, and I'm suddenly facing the large wooden desk. The Shepherd stands at the center of the room, his presence towering over me with a creepy smile dancing on his face.

"Sit," he commands, gesturing towards a chair opposite his imposing desk. I comply silently, my heart pounding in my chest as I await his next words. He follows me and stands next to the chair, above me.

Instead of the usual distant tone I'm used to, he sighs and his gaze bores into mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. I hate that I'm sitting right now, below him, literally and physically while he observes me like I'm his next meal.

"Rose," he begins, his voice squeaky, "You wanted to see your Shepherd, why?”

I suddenly cringe at him talking about himself in third person. I'm used to it but somehow, right now, it feels disturbing and out of place. Without the eye of the community, I'm just a girl in front of an old man wearing an odd gown. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dries as I take my pen and my notebook from my bag. Writing something, I turn the paper towards him.

“Thank you for meeting me, Holy Shepherd, your time is valuable. I'm honored to be in your presence alone.” That should flatter him, not that he needs it, but I know I can't just ask for whatever I want.

It doesn't work that way.

He'll need to see my submission to not suspect my wariness.

“Alone.” He clicks his tongue in his mouth. “I wanted to be alone with you for a long time, little lamb,” he says, chuckling, getting closer to me and angling his head near my left ear, making my blood freeze under my skin. Everything in my body tells me to push him with all the strength I have, to run away from him as fast as I can, and perhaps even punch him.

Not a single nerve of my body tells me to stay.

Not one.

Yet he is my fiancé, my leader, my future husband.

But no.

No. No. No.

This isn't happening. I can't stand the idea of sharing a home, a life, with this man. Everything in him repulses me, from his dusty smell to his crooked nose and yellowish nails. His hand tucks a stray hair behind my ear, making me wish I could yell. His icy touch feels like a knife on my skin.

I shut my eyes.

Vox.

My dark knight.

We're dancing in his living room, his hands pulling me close to his muscular chest as I nestle my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his addictive leather scent.

I want to be with him so bad right now, so I hold on to our stolen moments like a lifeline helping me to get through this meeting.

Time to play it smart if I want my answers before it ends.

"Holy Shepherd," I write as he pulls back a bit, my hand trembling as I address the revered leader of our community, "as your fiancée, I must ask: do you truly believe in honesty within our community?"

Playing the dumb innocent lamb is the only strategy I thought about to get what I need.

The Shepherd's eyes glint as he reads my question, his lips curling into a patronizing smile. "Honesty, child," he replies, his voice dripping with condescension, "is a virtue that must be wielded with care. You see, it’s a tool better kept hidden and offered on rare occasions."

My stomach churns at his callous dismissal of such an important value, but I steel myself and press on, still holding on to hope that he's the leader I've always known.

"And what of the outside world?" I write, my hand trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Do you truly believe it to be as corrupt and deceitful as you claim?"

The Shepherd's expression darkens, his eyes narrowing as he regards me with thinly veiled contempt.

"The outside world," his voice laced with disdain, "is a cesspool of sin and depravity, a place where the weak are preyed upon by the strong. But fear not, my darling, for I will protect you from its vile influence."

His words send a chill down my spine, and I can't shake the feeling that he's using fear to maintain his control over me, and perhaps… over all of us . The outside world can't be such a dark place if people like Vox exist in it.

Not everything can be so black or white.

"And what of you?" I write, my hand shaking with suppressed anger. "Can I trust you to act with honesty and integrity as my husband?”

The Shepherd's laughter fills the room, a cold, hollow sound that makes my blood turn to ice. "Humm, you’re already calling me your husband? I like this word in your naughty mouth.”

Ew.

I’m mute, how can he even say such a thing?

The man standing in front of me has nothing to do with the leader I’m used to seeing each Sunday morning at the Chapel. So there’s two sides to him.

Vox isn’t wrong, Rose, you know it.

He scoffs before continuing. “And trust?" His eyes flash with malice. "Trust is for the foolish, child. But rest assured, you, my wife, will never have to think of such serious topics. You'll stay home with our children, keeping our bed warm for me to take you whenever I want.”

His words hang in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over me.

I used to, god, I used to admire him. How could I’ve been so stupid?

I realize that he is nothing more than a manipulative puppeteer pulling the strings of our lives for his own twisted amusement.

I could have asked about the disappearing girls, about the guns, about why a man like him would be seen in a motorcycle club. But really, all I needed was already said. How little he cared for the community, how he switched to another side of him, darker and twisted, far from the warm appearance he usually offered. How much he didn't care about me, my wants or how he diminished me to my feminine parts, the only thing that truly interested him.

Vox was right.

This man, whom I once thought to be a pillar of strength and integrity, is nothing but a manipulative impostor, using his position of power to bend others to his will. I can feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on my body, his eyes glinting with malice. He is not the man I thought he was. He is not the leader our community deserves. He is nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing, preying on the innocent and vulnerable for his own selfish gain.   And yet, even as the realization settles in, a part of me hesitates to fully accept it.

Has my entire life been a lie from the beginning?

The Ascendium, my classmates, my parents, each of my prayers before bed talking to the Divine, it can't be all false. Maybe this man is an imposter, but everything I've ever known, my beliefs, my prayers, there must be some truth to it. I did not devote my life to a fantasy.

What if I did?

Shaking my head slightly, I take a deep breath.

No, not everything is false. It can't be. I couldn't face it, losing every pillar of my existence in a cloud of dust.

Deep down you know it, Rose.

Tears fill my eyes and I do all I can to not let them fall onto my cheeks. I don't want him to see me vulnerable, not now, not ever.

I want Vox right now.

So, so badly.

Only he can make it all better.

Keeping my composure, I write and stand abruptly, needing to get out before having the panic attack I feel rising in my chest.

“Thank you so much, Holy Shepherd, I won't take more of your precious time.” Nodding, I grab my bag and head to the door.

“Not so fast, little lamb.” A shiver runs on my shoulders like a cold breeze. “Don't you want to give your fiancé a goodbye kiss, child?”

A kiss?

Hell no.

This is too much.

The only man I want to kiss is wearing leather and drives a metal beast that roars like a lion. The only man I'll ever want to feel the touch of has the voice of an old soul embodied in a Greek god with blue eyes I could get lost in forever.

Acting like I didn't hear him, I jog to the door, push it and run to the nearest room to hide. My heart pounds faster in my chest, and I just know that I am having a panic attack.

I need to find a safe place and I need it now.

A library.

Thank god.

I never go to this floor, it’s forbidden to the young members, so I’m lucky to have found a refuge like this one. I don't hear footsteps outside the door where my back is resting, my chest heaving like I just ran a marathon.

Good, he didn't follow me.

There's no one here, so I find a place to hide between two shelves of books in a corner and take out Vox’s phone, holding it with my two hands like a little treasure. I don't know if he expects me to write to him, but I don't even think twice about it. He's all I need right now.

Angel : Are you free right now?

My fingers are shaking while I tap each letter.

Vox : Everything okay Angel?

He answers right away, as if he had his eyes on this conversation before I even sent my text.

Angel : I only have two minutes but… could I call you? I just want to hear your voice.

I know I need to get down as fast as possible, but I’ll take the risk of calling him if I can. Waiting for his answer, my phone vibrates in my hand with Vox’s incoming call.

Thank god.

“Hi Angel,” his raspy voice echoes. I wish I could answer back but I can't, so I text him instead.

“I don't want to bother you,” I write, blush rising on my cheeks.

“None of that, Angel, told ya, you need me anytime, I'll be there,” he shushes me right away in his protective tone that I'm growing to really like.

“Thank you,” I text him.

“Can't really talk right now, I'm not alone, sweetheart.” He sounds almost disappointed with a hint of… worry? “I'm gonna stay on the line, and you hang up when you want, okay, Angel?”

My heart is hammering in my chest as I think of how much he cares for me, and how he manages to make it all better even if I can't talk and he is busy. Quite the opposite of the man I met with a few minutes before.

“Fuck, I can hear your breathin’ from here, Angel, just breathe. I’m here with ya, I got ya,” he says before letting the noise of men's voices and metal in the background fill the space of our call, like a white noise surrounding us, leaving us in our own bubble, on this silent call.

We stay like this for a minute, my breathing getting back to normal, hearing his inhale and exhale like the most additive sounds I'll ever want to listen to.

“Good girl,” he says, making my stomach churn in a foreign way.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. Go back home, rest, and then come to my place and I'll take care of you. Now I want you to hang up and get out of the building.”

How does he know where I am? Is he following me? Why does this idea do nothing but make me burn even harder for him?

My dark knight, keeping an eye on me.

Well, I don't hate it.

Far from it actually.

Vox

“Sweetheart? Guys, Vox finally has a chick!” Steele fake-punches my shoulder with a large fuckin’ grin on his face. Ignorin’ the amused glances and chuckles from the others, I clear my throat and steer the conversation back to the matter at hand, feeling Ares’s disapprovin’ gaze on me.

Never mix business and women, that's his motto.

"Alright, let's refocus, everyone," I say, my tone firm. "We have a lot to discuss regarding the takeover of Seattle.” We’re planning to extend our territory and take it from the Steelhawks Chapter, ensurin’ that every detail is meticulously planned to minimize any potential risks or a bloodbath.

Ares stands and starts givin’ each of us a dedicated task, which I already know when we prepared this meeting together. He is all about mind games and strategy; he likes things to go as planned and fuckin' hates when an obstacle stands in his way. He lives for the club, like all of us. Once each guy knows what he has to do, he dismisses them.

“Alright, off to work,” he says as each guy leaves the large room only furnished with a massive wooden table and twelve chairs around it. Not more. Cause sittin’ there is fuckin' earned.

“I'll give you a rundown of the situation in 48 hours,” I say, as his loyal right-hand man.

He grunts in response, his jaw clenching. Is he nervous? Not unusual during a takeover. That sort of thing can go south real fuckin' fast. We need to watch our backs even more than usual.

“Come grab a cold one with me.” It’s not a question.

What does he want?

Followin’ him, we take the stairs and leave the basement to the main hall where the bar is. One of the club chicks is serving the guys, brown hair, pushing her tits in front of them as if they were not already completely out. I shake my head, thinking about my sweet girl and her innocent eyes.

Ares sits on a stool a bit far from the others and I sit next to him. Without a word, the chick jogs towards him with two beers, like a puppy. I sigh.

“What's up?”

“What’s up?” he says back in an accusatory tone.

I furrow my brows.

W hat's up with him? We have a fuckin' takeover on our hands, not the fuckin' time to play twenty questions at the bar.

“Who's she?” he asks, taking a gulp from the bottle. “The chick who called you.”

“She's my neighbor,” I say as casually as I can.

His eyes narrow. “Neighbor, huh? You answer your neighbour’s calls during a fuckin' club meeting?” he says casually, tilting his head, but I can sense he’s fuckin' pissed.

“You know the club is my priority, never gave you any reason to doubt me.”

“Yeah, well, don't start now.”

“Ares,” I sigh, cause I fuckin’ hate deep talk and shit like that. “You're my prez, but this girl, she’s, fuck, she matters.”

There, I said it.

“Fuck, lookin' damn serious already. That's a shame.”

“Why?” I furrow my brows.

“Cause you're moving,” he says casually, drinking his beer.

“Since when?”

“Since I just decided my VP can’t fuckin’ think straight without talkin’ to his booty call and I need you sharp and fuckin' ready for the takeover.”

No, I can’t. I can’t move away from her. Fuck. Every fiber of my body urges me to fight this.

“It's not like that.” Cause my angel has nothin’ to do with the chicks here, and what we have is more than anyone will ever understand. I want to lash at him but he's my prez; things don't work this way, not in our club. I owe respect and loyalty to him, especially since he's the one who saved me from the streets after the accident. I clench my fists, looking faraway, envisioning the idea of being far from my girl.

Fuck.

It fuckin’ hurts.

Can’t stomach the idea. Damn it, I literally can't imagine not seeing her pouty lips and thick braid every single damn day.

“See? I knew it.” Shakin’ his head, he says, “Eyes don't lie, brother.”

I don't even answer. I just stare at him with, for the first time in my life, daggers in my eyes for my prez. For the first time, I want to punch him for tryin’ to keep my angel away from me.

“Never gave you a reason to fuckin' doubt me and now you're sending me the fuck away for shit Bones or Wrath could take care of.”

“It's you I need there.”

I shake my head silently, showing him how pissed I am. I know Ares has made his decision, and I respect him as my president, but that doesn't dull the ache in my chest. Leavin’ her behind feels like tearin’ a piece of my chest away, like a fuckin' sacrifice I'm not sure I can live with.

“What about ya?” Perhaps I can put some sense into him. Cause if anythin’, Rose is makin’ me more eager to work my ass off at the club to make all her dreams come true. That’s how deep I am.

“What about me?” he asks, lifting a brow.

“Ain't you gonna take O'Brian’s daughter to cover his debt?”

“Maybe,” he says with a small evil grin.

“How’s that for mixing women and club business?” My heart skips a beat at the thought of Rose crying and alone in bed at night while I have to watch her through a screen from the other side of the country.

“It's different, brother, and you know it.” Emptying his beer, he continues, “I don't fuckin' plan on keepin’ her. She's just a chess piece, won't be a real thing,” emphasizing the words real thing .

“Got all I need here,” he says as he gawks at the barmaid. I know he doesn’t fuckin’ care about any of the chicks here, but I’m sure he’s actually fuckin’ nervous about Mia O’brian comin’ and possible messin’ up his ordered control-freak life.

“Alright, that's settled. We'll talk details tomorrow, keep me updated,” he says before standing, patting my shoulder harder than usual, and leaving toward his office.

I stare at the bottle in my hand, picturing my girl saying goodbye, and I suddenly feel my blood pumping under my skin, clenching the bottle so hard I release it before it shatters in my hand.

Ares is forcing a fuckin' impossible choice on me, something I never thought I would need to do. Before Rose, I wouldn’t even give any thought about moving to the other side of the country for the club. Whatever Ares’s needs. Would've been an honor to command Seattle as his right-wing man and manage all our men there.

But right now, it just tastes bitter. Like a dream you finally get to have and realize it wasn’t actually the real deal. That what you’ve been wantin’ all this time was actually in front of ya.

Her.

Always kept my walls up, even for my brothers. Always tried to stay away from meaningful relationships, from anythin’ that could become too real .

Well, here I fuckin' am, feeling  real fuckin' things for an angel I haven't even shared a kiss with.

When she called me earlier, I knew somethin’ was wrong. She had taken the phone with her when it usually stays hidden in her room. But not this time. Today she took it in her school bag. Maybe she wanted to have a way to reach me whenever. Or perhaps she knew there was a tracker in it and she wanted me to see where she was in case somethin’ went wrong. Don't have a fuckin’ clue but she took it for a reason, so when I saw her call, there was no way in hell I wouldn't have answered it.

Even with hands deep in the guts of a dead guy, I would have still answered.

How can I convince Ares to stay? How can I tell her that I'm going away?

Fuck, I already picture her watery eyes and it strikes me like a punch in the guts. I need to find a solution, a way to make this work. Pinchin’ the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath to calm the fuck down. We'll be together tonight, we're gonna talk, and it's gonna be okay.

It's gonna be okay.

Yeah.

Sure.

Chapter 12

Vox

I'm in my bedroom, splayed on my bed, watching the ceiling for what feels like a good fuckin’ hour. Can’t remember the last time I stayed up waitin’ for a woman. As much as I try to accept the idea of moving away from her, I still can't picture it.

Fuck no .

I'm in a nightmare, running from the flames, and I can't get out without losing my girl.

Damn it, why did I have to get attached?

Putting my hands on my face, I groan loudly. I'm so fuckin' pissed. A few other guys of the club could have gone to Seattle to open the new warehouse and make a few visits  to share the news of our arrival in town. But Ares chose me. His fuckin' loyal soldier, always ready to go to war for him. Always.

But not this time.

Not now that there's another reason for me to stay. Her gorgeous face flashes in my mind like a constant reminder of what my life could be.

How can I protect her when I'm on the other side of the country?

I won't be able to just watch her through my app. She's like a drug and I need a fix every single damn day or I know I'll lose it. Light footsteps come from the staircase, makin’ me fuckin’ smile despite today’s news.

My girl.

Barefoot as always.

I shake my head with a stupid smile on my face. Her tiny silhouette stops at my doorway, her cheeks flushed a charmin’ pink shade.

Damn it, why does she have to be this fuckin' adorable.

“Hey, you,” I say, raising myself to a sitting position on my bed.

“Hey,” she mouths, biting her lip with a light smile.

I'm surprised she came up here, and I think she is too from the blush rising in her cheeks. I like how daring she's being, stepping inside my house like she owns it. And I have nothin' to object to that statement.

She can fuckin' walk inside the bathroom while I shower and I would be the happiest bastard in the world.

I gawk at her, making her blush even more.

God, I love to torment her.

She's watching the place next to me with intensity, like she wants to join me but doesn't want to admit it.

“C’mon, come here, sweetheart,” I say, patting the place next to me.

Just wanna hold my girl after this shitty day and get what rough men like me can only have from sweet girls like her. Just a bit of solace before going back into the darkness.

Rose doesn't hesitate and jogs to the bed, spreading her beautiful body next to mine, her curves barely concealed under her awful long nightgown. She turns to face me and nestles herself in my arms, her face resting on my chest with one of her legs straddling one of mine. I don't know if she can feel my heart pounding like a racing horse under my ribs.

If that’s heaven, then I can’t fuckin’ wait.

I close my eyes, pretending for a second that this is real. Us. That we're just an average couple, cuddlin’ on the bed.

A couple? Seriously, Vox?

But reality crashes back in, reminding me that we're far from an average couple. I can't ignore the weight of Ares' orders pressing down on me, pulling me further from the life I could have with Rose.

Since when did I picture a future with her?

No fuckin' clue but each day that passes tattoos her deeper into my flesh and bones. I bury my face in Rose's hair, inhaling her sweet vanilla scent, trying to memorize every detail of this moment before it slips away. I hold her tight, her breaths quickenin’. She stirs in my arms, like she knows somethin’s off, and lifts her head to meet my gaze.

Those eyes–those fuckin' gorgeous blue eyes that would make any man fall on their knees.

I can tell she's trying to read me, but I’m not ready to tell her yet. We stay like this for a while before I hear her stomach growl. Chuckling, I kiss her hair, strokin’ her cheeks.

“Let's go downstairs, I'll cook you somethin’.”

She pouts like she doesn't want to leave the bed but her belly growls again, making me laugh.

“C’mon, gotta feed my little monster,” I say, teasin’ her. “You like macaroni and cheese, Angel?” She shrugs and that's when I wonder what she actually eats everyday. She has so many fuckin' weird rules to follow like the brown dresses and forbidden books and shit, it wouldn't be a surprise that she'd have restricted foods too.

“What do you eat normally, like every day?” I ask her as we walk downstairs. I wanna know what my girl likes so I can buy it for her.

Don't say that.

You're leaving.

There's no point knowing more about her .

She starts to sign but I don't get it. I haven't reached the food section in my online courses, which are going pretty well but I'm still far from understanding everythin’ which pisses me off. Cause I have no fuckin’ patience and I want to understand her, always. I never want her to feel alone or excluded. I make a mental note to tackle more signs everyday to make it easier for her.

“Wait, I'll get the notebook.” As we reach the kitchen, I give her the pen and the notebook I always keep out on the counter for her since the first time she came here.

“Ham and potatoes. Nothing fancy. We don't have sugary foods, the Ascendium says we need to eat like peasants to stay on the right path.” My eyes widen at her words.

Like fuckin' peasants?

That’s it, I’m making her macaroni and cheese.

I fuckin' hate the people who force her to live such a flavourless life. I want her to know everything about the world.

“Do you like eatin’ this way?” I ask, clenching my jaw to avoid saying what I really think. She doesn't answer right away, then looks at the window toward her house and shrugs one shoulder.

“Really?” I push her a bit.

She shakes her head.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

“Alright, write down anythin’ you wanna try and I'll get it for ya, sweetheart.” I walk towards the fridge to take the cheese and the butter out. She shakes her head, her eyes suddenly shy like she doesn't want to bother me or somethin’.

Don't like when she does that, cause how could she ever bother me?

“Angel, none of this with me.” I motion my chin toward the notebook.

“Write.” I point to the pen with my index finger.

She makes a little sigh and starts to write. I like that she's as stubborn as me, keeps me on my feet. Never liked my women to be dull. I like the challenge, knowing that I'll have someone who won't be afraid of me and tell me I'm wrong when I fuckin' am. That's why I don't like the girls hanging at our club. They only see me as the vice-president, trying to get in my bed just to secure their place as an old lady.

What challenge is there in it?

As I glance over Rose's list, a smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. Oreos, cupcakes, waffles, pizza… she’s aiming for the good stuff.

"Alright, got it," I say with a chuckle, scanning over her choices. "Looks like we're going all out." I have to bite the inside of my cheeks when I see her shy smile sending a surge of warmth in my chest. Can’t stop myself to picture us out in town, grabbing a bite of pizza after driving up the hills on my bike.

You're leaving, Vox, none of it will ever happen .

I shove this thought away, trying to focus on my girl and each second I can get with her until I'll eventually have to leave.

Like a fuckin’ crack addict.

She then sits on the stool and starts drawing on the notebook while I cook.

Could fuckin’ get used to this.

Once dinner's ready, I join her and try to hide how fuckin’ eager I am to see her reaction. But before that, there's somethin’ else I have to do. Reaching into the pantry, I pull out a box of Oreos and set it down in front of her with a grin.

“Dessert first, sweetheart." Nothing wrong with breaking a few rules, that's how I like it actually. Her eyes widen in surprise, and then she smiles—a genuine, joyful smile that lights up the room. Taking the biscuit in her hand, she observes it like it's a strange alien thingy, turnin’ it on both sides, then bringin’ it near her tiny nose to smell it. Closing her eyes at the sugary scent, she takes a bite and hums with pleasure. Openin’ up her eyes, she mouths “Thank you” with a little smile.

Damn, that was the sweetest thing in the world.

“Wait until you try pizza, nothin’ will taste good afterwards,” I say with a grin on my face cause, fuck, she makes me happy. As we settle in to eat, her blue eyes keep glancing at me.

"Just ask, sweetheart, I don't bite," I say, my voice rough yet reassuring. I want her to feel comfortable, not afraid of me. I'm used to people being afraid of me, but I don't want that with her.

She slides a piece of paper over to me. "Tell me about you, your work. I feel like I hardly know anything about it when you know so much more about me."

I take a moment to study her, taking in the way she’s completely focused on me like I'm important or some shit. There’s no judgment in her eyes, only curiosity. I don't like talkin’ about myself; there's not much to say that wouldn't scare people away.

"Alright," I say, breaking the silence. Taking a sip of my drink, I gather my thoughts. “When I'm not here with ya, I'm mostly at the club, or out doing business for the club.” I pause, searchin’ for the right way to explain my world to someone who had never been a part of it. "There's a lot of different things I do. Day-to-day stuff, like handlin’ accounts and makin’ sure things run smoothly. And there's also… hum, another side of the business." I glance at her, searchin’ for any reaction but she stays still, holding on to every word I say.

"What I do… it’s…”

Fuck, how can I even explain without her running away from me?

“What I do, it ain't all pretty. There's some real gritty shit I gotta deal with, stuff that could scare ya," I say, struggling to share the true nature of what I do. Killing, torturing, making surprises visits  to people who fuck with the club then sending then to Carter for him to play.

Not the kind of conversation you wanna have over dinner.

I take another bite of my meal, momentarily distracting me from our conversation.

