Page 1

Chapter 1

Elle

After begging my father for the hundredth time, he finally agreed to let me go to a party. It’s a rite of passage to attend a bonfire party, get drunk, and have fun.

The air is crisp and cool as I walk toward the party, the sound of laughter and music carrying on the wind. As I approach, the flames of the bonfire light up the night sky, casting an orange glow on the faces of my friends. I can feel the anticipation building in my chest as I join the crowd.

I wish it were that for me.

I’m so excited because none of the MC boys are with me, and I don’t have them hovering to keep everyone away from me. I can just pretend that I am not a princess in the MC.

I get to dance, drink, and be an eighteen-year-old girl. The drinks are flowing, and my friends are off to hook up with boys they have crushes on.

But no ordinary boy could turn my head because of Christopher.

I take a drink from my cup, grinning into it thinking about the man he is growing into.

His father is the president of the MC and my dad is one of the members. We grew up together, and he has been my protector and best friend for as long as I can remember.

It’s hard that he is away for military training—well, it’s not really the military, it’s someone who is training them to be more badass than they already are because one day he and the others will be taking over the MC once his dad steps down like his before him.

Christopher and I aren’t officially together yet. We decided to wait until he was finished with his training so we could have time for each other. He has a ton of responsibilities to prepare him to take over the MC and I want to go to college.

I finish my drink and place the empty glass on the log next to me. I raise my arms in a stretch, feeling the effects of the alcohol creeping into my body.

The night air is humid and sticky, and the smoke from the bonfire is causing my eyes to burn. The music is by a rap singer, which I’m not too much of a fan of. I love heavy metal.

As the night goes on, I find myself feeling more and more out of place at the party. Despite all the fun I’m having with my friends, there’s always a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I don’t quite belong here.

I find myself standing alone on the sidelines, realizing that this isn’t the scene for me.

Suddenly my whole body starts to feel funny, and I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to clear the fog of smoke from them.

I rub my eyes with the back of my hands, but it’s like I can’t hold them open. A metallic taste slides across my tongue. Maybe it’s the smoke that is making me sick? Maybe someone threw something in the fire that shouldn’t be there?

My hand instinctively goes to my stomach, as if trying to soothe the sudden knot that has formed there. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down, but I can feel the panic slowly building.

But the more I try to shake off this strange feeling, the worse it becomes. My head starts spinning and my vision becomes clouded.

I put my hand on my chest, confused and scared, because this feeling is not normal.

I can hear my friends laughing and the cackling sound grates on my nerves.

I groan and clutch the sides of my head, feeling a sharp pain that resembles a migraine. I make my way toward the woods, trying to escape from the smoke and get some fresh air. My face feels warm, my chest is tight, and my mouth has gone from tasting like metal to feeling dry and parched.

Did someone drug me?

That’s my last thought when the world turns and my body falls onto the hard, unforgiving forest floor.

I wake up to the sound of rustling leaves and people laughing and yelling in the distance.

I open my eyes and look above me to see trees and a few smatterings of stars along the sky. My head is throbbing with pain and my body feels achy and sore, as if I've been run over by a truck.

I slowly sit up, trying to get my bearings. Where am I? How did I end up here? The last thing I remember is feeling sick at the party, but after that everything is a blur.

A wave of icy terror washes over me, freezing the blood in my veins. My lungs seize as the horrifying realization crashes into me. The pain, the foggy memories, the unfamiliar surroundings—it all points to one unthinkable conclusion.

That’s when I notice the pain that is hurting me the worst is between my legs.Fear strikes me hard, stealing all the breath from my lungs, and I’m terrified.

My heart pounds frantically against my rib cage, each beat echoing in my ears like a thunderclap. I try to swallow, but my throat constricts, leaving me gasping. My fingers dig into the damp earth beneath me.

I claw at the dirt, trying to push myself up so I can look down at my bottom half. My skirt is pushed up to my hips, and my panties are gone.

What happened to me?

