Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 7

Wren

Ezra barges into the room, alongsideTorch and Lizzy.

"Wren!" Ezra rushes to my side, where I'm crumpled on the floor, trembling. "What's wrong?"

I'm immediately crowded but I can't speak, tears leaking from my eyes.

Someone presses a hand to my forehead. "She's fine, definitely not a fever."

From the corner of my eye, Ezra picks up my phone. He scrolls a bit, and his jaw tightens.

"Birdie..."

The way he says my name only makes me cry harder.

"He's dead, Ezra," I sob, a slobbering mess.

My tears mix with snot, and the salty taste slips past my lips, coating my tongue.

"Who's dead?" Torch whispers, but I catch it.

The phone conversation plays over and over in my mind.

"Can you both leave us," Ezra says to Lizzy and Torch. "Only for a bit. I need to talk with her."

"Of course, VP. Call us if you need us." Torch nods.

Lizzy leans down, rubbing my back. "It's okay, pretty girl. You'll be alright."

No, I wouldn't be, is what I want to scream. I want to roar the words out, but they get stuck in my throat.

The door clicks shut, leaving me with Ezra. He picks me up from the floor, placing me on the bed and covering me up.

"Talk to me, little bird...how did you find out?" His gray eyes pierce me.

And just like that, the words tumble out of my lips.

"H-he called me b-back," I hiccup, clutching the blanket. "B-but it was someone else. They told m-me—"

"Do you know who it was?"

I shake my head, the movement jerky. "N-no. They just went straight to the point. S-so many injuries, Ezra."

He blows out a breath, remaining speechless.

"W-why?" I wail, heart squeezing in my chest. I press my palms against it. "Wh-who would do such a thing?"

"I'm sorry, Wren," Ezra croaks.

I sit up on the bed, the blanket pooling around my waist. "You told me he'll survive."

"I didn't—"

"You said that the blood only makes things worse, but look," I hiccup, sniffling, "he's dead."

Ezra sighs, shaking head. "I'm sorry."

"Who would do such a thing? Why?" I squeeze my eyes shut, the image of his bloody body pops into my mind, and I shudder.

I curl into myself, giving Ezra my back. His large palm comes down on my back soothingly, heat seeping into my skin.

A thought pops into my head and I blink up at Ezra.

"Ezra?" I call, voice small.

"Yes, birdie?"

"C-can you do me a favour?"

His palm freezes on my back, tensing. He doesn't respond immediately.

Ezra lets out a breath. "What is it?"

I sniffle, wiping my cheeks. Then I sit up, and hold his eyes.

"I know you can find out who did this," I say.

Ezra jerks to his feet abruptly. "Absolutely not, Wren!"

"Please, Ezra," I beg, lips wobbling. "You can do this. You've done this before."

"That doesn't mean it's legal."

My brows dip low. "Nothing you do is legal, Ezra. Even this motorcycle clubhouse."

"Birdie..."

I clamp my palms together, crying. "P-please Ezra, please. I've never asked you for anything."

His jaw ticks, freshly bandaged hands shoved into his pockets. "Wren, he's already dead. There's no need... what will you do even if I find out?"

What can I do? For now, I'll just wait and think about it. But I'll definitely involve the Seattle police.

"Nothing." I shrug. "I just want to know, Ezra."

His lips press together, hands pinching the bridge of his nose.

We stare at each other for what feels like minutes, until he eventually caves.

"Fine!" He sighs. "I'll see what I can do, no promises."

My eyes light up. "Thank you, you don't know what this means to me."

"Yeah...I'll go back downstairs, rest up and everything will be fine."

I nod.

As the door clicks shut behind him, I fall back on the bed, my mind haunting me with memories of Tristan and I.

"I forgive you, Tristan," I murmur, eyes stinging. "I forgive you for hitting me."

I know he didn't mean to, everything is all a big misunderstanding. His death only looks like he was coerced or pressured into that sham of a marriage.

My fingers swipe on my phone and I continue looking at our pictures, replaying our conversations and our intimate moments.

Ezra will help me... he has to.

Somewhere around midnight is when I finally wake up, my mind seems somewhat calm but my heart is still heavy.

Throat raw and parched from crying, I trudge down the stairs for a glass of water.

I'm not surprised to see the clubhouse still up and about, except that it's only a handful of people.

"Wren!" Lizzy waves me over from the bar, and I'm truly grateful to see her.

"Hey," I croak, throat hurting. "Can I get some water please?"

"Of course." She smiles, rolling a bottle of water to me.

I gulp it down, enjoying the coolness that soothes my throat. "Thank you."

She winks, wiping down the counters.

"Is my brother back yet?" I ask.

She nods. "Yea, he's in his office."

"Okay, let me go see him for a bit."

Lizzy gives me a small smile. "Alright. Hope you're feeling better."

"I am. Goodnight, Lizzy." I wave, heading over to my brother's office.

I raise my hand to knock when hushed voices meet my ears.

"Shit! Why would someone send that to her?" My brother hisses.

"It was horrible, but he's dead now," Ezra replies dryly. "Can't say he doesn't deserve it though, he hit her."

My jaw ticks at Ezra's words. Because Tristan hit me, once, doesn't mean he deserves to die.

"Definitely," Raymond agrees.

I huff, rolling my eyes.

After a beat of silence, Ezra speaks again.

"But she asked me to find out who killed him."

Raymond grumbles something beneath his breath. "That's a distraction, EJ. We have a lot going on at the moment. What did you tell her?"

"You know your sister, man," Ezra sighs. "She's quite persuasive."

Persuasive? All I did was ask...nicely.

Raymond blows a breath. "Guess you'll just have to be a liar then. Do you understand?"

"I'm already that," Ezra huffs. "I don't plan on looking into the death of someone that raised a hand on her."

My heart drops to my stomach.

Anger brews in my chest, coiling around my insides. Heat spreads up my neck and cheeks, jaw tightening.

I slam the door open. "You fucking liar!"