"Just… just know that I ain't no hero," I add, my tone softer now. "I'm just a man tryin' to do right by the ones I care about.”

Cause it’s true. I’ll kill every damn day if it’s to protect the club, and I have no issue with it. I protect those I care about. But I can’t tell her that, I can’t tell her that I’m a killer. She’ll run away from me and I can’t. I just can’t take it. She’ll see me for what I am one day and leave me, a disgusted look in her eyes at the man she once trusted.

That’s who I am, not a fuckin’ Prince Charming.

I search for a reaction that could tell me she doesn't want anythin’ to do with me anymore, but I can't read her.

“Talk to me, Angel, anythin’.” I need to know, even if deep down I already know the answer.

You've got nothin’ to offer to a girl like her, you're just a killer, giving a shot at somethin’ men like you are not allowed to have .

Pulling out the notebook, she writes somethin’ and gives it to me, her eyes suddenly lightin’ up.

"Those who cast shadows of judgment shall dwell in the darkness they create.

- Ascendium 4:16"

Damn. Didn’t see this coming.

She quoted her bible, the book I’ve seen her take with her each time she gets out of her house. Turns out not everythin’ is trash in it. I’ll make an exception for this.

I sigh. Even if she doesn’t judge me, it doesn’t mean she’ll accept me. As if she was sensin’ my restraint, she laces her fingers with mine, talking my breath away.

“Vox,” a broken murmur comes out of her perfect full lips.

“I… like… you,” she manages to say, so low I can barely hear it without being focused solely on her. She winces, her eyes closing for a second before holding a hand on her throat.

Damn, it looks painful.

She likes me.

That's what she just said.

Me, a broken cold soul. Despite my darkness, despite our differences, despite it all, she likes me.

Can't even fuckin' process her words.

Taking my jaw between her palms, she comes closer, resting her forehead on mine, makin’ my black heart burst into my chest. She tries to stay somethin’ but she turns her face as if it was too painful. Her blue eyes get watery, deception written on her face at the frustration of the moment.

“It's alright, Angel. Never want ya to talk if it's painful. Never,” I say, takin’ her chin between my fingers. Need to tell her that I fuckin' burn for her, that I feel it too.

This.

The fire between us.

"You're somethin' else, Angel,” I manage to say, despite my heart pumping in my chest making it hard for me to breathe. I wanna tell her I'm into her, but she probably already knows it. Don't know why the words can't fuckin’ get out. Keepin’ her chin in my fingers, pullin’ her face up towards mine, I murmur, “Mine.”

Her body shivers against me.

“Stay tonight,” I whisper, my fingertips runnin’ on her jaw. Her eyes widen with curiosity and something else, something that looks like lust and a tint of fear.

“No, wait, that's not what I meant, fuck.” I take her face in my hands, forcin’ her gaze in mine.

“We don't have to do anythin’,” I say, weighting each word so she knows I'm not tryin’ to rush her into somethin’ she's not ready for.

Damn, never had to have that kind of talk with a chick before, but Rose's different, everythin’s different with her.

“We can watch a movie, bake fuckin' brownies if you want. I just want to be with ya, so whatever you want we'll do,” I say, liftin’ her palm and kissin’ it gently, her body drawing to me like a magnet.

“Just wanna hold you in my arms all night,” I say, kissin’ her forehead. I haven't tried to steal a kiss from her lips yet. Somehow, I know she's not ready, it would overwhelm her, and the last thing I want is for her to run away from me. Never been a patient man, but for her, I'll try.

Lifting her face towards mine, she nods with a small smile, biting her lips and makin’ my fist clench as the result.

Is she aware of the power she has over me?

“Vox?” she mouths, and fuck, can't even describe how addicting it is to see the way she says my name. Like I'm a goddamn prayer.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” I ask, pushing a stray of hair behind her ear.

“Could we watch a movie?” she signs, and I'm surprised I get what she said. Well, I got the word “movie”, but it’s a start. Turns out, hours of online classes each night isn't such a waste of time. Maybe a movie could soothe her.

“Sure,” anythin’ for my girl, “What do you wanna watch?”

“I don't know, something with pirates or magic?” she writes in the notebook.

“Hum, okay, that's specific.” I chuckle, always liking knowing new stuff about her. She keeps on surprising me. Looks like she wants to escape in another world for a bit. Can't fuckin' blame her.

“I'm gonna make popcorn, make yourself comfortable on the couch. I'll be right back,” I say, expecting her to disappear in the living room, but instead she walks toward me, her eyes glued to the popcorn bag I’ve put on the counter.

Fuckin’ adorable.

“Chocolate syrup or caramel?” I ask, her eyes glowing with excitement, showing her the two bottles in my hands. She bites her index, not knowing what to choose.

“Alright both, but I warn you, it's fuckin' addictin’, could probably eat a ton of them,” I say, watching her tongue wetting her lower lips, making me freeze for a sec at the sight.

I put the popcorn bag in the microwave and push the on button. A few pops echoes in the kitchen, the scent already filling the place. Don’t know why, but with her, my house feels like a home. She stares at the microwave with curiosity, jumping a little bit each time a new corn pops. When the inside of the bag starts to pop like pouring rain, she smiles and puts her hand on her mouth.

That's when I notice.

Her shoulders are moving slightly up and down, her chest is heaving, and a small breathy rapid sound comes from her delicious mouth.

She's laughing.

My angel is silently laughin’ and that's the most perfect sight I have ever seen in my life and probably will ever see.

Can't fuckin' ruin this night by tellin’ her I'm suppose to leave. Won’t lose this moment over club business. I want to enjoy tonight with my girl, watchin’ her laugh and smile. That's all that matters right now.

Patting her lower back, I push her gently on the side. Don't want her to get burnt. I open the small door, taking the popcorn and pouring the content in a salad bowl. I give her the chocolate syrup and take the caramel one. Haven’t had this kind of treat for so long. Sharing a smile we both spread the syrups on the popcorn, and once she's satisfied, after literally spraying all the syrup on the popcorn, she puts it back on the counter, biting her lips.

“C’mon Angel, gotta pick the movie,” I say, lacing my fingers with hers and taking the bowl in my other hand. She squeezes mine back and raises on her toes to kiss my cheek quickly with a flirty smile. My heart skips a beat, takin’ me off guard.

And that's how I know.

That one day, I'm gonna tie myself to this girl in all the ways humanly possible, cause there's no way I'm livin’ this life without her by my side.

Fuckin' hell.

Looks like the walls have finally crumbled down.

Rose

What a strange pirate. I keep laughing so hard since Vox put it on. Something with Carabeen in the title and the main character is hilarious. He walks in such a strange way, I can’t keep a straight face. I know Vox is watching me as much as I’m watching the movie. He has a small grin on his face like he’s mesmerized by me or something.

It’s making me feel like I have hundreds of butterflies in my belly. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. Especially since I'm usually too self-conscious to let go and laugh in public, because I know my way is… well, kind of weird. I laugh but I don’t make any sound because of my damaged vocal chords. But Vox doesn’t seem to care.

Actually, I think he kind of… likes it.

Nestled in his arms on the couch, I don’t stop myself from melting into him, feeling his warm chest against mine. I’m not afraid to touch him anymore; it has become second nature.

It’s late, I had to wait for my parents to fall asleep, but nothing could be more worth it than this moment.

Sometimes I just wish I could be heard for once, in moments like this one, with Vox. I wish he could hear me, and from his intense look at me, I bet he wishes it too.

He hasn't asked me yet how I lost my voice and I’m thankful for it. He doesn't make my mutism a topic of conversation, like it's some kind of elephant in the room people have a right to know of. It's not like that. And I don't like when I'm asked to give people a reason for my inability to speak, like I owe it to them. It doesn't reach their closed minds that perhaps it's painful for me to explain how I lost my voice, how it changed my life drastically, isolating me like a sickness people were afraid to catch.

The fact that he keeps the notebook always out on the counter and that he is learning sign language just makes me speechless.

Well, joke’s on me.

But that's how I feel about it. Never thought such a manly, imposing biker man would take the time to do such a thoughtful thing. He surprises me everyday, cooking for me, making sure I feel safe around him. Even if I feel how much our bodies are drawn to one another, he watches me like a starved man seeing an oasis in the desert and still, he holds back. Which is why I only respect him more for giving me space, to take my time and not rush things.

I want to tell him about my voice one day.

He opened up himself at dinner, letting me know about his work. But I could tell he wasn’t giving me the whole story. He was sugar coating things, his eyes filled with worry about my reaction, so much it broke my heart.

Since I was a little girl, I’ve been taught about right and wrong, about what was out of line and what was acceptable. But it all changed when I met him. The lines blurred. And now I can’t look at anything with the same certainty I had before. Now there’s nuances, shades I didn’t know, complexities I’ve been kept from.

Vox keeps telling me how much of a bad man he is but it’s not true. He’s good to the people he cares about, his brothers and… me. Since day one, he has taken care of me in a way that makes me want to curl up and cry.

Whatever he is hiding from me, I won’t run away from him. Because I like him.

Like? That’s a bit more and you know it…

Like isn’t strong enough but I don’t have it in me to admit the truth, not right now, not with everything going on in my messed-up life. Admitting it is makes it alive, and once it exists, it’ll break me into pieces when I’ll eventually lose it. Because there’s no way on earth Vox shares those feelings for me. I'm just a strange girl with strange clothes and strange habits.

Liar. You know it’s not about that.

I bit my lips, struggling to stay calm with my mind churning in all directions.

What would a man like him do with a girl like me?

He’ll get bored eventually, looking for adventure and challenges awaiting him. He’s wild and I’m… dull and boring and I don’t even know what pizza tastes like.

Lies. He looks at you like a dying man looks at his maker.

His rough hand strokes my hair gently. “Can hear your mind from here, Angel,” he says, his eyes still on the screen.

I make a small smile. How can this man always know what I think about?

He’s my dark knight, covered in leather and black clothes, riding a metallic beast, watching over me with his protective gaze.

Mine.

Just like he called me.

A surge of possession washes over me.

Could I live without this? Him? Us?

Could I accept the darkness of what he’s hiding? Could I accept him if he… killed?

As terrible as it sounds, I know I would accept him no matter what.

Is it bad that I can picture him covered in blood, cutting someone's throat and somehow… somehow it doesn't surprise me? Because despite feeling safe with him, I get that he's scary for most people. With his sharp blue eyes that pierce your soul, his muscular and tall figure that barely makes it through the door frame, the lack of expression on his face before he sees me, he's not the average man you walk by in the streets. He looks like… a killer, like a man who strangled a hundred men with his bare hands and didn't think twice about it. Because he did it for the club and the people he cared about. And somehow, it doesn't scare me away.

It should.

This is crazy and unreasonable.

But you'd have to be blind to not see how much he cares for the club and for… me. One day I hope he'll tell me about his past, about his family, and why he chose this life. Or perhaps this life chose him, perhaps he was meant to be there all along.

I bite my thumb, weighing the pros and cons of asking him about his family, but I'm afraid it'll ruin the night if he doesn't want to share that and make him face old memories he probably wants to keep buried. Right when I decide to ask him about his name, wonderin’ if it’s his real one, he cuts me before I have the chance to take the notebook resting on the arm of the couch.

“Wanna talk about what happened today?” he asks casually, but I sense a tension in his body, as if he is holding his breath. I raise my eyes to him, which makes our noses almost touch.

“I need to know, Angel, need to know who I have to punch for makin’ you so stressed.” Something is dancing in his pupils, like a fire aimed to hurt.

“I had a meeting with the Shepherd,” I write, my hands shaking to admit it.

It feels wrong.

He should be… mine.

And I should be… his.

I mean, I’ve never been in a relationship, let alone one with someone from the outside world, but Vox and I share something far deeper than I have ever hoped to share with anyone. And I truly feel like his, especially right now nestled in his arms. Hence why it doesn’t sit right with me to talk about it.

“At the Institute, right?”

I raise one of my brows, questioning him. He sighs, fidgeting with his hand like he’s hesitating to admit something.

“I’ve put a tracker in your phone to know where you are at all times.”

My mouth makes a little oh and he stares at it with intensity.

A tracker? That’s how he knew I was in a building.

“ Just wanna know you’re safe,” he says, clenching his jaw.

Why doesn’t it bother me…?

I must be insane because the thought of him keeping an eye on me is… intoxicating.

He swallows hard. “Tell me everythin’, I wanna know exactly what happened’.” His voice is blank, like a soldier ready to fight.

“I had doubts,” I write. His eyebrow lifts slightly but his gaze deepens as he looks at me like he’s expecting a confession. “About him, about the community.” I lower my head, ashamed to admit it. He lifts my chin with his index finger, forcing me to face him.

“Told ya before, none of that with me, Angel.”

I exhale deeply, letting the tension leave my body.

It’s Vox. I’m safe. He would never leave me in distress. He cares about me, that's why he wants to know.

“It didn’t sit right with me, knowing he bought guns from your club.”

Vox nods slightly, “Go on.”

So I tell him everything, from the cold laugh of the Shepherd, to the talk about staying at home with his children, and me running away to hide in the library. Vox's chest is heaving when I finish and the knuckles of his hands turned white. Fidgeting next to him, I bite my lips, avoiding his gaze.

“Angel?”

I shake my head, still looking down, ashamed of myself for admitting this.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” His voice is low and raspy with a tint of softness.

God, these nicknames will be the end of me.

“There’s more you’re not tellin’ me.” It’s not even a question, more of a statement. His blue eyes piercing my soul.

Taking the pen, I write, “He said he would take me in his bed, whenever he wants to.” Letting the pen fall on my lap, I rest my palms on my eyes, hiding beneath it, wanting to bury myself under the couch and disappear.

I’m not allowed to talk about those matters with anyone. I shouldn’t bring this up with Vox. But then again, I shouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Vox doesn’t say anything, his body still like a statue, his chest heaving so loud I wonder if he’s having a sort of panic attack. Then his voice echoes in the room, his tone harsh and distant, making a shiver run down my back.

“When’s the fuckin’ wedding?”

Vox

Any man who touches my angel has a death warrant hangin’ on his head. But a man who claims her in this sick twisted way is in for a fuckin’ treat. He won't know mercy or forgiveness. I’ll torture him for days, sewing back his wounds to stop the bleedin’, lettin’ him feel his body die slowly, painfully until there’s nothin’ left but pieces of flesh spread around the room.

I hope I’ll get the opportunity soon.

“At the end of the month. Last Sunday during the morning service.” Less than a month. So fuckin’ short.

“What time exactly?” I need to know every fuckin’ detail.

Furrowing her brows, she writes, “Why does this matter to you?”

Damn, I don’t know how to tell her. Despite it all, I need to know those details cause there’s no way in hell I’m lettin’ her go through with it. I’ll fuckin’ take her with me when she’s at the altar if I need to. Don’t give a fuck about her folks or her so called community. They don’t deserve an angel as pure as her. Don’t know when I got my mind around it, but from the moment she told me about this wedding joke, I knew I wouldn’t stay and watch the show. Only, I don’t know how I can tell her that when on they other side of my life stands Ares and his fuckin’ order to move to the other side of the country.

“Everythin’ you do matters to me,” I say in a shaper way than I wished for. “Fuck, Rose, a month, that’s basically tomorrow.” Runnin’ a hand in my hair, I watch as heavy tears falls on her cheeks, her lower lips tremblin’ and her gaze locked with mine with an intensity that takes my damn breath away.

Don’t cry, Angel, I’m right here.

Called her Rose a few time this evenin’, as if I was tryin’ to put distance with her even if it felt like the most unnatural thing to fuckin’ do.

“Plea-se don’t…” she tries to say, but I stop her, watching her throat ache like someone’s chokin’ her.

“Don’t ya dare hurt yourself for me, Angel.” She scribbles something fast, then hands it to me.

“Please don’t leave me alone.” My heart hammers in my chest at her words.

Not leaving her alone as in right now, or in this messed up marriage situation?

Taking a deep breath, I rest my forehead with hers. “Never, Angel, never.”

“I…” her breath quickens, “…need,” I want to stop her from hurtin’ herself for me but I pull back when I notice the determination in her gaze. She wants me to hear this.

“…you.”

I need you.

Me too, Angel, me too.

“I'm right here with ya.” Lacing my fingers with hers, I stroke her hand with my thumb.

“Stay tonight. Can stand knowin’ my girl isn’t with me at night.” A glint of surprise flashes through her eyes before she nods, a lush shade of pink spreading on her cheeks. Taking her hand in mine, I motion for her to follow me upstairs.

Have I put the heating system on? It’s fuckin’ hot all of the sudden.

Her tiny hand squeezes mine, her breath quickening as we arrive in front of my bedroom. There’s somethin’ new floatin’ in the air, a tension we didn’t share before.

Leading her into the room, she let go of my hand and walks to the standing mirror in the corner of the room. I stay back, drinkin’ in every single inch of her. Taking her hand behind her neck, she detangles her thick blonde hair with her fingers.

Damn, what wouldn’t I do to do that myself.

Her hair cascades over her shoulders, framin’ her petite features in the dim orange light. I know she’s steppin’ out of her comfort zone, showin’ me her natural hair, and I fuckin’ love watchin’ her break the rules. I can’t help but beam with pride cause she’s choosin’ me to witness it. I remove the bedcover and gesture for her to go in it.

“Get in.” She follows my command and slides under the covers, right on her side, as if she knew exactly where she had to go.

Wonder how were gonna do this without makin’ her uncomfortable. Never had to do this before. But Rose isn’t like anyone else, and I’d fuckin’ hate myself if she thought I wanted to take advantage of her.

She’s already in her nightgown, so that’s settled, no need for her to undress. Kind of wished she had to, but we gotta walk before we run.

As I remove my pants and exchange them for black cotton shorts, I notice her watchin’ me intently from under the covers.

Gettin’ bold, Angel?

Despite the tension crackling between us, I shove it away, cause that’s not what she needs from me right now. I want to comfort her, show her she can rely on me. But as I unbutton my shirt, revealin’ the inked designs etched into my skin, I can't ignore her blue pools burnin’ my flesh.

Fuck, I ain’t no saint. How am I gonna do this without punchin’ the wall?

I fuckin’ love how her eyes widen at the sight of my tattoos and the contours of my abs. Tracing each skull, gun and flames with an intensity I didn’t know she had in her.

Somethin’ wild in her eyes, somethin’ far from the innocent angel I’m used to.

Her gaze stops above my heart, liftin’ a brow at the sight of the names of my parents and my brother.

“My family,” I answer her silent question, “I used to have one.” Pointing at Jamie’s name marked in my skin, I continue trying to prevent my voice from cracking.

“My little brother, he was seven, you’d have liked him.” I clench my jaw.

It’s been a while since I talked about them.

Too fuckin’ long .

“They were killed in a car crash, the three of them,” I say, ignoring my voice breakin’ cause that’s the reason I never talk about the past. Cause it still fuckin’ hurt like a fresh cut. She’s watchin’ me, fully focused as if nothin’ in the whole world could distract her. It feels fuckin’ raw to tell her about it. Raising her hand to me, she curls her finger, tellin’ me to come closer. I don’t even bother putin’ on a shirt and I think she prefers it this way too.

It’s bout’ time we stop actin’ like this isn’t fuckin’ real.

I get in bed next to her, spooning her body like a freakin’ old married couple after years of life together. Cause it just makes sense. She just makes everythin’ better.

I’ll tell her the whole story one day, but right now I want to focus on the good. I wanna hold onto the memories rather than the trauma.

“I was fifteen when it happened. Everythin’ turn to shit after.” Holding her tighter to me, I continue, “Ares, my prez, found me in the streets and put me back on the right track. I owe my life to him. That’s why the club matters so much to me.”

My brothers, the club, they have become my family. Not the one I was born into but the one I chose. I need her to know. Cause this isn’t just about bikes and fighting. It’s my purpose.

She takes my hands, surrounding her hips and lifts them to her mouth. Then, cause she’s so fuckin’ perfect, she kisses them, mending my wounds, showin’ me she’s there.

“You belong here,” I whisper before kissing her hair, the vanilla hitting me like a drug.

“Th-thank… you fo-for tell-telling…me,” she murmurs painfully. Fuckin’ hate seeing her hurtin’, but damn, those sweet words are healin’ me faster then the thirteen years of denial I’ve inflicted on myself.

“Goodnight, Angel,” I say, then take a whiff of her hair before closin’ my eyes, photographing this moment in my mind forever. She squeezes my hand back as in wishing me goodnight too.

Don’t need to talk, I know my girl better now.

As she drifts off to sleep, her breath slows down. I stroke her delicate cheek with my calloused hand one last time before I zone out.

"I'll protect you, always," I whisper to myself.

Chapter 13

Rose

Safe and loved.

That’s what being in the arms of Vox feels like.

In the quiet of the night, with Vox's strong arms wrapped around me, I feel protected from my nightmares. But I know better than to succumb to this dream. My reality is waiting for me outside these walls.

When the first light of dawn begins to filter through the beige curtains, I reluctantly extricate myself from his arms.

I wish I could have stayed there all day, listening to him telling me about his life.

Something changed last night when he opened up to me about his past, about his family. Watching him relive the pain, his jaw clenched and his eyes looking far away as if he was revisiting a ghost, I couldn’t help but hurt with him.

Kissing his jaw with a feather-light touch, I leave the warmth of his bed and tiptoe across the room, my gaze lingering on Vox's sleeping form for a moment longer.

I never tried drugs, but I bet this is what this man feels like.

He looks peaceful, more vulnerable for such a dangerous man. But I know better. He's anything but weak. Actually, from his actions since I met him and the past he told me about last night, he’s the strongest person I know. One who fought to survive even when life had brought him down. Even when hope wasn’t an option anymore. He kept going and he found a purpose and a life again.

I walk downstairs with a pain in my chest.

Why does it feel like I’m leaving my own home?

Sleeping with him is the most natural thing in the world. It’s where I belong, just like he told me last night. Thank god he couldn’t see my face then because a few tears fell from his loving words.

Who knew dangerous bikers were the most romantic ones?

With a heavy sigh, I slip out of the room and make my way to the stairs, back to my own house. It feels strange to come back here after a night away. Sleepovers are not a thing in our community. The rare times I had to sleep outside of my house were when my parents went on intensive pilgrimage weekends at the Institute. Back then I would go to Greta’s house, but we weren’t allowed to sleep in the same room.

So much fun, I know.

Everything is quiet, my parents are still asleep. I take out one of my four brown dresses and lay it on my bed.

Why does it suddenly feel like a costume?

As if I was an actress playing my own role again and again. Whereas last night felt real. After showering and braiding my wet hair, I take the stairs to the kitchen and start making myself some tea and porridge. After a few minutes, my mother appears in the doorframe.

“Good morning, Rose,” she says with a large smile on her face .

This is weird. Why is she so happy?

“Morning,” I sign with both hands, watching her as she moves around almost dancing.

Okay this is definitely not normal.

“I finished your dress last night,” she says, clapping her hands as if it was good news.

“Oh Rose, it’s going to be such a beautiful wedding,” she continues, talking to herself, her eyes wandering far away. “I can’t believe my own daughter is marrying our Shepherd. My  daughter,” she repeats.

Turns out caring about my thoughts and feelings isn't that important when all she wants is her own blood marrying into the highest rank of the Faithful Lambs. I don’t want to play this act anymore. I need her to know, to do something about it, anything.

After all, she’s my mother.

My hands tremble as I sign, "Mother, I don't want to…" But before I can finish my sentence, my mother interrupts, raising her palm in the air, her voice stern and unwavering.

