Wren

The moment I step out into the lobby, a call comes in from my brother, I assume.

"Ray, hi." I pick up, dragging my luggage while my eyes bounce along faces, searching for him. "I'm at the lobby."

"Little bird." The voice comes in.

Not my brother's voice, but I can recognize that deep baritone even in my sleep. My blood runs cold.

I rip the phone from my ears, staring at the jumble of numbers on my screen.

"Ezra," I deadpan. "What do you want?"

"Your brother asked me to pick you up," he replies, sounding smug as ever.

My jaw tightens. "You're kidding."

"Nah," he chuckles, the sound infuriating. "I see you. Look to your left."

Instinctively, I do. My eyes find him immediately, his long legs striding towards me.

Ezra Jax, my brother's best friend and right-hand man. I clench my jaw as he approaches, towering over me.

"Birdie." His lips tilt upward into his famous smirk.

I scowl. "Thought I was getting Raymond."

"Raymond had business. You get me." His voice dips, familiar gray eyes raking down my body. "Can't say it's good to see you."

He's changed, I observe. More tattoos have been added to his body, crawling up his arms and neck. Plus, he has filled out too, his arms more bulky than they used to be.

But the worst part is... he's even more attractive than the last time I saw him.

And he's in his MC kutte, the leather vest still has his "VP" tag. Guess some things haven't changed.

"Likewise," I reply with an eyeroll.

His lips twitch, and he helps me with my luggage. "Did you have a good flight?"

"I arrived safely, didn't I?"

"Damn," he whistles. "The bird has grown some claws. Maybe I should change your nickname to kitten."

Because of my name, Wren, which is a type of bird, my brother and Ezra decided that giving me "bird" nicknames is the way to go.

How original.

"I'd rather you just call me Wren."

"That wouldn't be fun now, would it?"

Ezra and I are... enemies. We strongly dislike each other, we always have. But sometimes it's hard to really hate someone who's always around.

We step out of the airport, and the guttural rumble of engines is the first thing I hear before I see them.

My mouth drops open.

Half a dozen bikes surround the sleek black Camaro, riders in leather with the familiar Raven Reapers patch on the back of their kuttes, similar to Ezra's.

"You couldn't just come alone like a normal person?" I mutter, cheeks reddening at the stares I'm getting.

He grins, mocking. "Welcome back to New Orleans, little bird. You forgot, we don't do normal here."

Of course, how presumptuous of me to assume.

He opens the passenger door for me. "After you."

As soon as I slide in, the door shuts, and the bikes fall into formation, flanking the car as Ezra pulls out of the airport.

The ride is silent until Ezra breaks it.

"Saw you on the internet," he says, eyes dipping to the ring still on my finger.

I roll it between my thumb and index finger. "Yea... I don't think I want to talk about that."

"Are you sad about it?"

"Not at all, Ezra. I'm leaping for joy," I retort.

His lips purse, and I continue. "My life was ripped apart in seconds, all my plans thwarted. So no, Ezra, I'm not sad at all."

"For what it's worth, he doesn't deserve you. He's a-"

"Please stop," I say. "Everyone keeps trying to placate me, and that's not what I need."

"What do you need, then?"

I sigh, irritated. "What I don't need is you bugging me, Ezra."

"I'm only looking out for you, as Ray's little sister."

"Exactly. You don't give a damn. You're only offering the courtesy because my brother is your best friend-"

"That's not true, Wren." He looks over at me, eyes hard. "And you know that."

"Whatever." I shrug. "Everything happened so fast, then Ray called me back home so I haven't had the time to sit with it. I guess that's just what I need...to process."

He hums. "I guess."

"Yea..." I trail off. "By the way, do you know what happened to my dad?"

His hands tighten briefly on the steering wheel. "Ray says it looked like he was roughed up and then shot."

I grimace as the image forms in my mind. "Who would do such a thing, and why?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "But your dad owed a lot of people, I guess one of them was done being patient."

