Chapter 7: Secrets Written in Blood
Chapter 7
The clubhouse smelled of gunpowder, blood, and betrayal.
Rowe paced the narrow corridor outside the soundproofed back room where Reaper was interrogating the traitor. Muffled screams occasionally leaked through the heavy door, each one sending a chill down her spine.
Ghost stood guard beside her, arms crossed, his weathered face unreadable.
"You sure you wanna be here for this?" he asked quietly. "Some things you can’t unsee, kid."
"I stopped being a kid the day my father died," Rowe replied, eyes fixed on the door. "I need to hear it."
Inside, the screaming stopped abruptly.
Minutes later, Reaper emerged, wiping blood from his hands with a rag. His knuckles were raw, his expression carved from ice, but when his gaze landed on Rowe, something darker—and hotter—flickered beneath the surface.
"He talked," Reaper said flatly. "There’s a splinter faction inside the Reapers. They killed your father to stop the truce. They’ve been feeding intel to the Disciples for years. And they want you dead because you’re digging too close."
Rowe swallowed hard.
"My mother?"
Reaper’s jaw tightened.
"He didn’t know. Or he was too far gone to say. But he confirmed she didn’t just disappear. Someone took her that night."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath Rowe’s feet.
All these years, she had believed her mother had abandoned them. The lie had festered into anger.
Now it twisted into something far more terrifying.
Hope.
Mixed with dread.
Ghost cursed under his breath.
"We’ve got rats in our own house. What now, Prez?"
"Purge," Reaper said simply.
His tone left no room for mercy.
"But first, we lock down. Rowe starts prospecting officially tomorrow. She needs to learn how we fight."
Rowe met his eyes.
"I’m ready."
Reaper studied her for a long moment before giving a slow nod.
"Everyone else out. I need a word with our newest prospect."
The others filed away.
Once they were alone, Reaper pulled her into the interrogation room and locked the door.
The space was stark, its concrete floor stained dark, but Rowe barely noticed. Her attention remained fixed on the man standing before her.
He backed her against the wall, caging her with his arms.
"This life will try to break you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "It nearly broke me when I lost your father. I won’t let it take you too."
"Then stop treating me like glass."
Rowe slid her hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.
"I want in. All the way."
Reaper’s control snapped.
He kissed her like a man possessed—deep, demanding, devouring.
His hands roamed greedily, one tangling in her hair while the other gripped her thigh, hitching it around his hip. The hard length of him pressed against her, drawing a desperate moan from her throat.
"Fuck, Rowan," he growled against her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse. "You have no idea what you do to me. I stayed away for five years, telling myself you were off-limits. My ward. My best friend’s daughter. Now you’re here, offering yourself to this poisoned world... to me."
She rocked against him, chasing the friction.
"I’m not offering," she whispered. "I’m taking what has been mine since the moment you carried me out of that burning barn when I was twelve."
Reaper groaned.
He lifted her effortlessly until both legs wrapped around his waist.
Carrying her to the metal table in the center of the room, he laid her back against the cold surface. His mouth trailed fire down her throat and over her collarbone as he pushed her shirt aside to taste more skin.
For precious minutes, there was only heat and need.
His hands explored, learning her body with reverent hunger.
Rowe arched into every touch, lost in the storm they had denied for so long.
A heavy fist pounded against the door.
"Prez! Another attack! South warehouse! They’re hitting our shipments!"
Reaper pulled back with a vicious curse, helping Rowe to her feet.
His eyes were wild, his lips swollen, his hair disheveled.
"This isn’t over," he promised, his voice thick. "When we survive this war, I’m locking us in my room for a week."
Rowe straightened her clothes with trembling fingers, a fierce smile curving her lips.
"I’m holding you to that."
They burst into action.
Bikes roared to life outside.
Rowe swung onto her own Dyna, falling in beside Reaper as the club rode beneath the moonlit sky. The wind whipped across her face, carrying the promise of more violence.
By the time they reached the south warehouse, flames were already climbing the walls.
The Disciples were fleeing on their bikes, but not before leaving another message sprayed in red across the pavement.
BLOOD FOR BLOOD. THE PRINCESS IS NEXT.
Reaper’s face darkened.
While members fought the fire and secured the area, he pulled Rowe aside beside a stack of untouched crates.
"The faction knows you’re the key," he said urgently. "Your father left something for you—something only you can unlock. ’The truth is in the blood.’ We need to figure out what that means before they come for you again."
Rowe nodded, her mind racing.
A blood test?
A hidden safe?
A family secret buried in DNA?
Whatever it was had cost her father his life.
Possibly her mother as well.
As the club worked through the night, Reaper remained close, his hand brushing hers, his eyes tracking every shadow.
The kiss they had shared earlier lingered like a brand against her skin.
As dawn approached, painting the sky in bloody shades of crimson, a prospect came running with a small, bloodstained envelope recovered from one of the damaged crates.
It was addressed to Rowe.
In her father’s handwriting.
Reaper handed it to her, his expression grim.
"This is it," he said quietly. "The next piece."
With shaking fingers, Rowe opened the envelope.
Inside lay a single lock of dark hair, carefully preserved in plastic.
Beneath it rested a handwritten note.
If you’re reading this, find the blood match. The club’s foundation is built on a lie. Trust no one but Reaper... and the ghost who shares your veins.
Rowe’s world tilted.
A lock of hair.
A blood match.
Her mother?
Or...
A sibling she had never known existed?
Reaper’s hand tightened on her shoulder as the implication settled between them.
Another secret.
Another ghost.
And somewhere in the shadows, the real traitor was still watching...
Waiting to strike.
The war for the truth had only just drawn its first blood.
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