"Oh, I know what you’re going to say, young lady, and the answer is no. There's no turning back now. You won't shame our family any further." Her rigid posture, accentuated by the black long dress she wears, exudes rigidity and coldness. Her eyes, unyielding, bore into mine as my hopes crumble once again.

Ever felt like you’re about to fall from a cliff? That’s how it feels like.

I lower my eyes to my porridge, knowing there’s nothing I could sign that could change her mind. Any doubt she had has vanished away. There’s a lump in my throat, choking back the words I long to say but cannot voice. With a heavy heart, I nod.

“Off you go, you don't want to be late; you’re setting an example for all of us now,” she says, pride dripping from her mouth, making me want to throw up. After eating my breakfast, I rush to the entry, putting my shoes on while my father is already opening the door to the car.

I don’t want another lecture on how grateful I should be to be chosen by the Shepherd, no thanks.

He walks out first, his stiff steps making him look ten years older than he is.

I wonder if he has always been like this, or if perhaps, in another life, before the Faithful Lambs, he would sometimes smile and hug the people he loved.

It’s strange how invisible and helpless he makes me feel, following him like a shadow, obeying his orders.

If I died today, would he even care? Or would it be just another bump on his way to the Ascension?

I enter the back of the car, the engine already roaring, while his thin knuckles grip the wheel. I try to look at him through the rearview, but he ignores it. When the car is in front of the Institute where he usually drops me off, his voice makes my body jerk. “Rose.” I look back into the rearview only to find him staring at the wheel.

“Remember what’s at stake, remember the punishments waiting for you if you fail your task.”

My lower lips tremble and my heart pounds loudly in my ears.

No child should ever have to feel this way. Like you don’t matter, like you’re a disease people wish to stay away from and use only to their advantage.

Especially after what he did to me.

Especially when he's the reason I lost my voice.

Literally and figuratively.

“Get out now,” he orders, and I rush outside, my blood leaving my body.

I have to spend an entire day at the Institute playing the good little student when all I want is to run away as far as possible from this messed up life that has become my reality.

My father wants me to fulfill my duty. If only he knew how much rage he just awoke in me.

-

“To cleanse our sins…” says the small gray-haired woman.

“…We must obey,” answers the class as one.

“So first, hum, I’m afraid Mr Collins won’t be coming back. I’m Mrs Abigail, your new teacher. I’ll take it from where you were,” she states, writing her name on the blackboard, making my skin cringe at the sound. “Open your books page 278.”

Where is Mr Collins? I haven’t seen him since he punished me that day.

He didn’t seem sick or on the verge of leaving his place. Actually, he seemed quite content with his position, enjoying his power over students like me. No matter what–or who–is keeping him away, I’m grateful. I don’t ever want to see his disgusting face hitting me. My fingers healed but the memories are definitely imprinted in my mind forever.

What a sick man.

I wonder why no parents never said anything about it. A man like him should never be around young people like us.

Are you raising more questions and trouble, Rose?

Biting my lips, I open my book.

Well, yes, perhaps it’s time to really make trouble. Especially when I’m getting married soon, and I know that there’s no way I’m letting this man touch me.

I’ll escape before he gets the chance too. But I’m running out of time to understand what lies behind the sleek surface of my community. I need to find out more about the Shepherd's dirty hands and the girls who disappeared. I know there’s more to it than meets the eye. And somehow, I need this to fully go through with my escape.

Otherwise, I’ll always wonder if staying was the wisest choice.

Waiting for the class to end, I put away my notebook and my pencil case as fast as I can, avoiding Greta and Jezebel. I jog to the stairs and mount them quickly, reaching for the last floor where the Shepherd’s office is.

This is madness, I have no right to be here. Students aren’t allowed on this floor.

I only have a five-minute break before the next class but I can’t stop myself. I’m dying to know more. If only I could search the Shepherd’s office, perhaps I could find proof or anything telling me I’m right about his criminal activities. His door is open slightly, but the hallway is empty.

Come on, Rose, you can do this.

So I take a chance and walk toward it. Perhaps I'll be able to find an excuse if I run into him. Something stupid about being eager to see him before the wedding or something.

Ew.

The office is empty. Thank god. I step into the Shepherd's office with a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Stay focus.

My senses are on high alert, studying each sound and movement around me. The massive desk. I bet it’s in there .

With cautious steps, I approach the dark wooden desk, my heart pounding in my chest. Circling it, I take in the four large drawers behind it. My hands, clammy with nerves, tremble as I reach for them. They're not locked.

Hurry up, he could come back any time.

Every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet sounds amplified in the silence of the room, making my hands sweaty with fear. The wood squeaks when I pull it towards me.

No. No. No.

I hold my breath, straining to hear any sign of approaching footsteps or voices. But no one comes.

Phew.

As I sift through the documents in the desk drawer, my fingers fumble nervously. Every rustle of paper sounds way too loud.

You’re going to get caught!

Invoices, convocations, baptism certificate, no that’s not it. Tugging on one more paper, my jaw drops to the floor.

Vow of Silence contract.

What is this?

More than a dozen signatures are in the lowest part of the document. All Elders, including my own father, Jezebel and Greta’s dads too. Reading as fast as I can, I freeze as if a bucket of ice falls on me.

**Vow of Silence Elders' Covenant**

We, the undersigned Elders of the Faithful Lambs, do solemnly vow to uphold the sacred silence entrusted to us by our Shepherd. In reverence to his divine guidance, we pledge our unwavering loyalty and commit to safeguarding the secrets of our community. We shall not speak of the Shepherd's actions nor betray the trust placed upon us. We pledge to keep silent, even unto death, ensuring the purity of the Faithful Lambs remains unblemished.

We shall never divulge the murders of Marie Carlson, Loena McKenly, Adeline Rowe, Mackenzie Richard, Anna Floyd and Savannah Halter.

We vow to keep silent the traffic in which those women have been used for the sake of our community or the pleasure of our leader. We shall never bring to light the location where their bodies have been buried.

We affix our signatures to this covenant, forever bound by the bond of silence.

Signed on the 12 th  of March 2023 by Gabriel Blackwood, Aiden Sterling, Declan Hawthorne, Marcus Frost, Oliver Grayson, Nathaniel Reed, Sebastian Cross, Lincoln Pierce, Alexander Clark, Christopher Harris, Emerson Parker, Paul Atkins.

Emerson Parker.

My father.

My own father’s hands dripping into the blood of six innocent women, girls barely out of their childhood, raped and used by a monster.

Savannah's name lingers in front of me.

“ Have been used for the sake of our community.” How could anyone describe her death as a useful event for our community? She drowned to death in front of all of us. The signature of her tormentor, Paul Atkins, makes my blood pump harder and my jaw clench. Right when I am about to let my emotion take over me, a high-pitched noise rings out from somewhere in the distance, jolting me out of my state.

He’s coming back, oh my god, oh my god.

My blood runs cold as I freeze in place, my heart hammering in my chest like a drumbeat. Without hesitating one more second, I snatch the document and stuff it into my bag. With one last panicked glance around the room, I bolt for the door and burst out into the large white corridor.

This dress is suffocating me, or is it the air?

The footsteps are getting closer, but I turn right into the stairs before anyone has the chance to see me. Close call, but I haven’t been caught. Clutching the document tightly in my hands, I lean against the brick wall, trying to process what I just discovered.

Criminals. Our Elders, the Shepherd. All of them are criminals hiding in plain sight.

With trembling hands, I unfold the document and scan it once again. It's a betrayal of everything I've ever believed in, a betrayal of trust that cuts me to the core.

This is so wrong. Beyond anything I ever thought possible.

It was all a lie, since the beginning.

The Faithful Lambs, the Ascension, the Divine, the clothes, the rituals, everything.

My life has been a lie from the moment I took my first breath.

The sound of the bell jolts me back to reality. Hastily, I tuck the piece of paper back into my bag and force myself to run to my next class. But the nausea churns in my stomach. I can't shake the feeling of betrayal, the bitter taste of deceit lingering on my tongue. I stumble into the nearest bathroom, the tears finally coming, mingling with the bile as I empty my guts until there’s nothing left inside me but bitterness and anger.

Kneeling on the floors, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, noticing the scars Mr Collins’ punishment left on my fingers.

Watching my wounded skin, I make a promise to myself.

I won't be another dead girl on their list.

Vox

The week has gone so fuckin’ fast, I barely had the time to blink. Rose came each night, sleeping in my home, a new routine I've become addicted to. But I know better. Rose isn’t meant to stay with me. Her community has other plans for her.

She arrived at school around eight today, right when I was riding my Harley to the club. Can't forget the shape of her body against mine, her innocent eyes and the way her chest rises quicker each time I cup her cheek. She's on my mind like a goddamn addiction.

There's so fuckin' much I have to deal with right now. Between trying to find a way to avoid movin’ to Seattle, the takeover of the Steelhawks, and stoppin’ Rose’s fuckin' wedding, my plate is full.

I arrive at the club and park my Harley.

How can I save her without putting her at risk and losing my place in the club?

Ash comes out of the main iron gate, his red hair disheveled. He's new, got into the club last year after eating enough dust as a prospect to show his loyalty. Good kid, seventeen, and has a good enough wit to make any room laugh so that's that.

His usual grin isn't on his face today.

“What’s up, kid?” I ask as I remove my helmet.

“Prez is in a mood.” He whistles.

I lift a brow, asking him to talk.

“Trashed the bar after gettin’ a package from Chicago.”

Fuck, didn't want him in a bad mood knowing what I'm about to ask him.

“Go get a new barrel in town.” I figure it will do some good for him to breathe a bit. It’s not like him to not have a smile on his face.

“Head to Larson’s, it's on the house.” We do their protection, so we get anythin’ we want for free. Same for all the houses we take care of. No need to convince the owners, it's free or the house burns down.

Leaving the parking lot, I enter the warehouse, surrounded by hard rock blasting in the speakers and metallic sounds coming from the back of the building. That's where the guys work on their bikes. I pass the bar where bottles and broken glass are spread on the floor.

“Aaaaaargh!” Ares shouts echo in the room as I watch him pounding on the punching bag on the left side of the hall. He's in fighting shorts, his black hair dripping from sweat, his knuckles covered in blood.

Two things can make him angry: club business and women. And since I know all about the current takeover and deals, well, it can only be about O'Brian’s daughter, Mia. He hasn't talked much about it since O'Brian fucked up and offered his daughter to cover his debt. All I know is that she has a reputation of being a firecracker, which is kind of the opposite of Ares’s control freak nature.

“What did she do?”

Avoidin’ my gaze, he punches the bag relentlessly, even though he heard me. The fighter in him is always aware of his surroundings. I saw him knock down a giant under two minutes at the last cage fight we organized.

“Don't wanna talk bout’ it,” he answers, giving a last punch. “She fucking sent me this.” He stops, his body heavin’, and walks to his office.

What could possibly make him this mad?

Bringing back a box with him, he hands it to me. Frustration is written all over his face. I give him a nod, giving the box a quick once-over.

What could it be? A gun? An arm? A death threat?

"What the hell is this?" I grunt, popping open the box and peering inside.

Ares pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenched tight. "It's from her, " he growls, his voice rough with anger.

I fish out the crumpled note and look at the red lace panties in the bottom of the box.

"A glimpse at what you'll never have," the note reads. Mia O'Brian sure knows how to push his buttons. I can almost hear Ares' blood boiling next to me as he waits for my reaction. But instead of matching his rage, I can't help but chuckle at the audacity of this chick. Mia O'Brian might be a pain in the ass, but you gotta give her props for ballsiness. I don't know a single man on earth who isn't afraid of Ares, but she sure doesn't look like one.

“Looks like you finally found a worthy opponent,” I say with a smug grin. Ares grunts, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I'll show her who's in charge," he says, his voice low and dangerous. Taking a water bottle from the floor under the punching bag, he empties it then looks at me.

“Give me a heads-up on Seattle.”

I give him the box back. “Got thirty of our brothers there setting up the operation. The Greeks are backing us up, closing the perimeter to their border in case they try to flee,” I state like a soldier to his officer. “Should be ready in three weeks.”

“Good,” he says, looking far away. “Want you there on the 30th, at dawn, ready to take the warehouse from them. Steele and Carter will come with ya in case things go south.”

On the 30th? No.

I fuckin' can't.

That’s Rose's wedding.

When I should save her from this fuckin' shit show.

“Ares.” I swallow hard cause it’s the first time I’m doing this kind of thing.

“What? Got a tea party to attend?” He lifts a brow.

“I can't that day. Got a thing,” I say, clenching my jaw.

Fuck, since when have I ever argued an order?

I’m used to talk to him and brainstorm together, but I don’t fuck with his command.

I’m the VP, not the prez.

“A thing? You mean your Mormon neighbor chick?” His eyes narrow on me.

“Yeah.” How can I tell him that I need to save her for a guy who fuckin' buys guns from the club? Ares won't have it. It’s always been club matters over women for him.

“Spill it out, Vox, for fuck’s sake.” He punches the bag.

“She's being forced to marry Alexander Skarn, the leader of the cult she's in.”

“Alexander Skarn? Skarn? Fuck, you mean our client for the last three years? You mean the guy who made us 450K last year?”

“Himself. He's a fuckin' asshole, Ares, he's gonna rape her and I can't fuckin' stand there and watch.” My brain fights the idea, barely preventing my fist from ending in the wall next to us.

“Well, you won't have to cause you'll be in Seattle.” He shrugs a shoulder.

“No, I won't.” Ares' gaze snaps and fire fills his pupils.

“The fuck ya think ya doing, Vox?” Anger spills out of him. “You THINK I'm gonna let you fuckin’ waste your time for a chick when Skarn makes us good fuckin’ money every year? I need you in Seattle. Get your shit together, Vox, for fuck’s sake. It's an MC club, not a fuckin' romcom!” he shouts before punching the bag again.

I don't say anything back, cause there’s no use. I know what he's asking me. And the thing is, I know he won't like my answer.

The club or my angel.

Don’t even need a fuckin’ sec to know what matters the most between the two.

-

I spend the rest of the day in my office, working on the accounts of the Seattle warehouse. It'll need some straining out, can't see shit in those books. When I'm done, I mount my bike and head to her location on the surveillance app. It's around 6pm and she's still at the Institute. Wish I could give her a ride home.

Home.

Not my house.

Ours.

Fuck, I wish I could say that without it being a dumb fantasy.

I park at the corner of the street, concealed behind a few cars with my black gear and my helmet on. I wait for her, not givin’ a shit about how long I'll have to stay here waitin’ in the shadows as the sun starts to set.

Lots of strangely dressed folks are heading out of the building. Girls wearin’ the exact same dresses Rose always has on. They all wear braids too. From here, they all look the fuckin’ same.

Well, almost.

Cause there’s a shade of golden hair I would spot even from a mile away.

I see her, her tiny silhouette coming out of the building and walking straight to her father's car in front of the large steps. Her curves bounce under her long dress, her gorgeous face looking tired and almost angry.

What happened?

A rush of protectiveness runs over me, making me want to grab her and ride until a smile covers her face again. She opens the car door and right before leaning in, she looks at me. Her blue hypnotic gaze finds mine in the darkness, like magnets, hyper aware of me just like I am of her. Even from the distance, I manage to read her lips as she says my name before disappearing in the car.

My angel.

I wait a minute before following her, wanting to be near her even in this fucked up way. Arriving at my house, I grab my phone as soon as I step inside, burning to see her. But she texted me before I got the chance too.

“Keeping an eye on me?”

“Always.” Cause she’s mine and I protect what’s mine.

“Can you come now?” Don't even care that I look all needy and shit.

“I can't, my parents want me to rehearse the wedding ceremony.”

Fuck that .

“Wanna drive tonight?”

Never had a backpack before but I figure she's the only one I'll ever want to do it with.

“On your bike?”

“Yeah.”

“I've never done this.”

She's anxious, that's so fuckin’ adorable.

“I'll go slow, Angel, I promise.”

“Okay  :)”

Lookin’ at the clock with a stupid grin on my face, I put the phone down on the kitchen counter. Just a few more hours and I'll be with my girl.

Chapter 14

Rose

As I enter Vox's place, I’m drained, like someone pulled the plug on me. My whole life's been a sham, built on lies. I cried so much when I got home, I don’t have anything left in me anymore. Luckily, my father didn’t say a thing and didn’t notice my puffy face when I got out of the Institute today. Being in his presence disgusts me, like I finally understood the depth of his madness, the lengths he’s ready to go for our leader. It makes me want to vomit all over again to know that I share the roof of a man like him. A man willing to marry his own daughter to a monster. But right now, I just want to shut it all out and a ride with Vox seems like the perfect escape, a brief respite from the chaos of my life.

So I slip away from my house after midnight and walk towards his bay window, like I’m going home after a long day.

“Hi, Angel,” he says, sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his muscular thighs. His gaze turns a softer shade of blue the second it lands on me.

“Hi,” I say silently with a sad smile on my face. Walking towards me in the living room, he laces his fingers with mine.

“Tell me,” he says with his low tone that hits me in the gut every time.

I love that he can read me like a book. That I don’t always have to write or sign, and still, he manages to tell if somethin’s wrong.

Shaking my head, I shrug a shoulder.

What can I even say?

That the men I trusted, the men who were examples for me since I was a child, are all criminals? That their hands are dripping with the blood of six innocent girls and god knows what else? That he was right from the beginning, that everything was a lie and that I was to blind to see it?

“We can ride, and then you tell me when we get there, how does that sound, Angel?” he says in a low and tender tone as if he knew I didn’t have it in me to talk right now.

How can this man always know the right words to soothe me?

“C’mon, come here,” he says, taking my hand towards the kitchen where black clothes are folded on the large countertops.

What are those?

“It’s your first ride, thought you’d like proper gear.” A small smug smile appears on his face, proud of himself for giving me my first ride. I notice his hand is trembling a bit.

Is he okay?

Taking his shaking hand in mine, I lock my eyes with his, interrogating him.

“It’s nothin’, Angel.” He shakes his head.

I furrow my brows, not buying it. He sighs, “I'll tell ya after the ride. Right now, let’s just enjoy this moment and not think about anythin’ else."

Well, this I can understand. I still wonder what’s tormenting him so much, but I keep it to myself. Vox hands me a black pair of pants and a black t-shirt with a skull and wings on it below a thick script that reads “Raven Sons”.

His club.

He’s giving me gear from his club for me to wear. My jaw drops as he hands me the last item, a black leather jacket with his name sewn on the back in white capital letters.

He did all of this for… me.

He took the time to collect the right items in the right size and have a jacket made for me. My heart pounds in my chest as the weight of what he's done sinks in. To anyone, it would just be a few black clothes, but to him, it holds a deeper meaning. The club is his life, a part of him that he’s willing to share with me. And even if I know so little about it, I remember the girl I saw at his barbecue the first time I saw him in his garden. She was wearing one of those jackets too. One with the name of her man sewn onto it.

Vox didn’t give me just any jacket.

This is a claim, a declaration of ownership.

Butterflies start to churn inside my belly, as if being claimed by Vox was the safest place I could ever be.

“Wanted to do this properly,” he says, his voice holding a tint of vulnerability that shakes me to my core. He’s anxious about my reaction, if I’ll accept it or not.

This strong, scary, tattooed biker is vulnerable… for me? My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it’s going to jump out right on the counter.

This isn’t about clothes or the ride, it’s bigger. And I feel like I’m witnessing something monumental as his eyes drift to the leather jacket.

He's asking me to be his in his own unique way.

And even if my world collapsed today, even if I’m bound to marry a murderer, I don’t want to think about it. Not now, not when the man I love  stands before me, asking me to be his woman.

Love. There. I said it.

Pure, raw, unconditional love.

Standing on my tiptoes, I hold onto his forearm and kiss his jaw, letting myself stay there for a few more seconds, intoxicated with his manly scent and the sound of his breathing giving me goosebumps all over my body. His hand rests on my lower back, making me want to press my body against his. I catch Vox's eye, seeing the relief and anticipation swirling in those stormy depths.

My man.

Mine.

“You can change upstairs, sweetheart, I'll wait for ya.” His voice is way too cold for the command he just gave me.

Looks like I’m not the only one shaken to my core.

Giving me the clothes, he watches me as I mount the steps toward his bedroom. His gaze is burning me with intensity. I wish I could hold his - dare to kiss me stare, but I don’t. Because today was too much for me to handle, and I’m not sure my legs will be able to take another life changing moment.

As I enter his bedroom, the large inviting bed reminds me of us this morning and how much I’ve loved falling asleep in his muscular arms. It’s crazy how familiar this feels, to be in his house, to sleep here, shower, eat, watch movies.

It feels like… like… home.

As I carefully slide into the black pants and t-shirt Vox gave to me, I'm struck by how they mold my body perfectly, accentuating my curves in a way that is new and… seductive.

I don’t hate it, I really don’t. I feel like one of those girls I see in the street coming out of fashion stores with their friends.

I feel… like myself.

Noticing my reflection in the foot-length mirror in the corner of the room, I spin and admire how the stretch of the fabric shapes my thighs. This is so daring… I would never dare to step out in public dressed this way…

But you are, Rose, you’re wearing it and you’re loving it.

God, I do.

This is so much more me than my brown nightgown laid on the bed covers. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I see a different version of myself staring back.

It's a new sensation, wearing sexy black clothes that are meant for a woman, not a little innocent lamb like I'm used to be seen as. These are the clothes of a woman who owns her power, and even if it’s still very new, I like it better than my thick brown dresses.

Raising my eyes to my face, I run a hand down my braid. Biting my lips, I swallow a small grin.

No braids for this new version of me.

No restrictions, no rules.

Unleashing my hair, I let it fall on my shoulders, the texture wavy and flowing on me like a cascade of silk.

Turning back from the mirror, I put my dress on my forearm and reach the stairs to get back to Vox. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, my heart pounding in my chest.

Will he like it?

Reaching the last step, I lift my face to him and get my answer right away.

Dear lord.

His eyes light up with something burning inside of them, his gaze feasting on every inch of me like a predator ready to jump on his prey. I swallow hard, the heat building in my body, his blue eyes igniting a fire within me that I’ve been trying to fight since the day I met him.

How can something so wrong feel so right?

Vox's gaze lingers on me, shamelessly tracing the curves of my body with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

God, I'm sure I’m flushed and looking like a hot mess right now.

His jaw clenches and his breathing quickens with each step I take closer to him. The tension hangs heavy in the air, so thick I could cut it with a knife. His eyes are hungry, carrying a primal fire burning bright in his pupils.

I swallow.

Hard.

No, Rose, this is wrong, you’re betrothed.

But my inner voice seems to drift farther away as each day passes, making me wonder when my last thread of obedience will finally snap. Our bodies are drawn to each other, so much so I can feel his delicious minty breath on me. Resting his hand on my hips like a husband would on his wife, he takes my chin with the other and lifts my face until our gazes melt into one another’s.

“Perfect. So fuckin’ perfect,” he says, and I blush even more at the sound of his praise.

He tsks me. “None of that, Angel. You’re breathtakin’, 'bout time you see yourself the way I see ya." His words wash over me, melting away any doubts and insecurities I had.

His words make me stronger. He makes me stronger.

“Thank you,” I say silently while he watches my mouth with intensity.

“We’re almost done,” he says, before taking the leather jacket off the counter and helping me put it on. I slip my arms into the soft sleeves, fighting the urge to nestle my face into the crook of his neck. It fits so well, I wonder how he managed to do that. With his fingers, he fastens the zipper slowly, his gaze mesmerized at how the jacket hugs my chest like a second skin. As if it was tailored just for me.

