Chapter 8: Bloodline of Ghosts
Chapter 8
The lock of hair felt like a curse in Rowe’s palm.
She stood frozen in the scorched remains of the warehouse, the first rays of dawn casting long, bloody shadows across the debris.
The dark strands, sealed in plastic, seemed to mock her—too familiar, too intimate.
Her father’s note burned in her mind.
Trust no one but Reaper... and the ghost who shares your veins.
A sibling?
A half-sibling?
Or proof that her mother had been alive long enough to leave DNA evidence behind?
Reaper’s presence at her back was the only thing keeping her grounded. His hand rested heavily on her shoulder, fingers digging in with possessive strength.
"We’ll run tests," he said quietly, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "Quietly. No one else sees this until we know what it means."
Ghost approached, wiping soot from his face.
"Warehouse’s compromised. Lost half the shipment. The boys are pissed, Prez. They want blood."
"They’ll get it," Reaper replied, his tone lethal. "But smart. No more blind attacks. We find the faction first."
Rowe slipped the envelope into the inside pocket of her borrowed coat, right over her heart.
The weight felt heavier than any gun.
As the club mounted up to return to the clubhouse, she rode beside Reaper, their bikes roaring in perfect sync. Every glance he shot her carried layers—protection, hunger, guilt.
Back at the compound, tension hung thick as smoke.
Members cleaned weapons, patched wounds, and cast suspicious glances at one another. Trust had fractured overnight.
Reaper called a quick meeting, assigning teams and doubling security.
Then he pulled Rowe into his private quarters at the back of the clubhouse—a surprisingly sparse room dominated by a king-sized bed, a heavy oak desk covered in maps, and walls lined with guns and photographs of fallen brothers.
The door locked with a decisive click.
Reaper turned toward her, his eyes blazing.
"Take it off."
Rowe blinked.
"What?"
"The cut. The shirt. Everything."
His voice was rough gravel.
"I need to feel you’re still here. Alive."
Heat flooded her body.
She shed the borrowed cut slowly, then her shirt, revealing a plain black bra and the bruises already forming from the night’s chaos.
Reaper’s gaze lingered on her before he crossed the room and pulled her into a desperate kiss that tasted of smoke, exhaustion, and relief.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
His hands traced the bruises along her arms and shoulders as if reassuring himself she was real.
She reached up and tugged his shirt free, revealing old scars and faded ink stretched across powerful muscle.
Her fingertips drifted over the Reaper’s emblem tattooed above his heart.
"Jax," she whispered.
His real name sounded like both a confession and a prayer.
A strained breath escaped him.
They held each other as years of restraint and unspoken longing finally gave way. The kiss deepened, carrying everything neither of them had ever dared to say aloud.
When they finally pulled apart, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads touching as the silence settled between them.
After a long while, Reaper rested against the headboard, one arm still around her.
"I’ve wanted this since you turned eighteen," he admitted hoarsely. "Hated myself for it. Still do."
Rowe gently traced one of the scars crossing his chest.
"Then stop hating," she said softly. "We’ve already lost enough time."
A knock shattered the fragile peace.
"Prez!" Viper called through the door. "Lab results on that hair. You’ll want to see this."
They dressed quickly.
Inside the chapel, a nervous prospect had already set up a laptop displaying encrypted results from a private contact.
Reaper opened the file.
The DNA match was unmistakable.
Rowe stared at the screen as the color drained from her face.
The lock of hair belonged to a close female relative.
Not her mother.
A sister.
Born approximately two years after Rowe, according to the estimated age markers.
"I have a sister," she whispered.
"And my father knew about her."
Reaper’s expression hardened.
"Your mother must have been pregnant when she disappeared. Or she had the child afterward. Either way... someone hid her."
Ghost rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"This changes everything. If the faction knows about her, they could use her as leverage."
He paused.
"Or they already have."
Rowe’s thoughts spiraled.
A sister.
Another piece of her shattered family was out there somewhere.
Possibly in danger.
Possibly an enemy.
The note echoed once more in her mind.
...the ghost who shares your veins.
Reaper slipped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of her head without caring who saw.
"No more hiding," he said firmly. "We find her. Alive. And we burn every traitor who kept her from us."
The club quickly rallied around the new objective.
Plans were drawn.
Old contacts were activated.
Rival clubs quietly monitored.
As the meeting was breaking up, a prospect burst into the chapel, his face pale.
"Prez! Incoming call. Untraceable number. The caller says she has information about the princess’s sister... and she wants to speak to Rowe directly."
Reaper’s hand tightened around Rowe’s waist.
The room fell silent.
Rowe stepped forward, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the fear and hope clawing inside her.
"Put it on speaker."
The phone was placed in the center of the table.
Reaper gave a single nod.
Rowe answered.
"Who is this?"
A woman’s voice drifted through the speaker.
Low.
Guarded.
And eerily familiar.
"Little sister... You finally found the hair."
A quiet laugh.
"Took you long enough."
She paused.
"But you’re too late. They’re coming for you tonight. And if you want to live long enough to meet me... you’ll do exactly what I say."
Across the table, Reaper’s eyes locked onto Rowe’s.
Dark.
Protective.
Deadly.
The woman laughed again.
"Tell Reaper his past is catching up faster than he thinks."
Another pause.
"Blood always tells."
The line went dead.
Silence crashed over the chapel.
Rowe’s newly discovered sister wasn’t just alive.
She was playing a dangerous game.
And the next move...
Could destroy them all.
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