Page 9 of Goose’s Wren (Wolfsbane Ridge MC #10)
Goose
I lay next to her in the dark, the sound of her breathing slowly evening out until it settles into a soft rhythm.
One of her hands is resting against my chest, her fingers curled lightly into my skin like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I don’t move. Not until I know she’s completely asleep.
When I finally shift, it’s careful, like easing away from the most delicate thing I’ve ever held. I brush my lips against her forehead, just above the bruise.
A kiss meant for peace. For promises I haven’t spoken yet.
Then I slide out of the bed and stand in the darkness for a moment, watching her. She looks so small under the covers. So fragile. But I know better now.
Wren isn’t just bruised and hurt. She’s surviving. She fought. And I’ll make damn sure no one ever lays a hand on her again.
I get fully dressed, my body still wound tight, rage simmering just beneath my skin. There’s one more thing I have to do tonight, and I won’t be able to rest until I do.
I head into the kitchen and pull out my burner. I don’t text. This needs a voice. I need someone I trust.
Fiona answers on the second ring. “Goose?”
“I need you to come stay with Wren,” I say quietly. “Now.”
There’s a pause. Then, “She okay?”
“She’s sleeping. But yeah. She’s safe now.”
Fiona doesn’t ask more questions. She grew up in this life and knows the way of things. “We’ll be there in ten.”
I end the call and walk back down the hallway stopping at the door of the bedroom, one shoulder resting against the frame.
She’s still curled on her side, that same soft rhythm of breathing lulling the room into quiet. I watch her for a long moment. Everything in me tightens.
Now I’m going to make sure he never has the chance to do this again.
Headlights sweep across the walls of the cabin as a vehicle pulls up the drive. I don’t need to look. I know it’s Fiona and Baratta.
I meet them on the porch. Baratta being the huge quiet type just nods and walks over to the swing, taking a seat.
“Go do what you have to do. We’ll take care of her until you get back.” Fiona says.
“Thanks.” I answer, heading to my bike.
The ride to the clubhouse feels different tonight. My bike rumbles beneath me, steady and familiar, but there’s a darkness riding with me that wasn’t there before.
The wind bites against my skin, the night air sharp and heavy with the weight of what I’m about to do.
By the time I pull into the lot, a few of the brothers are already waiting. It’s more than personal. It's club business.
I cut the engine and climb off the bike. Timber, Blade, and Blood are standing by the doors. Torque leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that unspoken question in his eyes.
“You sure you want to do this tonight?” Timber asks when I reach him.
I look him square in the eye. “I'm not sure I can’t.”
He nods once, no judgment there. Just understanding. A brother who’s been in the same place more than once.
“He’s inside,” Blade nods to the building behind him. “Woke up swinging, tried to bite Ringo, so we tied him to the damn chair.”
“Used your old chain,” Blood says with a grim smile. “Figured it was fitting.”
I walk past the firepit and the line of parked bikes, and into the darkness behind the clubhouse where the old tool shed sits. The place we use when someone needs a reminder of what crossing Wolfsbane MC costs.
The lock clicks open in my hand, and I pull the door wide, stepping inside.
He’s in there, just like they said. The place smells like bleach from the last time we used it. Normal. Comforting, even.
Tied to a chair with one arm already bleeding from where he struggled against the chain. His shirt's half torn, and his lip’s split from the beat down the boys gave him before dragging him here.
He looks up when I step inside. His eyes are wild and face pale.
“You can’t...” he starts.
I shut the door behind me with a click.
“Don’t even try,” I growl. “You lost the right to speak when you touched her.”
He squirms. “You don’t understand, man, she was mine...”
I slam my fist into the wall beside his head, not touching him yet, just needing the impact to keep myself from doing worse too fast.
“She was never yours,” I snarl. “You broke her. You tried to sell her. You laid your hands on her. And you think you’re gonna walk away from that?”
He laughs, jittery, broken. “You ain’t a cop. You got no proof. You kill me, they’ll come looking.”
I crouch in front of him, meeting his bloodshot eyes.
“I don’t need proof, Tim. I don’t need permission. And no one’s coming for you. You’re a junkie who disappeared after screwing with the wrong people. No one gives a damn where you end up.”
His face pales even more. I stand and roll my shoulders.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” I say, voice low and steady, even though the rage is pounding in my chest. “You’re going to feel a piece of what you gave her. And then, you’re going to disappear. Like liquid down a drain. Literally.”
I grab the chain from the wall with a grin. I don’t feel guilty for what I’m about to do. I feel righteous. Because Wren deserves peace. And I’m going to give it to her. For the rest of our lives...after I kill this mother fucker.