Well, you know how he did this, Rose…

I know Vox has been stalking me a bit, and as crazy as it sounds, I love knowing that he’s there for me, looking out and making sure I’m as safe as I can be. So I wouldn't be surprised if he took my measurements while I was sleeping.

You’re insane.

No, the old Rose would judge and bash me for thinking this way but not this new version. Cause if Vox taught me one thing, it’s that not everything is as black and white as I’ve been told my entire life. And if sharing this  with him means dancing with his darkness, then I’ll take it.

“Lookin’ damn good, Angel,” he says, admiring the jacket on me. “How d’ya feel?”

I look around for the notebook, but he stops me.

“Try me, I’ve learned a bunch of new signs this week,” he says, wanting me to test him.

I love that he’s trying so hard to learn sign language.

“It’s different, but in a good way. Like I’ve finally met myself,” I sign, hoping he’ll catch the meaning.

With a large grin, he signs back, "I'm glad, Angel.”

He signed angel  with the letters of my name and the sign of wings. Tears are threatening to burst out of me as I watch the man I love who just made up a sign for me.

This is the most thoughtful thing someone has ever done to me.

"You deserve it.” His hands move with a fluidity that surprises me. His smug face says it all. He’s so proud of making my jaw drop on the floor.

How did he learn so fast?  I’m shocked and so grateful at the same time.

"You’re learning ASL so quickly," I sign back fast with excitement, a small smile spreading across my face.

“Got a pretty good motivator, sweetheart,” he says out loud, “but I’m not there yet, still got a long way until I’ll catch everythin’ you say. But I’ll get there,” he states, like it’s not even a question but a natural step to take in our relationship . As if we have a possible future together.

Could we?

How?

God, this is so confusing and beautiful at the same time. My eyes get watery. Vox senses it and he pulls me into his arms. The scent of leather and his cologne surrounds me, comforting and familiar.

"Still up for a drive?” he says, kissing my forehead, his voice low and deep.

I nod because, despite it being past midnight and being exhausted, I want to share this with him.

I’m ready for him to show me his world.

Vox

Breathtaking.

That’s what I thought when she stepped on the last stair, lookin’ like a damn goddess. The black biker clothes hugging her curves in all the right places, making the caveman in me fall on his knees.

I took her outside. I had parked the bike on the opposite side of her house, making sure no one would see her. She’s walking ahead of me, the capital letters of my name dancing on her back.

Damn.

I just gave her a property jacket like the crazy fucker that I am, anxious she wouldn’t take it or wouldn’t understand the meaning of it. But  fuck,  she surprised me once again when her fingers followed the shapes of the sewn letters, watching it like I had gave her the fuckin’ moon. She held my gaze long enough so that I knew she accepted it.

That she wouldn’t just wear it like any garment. She gave me a  I’m your woman now  look, and fuck, it almost gave me a heart attack.

Haven’t told her where we’re heading yet, I wanna surprise her. Never shared my bike with a woman, never felt like it. But with her, it’s so fuckin’ different. This is it, her first ride with me, and I want it to be perfect. I reach for the helmet I bought especially for her.

"Here," I say, gently placing it on her head and fastening the straps securely. “I won’t go too fast cause’ it’s your first,” I say, my voice softening a bit. “Just hold on to me and tap twice on my helmet if you want to show me somethin’.”

She nods with the helmet on her, making her look even more tiny than she already is.

T his small, blonde, smart, gorgeous woman will be the end of me.

Grabbing her by the sides of her waist, I lift her onto the seat, making sure she’s comfortable and protected by her gears.

Precious backpack I got here.

I straddle the beast in front of her and start the engine, the rumble of the bike filling the air. Rose's grip tightens on my waist as we pull out onto the open road, the wind whipping through her hair escaping the helmet as we pick up speed, driving away from our neighborhood.

As we tear through the night, my angel clings to me like her life depends on it.

Fuckin’ cute .

Her body's warm against mine, her grip tight as we navigate the streets of Knoxville. I catch whiffs of vanilla blending with the cool night air. With every twist and turn, I can feel her hold tightenin’ on my abs, giving me fuckin’ goosebumps everywhere, her body pressing against mine in perfect sync with the bike's moves.

When we hit that lookout spot up the mountain I wanted to bring her to, I help her to get off the bike, her hands lingering on my shoulders.

I like when she touches me. Never cared bout’ it with any women before, but with her, it’s addictive.

I remove her helmet, and I can't help but hold her gaze a moment longer than necessary, my eyes lingering on her full lips that are begging to be kissed. I can tell when she parts them that she's feelin' it, too. But she’s still holding back.

The city's spread out before us, a sea of endless lights. Thought she’d like it there. Pretty and shit.

“Did ya like it?” I motion to the bike with my chin as we sit on the ground of the hill, watchin’ over the city side by side.

“Yes,” she says silently, nodding with a tiny smile on her face.

“There she is,” I say, finally seeing her relax. “Fuckin’ wanted to put a smile on your face since ya got home .”

Home.

Fuck.

I said it like it’s ours.

Fuck, Vox, you’re way ahead of yourself.

If she caught me slipping, she acts like she hadn’t heard anythin’. Taking out the notebook and the pen I usually keep on the kitchen countertop for her, I hand them to her. Figured she could use it here. Her eyes widen as she takes them, her lower lips trembling slightly. Turnin’ her gaze back to the city lights, she whispers.

“Beautiful.” The syllables dance on her lips, making me able to read her. I’m getting better at it each day.

“Yeah, beautiful,” I say back, keeping my eyes on her the whole time.

Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I take out a bag of popcorn from my backpack and hand it to her with a grin on my face. It’s the same brand from last time since she liked it so much.

Shaking her head, she grins and licks her lips before taking a piece into her mouth. The motion of her tongue on her lips sends a rush of heat through me.

Damn, she doesn’t even realize what she does to me.

“Wanna talk about why your eyes were red when you got out of the building today?” I ask, watching the view, giving her space to answer.

She sighs and starts to write. I expect her to turn the piece of paper toward me after a few secs, but she keeps on going, as if the words were flowing out of her. After a few minutes and four whole-ass full pages she hands it to me, her smile faltering.

I swallow the popcorn and furrow my brows while I start to read.

Holy fuck.

She wrote so fuckin’ much, from her doubts since I told her about her leader buying guns from us, to her parents forcing her to marry, to her “Shepherd” asking her for a fucking kiss, to her snooping into his office today and finding a proof of his involvement and her father’s in the murder of six girls, to her realisation that her whole community has been a lie from the beginning. And she fuckin’ got sick afterward after discovering all this shit and I wasn’t even there for her!

Damn it.

I bite my fist.

“Fuck, Angel, I take you out on a drive like it’s a fuckin’ normal day when you’ve been through all this shit.” I fist the paper and let it fall on the ground. She shakes her head like it’s no big deal but the tears on her cheeks say otherwise.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I say. Without even waiting for her to move, I grab her hips and make her straddle my laps, facing my chest, letting her head fall on my shoulder, ignoring the heat from her thighs on mine.

“That’s too fuckin’ much to feel for one person,” I say, making circular motions with my hand on her back. Never done this before but I follow my gut. She doesn’t resist, her body melting into mine as if she belongs there, and fuck, if that ain’t the most right thing in this goddamn world, then I don’t know shit about anythin’ anymore. I press a soft kiss to her hair, inhaling her scent.

We stay like this for a while, until I pull her face out of my neck, locking her blue eyes with mine.

“Your…” she coughs then winces, “…turn,” she manages to whisper, making me so fuckin’ damn proud of her for still tryin’ to talk even though she has to fight for each word to get out. Don’t want to tell her to stop doin’ it, not right now, not when she’s carrying so much on her shoulders and need support more than my obsession to protect her.

“Don’t know how to tell ya, Angel,” I say, trying to hold the sadness from my voice.

“It’s that bad?” she signs, and I get it. I nod. “Yeah, that bad.”

Shaking her head, she closes her eyes as if she was making a wish for somethin’ to not happen.

My girl. Always so fuckin’ adorable .

“Ares, my prez, wants me to head to Seattle on the 30th. We… damn it, I shouldn’t tell ya’ but we’re takin’ over another gang. It’s gonna be bloody and violent as hell, but we’ll get through it. I just… fuck.”

Can’t find the words, can’t tell her for the first time in my life I want to defy my prez. Can’t even admit it myself that I’d rather take a risk on us than expand the club territory like I’ve always wanted to do.

The club has been my number one priority since I lost my family. The guys became my brothers, guys I would take a bullet for without a single blink. Thought it would be enough, that with them, booze, occasional one-night stands and my bike, I had all the cards in hand to go on with my life.

And I had, until I met her, and then my world fell off its axis. Now I just can’t ignore how important she has become for me. Rose is sharp and brave, she’ll want to discover the world once I help her escape, and she won’t want anythin’ to do with me.

I’m fuckin’ sure of it.

Despite dreaming like a fool of some future together, truth is, she’ll most likely want to figure things out by herself, and I can’t fuckin’ blame her for it. I’ll support her no matter what. All I have is now, cause people I love tend to fuckin’ disappear from my life and I know it will happen again, cause I just ain’t lucky at this thing called life.

“Seattle? On the other side of the country?” she writes quickly, tappin’ the pen on the paper, her eyes wide and panicked.

“You’re leaving.” She keeps on writing, “What did I do?”

“Nothin’, Angel, you’re perfect. I’m the VP of the club, ya know. And I gotta do what I gotta do.” That’s it, I’m gonna put on a brave fuckin’ face and not admit how fuckin’ dead I am inside. Cause no good can come out of it, I’m just a killer and she’s… fuck, she’s everything and more and she deserve better than the life I’ve got to offer her.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Her blue eyes are in full panic mode.

“Orders, sweetheart. At the end of the day, Ares is my prez and I owe it to him.”

“I thought…” Her lower lip trembles.

“Rose, I ain’t got anythin’ to offer you. I told ya before, I’m not a good man.”

I’m a fuckin’ coward, trying to protect you from my darkness by pushing you away.

“What does it have to do with anything? Since the moment I met you, you cared for me and helped me, and now you’re just leaving like it meant nothing?”

She’s so fuckin’ right.

Her words sink into me like a dagger to the gut. I wanna tell her so fuckin’ bad that she’s everything to me. She matters, she’s the one I want. But telling her that won’t do any good for her. Whether I’m there or not on Sunday, I’ll make sure someone will get her out of there, and then she’ll have the freedom she wants but is afraid to admit. She won’t need me, I’ll keep an eye on her from afar, letting her have a chance at starting fresh.

Putting a strand of her hair behind her ear, I sense her body pulling away from me.

Ouch. But I can’t blame her.

“I want ya to be free, Angel, to go see the world without chains and fucked up ideas in your head,” I state, cause it is true; that’s what I truly want for her, even if the price to pay is to watch her from afar.

“What I do everyday for the club, it’s… I don’t want ya close from this shit.” Cause protectin’ her is all I care about, from her cult, from her parents, and even from me. I know I wouldn’t want to hide things from her if we were… well,  more . And I know she wouldn’t accept what I do, and she’d be right to.

She’s been taught about right and wrong since she was a kid, why would she accept a twisted fucker like me to share her life?

“I know you’re fuckin’ strong and you’ll figure out a way to leave those people in the past and start fresh, and it can’t happened if I’m there with ya. I live in a dark world, Angel, and I’m not sure I'll survive ya pushin’ me away once you’ll know what I do.” She takes another sheet of paper, scribbling faster than I ever saw her do before.

“My world is as dark as yours, Vox. Just please, tell me what’s eating you up so much that you want to run away from me to the other side of the country!” Her brows furrow.

“It’s not, fuck, Angel, it’s an order from Ares, it isn’t a choice.”

“We all have choices. I took the risk to come here with you tonight and you chose to leave me. You don’t think I can handle your life, you don’t trust me enough.” Her blue pools get watery.

Am I not trustin’ her enough or am I too afraid the best thing I’ll ever get to have is gonna slip from my fingers?

“Don’t, Angel,” I say, sensing her body pulling away from mine.

“Take me back.” She pushes her hands on the ground to help her stand up.

“Angel, no, it’s not–” And fuck, what I was afraid of is hittin’ me back in the face. All I wanted was to free her from her life, but in the fuckin’ process, or maybe since day one, cause I acted like a fuckin’ asshole afraid of my feelings, I fell for her hard and now I’m just the bastard makin’ her cry when all I wanted in the first place was to protect her.

That’s it, Vox, wake the fuck up.

She’s it.

Don’t fuckin’ blow this off cause of some fuckin’ trauma from your past.

The next words burst out of me, catchin’ me off guard and yet they sound too fuckin’ good to stop them. “Come with me.”

“To Seattle?” she writes.

“Yeah.”

This could work, us, far away from here. She’d get a fresh start.

“So one minute you’re leaving me and now you want me to come with you?” she writes.

I swallow hard like the jackass I am.

“It’s not like that, Angel.”

I was afraid to break my walls until her, but she changed everythin’.

“I thought we were something, Vox, I thought there was an  us .”

A tear falls on her cheek. She signs and for the first time, I wish I didn’t get what she told me.

“There is, Rose. Fuck, Angel, don’t do this.” My heart pumps harder than ever.

She walks away and I follow her, while the floor disappears under me, losing all hope.

Have I destroyed the only good thing that ever came in my life just because I was too fuckin’ slow to realise I loved her? I fuckin’ hate myself.

“Rose,” I say, pleading then grabbing her wrist but she pushes me away. I never faced this kind of situation, and I don’t know how to fuckin’ act.

I’d never had to… fight for someone.

“Let me go,” she mouths, spelling it clearly to make it clear.

“I can’t, Angel, you’re… you’re.”

But I can’t, the words I’m afraid to say stay stuck in my throat, unable to come out.

You’re my person  is what I should say, but instead she walks back to the bike. Memories of my family dying in the car accident flash before my eyes. My chest aches from the reminder of their blooded faces. The people I cared about the most. And just like that, they were erased from this earth.

So repair your fuckin’ mistake now before you lose another one of them, a voice yells in my head.

And because I ain’t got nothin’ to lose anymore, cause I just got the electrical shock I needed to understand that losing her isn’t a fuckin’ option, I get closer, lockin’ my eyes with hers, stopping myself from grabbing her hips, our bodies drawn to each other like magnets.

“I ain’t good at words and shit, Rose,” I say, calling her by her name to shake her.

“But I’m done with this bullshit.” I grab the side of her throat, making my point.

“You’re mine, Angel, you’ve being mine since you’ve watch me from your window that day, you were mine when I tucked you in your bed after you got fuckin’ drowned, you were mine when we danced in my living room, and even if I’ve been dying like a fuckin’ starved man for you, Rose, I’ve being holdin’ back cause I know how much it means to ya and I’m willin’ to wait until you’re ready for us.”

Her pulse pounds in my palm, the pace quickening with every second.

“So I won’t give up cause of some fucked up misunderstandin’ or cause I’ve been too fuckin’ slow to catch up on my feelin’s for ya.” My voice is rough and harsh, hoping to get a reaction out of her.

I keep going, cause I ain’t fuckin’ done here.

She wanted me, she got it.

Dark, twisted, broken me.

All of it.

“I’m gonna fight for ya, Rose, even if that’s the last thing I do. I tried to push you away but, fuck, I just don’t want this life without ya, Angel. So run, hide, walk away, it won’t work. I’ll chase you until there’s not a corner of this earth that hasn’t been searched. No matter where you are, I will always find you, cause you're as much mine as I’m yours.”

And because there’s nothing more to say that could be enough to express what our bodies have been craving us to do for weeks, I rest my hand on her hip, pulling her close enough so that our noses touch, begging silently for her to let me in.

Won’t take what’s not freely given.

I wait for her while my heart pounds in my chest, so fuckin’ loud I swear I can hear it.

As her lips hesitantly brush against mine, I suck in a sharp breath, her name escaping me in a low growl, “Rose,” and I crash my lips on hers, like a starved man finding sustenance at last. She's taken aback at first, but quickly matches my intensity and soon gives me back as good as she gets.

It's as if the floodgates have finally been opened, our bodies fed up of holding back, her lips meltin’ against mine like they were fuckin’ meant to.

“Mine,” I growl.

It isn’t sweet or tender. It’s messy, raw and so fuckin’ consumin’. Her hands explore beneath my shirt, tracing the lines of my abs with a boldness I hadn’t seen comin’. I pull her closer, one hand firm on her nape, the other possessively gripping her lower back against me. Every touch, every lick of her tongue against mine makes me want her even more. I can tell she’s breathless, but she keeps going, kissin’ me like I’m her oxygen, her reason to live.

This ain't no fairytale kiss, it's carnal and fuckin’ breathtakin’.

Just like her.

Thought I knew what hunger was before, turns out, I’m discoverin’ it right now, after twenty-eight years on this earth. This little innocent woman just broke the walls of my dark heart, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it.

Breakin’ our kiss before this gets out of hand, I raise her chin, her blue eyes staring at mine. She gives me a small shy smile, her eyes drifting back to my lips.

Fuck, she’s perfect.

“Wanted to do this for a while, Angel,” I say, amazed at what just happened, cupping her cheek. She chuckles silently, making me fall for her even more.

Yeah, my girl’s laugh is definitely my favorite sound in the world.

I didn’t expect this evening to turn out like that, but at least it ends up with her in my arms and it’s all that fuckin’ matters.

“Alright, let’s go home,  sweetheart,” I whisper, kissin’ her temple.

It’s already late. I don’t want her to be exhausted tomorrow. We gotta get her back home  and then I'll go to the club.

There’s gotta be somethin’ that could make Ares change his mind.

Anything.

It’s about time I leave the past behind me.

Chapter 15

Rose

The ride back is faster than I wished for, my mind still dreaming about our kiss, my body warm with his between my thighs. The ride, his words, our kiss… all of it was just perfect.

My first kiss.

He parks the bike at the opposite side of my house, concealing us in the darkness. It must be around midnight, but I'm not scared to be seen, I know my parents are fully asleep.

I love the fact that he talked about his home as if it was mine too.

He gets down, then grabs my ribs and lift me off the bike like a feather. Removing my helmet, he brushes my lips with his thumb.

“You sleep in my bed tonight, Angel,” he says, his low tone hitting me right in my belly. Sleeping in his arms does sound appealing, but I notice he doesn't remove his helmet.

Raising a brow, I sign, “You're not coming?” and I love that he understands what I just told him.

“Gotta take care of somethin’ for us  tonight. I'll try to be back before you wake up.” Disappointed, I pout my lips. “I promise, Angel, I'll be back before you know it.”

Removing his helmet, he takes my hand and walks with me to the front door, then to the bedroom, helping me to remove my jacket–not that it is necessary but I don’t object.

I wish he would stay here with me.

“Here, you can sleep in this.” He hands me a large black t-shirt. Silly me inhales it in reflex to smell his leather scent and he catches me doing it with an intrigued smile. I shake my head, embarrassed, my cheeks blushing. Standing in front of me, he stays still, drinking me up from head to toes.

Could I? I suddenly feel way too shy to change in front of him…

Sensing my nervousness, he turns his back on me, facing the door, his hands in his back like a soldier.

“Change. I want to tuck you in before I go.” His voice is low and harsh, as if the words are painful to force out.

God, even now he manages to respect my pace and let me have the space I need.

I pull my t-shirt over my head, revealing a simple white cotton bra beneath. I wished I was wearing something more feminine, like those I've seen in window shops, but I had to sew mine, so it's just plain white triangles. I take the large black shirt he gave me and put it on, the hem reaching my upper-thigh.

Removing my jeans, I notice his hands are red, as if he's clenching them hard. I could slip under the covers now, hiding my legs from view, but I want to give him something I've never given anyone else.

Something for his eyes only.

I know he stepped out of his comfort zone when he told me I was his, so I want to show him I can do it too. I roll up the hem of the shirt to my belly button, then tie the fabric on the side of my hips, transforming it into a short top above my white cotton underwear.

Stepping towards him, I lift my index to his shoulder to tell him that I’m ready.

“Can I turn?” he says in a groan. “Just double tap for yes, one for no.”

I feel stupid with my simple underwear, how is this even seductive? I wish I had lacy things or god knows what men like him want.

I tap his shoulder twice.

Slowly, as if he was trying to stay as still as possible, he turns his body towards mine, his chest heaving loudly, his eyes drinking my skin like a parched man finding water.

Is it working? Does he like it?

I’m standing in front of my dark knight in nothing but my white cotton panties, his t-shirt and my wild blonde hair falling on my chest. I bite my lips, unsure of what to do next.

I should go to bed, that was a dumb move. Congratulations, Rose, now he’s going to think you’re easy.

“You trying to kill me, Angel?” he says, clenching his jaw, taking me off guard. His biker way of talking making my knees weak and my mouth dry.

Thank god.

I swallow a smile, blushing so much I know by now I look like a tomato. Stepping closer, he carefully cups my face with his large, tattooed hand, his breathing quickening.

“You're so beautiful,” he says, kissing me tenderly, but I want so much more so I step closer to him, searching for his touch. Disappointment hits me when he steps back, both of us out of breath.

“If I touch you, Rose,” his eyes burn into mine, “I'll lose my mind, and, fuck, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay in control like you’re used to.” His voice is strained, like he’s in physical pain from holding himself back.

Oh.

Taking the corner of the cover of the bed, he lifts it and tilts his head. “C’mon, Angel, get in.”

I slide into his bed while he tucks me in as if I was the most precious thing he ever had in his life.

“Come back soon,” I sign to him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he signs back, taking my breath away once more before kissing my forehead and walking to the stairs.

I sigh and turn to the side, loving the feeling of the soft fabric of his t-shirt on me. His room is so familiar to me now. The way his bedside table is tidy with a few books and a water bottle. The warmth of the small lamp in the corner of the room bathes me in an orange cocoon.

I'm glad he wanted me to stay here tonight. Since I discovered the Elders’ Vow today, I find it unbearable to be in the presence of my parents or any member of my community. It all makes me sick, looking at them playing their part like actors on a set. After spilling my guts out in the girls’ bathroom today, I felt numb, as if I had lost all hope and sense of safety, which was already holding on by a thread ever since the accident.

The accident.

No, don't go there, Rose .

I swallow hard, pushing away the flames dancing in my memories.

I can’t go there.

Not again. I don’t have enough strength to face it yet. And maybe I never will.

I exhale, snuggling under the cover, fighting my brain and trying to focus on the first ride Vox gave me tonight. The warmth of his body against mine, the speed, the wind blowing in my ears, making the outside world dull into a white noise.

It was magical, like I had been given a break from the chaos of my life.

There’s still so much I don’t know about Vox, about what he really does for the club, about his past, and so many other things. But I’m running out of time here, and at the end of the month, I won’t be able to drive in the night with him anymore or watch movies and eat his mac and cheese like we used to.

It hurts. It hurts so much to even think about living without him.

The wedding seemed so far away when it was announced and yet it's closer than ever now. I’ve been thinking all day about different scenarios on how to get out of this situation, but each time I kept thinking about my friends, my parents, and how the outside world was a scary place.

Perhaps if I was watching a movie about my life, I would just tell the main character to grab a bag and escape during the night, take a bus to another city and start from scratch.

But it isn’t that simple.

As much as I want to leave the Faithful Lambs, I can’t ignore the fact that I was born and raised in it.

That’s all I’ve ever known.

Everything I’ve been taught, the right and the wrong, where my loyalty and duty must lie, everything has been clear for so many years, and now… now it’s all crumbling apart and I don’t know how to get out of it.

Would I survive in the outside world all by myself?

Would people treat me like an outcast?

I promised myself that I would escape before the wedding, even prepared a note for my mother that I would put on the kitchen table for her, but I don’t know if I’ll find the courage to do it.