My mind and my body are fighting the other, trying to think of what happened and not wanting to accept the fact that my underwear is gone.

“This can't be happening," I whisper to myself, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar to my own ears.

I force myself to look down again, hoping desperately that I'm wrong, that this is all some terrible misunderstanding. But the sight of my exposed skin, marred by dirt and scratches, confirms my worst fears again.

I’m shaking hard but I manage to stand up, needing to get out of here. I look for my phone, checking my pockets, and I see the flash of the screen on the ground. I pick it up to find out that it’s shattered beyond repair.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up like someone is watching me. My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest, the fear threatening to swallow me whole.

I fix my skirt, running my hands over and over, trying to pull the material down as far as I can even though it’s in place. I stuff my phone in my pocket even though its broken.

I was meant to leave with my friend Debbie tonight. I need to go find her so I can get out of here.

Most of all, I just want to go home.

I don’t want to let the thoughts take over my mind, the pain between my legs almost crippling me. But it’s not just the pain between my legs, it’s the one in my heart.

I stumble toward the sound of music, hoping to find someone who can help me. I see a group of people dancing near a bonfire, laughing and drinking. They look so happy and carefree, oblivious to my nightmare.

I try to call out to them, but my voice is hoarse and weak. No one hears me over the loud music. I feel dizzy and nauseous, the alcohol still in my system.

I collapse on the ground, unable to go any farther. I curl up into a ball, hoping that someone will notice and help me. I close my eyes, praying this is all a bad dream.

There are footsteps crunching along the trail, and I can hear the sound of leaves and tree branches breaking under their feet.

I sit up, getting ready to run away, to protect myself in any way possible.

But to my utter disbelief, it’s my science teacher, Mr. Evans. Why is he out here in the middle of the woods?

“Oh my God, Elle! What happened to you?” He bends down next to me and helps me to my feet, practically lifting me off the ground.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He wraps his arm around me, pressing me into his side and hugging me for a moment.

“Can you take me home?” My voice comes out in a pleading tone. I just want to shower and go to sleep where I feel safe to figure out what happened to me.

He nods, practically carrying me to his car that is parked in the clearing on the other side of the small patch of woods. “Why are you here?” I have to ask him, unsure why he is at a school party in the first place.

“I love spending time in that house over there, and I thought I heard a scream, so I went to investigate,” he explains, but I can’t bring myself to ask more questions, just thankful I’m going home.

T he next morning, I wake to a lot of pain. Every inch of my body screams in protest as I try to move. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a mocking cheerfulness over my room. I slowly lift my hands, wincing at the sight of the scratches crisscrossing my palms, tiny pebbles still embedded in my flesh. A vivid reminder of how I clawed at the ground, desperate to get up.

I hear footsteps approaching my door and quickly shut my eyes, feigning sleep. The door creaks open, and I can sense my mom's presence. She lingers for a moment, probably checking if I'm still asleep. I keep my breathing slow and steady, not ready to face her or anyone else. After what feels like an eternity, she quietly closes the door.

As soon as I'm alone again, I force myself to sit up, ignoring the protests of my aching muscles. That's when I notice it—a dark, rust-colored stain on my inner thighs. My stomach lurches as the reality of what happened last night hits me at full force.

"No, no, no," I whisper, my voice barely audible. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it all to be a nightmare, but when I open them again, nothing has changed.

The evidence is there, stark and undeniable. Someone assaulted me. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping for air. My mind races, desperately trying to piece together fragments of memories, but it's all a haze. The last clear memory I have is feeling dizzy at the party, then… nothing.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling that's taken over my body. Questions swirl in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last. Who did this to me? How did I end up in the woods? Why can't I remember anything?

The metallic taste from last night resurfaces in my mouth, and a horrible thought occurs to me. "I was drugged," I murmur, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. It's the only explanation that makes sense, the missing piece of this horrifying puzzle.

I glance at my phone on the nightstand, considering calling Christopher. But what would I say? How could I possibly explain this to him when I can barely understand it myself? The thought of anyone knowing, of seeing me like this, makes me feel sick all over again.