My dad was a chronic debtor, an alcoholic, and a gambling addict. He wasn't the best dad in the world, and it's sad that he had to die like that.

But it is relieving to an extent. Like the weight has suddenly been lifted. At least the people he owed didn't come for my brother or me. It's one of the reasons I left New Orleans.

"It's quite... unfortunate," I say.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ezra sympathizes.

I don't reply, and the rest of the ride goes smoothly. And quietly.

***

The bass hits me before the doors even open, muffled rock music vibrating through the clubhouse. Ezra pushes it open, and we step inside.

Every head turns to me, the music doesn't stop, but conversations do. Familiar and unfamiliar faces meet me.

The smell of whiskey, oil and smoke fills the air. My lungs expand, while my eyes take in the familiar space, and a feeling of nostalgia washes over me.

"Chirp!"

I spot my brother at the bottom of the stairs, arms wide open. An excited gasp leaves my lips, and I run to him.

"Ray!" We collide together, my arms wrapping tight around him, squeezing. "Oh my god, I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too." He pushes back, holding me away from him. "Look at you, goodness. Where's my baby sister?"

His eyes scan the room exaggeratedly.

"You too," I laugh. "You're much bigger now, Ray. Wow."

I go in for another hug. He rocks me in his arms and plants kisses on the top of my head.

We finally pull away, large smiles on our faces.

"Everyone!" He calls. The music stops, all eyes on us, well... him. "This is Chirp-"

I smack him on the chest.

"Wren!" He corrects. "This is Wren, my little sister, for those of you who don't know her. Wren, this is... everyone."

Laughter spills from my lips, and I manage a wave. "Hi, everyone."

"Hi, Wren," they chorus.

"EJ," my brother calls to Ezra, who has his tongue down the throat of a familiar redhead. When she turns, my jaw clenches.

Brittany, my ex-best friend. I don't even want to go down that memory lane.

"Yeah?" Ezra jogs toward us, Brittany following behind him like a leech.

"Wren will stay in my former room, please get her situated," Ray says.

"Alright-"

"Wait," I interrupt. "Your former room... isn't that the wing Ezra stays in?"

Ray nods. "Yes, you'll both be the only ones on that wing."

"Hell no, Ray." I hiss.

He ruffles my hair. "I know you and EJ have very strong opinions about each other, but he's the only one I trust around you. He'll keep you safe."

"Who's gonna keep him safe?" I ask.

Ezra frowns. "From what?"

"From me," I reply.

They both break into laughter, but I don't crack a smile.

Ray lifts his wristwatch to his face. "I've got to go, Chirp. I'll see you soon." He gives me another hug and takes off with some bikers.

"Come on, birdie," Ezra says. "Don't worry, I don't bite..." he raises a brow, "-unless you want me to."

"That's disgusting," I force a gag. "Is that how you pick up women like Brit?"

Brittany glares at me, and I glare back. Glad to see we're both still on the same page.

"Nah," he responds, "only women with the name Wren."

Ezra

"You're not gonna say thanks?" I ask.

She blinks at me. "For what?"

"For dragging your luggage up these stairs, for helping you, Wren," I reply with a scoff, baffled.

"I'm sure you get plenty of thanks around here, Ezra," she replies. "If I don't give you one, you're not gonna die."

Wren slams the door shut in my face, and my lips twitch.

Well... fuck my life.

Gone is the blushing twenty-one-year-old with bangs, and in its place is a twenty-four-year-old feisty vixen.

Now that Wren's back, and obviously very mouthy, I'm in for one hell of a ride.

Wren has always disliked me, and I have no idea why. Or maybe I do. It wasn't always like this, though. I like to think we were friends back in the day.

And all of a sudden, she just... switched. Like a fucking light bulb. At the time, she would just ignore me and then avoid me until she left for Seattle.

Now, she's hell-bent on giving me hell, isn't she?

I give the door one last look, chuckling to myself before heading back downstairs to the bar.

