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.

Wren

"Oh my god," I heave, trembling. "Oh my god."

Ezra pockets my phone, rubbing my back and holding my hair.

My throat is raw, eyes watering.

The image filters into my mind again, and another round of vomit spills from my lips. I retch, stomach cramping.

When I'm settled enough, Ezra hands me a bottle of water and a mint.

"Thank you," I croak.

He helps me up and into the car, and I stare at the road as he drives, unblinking. The image of Tristan bruised and bloodied takes all the space in my head.

I can hear the rush of blood in my ears, the hard pounding of my heart. 

Who would do such a thing? His new wife? Why?

I have so many questions, they pop into my mind one by one without any answers. I just hope he's okay, I really hope so.

A hand brushes my arm and I jerk violently, my head whipping to see it's just Ezra's hand.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he murmurs. "How's the nausea?"

My throat thickens, and I wipe my tears. "It's fine, thank you."

It's silent again except for the low rumble of the car. Somehow, I notice the bikers are slowly following behind us, not as close as they were.

And I appreciate the privacy, knowing Ezra probably told them to stay behind.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Ezra says, voice tight.

"Why would someone even do that? And send it to me?" I ask nobody in particular, voice shaking. 

I look over at Ezra. "Why?"

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, jaw tight. "I don't know, Birdie. You shouldn't have to see that."

"I mean why would someone even do that, Ezra? Is he even alive?"

"Maybe he's not as perfect as he seems-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I didn't finish." He glances at me. "You didn't know he was going to get married to someone else, he probably has a double life and is not as perfect as you make him out to be."

I frown, vision blurring. "What are you trying to say? That he deserves to be beaten to death? Did you see that picture?"

"Yes, I saw it," he replies. "What I'm trying to say little bird is-" he raises a brow, "-maybe he has some skeletons in his closet that you don't know about."

I blink back the tears but some still fall. "It st-still doesn't justify the-the... god, he might not survive it."

"He will," Ezra assures. "Sometimes the blood makes everything look worse than it is."

"He was stripped!" I wail. "Chained like an animal to the balcony. Why humiliate him like that?"

Ezra's jaw tightens. "The same way he humiliated you on the internet?"

My jaw drops in astonishment. "It's not the same thing, Ezra. What is this even... are you on my side or not?"

"I don't take sides." He glares, white-knuckling the steering wheel. "And if you think for one moment what he did to you was not humiliating enough, then I suggest you see a fucking therapist."

"Wow," I scoff, utterly speechless. "You're even colder than you were three years ago, that's why you're still single."

His lips curl into a snarl. "And you're no better. Couldn't even keep your fiancé."

My heart caves, fresh tears fall down my face.

Ezra parks the car at the clubhouse. "Wren, I'm sorry."

"Why?" I ask dryly, sniffling. "You said what you've always felt."

"You know I didn't mean-"

"Save it, Ezra." I snap, ripping the door open and storming into the clubhouse.

"Hey little lady," Torch greets, but one look at my face has him backing up. "Damn, who do I gotta kill?"

"Ezra," I reply, marching up the stairs and into my room.

The door slams so hard it vibrates on its hinges. I dump my bag on the chair and plop down on my bed.

Then, I cry for Tristan. I weep for the love I still feel for him. My phone screen blurs from my vision, but I manage to find his number and I dial again.

"P-please," I whimper, a slobbering mess. "Be okay. Please, be okay."

"Tristan Fuller here," His voicemail comes through, and I listen to it because I've missed his voice. "I'm unavailable at the moment but leave a message." 

And I redial. I try again, and again, and again, hoping for something different. But it's the same voicemails, his voice soothing as always.

Tristan and I were together for two years. We met at a coffee shop a week after I arrived Seattle. He helped me settle in, helped me find a job as an assistant.

He was the sweetest guy I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, and our relationship was sound. Healthy. It was clear to anyone that we were head over heels in love with each other.

That's why it's hard to believe he just switched on me. I know something must have happened, and if only we can talk about it... he has to survive this.

A knock sounds on my door, and it pushes open.

"Oh darling." Lizzy pouts when she sees me. "VP said you might need some company. He sent me up here."

I still manage to roll my teary eyes. "Of course, he did."

"Can I come in? Or do you need privacy?" She asks.

"I just want to be left alone," I reply. "Just for a bit."

"Alright hon, that's fine. Everything's gonna be fine."

I sincerely hope so.

"Thank you," I whimper, lips wobbling. "Do you know if my brother's back?"

She shakes her head. "He isn't."

"Okay."

Lizzy pokes her head back out, the door still slightly ajar.

"She doesn't need company, VP," she calls to the person-who I assume is Ezra-out there.

"Tell her you'll check in on her later." Ezra's low voice sounds from outside my door, but I still manage to hear it.

Lizzy pokes her head back in. "I'll check on you later, okay, Wren?"

"Tell him to leave me alone," I bite out, glaring.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile and shuts the door while I go back to mourning my ex fiancé.

I don't know how long I cry, but I eventually cry myself to sleep.

***

An incessant buzzing drags me out of my sleep. My eyes are dry and puffy from crying, like they've been stuffed with cotton balls.

I look around and find my phone lighting up, the buzzing is coming from it.

I shoot up, the sleep immediately leaving my eyes, and the blanket falls from my body.

A frown forms on my lips. I don't remember covering myself with a blanket. But I toss the thought away, scrambling for my phone.

Taking a deep breath, I blink hard at the screen willing the letters to come together.

And they finally do. The caller ID, "Babe", is bold enough for me to catch it.

My breath stutters. It's Tristan. Oh my god.

I jam my fingers on the button and pick up the call.

"Tristan, baby," I sob. "I got a p-picture of you. I-I... how are you? I'm so-"

"It's not Tristan." A deep voice I don't recognize cuts in.

"He was rushed to the hospital," the person says. "But unfortunately, he didn't survive."

My heart stops, the world tilts on its axis. 

He continues speaking, but my brain crashes out, the words zooming in and out of my head.

"...multiple broken ribs..."

"...head injury..."

"...blood loss..."

"...didn't make it..."

The phone falls from my hand, and I scream.