Instead, I force myself to stand, my legs shaky beneath me. I need to shower, to wash away the physical evidence of last night. But as I take a step toward my bathroom, a chilling thought stops me in my tracks. What if I'm destroying evidence? What if I need proof of what happened?

I sink back onto my bed, overwhelmed by the weight of decisions I never thought I'd have to make. The world outside my window continues as if nothing has changed, but in here, in this room, everything has shattered. And I have no idea how to begin picking up the pieces.

My phone is shattered with no way for me to get ahold of anyone. I make my way to the shower again to clean up. The only thing I feel right now is the hot water burning my skin as I scrub myself raw.

Weeks Later

Elle

F ear grips me, its icy tendrils wrapping around my chest and squeezing tight. My shattered phone lies silent on my nightstand, a constant reminder of the messages I can't bring myself to read. I can almost hear the concerned voices of my friends, their worry seeping through the cracks in the screen.

Christopher's face flashes in my mind, his warm smile now a source of guilt and shame. What would he think if he knew? The thought makes my stomach churn.

I curl up tighter on my bed, pulling the blankets over my head as if they could shield me from the world. The darkness is a small comfort, but it can't keep the memories at bay. Flashes of that night assault my senses—the acrid taste of alcohol, the dizzying spin of the woods, the searing pain between my legs.

My breath catches in my throat, threatening to turn into a sob. I swallow hard, forcing it back down. I can't let anyone hear, can't let them know how broken I feel inside.

The word 'rape' echoes in my mind, each instance like a knife twisting in my gut. It doesn't feel real, like it happened to someone else. But the pain, the fear, the constant feeling of being dirty no matter how much I scrub my skin raw in the shower, it's all too real.

I peek out from under the covers, my eyes landing on the calendar on my wall. The unmarked days mock me, each one a reminder of what I'm desperately trying to ignore. My period is late. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure it'll burst from my chest.

A soft knock on my door makes me jump. "Elle? Honey, are you okay in there?" My mom's voice is laced with concern.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat. What could I possibly say? That her little girl was violated in the worst way imaginable? That I might be…

No. I can't even think it.

"I'm fine, Mom," I manage to croak out, wincing at how unconvincing I sound. "Just tired."

There's a pause, and for a terrifying moment, I think she might come in. But then I hear her sigh. "Okay, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything."

Her footsteps fade away, and I'm left alone with my thoughts again. My eyes drift to my closet, where I know the clothes from that fateful night are hidden away. The evidence of my assault, preserved just in case. Just in case of what? I'm not sure I'll ever be brave enough to come forward.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to come and give me a brief respite from this nightmare. But even in my dreams, I can't escape. The faceless boys from the party haunt me, their laughter echoing in my ears as I try to run away.

As consciousness creeps back in, a new day dawns. But for me, it's just another day of pretending, of forcing smiles and mumbling excuses. How long can I keep this up? How long before someone sees through the cracks in my carefully constructed facade?

The weight of my secret presses down on me, threatening to crush me entirely. But what choice do I have? To speak out would be to make it real, to admit that my life has been irreversibly changed. And I'm not ready for that, but I have to.

I made sure to get tested for all possible diseases, even though I was pretty sure of the outcome. The confirmation that I was clean and free of any illnesses was a relief after what had happened.

I don’t remember anything from the person who hurt me, but I do get a random flash of a tattoo of an anchor on someone’s forearm; it’s a cheesy sailor design that someone in the military would have if they were in the navy.

I have to tell my parents that I’m pregnant, or I think I am.

What if they are disappointed in me? I was so stupid to let my guard down and be hurt in this way.

One person, no matter what, makes me feel safe and has held my hand and kissed all of my boo-boos away.

I need my daddy.

It’s one o’clock in the morning and I just peed on the pregnancy test, not able to wait any longer, but I don’t want to be alone during this.