Lizzy slides a glass of whiskey to me, and I tip it in appreciation.

"VP!" Torch sidles up to me, planting himself in the barstool beside me. "I didn't know Prez had a sister."

Raymond is the President of our motorcycle club, Raven Reapers. Everyone calls him Prez or Ray. And since I'm his Vice President, they call me VP or EJ, short for Ezra Jax.

"Well, not many people know." I shrug. "Only those who were here from the beginning know about Wren."

"Was she always here?"

"In the clubhouse?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Quite. She was younger then, so Ray didn't let her spend so much time here. She alternated between here and their home, but their dad..." I leave him to fill in the blank.

It's no news that Tony Carlisle, Ray's dad, was a... case, for lack of a better word.

Torch whistles. "Where did she travel to?"

"Hold up." My brows dip. "Why are you being so inquisitive about Ray's sister?"

"Come on, EJ-" he nudges me. "She's a fucking stunner."

I pause.

"Excuse me?" I say through gritted teeth.

"Her legs, man, she's got legs for days," he practically groans. "And her eyes... nah man, if she wasn't Prez's little sister, I'd have tapped that ass."

What. The. Fuck?

The thought of someone else touching Wren like that has me seeing red.

My fist shoots out, punching him square in the nose. He tilts back on the stool, tipping over and falling to the ground.

"Fucking hell, EJ!" He clutches his nose, while I tower over him. "What the fuck did you do that for?"

Everyone stops to stare, and a hush falls.

"Are you fucking cussing at me?" I lean forward, his eyes widen, blood seeping from between his fingers.

"No!" He shouts, scrambling away on the ground. "I'm sorry, but fu-you just punched me in the nose, man. What for?"

"I dare you to repeat what you said to me, to Ray," I spat. "I fucking dare you."

He pales. "Okay, okay, fine. I understand my mistake, I'm sorry. Shit."

We stare at each other for seconds, my jaw clenching and unclenching. A deep breath expels from my lungs, and I stretch a hand to Torch.

"Come on," I say.

He grabs me, and I pull him up, patting him on the back.

"Mrs Dee?" I call. She appears to be a short-haired old lady married to one of the older bikers. She's like our mother hen here at the clubhouse. "Please be a dear and wipe him up?"

"Anything for you, VP." She winks, blowing me a kiss. I return it with a laugh. "Come on, Torch. Your mouth will always put you in trouble..."

Her words trail off as she drags him away, and everyone goes back to what they were doing.

A slow clap sounds from the stairs and I'm not surprised to find Wren there. She's changed out of her clothes into tiny denim shorts, a crop top and knee-length boots.

Torch is right, Wren is a fucking stunner.

Her hips have filled out, milky thighs on display. Her long hair, a mixture of blonde and brown, is up in a high bun, her pretty face on display.

All the blood rushes to my cock, and my head swims, mouth drying up.

Don't go there, Ezra, I tell myself. Ray will kill me... literally.

But fuck, she's beautiful. She's a woman.

And I'm just... a man.

The clap follows her as she makes her way towards me, and settles on the stool Torch just left.

Her scent invades my nostrils, and I knock back my glass of whiskey, welcoming the burn that distracts me from everything Wren.

"Mr VP," she taunts. "Beating up innocent bikers. What an abuse of power."

"That's why I'm the VP, and you're not," I retort.

She rolls her eyes, and my jaw ticks. "If that role has me beating up innocent people as a show of power, I'm not interested."

"Exactly, birdie," I reply. "Don't concern yourself with matters of the sort, then."

"A Coke, please, Lizzy," she says, flat out ignoring me.

I press my lips together, hands tightening on the whiskey glass.

"Coke?" I scoff. "This is a clubhouse, not a little girl's birthday party."

"You wouldn't know a little girl's party if it hit you in the face, Ezra."

Both of us know that's a lame comeback, but if I were a decent person, I wouldn't point it out.

Guess what? I'm not.

