EIGHT
WILLOW
I wake with a start, my heart racing. The bedroom is dark and empty. Ezra must have left sometime during the night. Glancing at the clock, I see it's only five a.m.
My stomach rolls with nausea and I take a few deep breaths to try and fight it off. I've been feeling the same for the past week—my breasts are tender, and I'm exhausted. The symptoms have all hit me at once.
With shaking hands, I reach for the small paper bag hidden in my purse. I've been putting this off for days, too afraid of what the result might be. But I can't ignore the signs any longer.
In the bathroom, I follow the instructions on the pregnancy test with trembling fingers, my heart pounding and the nausea intensifying. The three minutes I have to wait feel like an eternity. When the timer on my phone finally chimes, I take a deep breath and look down at the little plastic stick.
Two pink lines. Positive.
A wave of emotions washes over me—fear, excitement, anxiety, joy. Ezra and I have never talked about kids. We've only been together for a few months. It’s way too damn soon. Will he be happy about this? I’m not even sure what to feel; I can’t imagine what Ezra’s going to feel.
I make my way to the living room and curl up on the couch to wait for Ezra to return. I need to tell him as soon as possible. We have so much to talk about, so many decisions to make. I’m terrified. I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do. I need Ezra.
As I sit there in the dark, waiting on the man that I love, hoping like hell he won’t be angry or leave, my mind drifts to thoughts of the future. A little boy or girl with Ezra's intense eyes and my unruly hair.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know, Ezra is shaking me awake. Sunlight spills through the room, shining on his face.
"Willow," Ezra says, his voice serious. "Wake up. We need to talk."
I blink the sleep from my eyes, a smile spreading across my face as I see him. "Ezra," I murmur, reaching for him. "You're back. Is everything okay?"
But as I look at him, I realize something is very wrong. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes hard and angry.
"Willow," he says, his voice cold in a way I've never heard before. "I need you to be honest with me. About everything."
As he asks me questions, my heart breaks. Shatters completely. His lack of trust in me is something I hadn’t expected. His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard. He’s never been this way with me before. I’ve always known that there’s a hidden darkness to him; I just never thought I’d see it.
I cling to his body as we ride. I have no idea where we’re going. I’m scared—beyond that, I’m petrified.
The motorcycle roars to a stop in front of a red brick building on the outskirts of town. My heart pounds as Ezra roughly pulls me off the bike. The building is huge. I see at least a dozen motorcycles parked out front.
"Where are we?" I ask, my voice trembling.
He doesn't answer, just grips my arm tightly and drags me towards the building. As we enter, I'm hit by the smell of cigarette smoke and leather. Men in leather vests adorned with patches turn to stare as Ezra pulls me through the room.
"Storm," Ezra calls out, "I brought her."
A large, intimidating man with graying hair steps forward, his cold eyes assessing me.
"So this is the little bird who's been singing to the Hawks," he growls.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I plead, looking desperately at Ezra. "Please, there's been some mistake."
But Ezra's face is like stone as Storm grabs me by the hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to look at him.
"No more lies, sweetheart," Storm snarls. "We know you've been feeding information to Lochlann. Now, you're going to tell us everything."
"I swear, I don't know anything!" I cry out as Storm drags me to a back room.
Ezra follows, along with at least seven other men, all of whom have grim looks on their faces, but they’re all watching me with intense curiosity.
The older man ties my hands to the wooden beam in the room, my arms stretched above my head. I grit my teeth as I watch Ezra staring at me, his eyes vacant of emotion, and my heart shatters. The man I thought I knew, that I loved, isn’t who I believed.
“How did you know where the flash drive was?” Storm questions me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The first blow takes me by surprise, Storm's fist connecting with my stomach. The air rushes out of my lungs as pain explodes through my abdomen.
"Wrong answer," Storm growls. "Let's try again. How did you get the information about our operations?"
"Please," I gasp, tears streaming down my face. "I don't know anything about your operations. I swear!"
Another punch, this time to my ribs. I cry out in agony, my legs buckling beneath me. The ropes bite into my wrists as they take my full weight.