Leaving is a mistake, Rose. Staying will be hard, but escaping into the unknown is far more dangerous.

Shaking my head, I try to inhale and exhale many times to calm myself. The truth is, for so many years, before losing my voice, I never had to ask myself what I wanted from life.

It was all so simple.

My mom was a loyal and submissive wife to my father, and I was destined to become like her.

But the accident changed everything, making me wonder about the inconsistencies of my world, making me see what I used to look at without acknowledging. And when Vox burst into my life, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Something had been wrong from the beginning and now I know.

Now I see.

Closing my eyes, I try to imagine myself in the outside world, where I would land and what I would do if I had the chance too.

Instinctively my mind drifts to a small flower shop. I could work there and learn about flower arrangement. It could be nice, being surrounded by plants all day.

I may not know the skills required for a desk job, but gardening? That I know well.

College seems too scary for me. At least for now. The idea of being around people aware of the latest trends and able to use computers is literally stressing me out. I’m not confident enough, yet, to think of myself being around “normal” young people.

I mean, I’ve been wearing the same brown dress for years and don’t even know what people like to do during their days off to have fun. I wasn’t given this chance for a normal life, and I refuse to be treated like a freak.

If I go to the outside world, I will have to learn everything again, and being mute is already enough of a difference for me to navigate new situations.

So flower shop it is.

Imagining playing with the different flowers and creating arrangements for ceremonies and such actually makes me smile.

Then, at the end of the day, perhaps I could get a waffle in some cute café I saw in town and maybe… maybe Vox could join me? We would talk about our day and then go… home.

It wouldn’t need to be anything fancy, just a simple flat or a small house that I would take care of. And I could perhaps take online classes at home, work on assignments on the counter of the kitchen while he cooks for us. And maybe… maybe then we would dance or just swing a little in our living room, just happy with what life gave us before falling asleep in each other's arms. I can almost hear the jazz music that would be playing in the background.

I sigh.

How can all of this feel so right yet impossible to achieve?

I thought it would be hard to imagine, but no… it is actually the easiest thing to picture in my mind. Where I can’t even picture a life with the Shepherd, one with Vox seems like it is meant to be.

But how? How will I escape my community? Will Vox stay with me or move to the other side of the country? Would he get in trouble because of it?

I gasp at the thought. I could never do anything that would involve hurting him in any way.

Fisting the sheet closer to me, I try to picture him to calm myself.

It will all be okay. I will figure this out.

It will all be okay.

Vox

As I drive in the night on the back of my black Harley, I can’t put away the image of my angel sleepin’ in my house, in my bed, with my t-shirt on.

Damn it, though I would have a heart attack from controllin’ my body to stay still and leave a chaste kiss on her forehead like a good man would do.

But I’m not a good man, and from our talk tonight, Rose isn’t afraid to embrace my darkness either. She says so, but I doubt she envisioned how far my madness can go. Either way, I’m not lettin’ her go now. Hence why I need to figure things out with Ares, cause there’s no fuckin’ way I’m leavin’ her here.

I park outside the club, noddin’ at Ash, smokin’ in front of the door. I enter with loud steps, headin’ directly to his office but instead I find him in the armory where we keep all our guns, rifles and explosives.

Ares practically lives at the club, no wonder he’s here. I haven't taken off my cut yet, and I step inside the dim room with walls covered in guns. Ares is polishin’ a Sig Sauer P226 like a jeweler would his gem.

“Hey,” I say, my voice harder than usual.

He doesn’t look at me but replies, “You did the inventory last week, right?”

“Of course, every Friday, everything is in order,” I answer, but I know he wants to count them again himself. Before a big event like a takeover, the control freak in him always bursts out.

“Gotta talk to ya.” The silence around us weighs heavier all of the sudden.

“I know. Otherwise, why would you be here in the middle of the night?” His voice is calm but that’s not how I like him to be. Ares is a wild card, naturally unhinged and point blank to the people he cares about. He only used his mind games on his enemies, and right now, he’s playing with me.

“Can’t do the take-over Sunday,” I state, knowin’ I’m crossin’ a fuckin’ line.

“Here we go again with the Mormon chick?” he asks, shakin’ his head slowly.

“Watch your mouth, Ares.” He locks his eyes with mine, tiltin’ his head.

“Keep your tone down, Vox, remember who you’re talking to,” he says, carefully taking a Glock 19 in his hand, weighin’ it.

“Ya know I live and breathe for the club.”

“And now you won’t? Cause of some girl, you’re turnin’ your back on your brothers? After I got ya out of the street, after I gave ya this position?” His voice is still too calm. I know he’s pissed but I’d rather have him yellin’ than cold like this.

“I’m not turnin’ my back on you, I never will. You’d have to kill me for it to happen.” My last sentence gives him a slight shiver, but he doesn’t let it sink in and stays as cold as ice.

“Then spell it out, Vox, cause I ain’t got time for this shit.”

That’s better.

“I’m gonna kill Alexander Skarn and take her with me to Seattle,” I state, cause it just got so fuckin’ clear in my head now.

“Nah.” He puts the Glock down on the shelf. “Remember what I told ya where I got ya from the streets thirteen years ago?”

I swallow. Yeah, I remember.

The rules he lives by, the one he kept followin’ for all these years.

Business before women.

“See, you remember. You can’t get all dreamy and shit with this girl on your mind when I need you sharp for the take-over and all the bullshit comin’ at us in the next months. Ya get me?”

He won’t change his mind. He thinks Rose is just another woman I’m gonna forget when the sun rises.

But she’s not like that.

She’s mine .

“Ares, it’s not like–”

“Shut the fuck up and listen. You got your fun, now I want your ass in Seattle on the 30th. You get there, or I’m gonna have a nice little chat with our friend Skarn. Shit, I should say the Shepherd, right?” he says with a wicked grin. “You forget about her, or I’ll tell him that you’ve been ruinin’ his pure little fiancée and I bet she’ll get a fuckin’ whippin’ from it.”

I clench my jaw, stepping forward ready to punch him in the face, but I stop the moment I remember who’s in front of me, my fist shakin’ in the air.

He whistles, and then smiles. “See, I knew we could figure out a way to make this work.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”Liquid rage pumps under my skin.

“Think I won’t? Try me, brother .” He punches my chest to make me step back. “It’s up to ya now. Make the right choice or he’ll hurt her.”

Can feel the fuckin’ floor disappear under my boots.

“The fuck ya know about him?” Anger boils in me at the thought of that fuckin’ psycho touchin’ my Rose.

“I know everythin’ that goes on in this club.”

“Fuck. You wouldn’t.” I shake my head.

“Watch me, Vox, I don’t want to hurt this girl, honestly, and I know you’ll do the right thing. You stop this nonsense and she’s safe.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder like a buddy giving me advice.

“Don’t do this.” I never thought I’d beg him one day, but for her, I don’t give a shit.

“You'll learn, Vox, mixin’ women and business ain’t good for the club.”

“Don't touch her, don't hurt her, just don't fuckin’-” I fist my hand to prevent it from punching him.

“You have my word, brother, stay focus on the club and nothin' will happen to her,” he says, softening his gaze.

How can this man, my mentor, be so wrong about this? How can he be so damn stubborn to not see how my situation is so fuckin’ different from what he went through?

“You're takin’ out your past on me. Just cause’ shit went wrong with Iris doesn't mean it'll be the same for–”

“Don't FUCKIN' say her name,” he roars at the mention of his ex who betrayed him. Made him fall for her only to discover in the end she was sent from another gang to destroy our club from within. He never got over the betrayal. I wonder how he’ll manage O’brian’s daughter after this.

“I’m done with this shit.” He steps towards the door, pinchin’ the bridge of his nose. Right before steppin’ out of the door frame, he tilts his head on the side.

“And Vox? I’m gonna make this easier for ya. You’ll stay in the basement with Carter until the take-over, no phone, no outside contact.”

What the fuck? How am I supposed to talk to Rose if I can’t get out of here?

I clench my fist, my knuckles turnin’ white from the anger boilin’ in me.

Rose is gonna freak out if I don’t give her any sign until the end of the month.

His frame turns towards me, lifting his palm.

What? Now?

“Give me a sec.”

“You got one minute.”

One minute is too fuckin’ short to tell her all I gotta say.

I write fast, then give the phone to Ares like a fuckin’ soldier to his officer. He pats my shoulder and heads towards the hall. And all I can do is picture my girl in my arms knowin’ how many days we’re gonna be apart.

I run my fingers through my hair.

I’ll be there, Angel, I’ll find a way.

Chapter 16

Rose

Vox never came back. Not during the night when I woke up in his empty room, and not when the sun rose and I had to go back to my house.

It’s been three weeks now and my heart is as broken as a shattered mirror. The wedding is gettin’ closer, way too close, keepin’ me up at night with nightmares.

All I have left is a text.

That’s all I’ve got to hold on to, a last thread of hope.

Even if this thread is gettin’ thinner as the days pass.

You have to trust him, Rose.

When I woke up alone in his bed that day, I first thought he was still working. But then I noticed a text on my phone and my world broke into a million pieces.

Vox : Won’t be there for a few weeks. I’ll come find you. Trust me. Don’t give up on us.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I thought we would talk and figure out a way to make… everything better. That he would have come back with good news, that his president would have listened to him and that we would have planned an escape for me but… but maybe he doesn’t want that.

Maybe he just wanted to open my eyes and let me go by myself.

Maybe he doesn’t want me as much as I want him.

And here I was, so stupid of me, dreaming about flower shops and waffles, thinking we had a shot at something, at a future together.

Trust him, Rose, he told you to not give up on him.

Just hold on.

But how can I keep holding on when each second brings me closer to be raped by an old man?

It’s been days, and the wedding is about to arrive without any signs of Vox.

Please, I need a sign, anything telling me he’s coming.

A sign telling me that he loves me and that we'll be alright.

My parents are barely in the house, getting the Chapel ready for the occasion with ribbons and flowers. My father gave me a note of the words I'll have to know by heart in two days.

How nice of him to give it to me, especially when I'm mute.

Anyway, he came to me at breakfast, wearing his usual scowl. He didn’t even bother talking to me, not that he can’t. I’m not deaf. He just gave me a piece of paper with the schedule of the ceremony.

I shivered when I read it, between the holy bath  and the marital claim,  I don’t know which one is the worst.

I don’t want to do those rituals, none of them.

Not the one where I get drowned under water and choke to death, and not the other where I'll have to spread my legs for this monster in front of all the Elders of the community, witnessing the marriage being consummated. Even if a part of me is still willing to accept this charade, another part, a much bigger part, knows that I’m going to fight this with every fiber of my being.

The dead body of Savannah flashes in front of my eyes.

I won’t be another dead girl on the list.

Vox won’t come. Let’s face it, it’s been weeks without any sign of him.

Nobody’s coming. I’ll have to save myself from this.

I know there will be an opportunity for me to escape right after the holy bath when everyone will congratulate the Shepherd. That will be my time to quietly disappear into one of the backdoors and run into the woods as far as possible until I'll no longer hear them looking for me.

Then I’ll run toward a bus stop. I know there's one about fifteen kilometers behind the forest. It should take two hours tops if I run fast enough in the forest. I don't know where the bus will take me, but my goal is to get as far away as possible until I know what to do next.

I've memorized Vox’s number because I won't be wearing anything under the wedding dress my mother made for me. I’ll find a way to call him once I’m safe and I’m sure he’ll have a reasonable explanation for his absence.

Trust him, don’t give up on him.

I keep repeating these words, stopping me from thinking he abandoned me.

He would never.

The Vox I know cares for me. He would never let me get hurt.

I need to trust him.

Just focus on your plan, Rose.

I've taken just enough money from my mother's wallet for one bus ticket.

I won't get another chance.

The Shepherd will never be my husband, of that I'm sure. What started like a spark of rebellion in me months ago spread into a wildfire, taking everything in its way.

I can't ignore the wrongs of my community anymore, the lies, the deceptions, the murders. It all has to stop. I know my friends and my parents will try to find me, but I’ll hide so well they'll never get to me. I won’t miss my parents, that’s for sure. But I will miss Greta and Jezebel. Even now, watching our world from afar, I still love them. But I know they don’t understand me anymore.

I’ll try to reach them once I’m safe, and maybe, maybe we’ll find our way back to each other.

All I need to focus on right now is my fight to freedom. And if everything goes to plan, I will be free to live my life in six days, even if it costs me losing everything and everyone I've ever known in the process.

But I can't do it differently.

I won’t let this man take from me what I only want to give to Vox. He is the only one I could ever envision a future with, the only one I know would respect my opinion and make decisions for me in my best interest. The only one who truly ever cared. And despite his silence, I keep faith that one day we’ll find each other again, that he must have a good reason for his silence.

Perhaps I’m lying to myself, but I need it. I need to hope, otherwise I'll have nothing left to fight for.

So I will fight this, with every fiber of my being.

For me, for my freedom.

For us .

Vox

Three fuckin’ weeks since I saw my girl and I’m fuckin’ dying in here.

Ares assigned me to work with Carter on a lot of guys we managed to capture from the Steelhawks MC club. He wants us to weaken their army before the takeover, kidnapping as many men as we can find to spread fear into them. I’ve only been out of the basement to sleep in my office for two or three hours at night.

Carter’s keeping a close eye on me.

I know I’m locked up here as much as the guys we’re torturing.

So I torture all day and it’s becomin’ a fuckin’ slaughter house in here.

Fucked up way to keep me here, but Ares doesn’t want me out of the building until Sunday. So I take out my anger and frustration on the piece of shit I’ve been given to interrogate in the basement, making Carter almost seem like a saint compared to me. I’ve cut and skinned more men recently than I did in the last few years. And I haven’t had enough, the beast in me won’t be satisfied until I can get out and find my girl.

The worst part is I have no idea if she still trusts me to come get her.

She must think I played with her, and now she must be fuckin’ scared and hopeless, thinkin’ I abandon her.

I thought about bribing a prospect to get to her, but I couldn’t take the risk of Ares findin’ out and having a talk with Skarn. Won’t risk gettin’ her hurt.

So I made a plan. A plan where I can kill Skarn and take my angel with me at the same moment. It’s risky, each second will matter to save her life, but that’s all I have to get to her without the threat of Skarn above her.

I’ll come get her on her wedding day, and I’ll kill any men standing in my way to get to her.

I’m fuckin’ exhausted, my body drained mentally and physically from the lack of sleep and the amount of torture sessions I’ve given. Ares knows it, that’s his way of keeping me here, dull and too exhausted to try to escape.

He knows it each time he comes downstairs, resting his hand on my shoulder.

“Good job, Vox, good fuckin’ job,” he says, before patting my arm like a fuckin’ dog “You’re doing great, keep it up.” And then he leaves again, leaving me alone with Carter and ten blindfolded guys on their knees, some of them even pissing themselves from fear.

All I want is to ride at night and watch her sleep, but even that I can’t do. And without my phone, I can’t even watch her through the camera I’ve put in her room.

I’m like an addict searchin’ for his next fix, my hands shaking from frustration each time I think of my angel. I need her to trust me on this and not give up. I’ll be there, but she has to stay strong and not give up on me, on us.

The only thing I got time to do before heading into the basement three weeks ago was call my banker to set up an account in her name with enough dough to pay for college if she needs it, or for whatever she wants to try.

I never want her to bother about that kind of thing.

I’ll take care of it, whether I’m still alive or not, whether I manage to get out of here and save her.

I've given the envelope to Ash with all the information in it, including bank codes and my will, where I've set her as the beneficiary of all my assets. I grew up without money but now I am flooded with it, and I want her to achieve anythin’ she wants. She'll get the money from my house and from four other flats I own in the city.

She'll have enough to start fresh.

I didn't write anything on the envelope when I gave it to the kid, just told him that in case something happens to me, he would have to find her and give it to her. Somehow, he didn't ask for more, maybe he sensed it was too serious to joke on, so he took it, and I know I can trust him to not open it if it's not necessary. He's a good kid.

This was all I was able to do before working  with Carter at the warehouse. I’m so fuckin’ tired I can hear a pounding in my head. But there's still a lot of guys to finish before dawn so I'll get back to work.

It's been a strange few weeks for Carter. He's usually doin’ his thing, focusing on his victims like an artist at his canvas, but this time I sense his gaze on me much more often than it should be. He’s watching me, expecting me to flee at any moment.

Ares told him to never let me leave the club. Hence why I’m gonna need a plan to get the fuck out of here on Sunday morning, knowing the whole club will be on my back.

But it’s either this or my angel gets given to a fuckin psycho and I won’t have it.

Better have a bullet in my skull than know she is stuck in a miserable life with no future.

I fuckin’ hate that I have to lie to my brothers, but I keep hopin’ they’ll understand once it’s done. The price to pay for disobeyin’ a prez is usually death; there’s no way around it in the dark world I’m livin’ in.

I’ll get her out, even if it costs me my life. At least I'll die knowing I’ve protected my angel.

Cleanin’ my bloody hands in the sink of the basement with one guy still tryin’ to fight his incoming death, hung by the wrists at the ceiling, I turn my head to face him.

Carter cut his throat a minute ago, but he didn’t cut deep enough like the fuckin’ sadist he is, so the guy can literally feel himself die.

I keep drying my hands while I watch his body fighting with all he has. Funny how you can become desensitized to those sorts of things after a while. I know Carter gets pleasure from it but to me it’s just, well, my job. In the same way I do the accounts upstairs in my office, but here it’s just more physically draining, that’s all. It’s messy, and I’m not a fan of messes, so I just keep going, staying in the flow of things, and get to the next guy who’s lying on the floor in the corner of the room.

We drug them to make them loose sense of where they are, and also cause I was getting a fuckin’ headache from hearing them begging for hours.

My sleeves are pushed up to the elbows, my tattooed forearms covered in blood even after trying to wash them.

I sigh, my mind drifting to my girl.

Sunday, I’ll have to find a way to distract Carter, which won’t be a walk in the park. I wonder if he’ll forgive me too in the end. Fuck, I fuckin’ hate this situation. All I want is Rose. That’s the only thing that matters to me. So I’ll keep on torturing as many fuckin’ Steelhawks guys from Seattle until Ares lowers his guard.

Carter steps in front of me, making me notice I’ve been looking at my hands for a long fuckin’ time.

“You’re white as fuck, Vox,” he says, his voice deadpan as usual.

“Yeah, I think I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Cause it’s true. In the flow of things, I forgot to eat and hydrate and maybe that’s also why I can’t think straight right now.

“Take a break, I’ve got it,” he says, motionin’ his chin toward the blindfolded guy on the floor.

I nod and turn toward the door, expecting him to say something that would imply he’s surveilling me, but he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he knows and he wants to help you.

Maybe he senses there's something fuckin' wrong here and I need my brother on my side more than ever.

I head to the bar in the middle of the warehouse. Surely I can find something to eat here. Anythin’ will do, I just need fuel. When the smell of mac and cheese hits my nostrils from the small back kitchen we have, my heart aches, remindin’ me of the dinner I cooked for her weeks ago.

When Bones, a former prospect and occasional cook, hands me a bowl of it on the bar, I stay stuck. Lookin’ down, I fight the urge of putting my fist in the closest wall next to me. A sigh pulls me out of my thoughts. Haven't even noticed Shadow on the stool on my left, a beer in his hand.

“Rough day?” he asks, his hand playin’ with the bottle.

I nod.

“Same, can't fuckin’ wait to be done with the takeover. Erin is givin’ me hell for comin’ home so late.” He shakes his head.

I wince at the mention of his girl. I glad he's happy and shit, but fuck, I miss my angel so damn much.

“You okay, Vox?” he asks, furrowin’ his brows.

I sigh, not having the energy to beat around the bush.

“When did you know Erin was it?” His eyes winden for a sec before softenin’.

“Aah, fuck,” he chuckles, “I knew it when she cursed at me durin’ our first fight.” He shakes his head with a large grin.

“What?” I ask, tiltin’ my head.

“I had never heard her curse before, and fuck, it was the most funny thing I had ever seen. I mean, I just saw that she had a fire in her I hadn’t seen before. I had finally found my match.” His eyes shone with a warmth spark.

“Just like that?”

“Yep, and it’s been like that even since.” He looks at me, narrowin’ his eyes. “Why? Does it have to do with Ares keepin’ you in the basement and the Mormon chick you called a while back ?” He’s not smilin’ this time, his gaze way more serious than I expected him to be.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” Swallowin’ hard, I don't want to ask for his help. I won't let anyone get hurt from my actions.

“You need help, brother? I’ve known you for years. You need me, I’m here.”

I don't need help. I need a fucking miracle .

I shake my head. At least if my life falls apart, I can say I’ve known what true friendship is.

“I appreciate it, brother, but… there’s nothing you can do.” I’m alone, like I was before Ares found me.

“Nah, there’s always something we can do.” He fake-punches my shoulder.

“Not when it goes against Ares’ orders, brother.”

The mood shifts brutally.

He gulps his beer, swallowing hard. It’s too fucking delicate. I don’t want to betray Ares. No one here does. He’s my prez, the man I look up too, but even a mentor can fuck it up and I won’t let him take this away from me.

Shadow takes a deep breath, resting his palms flat on the counter.

“When I knew I wanted Erin, her father got in the way. Things got… violent. And I could have lost her over this but… I fought, man. I fought like a crazy motherfucker and in the end, I got her. And I'll do it all over again if I have too.” Runnin’ a hand in his blond and silver hair, I notice a few wrinkles at the crest of his eyes. Shadow’s in his forties but he stills looks young as hell, and the weight of his words seems to ignite something in him. Like a fire he understands. As if he could see what I’ve been struggling with since I was pushed away from my girl. For whatever reason, he was put in a similar situation in his past, and from what I gathered from all the times I saw him and Erin, those two are endgame, so if anyone can get it, it’s him.

“All I'm sayin’ is that sometimes the right thing doesn’t always seem right, but still… you gotta do it, man. Cause life ain’t worth it without it.”

I nod slightly. He doesn’t want to say that betraying Ares is okay, but still, he understands that gettin’ my girl back is more important than breathing itself. I feel less alone knowing I've got a brother on my side. He won't help me but at least he knows the hell I'm going through.

“When is it?” He must be talking about the wedding, word spreads like wildfire in the club, so I don’t even bother to ask. I’m too tired for anythin’ actually; my body and my mind are weak as fuck right now.

“Sunday at ten,” I say, my voice breaking even as I try to hide it.

Fuck it.

I’ve been hiding my feelings for years and now I can’t even keep a straight face when I talk about her.

“Then you better get some sleep. You look like shit,” he says, his tone as cold as ice, standing from the stool, adjusting the collar of his black shirt. I tilt my head on the side, raising a brow.

“I’ll come with ya, bother. Sunday mornin’. And you’ll get your girl back.” His voice is so low I can hardly understand it. Tapping my shoulder and turning his back, he heads straight to the boxing room.

I have to stop myself from letting my jaw touch the floor.

Shadow’s gonna help me.

He's willing to take the risk, and fuck, even if I hate him for puttin’ himself in this shitty situation with me, I can't help but be relieved.

Perhaps it won't be a suicide mission after all.

Chapter 17

Rose

The wedding day

“Get up, Rose, come on! We have so  much to do!” my mother shouts, storming into my room, bouncing on her feet like a kid on Christmas day.

Today is the day and I still haven’t heard from Vox.

I sit on my bed, my eyes still puffy from crying myself to sleep, like every morning since the last night I've spent at Vox's. My mother must have gotten used to it because she doesn’t even make a remark.