"That was lame." I laugh. "And when did you get so mouthy?"

Lizzy slides a bottle of Coke to her.

"Thank you," Wren says. Then, she gives me her back, tuning me out. "You haven't aged a bit, Liz."

Lizzy gives me a look, lips pursed in silent laughter. I stretch my whiskey glass to her, and she fills it again.

Wren's gonna turn me into a fucking drunk.

"You look gorgeous, Wren. I still remember your bangs," Lizzy says, then sighs. "I heard about the fiancé fiasco. I'm so sorry."

"I really wish I could forget all of that," Wren replies.

"That bastard really hit you."

Wren's shoulders lift and drop. "He never hit me before then, though. He was probably really upset, plus the injuries were just minor scrapes."

My jaw flexes at her statement.

What does she even mean by that? Was he probably upset?

Wren has gotten on my nerves since the moment I picked her up from the airport, but she doesn't see me hitting her... or any woman, for that matter.

"There's no justification for him raising even a finger on you, birdie," I cut in.

She glares at me. "I don't recall talking to you, Ezra."

"You don't have to talk to me for me to make an input."

"I didn't ask for one."

"Well, you should," I reply. "I do have a bucket load of wisdom for youngsters that desperately need it, like yourself."

"That's it!" She slams her Coke down on the counter. "The only thing I desperately need is to scratch your eyes out."

"Easy there, little bird," I say. "With what claws?"

She shoots up from her seat. "I'm going to kill you, Ezra fucking Jax."

And now, she cusses?

My lips pull up into a Cheshire grin. "Come on, then. Do it."

She lunges forward. Lizzy wraps a hand around Wren's waist, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Cut it out, Wren." Ray's voice cuts in, booming. "EJ, stop taunting her. My office! Now! Both of you."

Hell. I didn't even know he got back.

Wren's gonna be the fucking death of me.

Wren

"May he rest in peace, and may those who loved him find strength in one another as they carry on," the funeral officiant concludes.

We bow our heads as the casket is lowered to the ground. Ray and I grab fistfuls of damp earth and throw it down on the casket.

The words on the tombstone blur together, and it takes me a minute to realize my cheeks are wet. I sniffle and pat my cheeks with a napkin.

Ray slips a hand in mine, stone-faced. The hum of motorcycles sounds in the distance, and I don't have to look to know that some of the bikers are here.

Including Ezra, who's been missing for a week, and suddenly, he's appearing beside Ray.

"I'm sorry for your loss, accept my condolences," Ezra says, then gives me an acknowledging nod. "Little bird."

"Yeah," I croak, hand tightening in Ray's.

My dad was a deadbeat, but he was still my dad. There are no fond memories of us, and at this moment, I wish there were. Even if only one.

"Come on." Ray tugs me toward his car, Ezra lagging behind. "How are you feeling?"

I shrug, sniffling. "I don't even know why I'm crying. Not like he was much of a dad, anyway."

"I know, Chirp." His lips tilt in a small smile. "Believe it or not, we came out of his sack. So it's okay to still feel attached."

"You just had to be crass, Ray." I scowl. "Ezra's a bad influence."

They both snort, and my lips twitch. I breathe deeply, blowing a breath through my nose.

"But you're right," I say. "It's just a little sad that there are no happy memories of us as a family. Mom disappeared, dad was nuts...we've had the worst parents, haven't we?"

"That's one thing I don't envy about you, Ray," Ezra quips.

Ray chuckles, squeezing my arms gently. "We've definitely had the worst parents. But they gave us each other, and I love you."

"I love you too, Ray."

"I know that," he breathes. "I know I've not always been the best, I'm hardly around, rarely give you time or attention, but... I'm happy you're my little sister, Chirp."

I pout, lips wobbling and eyes glistening. "I'm happy you're my big brother, too."

"I must say, I love a good family reunion, but you both need to wrap this up." Ezra spins his index finger. "And Ray, we have the..." he glances at me, "-thing, remember?"

