Chapter 5

Morning light filtered through the grimy windows of the clubhouse, casting strange shadows across the concrete floor. I hadn't slept. How could I? The leather clothes they'd forced me into stuck to my skin, cold and foreign. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ethan's face—not angry or remorseful, just... relieved. As if selling me to these monsters was a burden lifted from his shoulders.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me awake.

"Ripper wants you in his office. Now." Grizz's voice was gruff but not unkind. In the three days since my wedding-turned-nightmare, he'd been my reluctant jailer.

I smoothed my hair and followed him down the corridor, the leather pants clinging uncomfortably to my thighs. The clubhouse was quieter this morning, most of the bikers probably sleeping off last night's revelry.

Jax sat behind his massive desk, his dark eyes fixed on something spread before him. As I entered, he didn't look up.

"Close the door," he ordered.

I did as instructed, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room smelled of him—leather, smoke, and that metallic scent I now recognized as blood.

"Come here," he said, still not meeting my eyes.

I approached cautiously until I could see what lay on his desk.

My breath caught in my throat.

Photographs. Dozens of them. My parents leaving their house. My mother at the grocery store. My father at his office building, unlocking his car.

"Your father works at Thornton Engineering, correct?" Jax asked, his voice deceptively casual. "Nice place. Stable job. Been there twenty years, I'm told."

My legs threatened to give out. "What is this?"

"This," he said, finally looking up, his eyes cold and clear, "is insurance."

He tapped a photo where my mother was arranging flowers in our front yard.

"Beautiful home you have there. Three bedrooms, two baths. Paid off fifteen years ago." Another tap, this time on my father. "Your dad likes to take evening walks through the park. Always alone."

The message couldn't have been clearer if he'd carved it into my skin.

"Don't try to run," he continued, sliding a folder across the desk. "Don't try to contact anyone. Don't make trouble for my men." His fingers traced the edge of a photo where my parents were sitting on their porch swing. "And everyone stays healthy."

I swallowed hard, nodding.

"Good girl," he said, the words dripping with mockery.

---

Days blurred together in a haze of servitude and humiliation. I became a ghost in the clubhouse—pouring drinks, cleaning up vomit and broken glass, enduring leering comments and wandering hands.

"Thorne's girl," they called me. Or worse.

The men treated me like property, like meat. Some were cruel for cruelty's sake. Others simply ignored me, as if I were part of the furniture.

But as days passed, I began to notice patterns. Hierarchy. Power plays. The brutal logic that governed this world.

Grizz, despite his intimidating appearance, rarely spoke to me but never hurt me either. Spike, Jax's lieutenant, circled me like a shark, his eyes always calculating. And Jax himself... he watched me from a distance, his expression unreadable.

I learned quickly which men to avoid, which corners of the clubhouse were safest. I memorized schedules, routines, weaknesses.

One night, as I wiped down the bar counter, the main doors swung open. A chill swept through the room as five men entered. Their leather jackets bore a different emblem—a coiled snake.

Vipers.

The Dark Night Wolves tensed, hands moving subtly toward weapons.

At the center of the Vipers walked their leader. Tall and lean, with pale eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. Silas "Cobra" Kane.

"Ripper," he called out, his voice smooth as silk. "Good to see you've expanded your... collection."

Jax emerged from his office, his face a mask of controlled aggression. "What are you doing in my territory, Cobra?"

"Just passing through," Silas replied with a smile that never reached his eyes. "Heard you had some interesting new... entertainment."

His gaze found me at the bar, and I felt my skin crawl under his scrutiny.

"Pour me a drink, sweetheart," he called, sauntering toward me.

I glanced at Jax, unsure.

"Do it," Jax growled.

With trembling hands, I poured whiskey into a glass and slid it across the bar.

Silas took it without drinking, his pale eyes never leaving mine. "So this is Ethan Vance's girl," he murmured. "Interesting."

He leaned closer, whispering something to Jax that made the biker leader's jaw clench tight.

The air crackled with tension.

---

After the Vipers left, the clubhouse erupted in angry voices.

"Fucking snakes think they can walk in here anytime—"

"Territory lines are being crossed—"

"They're testing us, Ripper knows it—"

I slipped into Jax's office to clean while he was occupied with his lieutenants. The room was a mess—papers scattered across the desk, empty whiskey glasses.

As I gathered the trash, my elbow knocked against something behind the desk—a drawer had been left slightly open.

Inside lay a photograph.

A woman with dark hair and defiant eyes stared back at me. She was beautiful in a wild, untamed way. And she looked... familiar.

I picked it up, studying her features.

That's when I heard the door open.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jax stood in the doorway, his face contorted with rage. But there was something else there too—something that looked almost like pain.

He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed me by the throat, slamming me against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, his face inches from mine.

I couldn't speak, could barely breathe as his fingers tightened around my neck.

But then something shifted in his eyes as he stared into mine.

He released me abruptly and stormed out, leaving me gasping on the floor.

The photograph fluttered to the ground beside me.

The woman in the picture had my eyes.