As I watch her grab my hairbrush on the desk and already start to work on my hair, I take a glimpse at the top drawer of my dresser. I've hidden the four dollars I took from my mother's wallet in my underwear. I’m still amazed that she hasn't figured that out yet.

In the Faithful Lambs, the bride is only allowed to wear knickers under the dress, so I'll have to hide the dollars in the elastic band. They are my ticket out of this life. All I have to do now is get ready and put a fake smile on my face so no one will suspect my escape after the ceremony. I must act like a loyal and submissive bride, swooning over her fiancé.

Ew .

I sigh and sign at my mother.

“Let me eat my breakfast first, then I’ll come back upstairs to get ready.” I need to eat. I have no idea when my next meal will be.

“Okay, right, but quick, we have to do your hair after,” she answers back, her voice full of a mixture of anxiety and excitement. “Hurry up, Rose, we need you to be perfect today.”

Perfect.

For them, I will.

I will look like the perfect obedient bride they expect me to be. But inside, I will roar like a lion, ready to fight anyone on my way to freedom.

Wild like my man taught me.

She leaves the room, finally letting me get up. I turn toward the door, making sure she’s far enough to not see me, and grab Vox's phone under my pillowcase.

Still no text.

I bite my lower lip.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry .

Ignoring my broken heart, I swallow and close my eyes. I need to focus. Vox must have a good reason to stay silent, he must. No matter what, I will save myself. I will take the reins of my life today. Unlocking the screen, I open our conversation and start texting him.

One last time before everything changes.

I wish I could have written a handwritten letter to him, but this is all I have. My eyes get watery from the nickname he's put in my profile. There's so many things I want to say but I don't know where to start.

“Rose, hurry up!” my mom yells from the kitchen.

Angel : I’m getting married today, but I’m still hoping to hear your bike in the driveway. You showed me what being alive felt like and for this I’m forever grateful. I’m sorry we ran out of time. I’m sorry our worlds couldn't exist together. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you these words out loud.

I'll always be yours, no matter what.

Your Angel.

-

“Remember, wide smiles and look down at your feet, even when you walk toward him,” my mother keeps telling me since I got into the car, the large white dress drowning me under all the fabric. I feel naked without my bra on, but this is tradition. The rough edges of the dollar bills are the only thing reminding me that this will be done in a few hours. I slid them under my dress quickly when my mother went out of the room to get her purse.

“Also, don’t sign to him like a strange girl, Rose, he doesn’t care about that. Just nod at everything he says, It’ll be easier.” She's wearing the same black long dress as always, her hair braided like any other day. Just like my father in his black suits and his black top hat.

The only change is the large smug grins on their faces. They think they're getting connected with royalty.

So foolish of them.

I know it's wrong but I'm not even sorry for them. My father hid the murders of six girls and my mother is enthusiastically pushing me in the arms of a man who plans on raping me at the end of the day.

I love them but I’m done with this.

“Rose,” my father says, taking his usual threatening tone with me, like each time he talks to me. I could honestly count them on my fingers since last month.

“Don't mess this up,” he says. I can almost feel his hand on my neck at the memories of his bathtub punishment each time he was disappointed in me.

I look at him in the rearview, nodding slowly like the good girl that I am.

If only he knew.

-

This is it.

The walk. The steps I must take towards a life that will never be mine.

Keep smiling, head down, don't let them know .

It's painful but I manage to placate a fake grin on my face, looking down, my father holding my arm on my right, carrying his daughter to the aisle like a good dad.

God, if only those people knew what he did to me.

How he took my voice and my life choices like I was a chess piece in his twisted game.

No love, no warmth, nothing.

As we enter the chapel, the air crackles around me, the scent of lilies and incense swirling around me in a dizzying haze. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a reminder of the charade I'm about to perform. If Vox were here, he would notice my empty looking gaze from the get-go, but he is not here.

I’ll have to pick up the broken part of myself without him.

The Chapel is packed. All the members of the community are here today to witness their leader getting married. I have to think of the taste of Vox’s Oreos to stop myself from spilling my guts out on the carpet they laid out for the occasion.

All eyes are on me and my father as we progress down the aisle. I don’t feel like myself, wearing an awfully large white dress, hiding my body from head to toe, my blonde hair styled with white ribbon and my feet bare.

No bride can wear shoes on her wedding day. It’s a way of showing humility.

God, this is so stupid.

I prefer myself much more in black gear on Vox’s motorcycle, not this strange fake innocent bride I’m cosplaying. But I keep my focus downward, my gaze fixed on the floor, my steps measured. Beside me, my father's grip tightens on my arm, his silent command to behave echoing in the pressure of his touch. There’s no affection in the way he is holding me.

This isn’t love, this is control.

As we reach the altar, I steal a glance at the man who awaits me there, trying to keep my head down in front of my captor. His eyes gleam with anticipation, his smile sending a cold shiver down my spine.

I don’t know if there is such a thing as the prize for the creepiest man alive, but he would definitely win it. His large white gown matches mine, his feet held in brown sandals, the corner of his mouth carrying a small white paste of dried saliva.

Ew. Ew. Eww.

But that’s not the worst. The most awful part is how he’s looking at me. Eyes wide, his tongue slipping out to wet his lower lip like I’m a dessert he’s about the feast on. My father gives him my hand roughly, making my blood run cold as the Sheperd’s skin touches mine.

You can do this.

Somehow, I’m glad he’s acting this way. It means he doesn’t suspect that I’m about to rewrite the rules of his book. But still, I can’t help but sense that this is the lowest moment of my life.

My very own rock bottom.

“To cleanse our sins…” the Shepherd almost yells, excitement in his high-pitched voice.

“…We must obey,” answers the crowd. I lift my head slightly to the left of the room, noticing my father joining my mother on the first bench. Jezebel and Greta’s families are a few rows from me, smiling to their ears, their hair braided with their brown dresses on.

They are happy for me.

If only they knew what their fathers did. I don’t even know if it would be enough for them to run away. I hope I’ll find a way to tell them one day, and that they will forgive me for not taking the time to explain why I left today.

“Aaah, what a beautiful day.” The Shepherd spreads his arm like a messiah. “Today, your leader is uniting himself with the womb who will carry the children of the Faithful Lambs and spread the word.”

Oohs and aws echo from the rows in front of us, some women bouncing back and forth like a spirit has taken control of their bodies. I lower my sight, unable to face the grins of the members. It’s wrong, so wrong I can’t stand it.

A womb. To them, that’s all I am.

Not to Vox, not to him. He sees me. I know he does.

But if he does, why is he not here?

If only they knew how the silent girl became a strong woman thanks to a dark knight. They would lose their minds over it.

I’m afraid I’m gonna pass out if I let my emotion swallow me whole, so I focus on my fingers, mentally driving my eyes around their shapes, inhaling and exhaling deeply each time I’m done with a finger.

It helps.

A bit.

“Well, let’s start,” the Shepherd says, clapping his hand once, then moving his palms down to ask people to sit. And they do, like the good obedient lambs they are.

The Shepherd is the one who officiates all our gatherings, even today on his own wedding day. I’m not surprised he hasn’t asked an Elder to do it. The man loves his spotlight. Little does he know that today is actually my time to shine. I know I’ll bring chaos after my escape but it’s for the best. I hope it will eventually plant a seed of doubt in all the girls in the room, and perhaps one day that seed will bloom into a full rebellion, unable to be contained.

“When a man chooses his women, it is necessary to unite them by blood,” he states, and I know what’s coming next from the way his left hand fidgets in the pocket of his gown.

“Because, as you know, the husband cannot fulfill his destiny if his property isn’t fully attached to him. And we must all work on reaching the Ascendium to bring the light on this corrupt and dangerous world.” Murmurs of approval echo in the room.

I used to listen carefully to those monologues, drinking each word with attention, but not anymore. This is becoming more unbearable as each second passes.

“Which is why we will now perform the blood ritual,” he says with a large grin, pulling out his knife, making me tense all of the sudden.

I don’t like blood.

Never did.

But I can’t say I’m not used to it. Even at home, I had my fair share of punishment where I learned quickly that pain was mostly a construct of the mind. Learning to dissociate myself from those moments became my only way to survive them. So I did. Each time I had to face a punishment, I wandered in the fantasies of my mind, dreaming about a life I would never get, letting my open flesh spill without moving, without fighting.

Would I still be strong enough to handle it, knowing it had no purpose?

This question will soon find an answer. I grit my teeth hoping I won’t flinch until it’s my time to escape.

“Child, give me your hand,” he orders sighing loudly like he’s been expecting this moment with excitement.

I could look away, find my friend's reassuring gaze and bite my lips to make it more bearable. But I don’t. This isn’t who I am anymore. I want to watch him cut my flesh open and remind myself each day that this scar will be the living proof of my strength. The tattoo I’ll always keep on me, reminding me how hope can bloom from the most broken soil.

I won’t look at it and think of the Shepherd, of the lies, the disbeliefs or the charade my life had been. It will be a testament of the fire I had in me that day. A fire roaring with such a force nobody could ever stop it. So I stare at my hand while he cuts my skin, letting the blood spill on the floor. I’m surprised there’s not more of it.

Why did he hold back?

Moving closer to me, his body towering over mine, he whispers, “Not too deep, little lamb. I want you pure and untouched when I’ll claim you.”

I swallow hard.

Pure and untouched.

God, no.

Vox would never say something like that to me. He would worship me even if I were covered in blood and bruises. He would tend to my wounds and kiss each scar, letting me know how much I mean to him.

Instinct kicks in and I put a forced smile on my face. If he finds out about my plans, I won’t have the element of surprise to escape anymore.

“ And with his blood, she becomes him, his wife, his eternal shadow, ” he says, quoting from the Ascendium, reminding me of the last time I saw Savannah. Cutting his own palm, barely enough to spill blood, like the coward he is, he grabs my hand eagerly, raising our palms up as if we had won something.

The crowd applauds, smiles wide on their faces.

Step one.

Done.

Vox

“Dario, Dario… you knew it was bad enough to steal our guns, why did you have to try and burn our warehouse too?” I say, shaking my head.

Carter walks to his right, the man covered in blood, on his knees, a part of his face shredded with the electric peeler we got for the tough ones. Dario is from the Steelhawks of Seattle. He’s not the most valuable man but still, he had some responsibilities, so we’re pretty lucky to have him here. Carter took his time with him, getting all the information we needed. We'll finish him and then I'll take off.

Cause despite acting like I fuckin’ enjoy cuttin’ guys in the basement, my mind has been rolling nonstop toward someone else for weeks.

I just needed Carter to buy it and not suspect a thing. Even if I’m his vice-president, I’m not above Ares’ orders, and he fuckin’ knows it. Carter stands behind Dario, his hand resting on both sides of his face.

“A last word, Dario?”

“Fuck you,” the guy says, spitting out blood.

“Alright,” Carter answers with a grin on his face before snapping Dario’s neck. His body falling immediately forward like a ragdoll.

“Good job, Carter, we're done for today,” I say, wiping my hands on an already blood-soaked cloth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go get yourself something to eat, you need it.”

C’mon, brother, just get out and let me do my thing.

“Vox…” His voice is lower than usual. “Don’t think it’s a fuckin’ good idea,” he says, standing in front of the exit door, rubbing his chin with his palm.

“The fuck you mean?” I say, arching a brow.

Stay calm.

“You know what I mean.” He crosses his arms.

I stay still, my poker face on, like I’ve been doing for so many years it became second nature. Only I’m used to be myself around my brothers, they’re family. It fuckin’ hurts to lie to them right now, but I don’t have a choice if I want to protect them too. No fuckin’ chance I’m takin’ them in my fall.

Cause I’m the one who fell.

Fell hard for her. And I'll pay the price of it on my own.

“Move, Carter, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Don’t make me involve you.

“Shadow came to me yesterday,” he says with his usual blank tone.

Neither of us moves, both staying put in a standoff I wasn't expecting from him. Carter’s one of our best soldiers, fuckin’ loyal to Ares.

“Don’t know what the fuck he told ya, but you’d better remember who you’re talkin’ to and fuckin’ move.” He swallows hard, his hand shaking on his side.

Yeah, he knows.

But somehow he steps aside and lets me pass, his deep gaze locked in mine, watchin’ me as if I was fuckin’ crazy.

And I am.

I’m a full kaleidoscope of craziness for my girl and I’m not embarrassed of it.

Before I disappear from the corridor leading me to the main hall, his voice vibrates behind me.

“You’re a dead man if you go to her.”

I bend my head slightly to the side, the light of the hall lightin’ up half of my face while the rest stays in the darkness. Just like me ever since I met my angel.

“I know,” and I walk out, ready to get my girl out.

The wedding is around ten a.m. She told me it was at her Chapel at the other side of town. It's already 9.30 and I need to move the fuck out if I want to be there before the fuckin’ ceremony.

My plan is borderline insane, but I'm willin’ to risk my life on it.

If I get to enter the church during her ceremony, which I have no clue how that thing goes, I should be able to shoot Skarn and get her out. She’ll be free from him and never have to live in fear of him hurting her ever again. I wish I could give him a slower and more painful death but he's not my priority here.

She is.

I know my brothers are gonna hunt me as soon as I step out of here, but what’s the point of life if you don’t fight for what’s worth livin’?

I'm already a dead man as I'm heading toward the parking lot, each step sending me farther from my prez’s orders. I'd rather die knowing I gave her all of me. Knowing she’ll finally be free.

But somethin’s off.

No one stops me on my way out, although my brothers’ gazes weigh heavy on me as I walk past them playing cards, cleaning weapons and working on their bikes.

Fuck, do they know where I'm heading?

Why is no one stopping me?

Shadow’s waiting for me outside, a smoke in his hand.

We exchange one look. One that says it all.

I nod to him slightly, thanking him for his help, knowing full well that he'll have to pay the price of lettin’ me go, and I fuckin' hope Ares will go easy on him. I’m glad Ares’ is out on a warehouse visit this morning.

As the sun continues to rise over Knoxville, I straddle my black Harley, feelin’ its power thrum beneath me. I give the warehouse one last look, clenchin’ my jaw at the thought that it's perhaps my last moment as vice-president of the Raven Sons.

My brothers, my family.

The streets are quiet, but my mind’s buzzin’ with urgency as I set off towards the Chapel, Rose's safety driving me forward.

I’m comin’, Angel.

Twenty minutes feels like an eternity as I race against time. Then the Chapel looms ahead, so many fuckin’ cars parked in front of it. With each passin’ moment, the weight of my betrayal grows heavier on my shoulders, but I push it aside, focusin’ on my only goal.

Saving my girl.

As I remove my helmet, my bike parked in front of the two large brown doors, a thunderous roar shatters behind me. I whip my head around just in time to see the club's black van hurtling towards me. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I leap into action. There's no time to waste—I dismount my bike, headin’ straight to the door, takin’ my Glock from the holster inside my jacket.

With a quick glance at the approachin’ van, I freeze. The door opens, Shadow jumping out of it, Carter behind the wheel.

The fuck?

“Told ya I'd help ya, brother. Don't fuckin’ think we were gonna let ya down,” Shadow shouts.

They came to help me.

Shadow and Carter. They knew the stakes and still they came.

I have no fuckin' word for how grateful I am.

“Don't, guys, Ares won't fuckin' forgive ya. You'll be like me. Traitors,” I say, shaking my head with my gun in my hand.

Shadows takes a glance at Carter, both of them exchangin’ a nod.

“Yeah, well, I hope your girl’s worth it cause we are in deep shit here.” He grins.

“Shadow, I can't accept–” I raise my palm to him cause, shit, I don’t want him to lose everythin’ cause of me.

But he cuts me off, walking toward the step leadin’ to the door, standin’ beside by me, his Glock in his hand.

“We’re brothers, Vox. Brothers have each other's back.” His tone is low and serious, his hand restin’ on my shoulder.

Damn it.

“We enter, I shoot him, I get her, and we get the fuck out,” I tell him my plan.

“Hell yeah.” He grins, removin’ the safety from his gun.

We exchange one last look and I push the door with my leather boots, shootin’ the ceiling, lettin’ our host know we’re here.

Horrified shouts fill the place as I try to find my girl in the crowd. But the world shuts down on me as I find her right away. Her body is floating head down in a small transparent pool in the middle of a fuckin’ stage.

It's too late.

No. No. No.

Please.

Don't let it be the end.

Rose

Come on, you can do it.

One more ritual and it’ll all be over.

The next step won't be as easy to pass. My eyes drift toward the small pool in the middle of the stage. I've seen women survive and others die in this pool. The very same one where Savannah remained still, floating like a dead fish. The holy bath lasts around three minutes, some husbands make it easier or harder depending on their ego and pressure on their shoulders. Needless to say that the Shepherd has no intention of being the butt of a joke today.

He wants to showcase strength and power.

And I'm the outlet he has chosen to do so.

Lucky me.

Letting our arms fall on our sides, his hand slides on my wrist, grabbing it firmly like a leash on a dog.

“Move toward the bath.” His tone is cold and distant, low enough that only I can hear him. I take three steps before standing right above the water. My little four dollars, folded in the elastic band of my knickers, are the only things reminding me that this is almost over.

I hear murmurs and steps in the room. Members are coming closer to us, to me, to the water.

And it hits me.

They want to see the show.

They want a closer look at my struggle, like precious memorabilia in their mind. Something they'll tell their grandkids one day, “When our Shepherd got married, Grandma and Grandpa were there, we saw everything.”

I bet they hope I'll drown, giving them more to talk about. Perhaps most of the families wish the Shepherd had chosen one of their girls. Witnessing my death would be the answer to their jealous prayers. An old and dirty breath hits my neck, the Shepherd right behind me, both of us facing the crowd.

His thin lips whisper in my ear, “The water will cleanse you, Rose. And you need it more than anyone here. After all, the Divine does not harm his lambs without reason.”

I freeze as his words slap me right in the face.

Is he implying that I’ve become mute because of my doubt towards the community?

It takes everything I have in me to not turn and punch him in his face.

Calm down, Rose, it will all be over soon .

“Kneel, hands on your thighs,” he says, his tone commanding, expecting me to oblige like a puppet. I do it and hate it when he then pats my hair twice, rewarding me like a good dog for following his orders. “Good little lamb, very good. I'm pleased.”

Freaking psycho.

But I mustn't be distracted by his behavior or all the eyes on me at the moment. All I have to focus on is to hold my breath as long as I can.

Three minutes, that’s all it takes.

I can do it.

I’ve trained myself for years in my shower, expecting the day this would happen. All the girls do this here. Mothers tell their daughters to do so.

Fisting my hair hard, pulling the strands so much it hurts, he kneels next to me and manages to push me to the floor before pulling my head to face him, so close our noses touch and I freeze, trying to hide my disgust as much as I can.

Once it’s done, the Elders will come and congratulate the Shepherd and it will be my opportunity to step back to the door next to the stage. An emergency exit opens right to the forest behind the Chapel, far from the parking lot.

It will be my only chance to run and hide.

My plan is bad, I know it.

But that's all I have.

“I am now going to perform the last part of the ritual.” His voice is all too eager to drown me.

None of this feels right.

There’s a tension floating in the air, all eyes on me, daring me to fight.

“There was once a time when the Divine felt a part of himself lacking. After decades of leading our community with its light, the Divine found itself in need of a womb to make him whole again. But it couldn't choose any women from the earth. No.” Shaking his head, his hands hold firm on my shoulders.

“She had to be pure and worthy enough of its power, of its gifts.” I barely listen to this tale I've heard so many times I could say it myself.

It's harder to listen to those words now that I know it’s been a lie from the beginning. I always thought about the Divine as a higher power over us, a man capable of making miracles, creating life and shaping destinies. Only the more I listen, the more it seems that the Divine has always been a fantasy, an idea coming out of the head of an ego maniac, matching his frenzied self. It has always been about him, from the beginning. My heart aches knowing all the hours I've spent praying to an empty void of nothing.

Wasted time.

Wishes turned into dust.

His hand then fists my hair harder than it should, angling it to face him from below.

“And you, Rose, will become my other half, mine.” I want to shake my head, yell, do something to tell them that no.

I will never be his.

Because someone else has already gathered the broken pieces of my heart. Someone who deserves it. Somehow who's as broken as I am and still wants me.

“You've been chosen by the Divine to welcome our children and become worthy of the Ascendium.” He looks up toward the ceiling as if the Divine itself could see him.

Murmurs and prayers surround me.

“What an honor.”

“Bless your heart.”

“We shall pray for your children.”

“Oh, Holy Shepherd, show us the way.”

“Quiet!” he shouts.

The silence is immediate.

“It's time, Rose. Say goodbye to your parents; you shall come out of this ritual forever changed. You'll belong to me.” He stares at me, pulling so hard at my scalp my eyes get watery.

My parents walk towards the stage, both of them standing beside me while I’m still kneeling on the floor, my hair gathered into the fist of the Shepherd.

What a show.

Never knew my father could act as a warm and worried father so well.

“Goodbye, daughter, this is the greatest honor of your life,” he says, locking his eyes in mine, a wicked smile on his face. He knows I'm stuck, and without a voice, there's not much I can do.

“Oh Rose, goodbye, my child. Your father and I will miss you so much. So much . Go on, fulfill your duty,” my mother says, crying silently, caressing my cheek so tenderly I almost believe it. Once they're satisfied, they step back a bit, to have a better view, I guess .

“Enter the bath.” His voice hits me from behind, his fist letting go of my scalp, his hand pushing my back slightly toward the water.

I remove my legs from under my thighs and enter the bath, the freezing water sending shockwaves through my body.

“More.”

I enter it fully, the water covering me from shoulders to toes.

It’s so cold.

“Survive or die. There's no way out for you, little lamb,” he says, coming closer, one knee on the ground, his hand fisting my hair and holding my neck.

Come on, Rose, one more step and you’ll be done.

I take the deepest inhale that I can before his hand pushes me under water. I've trained myself enough for it. I know what to do. Pinching my nose with my fingers, I start counting the seconds in my head. My only way to keep track of time.

20, 21, 22… I focus on my senses, the water moving around me, my heartbeat pounding slowly in my chest, my mind trying as hard as I can to stay still. I know that's how to survive this, to stay put and let the world disappear around me. Letting their voices and chants dull into white noise.

I'm almost there. I can already see the forest I will run to.

43,44,45… I swallow, ignoring my lungs burning in my chest, asking me for air. Vox flashes in my eyes, his muscular and veiny hands signing to me in a kitchen I do not know. Pink flowers in a vase on the round table behind him. The scent of leather and vanilla mixed up together in a flat, candles and plants displayed on a fireplace. I step toward him, but his body disappears in a cloud of dust.

My four dollar bills are wet, but I'll still use them to pay for a bus going as far away as I can. I will start over. I will fight for myself.

90,91,92… We're driving fast, chasing the sunrise on his bike, with towels and food in my backpack, heading towards a beach I've never been to. Vox links his fingers with mine on the sand, kissing the back of my hand and looking at me with his intoxicating gaze, making my knees weak and a blush rise on my cheeks. I try to smile back at him but my throat aches too much.

Where is the forest? I don't feel the dollars in my elastic band anymore. I don't remember why I brought them with me in the first place .

135,136,137… I'm creating a bouquet of fresh flowers with an old lady I’ve never met. Our green aprons match in the little whimsical shop. An orange cat is playing with a cactus on the counter. I laugh but the floor disappears under my feet and it all fades to black.

I need air, so bad, please, anyone, please. Let me breathe .

178,179,180… A tattooed hand caresses my swollen belly, something under my skin kicks him, and his manly and warm laugh makes me fall even harder for him. I notice the ring on his finger, but black spots cover my vision before I can ask him about it.

It should be over, please, please, please. I don't want to die .

