The Ruthless Biker's Ex-Convict Bride

Chapter 9

Wren’s Point of View

"Miranda!" Elias's voice cuts through the noise the same second the slap lands against my cheek. My head snaps to the side, and it takes everything in me to keep calm.

My ear rings, but I don't stumble. I just turn my head instead toward Ash, who has his arm around me. My cheek stings, and I feel my ear ringing.

“You have some f*****g nerve to show your f*****g face after what you did,” she growls, and I lift my head to look at her. Ash grunts, wanting to take a step, but I tug on his shirt.

Someone nearby murmurs Ol’ Lady, and it clicks into place all at once. I knew Elias had claimed someone; he married her. Kara told me, and I brushed it off, but now I'm looking right at her—Damon's daughter, everything I never had a shot at, sophisticated and elegant in a way I will never be. Even after trying my best, I could never be like her.

My eyes drop to her wrist without meaning to. Fresh ink of Elias’s initials inside an infinity circle. I feel something twist in my chest because, for so many years, I had hoped I would end up with that ink on my wrist or shoulder blade.

Miranda isn't finished with me.

"I sat with Ro while she took her last breath." Her voice shakes, but not from weakness. "The whole club knows it. Everyone but you—too busy to show up for the woman who made you." Her chin lifts. "You are a murderer, Wren. And you killed the woman who made you what you are right now."

The crowd outside has gone quiet. I can feel every eye on me, but I refuse to break down. I tighten my jaw, my hands shaking, but I clench them into fists because I did that to Mama Ro. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.

I don't move. Don't argue. I don't know for certain if Miranda is wrong, and that's exactly what keeps my mouth shut.

Ash leans down beside me, his voice low. "Happy to return the favor, if you want."

I say through gritted teeth, even as something twists in my chest. "I've got it."

Miranda comes at me again, her hand already swinging. Mine comes up and catches her wrist in midair before it lands. I hold it a beat longer than I need to, look her dead in the eye, and let go.

“Let’s go.” I turn and walk Ash through the gate.

I don't look back. I can't look back and see the man I gave everything up for love another woman. Claim another woman. It hurts. It f*****g hurts so much, and I want to scream, but I won't. Not tonight.

Elias’s Point of View

The second she walked through that door, something in me screamed. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Three years, and one look at her undid every careful decision I'd made since the day I put her name behind me.

She looked the same. Harder around the edges—prison does that, carving something leaner and colder into a person—but she survived it. I checked her wrist on instinct, some old reflex I thought I'd killed a long time ago. No ink.

She was still unclaimed, and I felt something twist in my chest.

My first reaction was relief. I hated myself for it. Standing right there in front of everyone I command, I almost showed weakness because that’s what Wren is: my weakness.

I don't let myself off easily either way. If I'd stood next to her when the verdict came down, we'd have both gone under together. It’s why I kept my distance and made sure that I got the power I needed for her. That's what I tell myself, what I've told myself for three years running. Tonight, it doesn't feel like enough. Tonight, it feels like the thin excuse it's always been—an excuse I told myself so I wouldn't feel guilty. That’s what my best friend, Kalvin, said.

When she said the stranger was hers, something in my chest went cold and then violent, fast enough to scare me. I'd pressed down on that man's wound harder than I intended to. I thought, for one clear second, about how easy it would be to make the problem stop existing altogether. No one takes what’s mine and lives.

The stranger looked back at me on his way out. A small smile. Deliberate, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me and enjoyed every second of it. Wren didn’t catch it, but I saw it. There was something about him that didn’t sit right with me.

I watched them go. Stood in that hallway a long while after, not moving, because my Wren chose another man. f**k. I did it first.

Miranda's voice reached me from outside as she screamed something, and I knew s**t had hit the fan. I hurriedly made my way out. By the time I got there, she had slapped Wren, who was still being held by the asshole she claimed as her man.

He said something to her, and she shook her head at him. His jaw tightened. Miranda was about to slap her again, but Wren grabbed her hand and stopped her. The asshole’s shoulders tensed beneath the bloodied shirt he was wearing. Wren didn’t say anything; she just dropped Miranda’s hand and walked out of the clubhouse with the asshole, who held her protectively.

“Miranda, a word,” I said to her, and then I walked back inside with her.

“How could you let her come here again?” she growled as soon as we were in my office, but I just watched her and let her get it out of her system. She doesn't handle things well when they don't go her way.

“You need to make sure she doesn’t come back here,” she says. I don't fully agree, but I tell her what she wants to hear just to calm her.

“I will handle it. Give me a minute,” I say to her.

Then I head back down the hallway alone, finally needing five minutes where nobody's watching my face. I lost my Wren. She has another man she is willing to do anything for.

My phone buzzes before I make it ten feet out the door. Miranda's name appears on my screen.

“I need you to stop looking at her like that,” the message reads in all caps.