My mind goes to the tiny life growing inside me. I have to protect my baby, even if it means enduring this hell. I know that no matter what, I’ll never be able to forget what’s happened here today. Never in my life have I felt so alone and frightened, and the person I love is standing by and letting it happen.
"Ezra," I plead, looking desperately at the man I thought I knew. "Please, tell them this is a mistake. You know me!"
But Ezra's face remains impassive, his eyes cold as he watches my torture. In that moment, I realize the man I fell in love with never really existed. This stranger before me is capable of standing by while I'm beaten and brutalized.
"The flash drive, sweetheart," Storm says, gripping my face roughly. "Where is it?"
"I don't know about any flash drive!" I sob. "Please, I'm telling the truth!"
Storm sighs, turning to one of the other men. "Bring me the iron."
Terror grips me as I watch one of the men heat up a branding iron. The metal glows red-hot, and I struggle frantically against my bonds.
"No! Please, don't do this!" I scream.
"We're done playing games," Storm sneers. “We have proof that it’s you.”
I cry, tears falling thick and fast. “I haven’t done anything,” I whisper, my words filled with fear and pain. I stare at Ezra. He’s watching me, his jaw clenched. The man beside him is standing close, a hand on his shoulder. They’re both watching me, no doubt loving the tears and fear.
The searing pain as the hot iron meets the flesh on my hip is unlike anything I've ever experienced. I scream until my throat is raw, the smell of burning skin filling the air.
Through the haze of agony, I hear Storm's voice, "You don’t ever cross the Saints."
As darkness finally, mercifully, overtakes me, my last thought is of the tiny life growing inside me. A life created with a man I thought I knew; a man I thought loved me. A man who just stood by and watched as I was tortured and branded.
When I come to, I'm lying on a cold concrete floor. Every inch of my body aches, and the burn on my hip throbs with a fierce, relentless pain. I blink, trying to focus in the dim light.
"She's awake," I hear someone say.
Footsteps approach, and then Ezra's face swims into view. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of concern in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced by that cold, detached look.
“You should have told the truth,” he says thickly. “You wouldn’t have been hurt as much had you just told the truth.”
The bitter laugh that escapes me fills the air. “I’ve told you the truth.”
Storm enters the room, his footsteps heavy and his presence intimidating. “See, this tells us differently.” He throws a picture onto the floor beside me.
My heart races as the face of my sister stares back at me from the picture. Ivy. She’s the one who has stolen the information from them.
I raise my head and look at Ezra. He knows that I have a sister and he still thinks this is me? How can the man who claims he cares about me do this?
“Nothing?” Storm growls. “No more lies?”
If I tell them it’s Ivy, what will they do to her? I can’t let them hurt her.
"I don't know anything about this," I say, my voice hoarse from screaming and crying. "Please, I've told you the truth. I'm not involved with any of this."
Storm's face twists in anger. He roughly grabs me by the hair, forcing me to look at him. The rage in his eyes has me flinching. "You expect us to believe that? We have proof it was you meeting with the Hawks!"
My eyes flick to Ezra, silently pleading with him to understand. But his face remains impassive, cold. Nothing like the man I fell for.
"It wasn't me," I whisper. "I swear on my life, it wasn't me."
Storm throws me back to the ground in disgust. "Lock her up," he orders the men in the room. "Maybe a few days without food or water will loosen her tongue."
As two men drag me to my feet, I lock eyes with Ezra one last time. "I loved you," I say, my voice breaking. "I trusted you. How could you do this to me?"
For a moment, I think I see a flicker of emotion in Ezra's eyes. But then it's gone, replaced by that icy detachment. He really doesn’t care. Did he ever?
"You brought this on yourself," he says flatly as he walks out of the room.
Once I’m alone, I think about the baby that’s growing inside of me. I have no idea if they’re alive. The brutality of Storm is more than I could have ever imagined. He’s hell bent on getting me to own up to the fact it was me, but what’s going to happen when I don’t?
Will he kill me?
It’s been three days and I’m in agony. There’s not a part of my body that doesn’t hurt. The branding on my hip hurts more than anything.
I’m heartbroken. The Ezra I knew is long gone. Hell, I’m not even sure he existed. Three days they’ve questioned me. For three days Storm has hurt me, demanding answers. But no matter what I say, they don’t believe me. I doubt they ever will even if I told them the truth.
