I was five when I claimed him. I was seventeen when I watched him die inside another woman.

The door creaked open. And the world shattered.

Jace was on top of Sassy. Inside her. His hands on her waist. Her legs wrapped around him.

Soft laughter. Breathless moans.

"Jace," I whispered.

He turned. Horror flooded his face. "Rosie—wait—screw it, I thought—"

Sassy sat up, rolling her eyes. "God, you're pathetic. You act like she didn't know. We've been messing around for months."

The room tilted.

Months.

My lungs stopped working. My knees buckled.

He scrambled off her, reaching for me. "Rosie, I swear, I didn't—please—just listen—"

But I was already running. Down the stairs. Through the crowd. Past the laughter that suddenly felt like it was all for me.

————————

The cut weighed more than Jace thought it would.

It rested across his shoulders like responsibility and fire, stitched with legacy and expectation. The moment Savage handed it to him, Jace felt something in his chest clench tight. He wasn't a kid anymore. He wasn't just Ripper's son or Rosie's shadow. He was a prospect of the Devil's Saints.

The clubhouse swelled with noise: cheers, claps, someone banging a beer bottle against the bar like a makeshift drum. But none of it mattered. Not really.

Because the second Rosie looked at him with her eyes shining and lips parted in a smile that wrecked him more than any initiation beating, everything else disappeared.

"You look good in it," she said.

He smiled, tugging at the collar like it was still foreign. "Feels weird."

"It's supposed to," she whispered.

She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'm proud of you."

Those four words landed like gravity. He didn't realize how much he needed to hear them until they were already echoing in his ribcage.

Later, he stole a bottle of vodka and dragged her upstairs to her room, the bigger one, the one that used to make the other kids jealous. Rosie had decorated it with little pieces of him over the years. A photo of them at the lake. A concert poster from that one show he snuck her into. A bandana he gave her when she was twelve that still smelled vaguely of grease and cologne.

They took shots from mismatched mugs, wincing and laughing until the world blurred just a little at the edges.

Then came the quiet.

They pecked like they were falling into something. Slow, soft, the kind of pecking that trembled at the edges with unsaid things. His hands cupped her jaw like she was made of something rare. Her fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, not to undress, but to anchor.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, he stared at her like she held the whole sky.

"Be my girl," he whispered. "I mean it. Official. Mine."

Rosie didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

The word tasted like forever.

And for a moment, it felt like nothing could touch them.

Not duty. Not distance.

Not even time.

.....

"Jace!"

Her voice rang through the celebratory chaos of the clubhouse, cutting through laughter, music, and the clink of beer bottles with the clarity of something pure and unshakeable.

He turned immediately, instinct overriding sound, and there she was: Rosie, radiant in her blood-red and black polka dot blouse the plunged down to reveal her modest cleavage.

Her short skirt clung to her toned and shapely legs, the black sequins fluttering and glittering in the clubhouse light.

She crossed the room quickly, dodging rowdy brothers and half-drunk girls, until she was in his arms. He grounded himself in the feeling of her there, exactly where she belonged.

He caught her against his chest and inhaled deeply, trying to memorize the way she felt pressed up against him. Her hair smelled like strawberries and summer, a scent he'd known since childhood. It calmed him down whenever things got too bad.

"You did it," she said softly, her fingers brushing his jaw like he might disappear. "Fully patched in."

Emotion swelled inside him, sharp and beautiful and so much bigger than the wild party or the roaring bikes or the chaos surrounding them. He didn't think, just leaned in and pecked her temple. Everything was perfect.

"Wouldn't have made it without you," he told her as he gazed into her beautiful eyes. "You kept me steady, Rosie. You believed in me even when I didn't."

She pulled back from him, and he immediately missed her warmth, but her smile buzzed through him.

"I have a surprise," she said, her voice almost trembling with the effort of holding it back. "Wait here, okay? I'll be right back."

She pecked his cheek and disappeared toward her father's office.

And he watched her go, his heart too full and too alive.

A few brothers brought him shot after shot until his entire body sang. His life was about to change, and he was ready for it.

He should have noticed the way the tension in the air shifted. Should have heard the voices whispering around the edges. But he didn't. Not when Sassy slinked up beside him and smirked. She was one of the older club girls and only went for the older brothers.

"Hey Loverboy," she said, calling him by his new road name.

"Hey Sassy," he replied a bit uncomfortably.

"Congrats on the patch! You deserve it."

"Thanks."

"Rosie said she's waiting for you upstairs," she purred in a low and teasing voice. "Told me to send you. She's got something special planned for you. Real special."

And he, like a fool full of whisky and adrenaline and the kind of joy that made you blind, didn't question it. Didn't think. Just smiled like an idiot and made his way up the stairs, two at a time, drunk on the idea that Rosie was up there waiting to make the night even more unforgettable.

He couldn't wait to ask her to be his ol' lady. There was no other choice in his mind. Some of the brothers tried to talk him out of it, saying he was still young and should get his shaft wet in other women before settling down. But why would he?

He knew the life he wanted, and he knew who he wanted to share it with.

He didn't turn on the light in his room. Why would he? The door creaked open and laughter met him, soft and breathy and familiar enough to disarm every part of him.

Her hands found him in the dark, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down, releasing his already rock. God, he had dreamed about this for so long.

His fingers found her waiting and willing, and he quickly thrust inside her, her moans filling his ears like sweet music. She was so warm, so wet, and it drove him crazy.

His mind never caught up. He didn't ask questions. He didn't open his eyes.

Because it was her.

It had to be her...right?

.....