Was it the plan all along? To make me go away?

190,191,192… Numbers melt into each other, my mind unable to keep counting. It's been over three minutes and I know I won't last any longer. My lungs are empty and so are my hopes.

Vox, my love, my everything.

I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough.

I wish I could have told you how much I–

I stopped counting and let the water enter my nostrils and my mouth. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I know this is the end. Everything hurts from my bones to my lungs and my aching throat brings me back to the night I've lost my voice.

To the night that changed it all.

-

And all of the sudden I find myself back in my old bedroom. The one I had before we'd move into our new house next to my dark knight.

The smell of ashes and fire wake me up in the middle of the night. I run to my door but it's stuck. I can't open it. My jaw falls on the floor as I remember Father locked me in before sleep to punish me for trying to read a book from the outside world at the public library.

“You will learn one day, daughter, that I’m locking the door for your own good. Don’t ever try to get away; there’s only one key and I’m keeping it,” he said before shutting the door on me yesterday.

He locked me in.

My heart pumps in my chest, my eyes looking everywhere for a way out. The flames are getting stronger, dancing around my windows and moving dangerously close to me.

“Father! Mother! I'm here! Please!”

But no one comes. I’m stuck, the smoke filling my lungs as I kneel down, trying to find air.

I have no idea how the fire started, but in a house made entirely of wood, it isn't the most surprising thing. My hand finds my throat as I suffocate, the smoke entering my body.

It hurts so much.

“Father, please,” I try again but my voice is only a whisper now, the smoke suffocating my every word.

“Please, please,” I mouth, laying on the floor, the flames walking toward me, touching my nightgown.

I can't die here. No. There must be a way.

I glance the window and make the decision in the second.

Running toward the flames, I open it and jump out of the window. Landing two floors below on the lawn, my legs hurt and my dress is on fire while I hear voices of neighbors running toward me.

I’m in so much pain.

Everything fades to black as I try to shout.

My voice vanishes silently in the darkness around me.

-

My body floats like a cloud.

I'm light, so light. I hear an explosion, but it's far away, so far it sounds like a lullaby, melting into the background noise.

My heart slows down, beating at a soothing pace, drifting me away, telling me to let go. And because there's no more hopes of escapism, flower shops and swollen bellies, I let go, opening my arms wide.

I welcome death and think one last time of the dark knight who'll forever own my heart.

Chapter 18

Vox

I don't run. I fuckin’ sprint to my angel as the fuckin’ Amish dressed people around us stare at us in shock. Don't fuckin’ know if we're the one giving them wide eyes or if it’s the sight of my girl’s unmoving body.

No.

It can't be.

I rush to her while I notice Skarn running to a back door like a fuckin' coward.

“Get him!” I shout to Shadow, my voice unrecognizable, filled with urgency and pain.

Don't fuckin' know where Shadow shoots him but it fuckin’ pleases me to hear it, cause I'm already focused on pulling out my girl, her hair sticking to her face, her body unusually heavy and still.

“WHO DID THIS?! WHO?!” I yell instinctively, but I already know the answer, my eyes staying locked on my girl's face.

We gotta go before one of those fuckers takes out a gun. There’re kids everywhere here. Can't take too many risks.

I turn quickly toward Shadow, one arm still holding my girl, and without a fuckin’ second of hesitation, I shoot Skarn right in the head between the eyes. His body falls at the same time as dozens of gasps echo around the room.

Carrying my girl's wet body on my shoulder, holding her with one hand and carrying the gun in the other, I head off to the exit when somebody pushes me.

“Get your hands off my daughter! She's not yours to touch!” A gray hair man, I recognise as her father, tries to remove my hold from Rose and I fuckin’ lose it.

“BACK THE FUCK AWAY! Shadow! Take him with us, he’s her fuckin’ father!” And like my fuckin’ right hand man, Shadow shoots him twice in the knees, then drags him toward the exit. The old guy is crying and shouting at the pain Shadow gave him.

Can say a lot about his methods but they're damn efficient.

I'll deal with her father later. After all, he's the one who's put her in this situation, bringing her to this sick community and offering her to a maniac.

I expect other people to stop us, but nobody does. The crowd is moving toward the stage. To their fuckin’ joke of a leader, I think. But I don't give a fuck about it as I enter the van, my girl’s body now on my lap, my shaking hands under her knees and back.

Wake up, Angel.

Please.

Stay with me.

I'll die here with ya if you let go.

Rose

“Stay with me, Angel, hold on, I'm here… fuck… I arrived too late… fuck… please, Angel, wake up.”

Familiar arms and shaking hands are holding me, my eyes impossibly shut.

I can't breathe.

Everything comes back to me.

The water, his hold on my neck, my empty lungs, an explosion, and my body letting go with the last flashes of Vox’s handsome face and chocolate hair I'd never get to see again.

“Angel, please, anything, give me a sign. We're getting ya to a doctor fuckin’ soon, stay with me,” Vox pleads, breaking my heart in the process.

I’m here, I’m right here.

“Carter, SPEED THE FUCK UP!” his voice shouts, carrying so much pain and worry. My body doesn't respond to my brain. I try to talk but it doesn't work. I must be in shock. I cough, trying to free my throat from the full sensation I felt when the water entered it. It is so painful, I wince. Coughing again, I sense his whole body freezing.

“Angel?”

My eyes slightly open with difficulty. It’s so hard, like trying to get out of quicksand.

Vox.

He’s here. It wasn’t just my imagination.

I needed him to come and he did. My heart quickens and the noise around us disappears for a few seconds.

“Don’t fuckin’ try to leave me, Angel,” he says, his voice like a lifeline, keeping me from drifting away. I can’t see him; everything is blurred like a camera that can’t seem to focus. Black and white shapes dance around me.

His rough hands are holding me tight, one cupping my head while the other is under my back, pushing my body to nestle into his. The dress is sticking to my body, water dripping all over me, making me shiver. He must sense it because he grabs a blanket from the rear shelf and tucks it around me.

“Vox,” I try to say, pushing myself despite the burn in my throat, hoping he’ll hear me. I never thought I’d make it, and perhaps I won’t. Maybe these are our last moments together as I feel my mind drifting away, wondering what the damage of the minutes I’ve spent unconscious underwater will be.

His body freezes.

I try again, “Vox,” my voice breaking, tears filling my eyes. It’s too painful to talk.

His hold tightens. “I’m here, Angel, I hear ya, I got ya. We're getting you to a doctor, it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay.” His voice is like a prayer, as if he was trying to convince himself.

“Hold on tight, love.”

Love .

His strong arms are under my back and knees, holding me like I’m the most valuable thing he ever had. That’s how he always makes me feel, like I’m the only person he’s never tired of seeing, the only one he wants to be with. Noises are getting lost in the background, my mind only focusing on him.

My stranger, my savior, my man.

Because that’s who he is.

My man.

Even though our worlds and pasts couldn't be any more different. Even though I can’t speak a word. Even though he doesn’t want to talk about the dark tasks he does for the club.

Despite it all, he is my man.

And we were brought together by some strange sense of fate.

“Faster, Carter!” Vox’s deep voice urges, the vehicle roaring and suddenly moving at a faster pace.

“Vox, calm the fuck down. I’m fuckin’ racing already. We’ll get there in a minute!” the man behind the wheel answers.

“Shadow, call the doc, tell him we need him yesterday.” Vox’s voice isn’t carrying his usual calm; this one is rushed, worried, panicked.

“On it,” another man says.

The car turns roughly, making us sway, Vox’s arms protecting me from bouncing against the sides.

“Won’t let them get to you. Ever,” he mumbles, perhaps more to himself than to me.

Then a firm kiss melts on my forehead, making my belly churn from his protectiveness.

“Fuckin’ hate myself for arrivin’ too late, Angel, I thought, fuck, I thought…” His voice breaks, thick unshed tears echoing in his throat. One of his hands strokes my hair, making me feel safe and… loved . So loved I want to cry my heart out in the arms of the only man I’ve ever loved.

“When I saw you in there, when… when you were so fuckin’ still, I thought-” He stops, my body feeling his breath stop in his chest as if he was trying to suppress the memory, to shove it as far away as possible.

“I thought I had lost you.”

I lock my eyes with him, trying as hard as I can to see him. My vision gets clearer, letting me watch this breathtaking man, his gaze fixed on my face as if his world starts and ends with me. I have to blink to make sure that it is all happening for real.

“I had to stay away to protect you, I’ve fucked up… I… I should have never let them get to ya, Angel. Fuck.”

I wish I could tell him that I trust him, that I know he did what he did for a reason and whether it was the right decision or not, I know he tried his best to protect me. I know that because he's the only person in this world who would move mountains to make sure I'm okay. But instead, I reach his cheek, and let my hand stroke the back of his tense neck.

Feeling bold, I mouth to him the words that scare me the most.

The words that will change it all.

But perhaps everything has already changed, perhaps it all started the day I saw him in his garden.

I didn’t know it then, but I know now.

“I love you,” I say silently, his eyes widening while he stares at my lips. He stills, frozen at my words. My heart skips a bit, terrified of his answer, of him rejecting me.

“Say it again,” he says, clenching his jaw and taking my face in both of his hands.

“I love you,” I say again, and again, and again, tears falling from my eyes, biting my lips so hard it hurts.

He lowers his face until our noses touch, his thumbs stroking my jaw, shaking his head in disbelief. “Love ya like it's the only damn thing I know, Angel.” His thumb catches a tear falling on my cheek, “Love ya so fuckin’ much, Rose.”

We’re close enough that I feel his minty breath dancing over me. I bite my lips then wet them, my chest heaving in anticipation.

And because I've missed him more than air itself, I tug his shirt toward me and kiss him with the rest of the strength I have in me. My body is responding to him like it found its home again. He strokes my cheeks delicately with his large rough hands, touching me as if I could break like a China plate.

Kissing me once more, our foreheads connect as he whispers to me.

“We're it, Angel. No more running away.”

And I nod, tears running on my face while I bite a small grin.

Chapter 19

Vox

She loves me.

She told me.

And my black, twisted heart can’t even process it.

I must’ve been a saint in another life to get an angel like her to love a guy like me, but fuck, I’ll take it. Alive and in my arms, the adrenaline starts leavin’ my body, holdin’ onto my girl nestled in my arms.

Where she belongs.

The van parks in the club lot and I rush toward the door, holding Rose in my arms. She’s still foggy and partly unresponsive. I need to get her to a doctor fuckin’ now or I’ll snap. Shadow runs past me and opens the door, resting one hand on my shoulders, stopping me a second before we enter.

“Doc is there, but Ares wants to see ya.” His eyes are serious and worried.

Of course, I knew this would happen.

He glances back at the van. “Carter is bringin’ her father to the basement.”

I nod, clenching my jaw. “Can you keep an eye on her…?” I know it’s a lot to ask but I can’t let her alone.

“Of course, brother,” he says, following me to my office where I lay Rose on the couch I got next to my desk. The doc is already here, a short old white hair man, used to our way of life and most important of all, never asks questions.

Kneeling one leg on the floor, I kiss her lips one last time before everythin’ changes again. For the good or for the worst. Her hand grabs my hand on her cheek and tug at it.

“Stay,” I read on her tremblin’ lips.

Fuck, I don’t want to leave her even for a second .

“I need to talk to Ares, and then I’ll come back to ya, I promise,” I tell her, hoping to reassure her.

But the truth is, I have no fuckin’ idea what’s coming in the next hour.

“No matter what happens next, trust me. Promise me you'll trust me and won't run away.”

She nods and mouths, “I promise.”

I kiss her forehead before turning my back on her without looking back. If I did, I'd run back to her the moment her blue eyes would catch mine.

Steele is already waiting for me at my office door, looking fuckin’ awkward. Yeah, not fuckin’ easy to be around your VP when you don’t know if you can trust him anymore.

“I’ll take you to Ares,” he says, awkwardly showin’ me the way with his hand.

“Already know the house, brother,” I answer blankly, patting his shoulder.

The large metallic door of Ares’s office stands in front of me, and I don’t even bother to knock. Ares isn’t the forgiving type, but I’ve got an idea and I fuckin’ hope it’ll work.

Cause he needs to understand what the Raven Sons means to me.

Won't have much leverage here. It's gonna be either a bullet in the head or another one of his twisted mind games he likes to play.

Either way, it was fuckin' worth it.

The door of his office opens, and Ares' massive figure comes out, looking like a mix of a professional wrestler and a biker, barely passing through the doorway.

“Well, if it isn't Judas himself.” His raspy voice echoes around me, the room filled with metallic and wood furniture, the light so dim it looks like the middle of the night at a poker game.

“Let me explain–” He cuts me off with a palm in his hand.

“Don't fuckin' bother, brother, ” he says, pronouncin’ brother like an insult, a fuckin' joke.

“Took you out of the streets, fuckin' shaped you into the man you are now, and what do you give me in return? You fuckin' disobey me?” His chest is heavin’ and his mouth is a straight line, fury roarin’ from his dark eyes.

“I've never betrayed you. For ten years, I've followed you like a shadow and I always fuckin' will if you let me make it up to ya.”

A cold laugh escapes his mouth. “Make it up to me? How the fuck do you plan on doin’ that? You fucked up, Vox, there's no goin’ back from it.”

“I couldn't let her die, Prez, just couldn't. You could have asked me anything, but not this,” I say, comin’ clean cause he fuckin' needs to know why. “Truth is, I'll do it all over again for her, there's not fuckin' doubt about it.”

“Oh, so now you’re just fuckin' insane? Ya trying to get shot or somethin’? You killed one of our clients and went on savin’ that chick instead of movin’ like I fuckin'  ordered you!” His fist punches the wood table.

“Think it was fuckin' easy to do that?” I bite my fist.

“You think I care ‘bout that sort of emotional shit?” he yells back.

“Course ya do.” I stare at him, daring me to lie to me. Cause I know behind his tough act, he's a fuckin' softy. Always keeps our business away from human trafficking and any form of physical abuse of women. Even gave the younger prospects a talk on consent.

“I only disobeyed cause whether you had put a bullet in my head or not, I would have fuckin' died from losing her,” I say with every fiber of my being.

A moment passes, both of us in a silent standoff.

“Fuck, you fuckin' suck, Vox,” he grunts, taking his head in his hands, then pinching the bridge of his nose.

Good.

That’s good.

He's pissed but it's not irreversible.

“The thing is, I can't fuckin' trust you anymore,” he says, holding the top of his leather chair with both hands.

“You can.” I nod.

“How?” he asks with a cold chuckle.

He wants retribution, and I have to find a fuckin' way to make it up to him or it will be the end.

“Got a deal for ya.”

“Better be a good one. It's not everyday I get rid of my VP,” he says, tilting his head.

I try to stay calm, but my hands are shaking. I fuckin' hate being in this position in front of a man who gave my life meaning when I had nothin’ left.

“Ask me anythin’ to erase my debt and I'll fuckin' do it.” I swallow, knowing the implications of what I'm asking and how Ares' twisted mind can come up with the sickest ideas.

But I don't give a fuck.

Go and burn bodies in the desert? I'll do it.

Skin twenty guys alive? No fuckin' issue.

Torture a poor guy for no reason but his entertainment? With a fuckin' smile on my face.

Anything he wants.

Almost.

“Anything you want, Ares, anythin’ but her. She's off limits.”

He whistles. “Anythin’ but her? C’mon, where's the fun?” he says with a cold laugh.

I clench my jaw so fuckin' hard I stop to not break my back teeth.

“I’ll kill any man that comes near her, even if it's you, Ares.” I stare at him, my head high cause it's not about club business anymore. We're talkin’ about my girl and he fuckin' knows it.

That's what he likes, pushin’ people on the edge, just far enough for you to snap.

“Hmm, hear her father is in the basement.”

I nod slowly, knowin’ already that whatever’s gonna come out of his mind is gonna be twisted as fuck and I won’t like it.

“The girl, she’s alive?” he asks, takin’ his chin between his index and thumb.

“Rose, her name’s Rose,” I grunt, “Doc is with her.”

“Then I got a deal for ya.” A dark smile appears on his face.

I inhale, tryin’ to stay calm with whatever Ares’s gonna throw back at me.

“You end the father,” he says, like it's a fuckin' meal on the menu. I can feel his gaze on me, knowin’ he found the fuckin' crack to exploit. I’ve been wanting to hurt her parents since I’ve known the hell they made her go through, but I intended to talk about it with Rose before.

She would have said no of course, her pure heart never wishing to hurt anyone, but I would have wanted her to know before I took care of them. Just to show her again how much I care ‘bout her and how no one can fuckin’ walk this earth once they laid a finger on her.

“You kill her father in front of her, and your debt will be fixed,” he says with a cold grin.

If I kill her father now, she won’t forgive me. Not that she would have forgiven me before, but doing it now and here won’t be pretty. She will see me kill in front of her and I fuckin’ hate myself right now to inflict this on her.

Knowing it and watchin’ it are two very different things.

Could she still love me after watchin’ me kill her father?

As much as she hates him, will she stand witnessin’ this? Or will I lose her before I even get the chance to have her?

Maybe she'll understand one day that I had to do this.

For her, for us.

Killin’ him doesn’t bother me; it’s killin’ him in front of her that the fuckin’ issue. I will wait as many years as necessary for her forgiveness. But I can’t lose her, so I'll do what I gotta do. If I do this, it will finally be over. But knowin’ that it's going to fuckin' hurt her makes my gut spin.

I don't have a choice: it’s either gettin’ shot by Ares and leavin’ my girl alone in this world or kill her father and get a chance at a life together.

“I'll do it,” I say, swallowing hard.

“Good, see? No need to make that shitty face, brother. You kill the dude and it's settled,” he says, walking toward me, crushing the space between us letting a hand rest heavy on my shoulder.

“But that's the only warning you'll ever get. There won't be a next time.”

I nod, cause I fuckin' know this already. Betrayal in our world usually ends with a gunshot. I’d be lucky if I get out of here alive. If Ares hadn't been up for a deal, I would’ve died with honor, knowin’ I had rescued my woman.

“C’mon, time to make amends,” he says, walking to the door while I follow him, fuckin’ prayin’ my angel won’t turn her back on me today.

Rose

It feels like I haven’t slept for days, and thankfully, the pain in my body has gone. My vision is back and my heartbeat is feeling normal again. The doctor is still here. He's put a bandage on my hand, took my blood pressure, and is now looking at my throat.

“Alright, pretty bad but… seen worst,” he mumbles. “Does it hurt a lot?”

I nod because, yes, despite feeling better, it still hurts a lot.

“I’m going to give you a shot of morphine, it should last long enough until you get to the hospital.” His voice is serious and calm. This old white hair man must have seen a lot to not look surprised by my situation.

“I can’t do more for you, young lady, the hospital will make you do more exams, but your throat won’t heal. It’s too damaged.” I knew it already, but it always hurts to hear it again. “You need a lot of rest and sleep. I’ll brief the vice-prez, hum, Vox, on your situation,” he says with hesitation gazing at the door before turning his back and leaving the room.

What was that?

My eyes wander around the room I’ve been brought into since Vox left me here. I didn’t need more than ten seconds to figure it was his office. His scent, wood bookshelves, a tidy desk and a leather jacket hung on his partly open door.

Tidy, clean, organized.

Just like his home.

Another man has been guarding the door since I arrived. He takes peeks at me every now and then, furrowing his brows each time like he’s constantly assessing me. He looks older than Vox with his blond hair, short stubble and tattooed knuckles.

Wait a minute. I’ve seen this man before.

He was in Vox’s garden the first time I saw him, with the beautiful brunette by his side. He must be a friend of his, one that he trusts enough to ask him to watch me while I wait for his return.

I have no clue what happened before Vox saved me from the holy bath, but it doesn’t feel right. When he told me that he loved me back, I swear my heart stopped beating at that instant. During the drive, I saw a side of him opening, one he kept from me before. Distress and panic painted his handsome face, his pupils wide like he was reliving a moment of his past as he was watching me trying to breathe.

Was it the car crash of his family?

It breaks my heart when I think of everything he went through at such a young age. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a loving family and then losing them in a blink of an eye.

Someone knocks twice on the door, making me freeze. Somethin’s wrong, and I know it’s the reason why he was kept away from me all those days and why the atmosphere seems so tense here.

“Hey, hum… we gotta go,” the blond man says.

I shake my head.

I’m not going anywhere without Vox.

“He’ll be there, I promise,” he says, locking his eyes in mine. “I was there, when he got ya. I was there to help,” he adds, pushing the door open. “I’m Shadow.”

Just like the name on the brunette’s leather jacket.

If Vox trusted him to come with him and look out for me here, then I trust him too. I manage to sit, then to stand, but I stumble immediately.

“Wow, easy, gonna help you. You can take my arm if it’s okay with ya. If I carry you, Vox’s gonna lose his shit.”

I try to give him a small smile and take his right arm, putting most of my weight on him as we walk toward a large hall. I think I'm still in shock, but I know I'll be okay in a few hours.

The hall is large and looks like a huge warehouse, wood and metal everywhere. I focus on walking and breathing, my right hand going to my throat as I try to painfully inhale. It’s getting better thanks to the morphine.

We pass by a bar with four men staring at us. All wearing the same leather jacket as Vox, their eyes wide. I don’t have more time to take in my surroundings before Shadow walks us to a metallic door, then to a dark staircase. It takes forever to get there, hearing manly voices talking.

My father is there.

What in the…?

I don’t now how he got there but he’s kneeling on the floor of what look like a torture chamber. Blood is coming out of his knees, his body shaking.

Vox is standing next to him, hovering above him like a predator, his gaze locking with mine as I walk toward him. Our bodies are aware of each other without even speaking. I hold onto Shadow next to me, afraid to collapse if I let go.

Three other men are in the room, and I remember having seen them at Vox’s house too. One of them looks the same age as me; he’s standing in the corner, fidgeting with his fingers as if he isn’t comfortable. Another one is thin and taller than everyone, his face holding no expression, like a machine.

And the last one, well, it doesn’t take a genius to know that he is the one commanding the room. Standing two steps from Vox, with brown hair and a light stubble, watching me, his massive frame with a black shirt makes him look more like a Viking than a man. He turns toward me.

“Well, well,” he says with a low, deep voice, tilting his head on the side. “I was eager to meet you. Rose.” He chuckles strangely. Looking at Vox, I question him with my eyes.

What is this? Why are we here? What is going to happen to my father? Why doesn’t he talk to me? I’m right here.

“You’ve made things quite… difficult for us, Rose. With your leader being our client and such, well, things didn’t go the way I like them to go.” He walks around me like a lion in front of a rabbit. I keep my eyes on Vox, my lifeline in this chaos.

“I wanted Vox to go to Seattle, so we kept him here for the last few weeks but… well, he decided it was better to escape and save you like a fuckin’ knight. Or a traitor. Depends on the perspective.” Pinching the bridges of his nose, he continues, “So, ya see, I need retribution, and in our world, retribution hurts. Otherwise, it doesn’t work.”

A shiver runs down my spine. His words sink into me while I process what’s happening.

Vox didn’t have a choice.

He had to stay away.

He chose to betray his club to save me.

He chose me, knowing he would lose everything else.

I swallow hard, fighting to keep the tears from spilling. Looking at my man, I fall even harder for him than the day we danced together in his living room.

My dark knight.

Witnessing Vox and I exchanging a long look, an all too familiar voice, distorted by pain, whines in the room.

“ROSE! Do you know these men?” my father shouts.

Drifting my gaze on him, to the man who hurt me more than anyone, I nod.