I slip into my parents’ bedroom—my dad always lies closest to the door—and I softly split the distance between us, just wanting to crawl into bed between the two of them to feel safe, to hug away all of the shit going through my mind.

My hand is trembling as I touch his arm, holding my breath as I wait for him to wake up. His eyes snap open, startled to find me at his side. He glances at the clock, puzzled by my presence this late.

I can’t form the words, so I take his hand and he follows me without hesitation.

I glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me. My skin is ashen, almost translucent, with dark circles shadowing my sunken eyes. I look hollow, a shell of my former self.

"Daddy," I whisper, the word catching in my throat. It's all I can manage, but it carries the weight of everything I can't say.

I lower myself onto the edge of the bathtub, my legs trembling beneath me. Dad kneels in front of me, his eyes wide with concern. I've never seen him like this before, vulnerable, scared. It makes my heart ache even more.

"Baby girl," he says softly, his voice rough with sleep and worry. "What's troubling you?"

His gentle words break something inside me. A sob tears from my throat, raw and painful. I bury my face in my hands, my body shaking with the force of my cries. Everything I've been holding back for weeks comes rushing out in a torrent of tears and anguished sounds.

Dad reaches out, his calloused hands gently grasping my wrists. "Elle, sweetheart, look at me."

I shake my head, unable to meet his gaze. How can I tell him? How can I shatter his world along with mine?

"Please," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. Just talk to me."

I force myself to lower my hands, my vision blurry with tears. Dad's face comes into focus, etched with lines of worry. His eyes, so like my own, are filled with a mix of fear and determination.

"I…" I start, but the words stick in my throat. I swallow hard, trying again. "Something happened, Dad. At the party."

His brow furrows, confusion mixing with the concern on his face. "What party? The one a few weeks ago?"

I nod, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "I didn't want to tell anyone. I thought… I thought I could handle it on my own."

Dad's hands tighten slightly around my wrists, steadying me. "Handle what, Elle? What happened?"

The pregnancy test sits on the counter behind me, a ticking time bomb. I take a shaky breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to say.

"I think I was drugged," I whisper, the words hanging heavy in the air between us. "I woke up in the woods, and… and…"

I pull myself together, and he embraces me closely like his hug can take away the hurt. There was a time when it actually could. But this is something I'll have to cope with. Maybe it's a good thing I don't remember what happened.

Leaning back and brushing away my tears, I take a deep breath and say, “Dad, I think I might be pregnant.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, there's no easy way to bring up something like this.

My dad's face betrays his shock, it’s like all of the air has been sucked out of the room.

I catch a glimpse of anger flicker in his eyes, but it quickly disappears, replaced by the gentle expression he always wears for me.

“Oh, Elle," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches out, his calloused hand cupping my cheek. "Baby, why do you think you're pregnant?" he asks.

His face grows hazy as I recall waking up in a field. "Remember that night I went to the party?" I murmur, fighting back tears. "I stayed out all night with a friend.

“I woke up in the woods later that night, early morning, and I don’t know what happened to me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I don’t think it was willingly.” My heart shatters and I watch as his does too because speaking the words out loud are tough.

He pulls me into his arms, and I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent. "I'm so sorry, baby girl," he murmurs into my hair, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm so, so sorry."

He has protected me my whole life, never let anything harm me, and I know this is his worst fear.

“So sorry,” he whispers, holding me so tight like he is trying to hug the pain away.

I collect myself as best I can, needing to get this part over with. “The test is on the counter, if you can check for me, Daddy?” I ask him, and I feel him shift. I lean back to look at his face as he looks at the test.

I know in my heart before he tells me from his expression.

“I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”

He gives one single nod and it changes my whole life forever, because I’m going to have this baby. I contemplated having an abortion, but in the end I knew that he or she is innocent in all of this.

I take a deep breath, my chest shaking with the effort. The words come out softly, but with unwavering certainty. "I want my baby, Daddy."