I’m tired, beyond so. I haven’t been able to sleep, unless it’s when I’ve been unconscious, but even then, it’s not giving my body the time to heal.
The door creaks open and my heart hammers wildly. I listen for the footsteps and raise my head to see Ezra standing there, his gaze focused on me.
“The cut on your cheek is still bleeding,” he says as he crouches down in front of me. His hand reaches out as though he’s going to touch me, but I shrink away from it. I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells me, and I want to laugh so hard at that, but I’m too damn tired. Does he truly think he hasn’t hurt me enough?
I don’t answer him. Instead, I stare at him. Everything I felt for him has evaporated. He was the man who treated me like he cared, the only person to do so, and then the real him surfaced and it showed me that no one cares. I’ll always be the girl who is second best.
I hear more footsteps, and I know that one of those sets belongs to Storm. My body tenses, ready for whatever that monster is going to do next.
“You still keeping with your story?” he asks with a raised brow as he steps into the room.
I don’t answer. There are only so many times I can repeat myself.
Storm crouches beside me, grabbing my face roughly, no doubt leaving even more marks on my body. The anger in his eyes makes me flinch. “You really shouldn’t test me more than you already have,” he growls, his fingers digging harder against my cheek. "Let this be a reminder of what happens to those that go against the Saints," he spits. "You're lucky we don't kill you outright."
I stare at him blankly. I didn’t go against anyone. I didn’t do anything wrong. Yet I’m the one who’s felt the wrath of this motorcycle club. I hate everything there is to do about the Saints Outlaws, and I pray I never have to see them again.
“Rogue, get this bitch out of my clubhouse. Let her know what happens if she shows her face again,” he snarls as he roughly shoves my face away from him.
I watch as he leaves the room and hope blooms in my chest. Does this mean I get to go home?
Ezra helps me to my feet, his touch gentle but impersonal. I wince as pain shoots through my battered body. Without a word, he leads me out of the room and through the clubhouse. The other men watch silently as we pass, their eyes cold and unforgiving.
Outside, the bright sunlight is blinding after days in that dark room. Ezra guides me to his motorcycle.
"Can you hold on?" he asks, his voice devoid of emotion.
I nod weakly, not trusting myself to speak. As we ride through the streets, I cling to him out of necessity, but there's no comfort in his familiar warmth. This isn't the man I fell in love with. That man never existed.
We pull up in front of my apartment building. Ezra helps me off the bike, steadying me as my legs threaten to give out.
"Willow," he says, finally meeting my eyes. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of the Ezra I knew. But then it's gone. "If you ever breathe a word of what happened, or try to go to the police... we'll know. And next time, we won't be so merciful."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Merciful? You call what you did to me merciful?"
His jaw clenches. "You brought this on yourself. If you had just told the truth?—"
"I did tell the truth!" I cry out, my voice breaking. "I told you over and over, but you wouldn't listen. You let them torture me, brand me. The man I loved would never have done that."
Something flashes in Ezra's eyes—pain? Regret? But it's quickly replaced by that cold detachment.
"That man never existed," he says flatly, echoing my own thoughts. "This is who I am, Willow. Who I've always been."
“I hate you,” I hiss. “I hate you so fucking much. I told you all the truth. It wasn’t me. You don’t care. All you wanted was your pound of flesh and you got it. Don’t you ever darken my doorstep again.”
“If it wasn’t you, then who?” he grinds out.
I shake my head. “Fuck you,” I hiss. “I thought you knew me better than this.” I shake my head, trying to hold back the tears. “Fuck you, Rogue ,” I cry. “Leave. Please fucking leave.”
And with that, he's gone, the roar of his motorcycle fading into the distance as I stand there, broken and alone.
I make my way up to my dorm room on shaky legs, each step agony. Inside, I collapse on the floor, sobs wracking my body. The pain, both physical and emotional, is overwhelming.
As I lie there, curled up on the cold floor, I think about the tiny life growing inside me. A life created with a man who turned out to be a monster. A man who stood by and watched as I was tortured.
I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do now. I’m so scared. What if they come back for me?