Page 1 of Wounded Wing

Prologue

12 years ago

“I could give you anything you want…All you have to do is sign on the line and forget your past.” His siren-like voice sings a lullaby full of gentle and sweet words, convincing me that forgetting the past is a possibility. Demanding that I take this chance to be someone else…anyone else.

“Let me take care of you, my precious butterfly. There is so much for you to learn, to experience in this life,” he whispers tenderly, cradling my cheek in his palm.

I shyaway from his touch, my eyes finding solace in a speck of glitter on the floor before the stinging pain behind them gives way to the tears I’ve been holding inside for months. I'm tired of being strong all the time, so goddamn tired of being haunted by the memories I’d rather leave unspoken.

He drops his hand to his side, jaw twitching in irritation. Clearly, he is upset with my unintentional snub toward his affections.

“Look at me,” he snaps, commanding my attention. “Would I ever hurt you? Lie to you?” He subtly quirks his brow as he waits expectantly for an answer. Something I have learned quickly about Atticus Lennon – he never asks rhetorical questions.

A flush spreads over my cheeks in embarrassment as guilt gnaws at me for not reciprocating his affection. It’s true, in the few months I’ve come to know him, Atticus has never once hurt or lied to me. Wanting to be the good girl he has been training me to be, I shake my newly shortened waves from side to side.

“I didn’t think so,” he confirms softly. “Once the ink dries on this paper and our skin, you will become Mrs. Lennon.”

My heart skips at the prospect of receiving a tattoo that commemorates this moment while nerves take flight in my stomach, leaving a buzzing feeling in their wake. Never in my 18 years did I think I would get a tattoo. Ma always said marking one’s skin was a sin.

“My name means something here in the city,youwill mean something. Isn’t that what you promised him?” His hand brushes mine gently. “Don’t let him down now, not after everything you’ve done,” he murmurs quietly.

The stupid organ in my chest beats faster while my clammy hands shake against my will. Sweat dots along my hairline, dripping down the sides of my face. Frowning, a deep pit of grief threatens to swallow me whole once again at the mention ofhim.My eyes flutter as I fight against the flashes of my past that threaten to replace reality.

A young boy and girl, fireworks, pain, fire, and burning flesh.

“It’s time to pick yourself up from the rubble and make good on your promises,” he orders firmly, jolting me back to the dark-themed office we have been standing in for the last thirty minutes.

My tongue darts out, licking at my freshly glossed lips as the question churns in my mind. Anxiety ricochets in my chest, dropping low to my stomach only to come back up to poke at my heart. The answer could either break me further or give me hope, something I have feared I’d never feel again.

“W-will we ever be in love, Atticus?” I murmur.

His gorgeous face breaks out into a disarmingly bright smile, one that gives me butterflies in all the right places. By beauty standards, Atticus Lennon is the kind of handsome someone like me would only get to read about. He’s tall and lean with chiseled cheekbones that make him appear more statuesque than man. He is always wearing black-on-black suits, never entertaining the color white. His eyes, a rare stormy gray leeched of nearly all color, but in the right light, I swear they could turn someone to stone.

“Will we be in love? Oh,mon papillon, I am already in love. It’s okay if you’re not ready, I’m ready enough for both of us,” he confesses.

His words drip with a confidence I wish I held. That enough has my hand grasping the single, dark ink pen laying on his desk like a lifeline. I manage to scratch a sloppy signature across the bottom of the white certificate, signing my name away without a second thought.

Goodbye, Mae Broussard.

Hello, Mae Lennon.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers. His soft praises ease the ache in my heart, acting as a balm against the scars woven deep in my soul.

“To belong to me means to belong to Le Papillon. You will bleed for me and for the club, and in turn, we will bleed for you.”

The desire to belong thrums through my veins. I want a place to call home now, more than ever. Even if that meant I had to bleed myself dry.

I owe the universe that much, anyway.

His cool fingers wrap delicately around my wrist, sending goosebumps dancing across my flesh. The sudden chill freezes every cell in my body, burning my skin from the inside out.

“A true family, just like you’ve wished for. No one here will abandon you, not as long as you bear my brand,” he states, devoid of all previous emotion. His eyes cloud with an eerie darkness I’ve yet to see from him and pray I never see again.

A knot twists wickedly in my stomach. Somewhere scratching beneath the surface, there’s a sickening sense unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Anxiety blooms in its place, screaming at me to run and never look back.

Belonging to Atticus Lennon would be the death of me.

Chapter one

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