Downstairs, Rosie emerged from Savage's office with the velvet box still in hand, her heart pounding with excitement and nerves. Inside that box was a necklace she'd spent six months saving for, a piece made to mirror the locket Jace had given her when they were kids-etched in silver with the words I am hers, and she is mine burned into the back with fire, not ink. Real heat. Real permanence.

It was everything she hadn't said yet. Everything she hoped he still wanted.

She smiled at her mom as she passed, barely able to contain herself. "Have you seen Jace?"

"Think he went upstairs," one of the brothers called over the music, not understanding the wicked smirk he tossed her way. "Said something about you waiting for him?"

Rosie froze mid-step. Her smile faltered.

"I... I didn't say that."

But maybe he was just being romantic and planning something. Her heart skipped and stuttered as she headed toward the stairs, chest tight with a strange, flickering unease.

The second she opened the door, the world dropped out from under her.

She didn't scream. She didn't speak. For a full five seconds, she didn't even breathe. She just stood there, frozen, watching her entire future collapse in real time.

There he was.

Jace.

The boy she'd loved since she was five years old. Her best friend. Her protector. Her home.

On top of another girl.

Inside another girl.

Soft laughter broke the silence, lazy and smug and razor-sharp. Rosie blinked, hard, and then again, hoping-praying-she was imagining it. That her brain was tricking her. That this was some sick, twisted dream.

But it wasn't.

"Jace," she whispered, barely audible over the blood rushing in her ears.

He turned at once.

And the second he saw her, really saw her, everything shattered.

He scrambled to pull away from Sassy, confusion and horror overtaking his expression like a tidal wave. "Rosie-wait-screw, I thought-"

Roxie, now a club girl, sat up, rolling her eyes. "God, you're pathetic," she muttered. "You act like she didn't know. We've been messing around for months."

Rosie choked on her own breath.

Jace flinched. "That's not true," he said, voice cracking. "Rosie, I swear, I didn't...I would never-please. Just listen-"

She stumbled back down the stairs, knees barely holding her up, tears hot and fast and falling in torrents. She crashed into Savage's chest at the base of the stairs.

"Daddy..." she choked out, embarrassed for her father to see her like this.

Lily was there in seconds, pulling her close and cradling her head as Rosie sobbed like her soul were breaking. She led her daughter out the front door.

Behind them, Jace appeared at the top of the stairs, shirtless, panicked, his shaft clearly hard under his boxer briefs

Savage turned, his face unreadable until he saw the half-dressed and smirking girl trailing behind him. He did his best to control his rage as he stormed upstairs.

"I'm disappointed in you, son."

Savage turned to follow after his girls but paused for a moment. With quiet fury, he calmly turned around and punched Jace in the stomach, dropping him like a stone.

Two days later, she was gone.

Sent to live with her aunt and uncle.

Vanished from his life.

She didn't even say goodbye.

.....

10 years later

I grip the steering wheel with one trembling hand. Knuckles bleached pale. Tendons screaming as if they might tear straight through the bone. My other hand is useless, crushed too my side, fingers numb around a ragged towel pressed there like a superstition instead of treatment.

It used to be white--but that was before the staples tore loose.

Now it is ruined. Soaked through with blood that has gone tacky and thick, glued to my skin. Every bump in the road tugs it loose by a fraction and agony answers immediately. Enough to spark stars behind my eyes.

The highway refuses to end.

My lip has split again, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Red drips from my chin and freckles my dark green shirt in uneven spots. Little violent puncturation. Proof that something inside me is still working.

My face is swollen beyond recognition, reducing to a narrow, crooked frame. The skin there is stretched tight, hot and tender. My jaw aches in that familiar way that tells me he punched me. Again.

I can't remember a lot from the last 36 hours... or is it longer?

And my thigh. Jesus.

Something is wrong there. I do not know what exactly. Muscle. Bone. Something torn that should not be torn. All I know is the pulse. Each beat louder than the last, threatening blackout if I ignore it too long.

My head pounds relentlessly, a brutal rhythm that drowns out the radio before I even realize it has died. Static hisses once, weak and final, then nothing. Silence takes its place. Thick. Crushing.

I cannot stop. Not here. Not yet.

Because if I do not, I will die.

Or worse, he will find me.

His voice slips into my thoughts like poison. Smooth. Familiar. Certain. I hear my name the way he used to say it. Like ownership. Like a promise I never agreed to keep.

Fear settles deep in my body, heavy and absolute. It pins my foot to the gas when everything else is begging me to let go.

"No one cares about what I do to you. You're mine."

The words slam into me without warning.

The sign rises out of the mist like a ghost that knows my name.

Welcome to Haven.

Home.

The place I swore I would never return to.

My hands begin to shake harder. A part of me screams to turn around, to keep driving until the road disappears entirely. But there is nowhere left to go. No more exits. No more escape routes. At least here, I know what waits for me.

Gasoline. Leather. Familiar faces. The family I left behind.

My vision dims as the hospital comes into view. Haven General. Unchanged. Like the last ten years didn't happen.

The car coughs as I pull into the emergency drop-off lane. The brakes shriek violently, and my body slams forward. Pain detonates through my ribs, stealing the air from my lungs. I barely manage to shove the car into park before I force the door open with my shoulder and tumble out.

Cold pavement slams into my palms.

Snow is falling.

Of course it does.

The air hits me like a physical blow. I stagger, disoriented, and the towel slips from my fingers. My knees give out completely. Concrete rushes up, hard and unforgiving.

Hello, ground.

Shouting breaks through the haze. Footsteps pound toward me, fast and urgent. Suddenly I am not alone anymore. A Hand grab hold of me.