“It’s him, right?” motioning his bleeding chin toward Vox, he asks. “You went whoring around with the next door neighbor, betraying our community with your lowlife morals,” he yells before Vox grabs his neck firmly.

“Don’t ever talk to my girl that way, you son of a bitch, or I swear I’ll scoop your eyes with a fuckin’ spoon and eat ice cream with it later.” His voice is foreign, cold and sharp, my father freezing in his hold instantly.

“Scoop… scoop. You’re the one who killed Mr Collins.” My father shakes his head in disbelief. “He didn’t have his eye when they found him,” he murmurs.

Looking back at me, he pleads, “Don’t trust a word from him, Rose, he’s a monster. He killed Mr Collins and our holy Shepherd. HE did it!” His voice dissolves into sobs for his lost leader.

The Shepherd is dead? And Mr Collins too? But… but how?

Did Vox… killed them?

For… me?

Raising my eyes toward Vox, I sense my lower lip trembling at his worried gaze.

Did you do this?

“Won’t let any man who hurt you walk this earth, Angel,” he answers my silent question like it’s a proverb he lives by. My chest tightens, my lips parting as I register what’s happening. Vox killed them for me. Because he knew they had hurt me. Vox furrows his brows and tightens his jaw, betraying his fear.

Oh god, Vox.

He thinks I’m gonna run away from him now that I know. He thinks I won’t have the guts to accept what he’s done, who he is, what he does. I know I should cry and be distressed by this idea but… somehow, I only want to run into his arms more.

I’ll always be there, Vox, always.

Watching me, he slowly nods once, telling me silently that he understands if I leave. Watching him in distress of me leaving him is tearing my guts apart.

“He killed our Shepherd, Rose, OUR SHEPHERD! The waves of chaos will float on us, the Divine will break our world apart, it will be the end of civilization. And he did this! HIM!” my fathers shouts, his face wincing in pain, while his chin is angled towards my knight.

Does he realize how messed up our beliefs are, or is he so brainwashed he can't even think by himself anymore?

“He is a killer, Rose. Even a girl like you deserves better than him.”

I shut my eyes for a second, pushing his harsh words away from me.

Even a girl like me.

Shielding myself with the love of the man standing in front of me, I take a deep breath. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together, making my heart pump harder in my chest.

Locking my watery eyes with Vox, I mouth “I love you” because I do.

God, I do.

Relief washes over him, his chest resting higher as if I had given him strength.

I love you.

Don’t ever doubt it.

And perhaps this is wrong, perhaps this is sick and twisted, but he’s all I’ve ever dreamt of, all I’ve ever wished for. And I know, deep down, I’ll never let go of this man. No matter what. I’m as much his as he is mine. And if I have to dance in his darkness to bring him my light, then so be it.

These are my father’s last moments on this earth, I just know it. Vox’s protective gaze doesn't hide anything from me, not now that I know all that he is capable of.

“Vox and I found a deal to let both of ya lovebirds off the hook, Rose,” the large man standing next to Vox says, and I already know that it won’t be a walk in the park.

“He’s going to kill your father in front of you. Then it will be over. Vox will stay my vice-president and you’ll be free to be together in Seattle.”

White noise pumps in my ears for the second time today. The father who never loved me, the man who should have protected me, is now going to be killed because of me. I should cry and fight them, beg them to spare his life and offer mine in exchange, but I don’t. Because the man kneeling before me has never been my dad or anything close to a father figure.

He’s the one who tortured me so many times I can’t even count them anymore.

He’s the one who locked me in my room while the fire destroyed our house, knowing all too well that I was stuck in there, burning slowly.

He’s the one who offered me to an old man to be raped and he’s the so-called father who watched me be drowned and left for dead in front of our community today.

I will never stop loving him, because a child, however mistreated, will always love their parents. But I won’t stand in the way of death and try to save him.

He dug his own grave and tried to bury me alive in it.

His death will be my rebirth.

Locking my eyes on my father, I push away the arm holding me upright and kneel down next to him. Turning his face towards me, holding his chin, I take a mental photo of his face, remembering the skin and bones of the devil who brought me into this world.

Vox’s hands tighten on my father’s nape, but I stay still, observing my father with more pity than sadness. I open my mouth with a trembling inhale, because I need to tell him something, even if he doesn't sign, even if he doesn't understand.

I need it for me.

“I forgive you,” I say without a sound, watching his eyes widen.

He got it. After two years, he knew how to read lips but he hid it from me. Because I didn't matter. I was just the shadow of the daughter they wished they had. I stand back, my hands shaking.

That's it, there's no more to say anymore.

“Rose?” Vox's worried tone makes me warmer, wanting to go into his arms and hide myself in the crook of his neck.

“I’m okay,” I whisper to him, his eyes glued to my lips. Looking down at my father, his soft gaze switches to a dark one. He grips his neck, holding him so tight the veins of his forearm swell.

“Now just cause Rose’s a fuckin' angel and she’s gonna have to watch you die, I'm gonna give ya a quick death,” he says to my father. I’ve never heard him talk like that, with so much violence and coldness.

It’s a part of him, Rose. You can’t have his light without his dark side too.

Fear plagues the eyes of my father, locked on mine, his lower lips trembling.

“Cause despite you bunch of fuckers, she's as pure as the day she was born.” Vox’s voice carries so much love for me it makes my heart pound in my ears, watching the love of my life about to do what I'll never be able to.

“Now say Thank you, Rose for her mercy, cause she’s the only reason I’m not skinning you alive.”

I know I should run away, but I stay still, wanting to fulfill the deal Vox made for us.

“The doors of the Ascendium will burn your souls and our Shepherd shall be reborn from the ashes of–” my father answers, his eyes empty of any emotion.

“Shut the fuck up and say ‘thank you, Rose’ or I’m gonna cut your tongue with a razor and let you bleed to death in this fuckin’ basement,” Vox threatens him with so much anger a shiver runs down my spine. Noticing my small jerk, Vox’s gaze glances once at me, his warm look reassuring me, telling me he’s only playing the part.

My father freezes at his words, lowering his head like the coward he is.

Unable to face me.

“Thank… thank you, Rose,” my father whispers. I never thought I would need to hear those words but somehow it makes me feel better.

Vox looks at me, a question in his eyes. And because I'm done with this life, with the abuse, with all I had to go through, I don't let myself weaken. Not now, not after they left me dying in the holy bath like an animal. The old Rose would have tried to stop this but not anymore. Vox helped me find who I have always been.

A fallen angel, embracing the light of my darkness.

So I make the smallest nod.

I’m ready.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” his rough voice orders me firmly, and yet I hear the words carrying so much love for me. I know he wishes I didn't have to witness what he's about to do.

I hold on to his gaze like a lifeline with watery eyes because he's the one I want.

The one who's not afraid to show me his darkness.

The one who will do what's necessary to set me free.

Even if he's afraid of it, even if he thinks I won't forgive him.

His body shifts behind my father’s. My heart’s pounding in my ears, my body fully aware and anticipating what’s going to happen.

Deep breath, it’s going to be okay.

Soon it will be over.

Vox’s body moves gracefully, as if he had done this so many times it had become routine. I wish I could look away, but I’m mesmerized by him.

“You're doing great, Angel, keep your eyes up there.” His hand grabs my father's head and snaps it, breaking his neck and a disgusting wailing comes out of my father's mouth before his body falls on the ground.

Lifeless.

It’s over. He won’t hurt me anymore .

Once the last sigh leaves his breath, waterfalls of tears burst out of me while Vox rushes towards me, pushing me a few feet aside, away from my father's dead body. He turns me so I don't have to look at it and hugs me in his massive arms, his leather scent soothing me like a balm.

“He's gone, it's over now, Angel,” he whispers, kissing my forehead, both hands on my cheeks.

Home, that's what Vox’s scent is.

“Please tell me ya forgive me, Angel,” a broken whisper comes out of him, only for us to hear. “Fuckin' hated doing this in front of ya.” I grip his shirt hard and rest my forehead on his, nodding.

We’re okay, there’s nothing to forgive.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I sign, watching him read my hands.

“I love ya so fuckin’ much, Angel,” he says in my ear before placing a rough kiss on my lips, his arm still holding me so tight like he wished he could crawl under my skin.

“Vox,” the man behind me says. Vox tilts his head, keeping me in his arms while staring at his president.

“Give me a sec, sweetheart, and then we’ll get ya out of here.” His hand reluctantly leaves my body as he walks toward the man holding our fate in his hands.

Vox

Turning toward my prez, I look down a sec at the dead man on the floor.

Thank fuck he’ll never hurt her ever again .

I killed him and she forgave me. She’s staying, despite knowing all that I am, all that I’m capable of. I’m the luckiest bastard on earth for keeping her after today.

But one obstacle is still standing in our way.

Staring at Ares, I say firmly, “Rose is mine. I want the whole fuckin' club to know it. I want her to have the Raven Sons protection and she'll be sharing my life from now on,” I say, cause it not a fuckin' question, it's a statement.

Ares walks toward me, his eyes narrowing on me.

Are we done? Is he satisfied?

Was it enough for him?

Cause I'm fuckin' tired of everythin’ right now and just want to be with my girl and give her the care she needs.

“Yeah. We’re done here.” He nods.

Fuckin’ finally.

I nod back, my eyes still locked in his, both of us knowin’ there's no more bullshit between us.

“Here, I thought you’d like your phone back.” He takes it from his back pocket and hands it to me. “Couple of texts in here you might wanna look at.”

I furrow my brows.

What the fuck is he sayin’?

“Your girl,” he says, motioning his chin to Rose behind me.

I know she must have tried to text me, but why would he mention it?

“Wanna know why I’m lettin’ you off the hook?” he asks, tiltin’ his head slightly.

“Sure,” I nod, cause I have no fuckin’ idea where he’s goin’ with this.

“She wrote to ya this mornin’. Thought it didn’t have battery, but, anyway, I read it and, well, figured she was old lady material after all. I just needed ya to kill her father to settle our affairs but, yeah, I get why you did it, brother.”

I’m fuckin’ speechless. Wonder what my angel wrote to pierce thought his stone heart, but fuck, I’ll take it.

Without making a fuss cause we’re not that type of folks, I raise my hand and he shakes it back.

“Glad to have you back, VP,” he says, punching my shoulder.

What a fuckin' relief.

“Glad to be back, Prez.”

Chapter 20

Vox

The blip of the machine measurin’ her heart fills the room. We’ve been at the hospital for three hours and Rose had a bunch of doctors and nurses around her for the first hour before falling asleep from the painkillers.

Nearly lost my mind when they wouldn’t let me stay with her cause I wasn’t family, but they quickly changed their tone when I firmly told them I wouldn't step a fuckin’ inch away from her before knowin’ she was okay.

Fuckin’ killed me to hear it, cause she’s my old lady and in my mind she’s already as much my wife as I am her husband.

I just plan on making it official once she’s ready after the shitshow they made her go through. All she has to do now is rest, and I plan on taking care of her and showing that she can always rely on me to do so.

Actually, I plan on doing this for the rest of our lives, but I haven’t gotten the chance to tell her yet. Bought the ring in a pawn shop the day after we first danced in my living room.

Even back then I already knew.

But it’s too soon and it actually doesn't really matter now since I don’t plan on leaving her sight for the next hundred years to come.

Doc told me she’d recover but her voice would stay this way. Never minded her being mute. Rose and I have our own way to communicate, and besides, I’m still taking ASL online classes, and I plan on being fluent by the end of the year.

I’m sitting on the chair next to her bed. They’ve put her into a blue hospital gown. Her hair has dried and her breathin’ has slowed down. Can’t help but stare at her masterpiece of a face, wondering how I got so lucky to find an angel like her. She moves slightly, opening her eyes as if she had slept for days. Such a sweet face, I can’t wait to wake up to it every morning of my life.

“Hey, Angel.” My voice is low and raspy, my worries disappearing slowly as I watch a tired smile appear on her face. Takin’ her hand, I stroke it with my thumb. She looks better but still weak. Probably won’t be able to sign yet.

“Gonna give you a heads up, tap once on my hand for yes, twice for no.”

She taps once. Good. It works. Gotta be creative with my angel here. After telling her what the doc told me, I clench my jaw, hoping she’ll agree to what I planned for us.

“After what happened today, I want us to move to Seattle and give you a fresh start.”

It's at the opposite side of the country; she'll be free there, free to be who she wants to be.  I sigh, trying to remember the words I repeated in my head for hours sitting on this chair.

“Even knowin’ who I am and what I do, and fuck, Angel, don’t feel like you have to do anythin’ you don’t want to do.”

Fuck, why is this so hard to say?

“Do you want to move in with me?” I squeeze her hand cause fuck, I just jumped off of a cliff and I don’t fuckin’ know if I’m gonna land in one piece. I know it’s frustrating for her to only answer me with taps, but I need to know.

Can’t wait another second. Cause today was fuckin’ hectic and now that she’s rested, perhaps she changed her mind on me, on us.

I won’t stand in the way of her happiness; whatever she wants, I'll give it to her. Even if I have to pay the price of watching her from afar. My eyes stare at hers, a warm smile illuminating her face as I feel her finger tap once on my hand, then squeeze it back.

“Fuck, for a moment I thought… never mind.” I shake my head like a fool.

“Vox,” she says in a broken whisper, almost inaudible. I cover her hand with mine, wanting to touch her face, but I’m afraid she’ll break into a million pieces.

Guess I got fuckin’ scared when I found her unmoving body in the chapel today and it’s coming back now.

But I won’t fight it. I kept my feeling buried in me for so many years that I know now how fuckin’ wrong it is to do so.

“I… want… a… life… with,” one of her hands reaches for her throat, and I fuckin’ know she’s hurting right now but still, I know she needs to say those words so I let her, “you.”

I want a life with you .

As I said, I’m the luckiest motherfucker on earth. Standing on top of her, I cup her cheek as gently as I can with my large palms and kiss her slowly, showin’ her how much I love her, how she’s has become the anchor of my world, the light in my dark soul.

“Mine,” I whisper. “Forever mine.”

-

The next evening, Rose was discharged from the hospital with the only order to rest and take her painkillers. She was eager to move from the hospital bed and get some fresh air.

My home wouldn’t be a safe place for us anymore, but luckily, Ares gave us the keys to his holiday house an hour from Knoxville. A modern wood cabin with everythin’ we could need. I think it was his way of giving us his blessing after today.

Told Rose we would stay there for a week before moving to Seattle and starting fresh. Had to take my stuff out of the house and find our new home on the other side of the country. I knew I would have time to do so while she rested in a safe place with a Raven Sons brother checkin’ on her and protectin’ the area.

“You okay?” I signed as I attached her seatbelt next to me. Took my car this time. No way I’m driving her on my bike in this state.

She nodded and signed back, “I’m kind of hungry actually.”

“We’ll stop on our way, Angel, no worries,” I say before kissing her again.

Can’t help myself now that she’s all mine. What we have is too damn precious to not enjoy it.

I haven’t told her yet that I had already sent a prospect to buy her a complete wardrobe with different styles of clothes so she could choose whatever she wanted to try. And I sent Ash to pack the fridge at Ares’ cabin with her favorite foods and snacks.

Wanna make sure she’s got everythin’ she needs.

The drive was quicker than I thought, and I fuckin’ loved watchin’ her eyes widen when she entered the house. Ares has good taste, and it fuckin’ showed. Wood furniture with metallic accents and high quality appliances. I know I’m gonna offer her a similar home in Seattle and I can’t wait to see her in our future kitchen, drawing in her notebook while I cook for her.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she signed to me after I gave her a quick tour of the home.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” I signed back with a smug smile cause I'm getting good at signing and I'm kinda fuckin’ proud of myself. I started making her macaroni and cheese when she came back downstairs in one of my large black t-shirts from the club that I had left on the bed. Love to see her like that, bare legs and my t-shirt on.

No need for any fancy stuff on her to look like a vision.

I stopped cutting the vegetables, dried my hands, all while keeping my gaze on her, then walked towards her. She smelled like the vanilla shower gel I had brought from home cause I know it’s her favorite.

“Thank you for the shower and… everything,” she signs   with a cute as hell smile .  “The food smells so good. I’m… I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.” She waves at our surroundings. I had understood most of what she said, well hopefully.

“It’s nothing, Angel, you deserve it. Our home will look like this too, ya know?”

And I can't fuckin’ wait.

I rest my hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin across the thin fabric.

“Thank you,” she says silently, before surrounding my neck with her arms, pulling herself close to me, and crushing her lips on mine. There’s an intensity to her kiss that takes me off guard. I stop us for a second, stroking her cheek while I look at her, making sure I understand what she wants.

God, I love her.

My heart skips a beat and I kiss her back, knowing we’re about to step into a new milestone of our relationship. She keeps kissing me as I lift her thighs across my hips, carrying her upstairs. Her breathing gets louder as each second passes.

Rose and I aren’t people who need to talk to know what the other feels, so I know she wants this as much as I want it.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll fuckin’ do it, Angel,” I say softly, my voice raspy and filled with a mix of desire and caution. But she doesn’t utter a word, nor does she try to push me away. Instead, she surprises me by grabbing my jaw with her delicate hand and turning it to the side. Then she does something I never expected.

She bites my jaw, sending a surge of electricity through my veins, before turning my head back to face her, her eyes brimming with fire. Holding her hips tighter, I grin in amazement at the woman in my arms. Watching her embrace her darkness is the most intoxicating thing I've ever experienced.

"You were made for me, Angel," I mutter before pushing the door of the bedroom with my leather boot, carrying her onto the bed like a bride on her wedding night.

The image of her walkin’ toward me in a long white dress flashes before me. I won’t push this on her anytime soon cause we have all the time in the world, but I know that one day, I’ll tie myself to this woman in every  humanly way possible.

The light of the sunset lights up her gorgeous face. As I lay on top of her, our clothes still separating us, I sense her fingers running on me.

What are you doing, Angel?

She’s writing letters on my chest until the pattern makes sense, and I understand the three words she's carvin’ on my skin.

I.

Love.

You .

That's what my angel is writing, over and over.

"Right there with ya, Angel," I answer before cupping her face and kissing her again. And right here, in this cabin, far away from the noise of the world, we become one. Two lost souls burning bright in the darkness.

No more running away.

No more building fuckin’ walls.

In the quiet of the night, I grip her cheek, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.

"I’m yours Angel, forever yours," I rasp, my voice husky and raw, laying bare everythin’ I am, everythin’ I feel for her. And as our eyes lock, I see her understanding, her acceptance of the man before her, flaws and all. I see it reflected back at me.

A love as fierce and wild as my own.

And as we fall deeper, lost between passion and worship, hunger and salvation, I know one thing for sure : I ain't never lettin’ her go.

She's mine, and I'm hers, and together, we'll ride through whatever the hell comes our way.

THE END

Epilogue

A year later

The bell from the entryway rings in our home as I leave the garage where I was workin’ on my bike to come and greet my girl. I installed it when we moved to Seattle so I would never miss her comin’ home at the end of the day. I go to work early to get there before she arrives; that’s our routine. I just check inventory, accounts and torture people earlier in the day.

It’s alright with me, always been a morning person anyway.

“Hi, Angel,” I greet, pulling her into my arms and kissing the heck out of her. She kisses me back, stars in her eyes, her golden hair holding a few flower petals in it. Our chubby orange cat Harley runs between her feet with joy.

“How was your day?” I sign before taking her coat off. I took more signing classes and I’m fluent now, which makes everything easier for us. And also makes her laugh each time I mess up the signs and give sentences a whole new fuckin’ meaning.

“Intense. I had to make four flower arrangements in a hurry for a customer who forgot to order in advance. Then the shop was packed so I helped Gladys at the counter, but a lady kept yelling in my ear because I wasn’t replying to her. We laughed so much with Gladys after because, you know, it was the silliest thing.” She chuckles, shaking her head, as she always does when people shout in her ears, thinking she’s deaf too.

Always kind even when she’s dealin’ with dumbass folks.

She found a job at this local flower shop where she works three days a week and the rest of the time she can rest at home and work on an online art course from the University of Seattle. She tried literature and business but didn’t like it so we switched her to art classes and she’s been thrivin’ ever since.

I think she doesn't want to admit that she prefers workin’ at the flower shop than gettin’ herself a degree, but I know how important it is for her confidence to get one, so I support her, no matter what.

She has also joined a support group for children who've been spiritually abused and made a few friends there. They came last month for a barbecue, and she was so nervous cause it was the first time she ever had friends at home. Turns out, everyone was nice and they had a great time.

I'm fuckin proud of her.

Steppin’ into the outside world has been challengin’ for her, but I admire how she keeps goin’ even when she’s unsure and afraid at times. She tried to contact her friends Greta and Jezebel back in Knoxville, but they never got back to her, neither did her mother. I hope one day she’ll get the closure she needs with them, but either way, I can tell she’s doing good right now. And her happiness is all that matters to me.

I’ve never thought I’d be this fuckin’ happy but I am. After years of building walls up, pushing people away, protecting myself from my past, I finally found what I was searching for all along. And now, between expending our territory, dealing with the other gangs and being Ares’ right hand man in the east side of the country, I got a full plate.

But I like it that way. We’ve got eyes everywhere now, and I’ve never been more efficient than with my girl safe by my side.

Carrying her to our couch overlooking our garden, I lay her on my lap, cupping her cheek with my black greased hand. Passing my other hand on her flat creamy stomach under her shirt, I kiss her forehead. She traces a question mark on my chest, the large diamond shining on her ring finger.

I proposed to her five months ago after our first vacation in Canada. We had a blast visiting, trying new foods and hiking. She didn’t even let me get back on my feet after I proposed, she was already in my arms, nodding her head and whispering “yes” in my ear. Felt like the luckiest bastard on earth, so much so that I got the date tattooed on my arm.

I chuckle. “Haven’t said anything.” She laughs silently, her chest heaving in the most adorable way before signing again.

“Let’s enjoy our lives together for now. And when the time comes…” she signs with a grin.

I smile like a fool cause I know one day, we’ll have a tiny version of us runnin’ around and it makes my chest tighten at what life has in store for us.

“Never thought I’d be this happy, Angel,” I say, shaking my head.

“Right back at you,” she signs, swallowing a small laugh, using my own words and making me fall even harder for her.

“So flower shop, orange cat and swollen bellies, sounds pretty fuckin’ good, what do ya think, Angel?” I sign to her.

“I think it sounds like happiness,” she signs back, biting her lips with a breathtakin’ smile.

“Damn right it does,” I say, grabbin’ her hips and kissing her with all that I am.

A dark knight who found his fallen angel.

Thank you so much for reading the story of Rose and Vox.

Don’t forget to leave a review, I’d love to know how you felt about it :)

Read soon Book 2 with the love story of Ares and Mia :

A marriage of convenience MC Club romance.

@cassiekellergan.author

Table of Contents

Whispers of Fire - Cassie Kellergan - KDP 1.docx

Whispers of Fire

Author’s note

Playlist

Prologue

Chapter 1

Vox

Rose

Chapter 2

Vox

Rose

Chapter 3

Vox

Chapter 4

Rose

Chapter 5

Vox

Rose

Chapter 6

Vox

Rose

Chapter 7

Vox

Rose

Chapter 8

Vox

Rose

Vox

Chapter 9

Rose

Vox

Chapter 10

Rose

Vox

Chapter 11

Rose

Vox

Chapter 12

Vox

Rose

Vox

Chapter 13

Rose

Vox

Chapter 14

Rose

Vox

Chapter 15

Rose

Vox

Chapter 16

Rose

Vox

Chapter 17

Rose

Vox

Rose

Chapter 18

Vox

Rose

Chapter 19

Vox

Rose

Vox

Chapter 20

Vox

Epilogue