I can only imagine what that "thing" means.

"Shit!" Ray hisses, dragging his wrist watch up to his face. "I've got to go now, Wren. EJ will take you home."

Ezra's jaw ticks. "Ray, we're supposed to go together. I'm tired of being on babysitting duty."

"Excuse you?" I snap. "You think I need you to hound me every damn day?"

Ray pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "Don't start, both of you. Please."

"EJ, you can't go with me," Ray continues, eyes pinned on Ezra. "Your knuckles are banged up as it is, and honestly, I don't think I want to know why."

I glance down at his bandaged knuckles, sure enough, a little blood seeps through. I grimace.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Ezra replies. I scoff, and he glares.

My brother's face goes blank. "You're bandaged and bleeding. So no, EJ, you're not coming with me. I'll go with Devon, just take Wren home."

"I'm your VP, Ray."

"And I'm your President," Ray says. "Go. Home. Both of you."

They have a stand-off, glaring at each other for a solid sixty-seconds until Ezra cracks, his lips curving into a smirk.

Ray laughs, and they do the whole bro-hug thing, slamming into each other's chest and harshly patting each other's back.

Men will always be men.

I roll my eyes with a huff. "When you're done doing whatever that is, I'll be waiting in the car."

"Alright, birdie."

My eyeballs nearly get lost in my head with how hard I roll them this time. Then, I stomp my way to Ezra's car and get in.

Pulling my phone out of my bag, I dial Tristan's number again. The ring still sits on my finger, the diamond glinting.

It rings, and rings... and eventually goes to voicemail. It's been a week, and not a single call has been answered or returned.

Some part of me wishes it's all a misunderstanding. I still believe that I wronged him somehow. And I just need to know so that I can apologize, and hopefully go back to Seattle.

Ezra's already getting on my nerves. I don't think I can survive another week with him around, even though his absence this past week has been very much welcome.

I redial the number again just as the door opens, and my thumb smashes down on the red button when Ezra slips in.

And I wonder why I did that.

He raises a brow. "You have that 'caught with my hands in the cookie jar' look. What were you doing?"

"Nothing," I lie. "What happened to your knuckles?"

His eyes narrow. "Nothing. Well played, Birdie."

I bite my lip and wear my seatbelt, avoiding his heated stare that burns my cheek.

The car rumbles, and soon we're taking off towards the clubhouse, some of the bikes following behind and beside us.

"But seriously though," I interrupt the silence. "What did the poor guy do?"

Ezra casts a brief look at me, brows raised. "Who?"

I nod at his knuckles. "The person you beat up."

"Birdie," he chuckles darkly, low. The sound rumbles in my belly. "The poor guy deserved it."

"To be beaten to an inch of his life? I'm sure beneath those bandages is a nasty bruise."

He shrugs. "I'm the VP, little bird. I do all the dirty work so others won't have to."

"Hm," I hum. "Does it hurt?"

He smirks. "When did you start caring?"

"I don't. I'm hoping it hurts so bad that all your fingers swell up."

A scowl lines his lips, then he chuckles. "Brittany would be sad if I couldn't use my fingers."

"Ew, Ezra." I gag.

The mental image of his fingers working me floods my mind, and I quickly shove it to the background.

He laughs, and it's my turn to scowl.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I pull it up, ready to turn it off if it's a text or an email because my dyslexia is much worse today.

But what I see has me freezing, my skin paling, and my head swimming.

"Stop the car, Ezra!" I shout.

Nausea rolls in my belly, bile rises up my throat. Ezra slams on the brakes, and the car screeches to a halt.

"Are you okay..."

I shove the door open, and I stumble out, my phone falling face up on the concrete, the picture glaring at me.

On my screen is a picture of Tristan, stripped and beaten severely. He's chained to the balcony of his home for the world to see.

There's so much blood...his skin streaked with red, blonde hair coated with blood.

Is he even...alive?

I hunch over and empty my guts, throwing up at the side of the road.