My father's eyes, usually so strong and sure, are now filled with a mix of emotions I can't quite decipher. His hand, rough from years of hard work, gently brushes a strand of hair from my face. I lean into his touch, seeking comfort in its familiarity.

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Your mom and I… we're here for you. Always." He pauses, swallowing hard. "We'll help you, support you every step of the way. This won't stop you from following your dreams, Elle. You hear me? You won't face this alone."

The fear that had been gnawing at my insides, the fear of disappointing him, begins to dissolve. In its place, a warmth spreads through my chest, bringing with it a glimmer of hope.

"I know, Daddy," I say, my voice stronger now. "You always told me that no matter what, you've got me."

He nods, pulling me close again. I can feel his heart beating against my cheek, its steady rhythm a reminder of his unwavering presence in my life.

"That's right, baby girl," he murmurs into my hair. "And I meant every word."

We stay like that for a moment, the silence of the bathroom broken only by our breathing. Then, hesitantly, my father speaks again.

"Elle," he starts, his voice careful. "I need to ask… do you remember anything about… about who did this to you?"

The question sends a chill down my spine, bringing with it flashes of that night, the dizzy confusion, the fear, the pain. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus.

"I… I'm not sure," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's all so hazy. But…" I pause, a fragment of my memory surfacing. "There was a tattoo. An anchor, I think. On someone's forearm."

I feel my father tense at this information, but when I look up at him, his face is carefully neutral. He nods slowly, processing what I've told him.

"Okay," he says softly. "That's okay, sweetheart. We'll figure this out together, all right?”

I nod, feeling both exhausted and oddly lighter. There's still so much uncertainty ahead, so many decisions to make and challenges to face. But for now, in this moment, I'm not alone. And that's enough to give me strength for whatever comes next.

Lane

T he rumble of a motorcycle engine shatters the early morning quiet. I look up from my paperwork just as Derek's bike screeches to a halt in the club's parking lot. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my gut.

Derek bursts through the front door, his chest heaving, face contorted with a rage I've rarely seen. The air in the room instantly becomes thick with tension.

"What happened, brother?" I ask, rushing toward him.

Instead of answering, Derek whirls around and slams his fists into the wall. Once, twice. The drywall crumbles under his assault, leaving two gaping holes.

The other brothers gather around me, all of us watching Derek warily. We've seen him angry before, but this… this is different. This is a man coming apart at the seams.

When Derek finally turns to face us, the look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It's a look I've seen in the mirror more times than I care to admit—the look of a father whose world has just been shattered.

"What happened?" I repeat, my voice low and urgent.

Derek's words come out in a choked whisper, each one hitting me like a physical blow. "Someone raped my baby."

The room goes dead silent. For a moment, I can't process what I've just heard. Then, white-hot rage floods my system.

"Who was it?" I roar, my hands clenching into fists. "I'm going to fucking tear them apart!" The thought of someone touching Elle, hurting her like that… it makes me want to set the world on fire.

Derek shakes his head, his voice raw with pain. "She doesn't know. She woke up in a field in the middle of the woods, alone." He pauses, swallowing hard before delivering the final blow. "Now she's pregnant."

"Fuck me," I growl, slamming my hands down on a nearby table. The wood groans in protest, but I barely notice. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of this nightmare.

Someone has attacked one of ours. One of our kids. They've signed their own death warrant, and they don't even know it yet.

I look at Derek, seeing the fight slowly returning to his eyes. Good. We're going to need that fire.

"Let's find out what the hell happened to our princess," I tell him, my voice low and menacing. "And then we'll bury the bastard who did this."

Derek nods, a grim smile twisting his lips. "Let's ride, brothers."

Within minutes, every single member of the club is mounting up. The roar of engines fills the air as we prepare to do what we do best. We'll fight, we'll claw, we'll murder if we have to. Whatever it takes to get the revenge our girl needs.

As I kick my bike to life, one thought burns in my mind: no one fucks with an MC princess and lives to tell the tale. Whoever did this to Elle is about to learn that lesson the hard way.