Chapter 26
When the evening rolls in, Ruin's End becomes a blur of bodies, booze, and momentum that doesn't let up.
The bass thumps low from the speakers. The scent of spilled whiskey, lime, and anticipation settles over the bar as usual. The air’s electric, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, and somewhere in the mix, someone’s about to get too drunk, too bold, or too stupid.
Not my problem tonight.
I’m behind the bar with Will, who has his sleeves rolled up and a bottle in each hand. He takes three orders at once without breaking a sweat. He’s wired differently. Got his shit together. Has the kind of hustle that earns you your place. He cleans with conviction, pours with precision.
He slides a vodka soda across the bar, then leans in slightly, keeping his tone casual. “She had a… surprise visitor today?”
My jaw flexes. “One of those rare bats. Real dark, nasty mouth on it. The disruptive type.”
He winces. “Shit. One of those.” He starts wiping down the bar even though it’s already spotless. “I should’ve kept eyes out for an infestation.”
“Not your job, Will,” I mutter, tossing a coaster onto the counter a little too hard. “You work enough as it is.”
“Still,” he says, voice low, “I could’ve kept the roost clear.”
“You don’t owe her that,” I say. “You don’t owe me that.”
From down the bar, Larry, a retired mechanic, rests his beer gut against the bar, anchoring him as he nurses his third Coors. Always smelling faintly of motor oil and menthols, he pipes up from his usual stool. “Did I just hear the word ‘roost’? Don’t tell me Hex is playing house now.”
Next to him, Travis, proudly sporting a pair of mirrored aviators indoors and a mullet that looks hand-sculpted by gardening shears, lets out a sharp whistle. “So, when do we get more posts from you two? Been a while since we saw her on the feed. Maybe she came to her senses?”
“Yeah, baby,” Connie chimes in, raising her margarita.
She’s parked at the corner with her ever-present leopard print hoodie zipped halfway over a rhinestone-studded tank top.
Her slippers are fluffy, pink, and criminally bold.
JT lets her in regardless of what she’s wearing because she brings him cannabis-infused treats.
“Give the people what they want! Some small-town PG content is all I’m asking for…
or more if you’re willing.” She winks and tips her marg in my direction.
It sloshes out, and I feel Will’s eyes home in on the mess.
I grab a rag and chuckle, trying to shake it off. “You all spend more time on my social page than I do.”
“You got the most exciting love life in this zip code,” someone calls out.
Will snorts. “That’s not saying much.”
“Hey, speak for yourself,” says a woman nursing a paloma. “I personally look forward to Sable appearances. She makes you tolerable.”
“Thanks, Jules,” I say dryly. “Glad she’s improving your experience.”
“She makes you smile. That’s worth tipping a little extra.”
Will raises a brow at me as he passes. “Sable coming in tonight? This place might riot.”
I dry my hands on a bar towel, still running hot under the surface. “I’m taking her out of town. Hill Country. Just for the weekend.”
Will glances up. “A getaway?”
“Something like that.” I flick my gaze toward the door. “She needs a break. From the bats.”
He nods, catching the meaning. “You too.”
“Yeah.” I pause, pressing my palms into the edge of the counter. “Even I’m getting tired of chasing them off.”
From down the bar, the same camo-hat regular pipes up again. “Bat problem? You know what you need for that? Shotgun. Buckshot spray. Ain’t gotta be a good shot if the spread’s wide enough. Those fuckers are fast.”
Will and I both stop and look at him.
He takes a sip of his whiskey, completely serious.
Will shakes his head. “You know… not the worst suggestion.”
I grunt. “We’ll call that Plan Z.”
Will chuckles and nods toward the register. “I’ve got the bar. Macy’s coming in at seven.”
“She ready for a Friday?”
“She’s got it. Cute, edgy, but sharp. Dreads, ink, piercings.” Will trails his eyes over our regulars. “She fits in. More importantly, she slings drinks clean, fast, and with zero drama. Doesn’t blink twice at a busy shift.”
I give him a look. “You trust her already?”
He shrugs. “I trained her myself. Girl knows her pour counts better than most of the guys we’ve had here for two years. Hustles harder too.”
I nod. “Good.”
Will slaps the towel on the counter. “Go. Relax. You look one bourbon away from making a mistake.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Tell Sable the bar says hi.”
From a nearby table, one of the younger guys grins. “Yeah, when are we getting more posts of her anyway? She dropped off the grid or just hiding from us?”
Another voice chimes in. “She’s too hot for him, that’s why. He’s keeping her off the feed to maintain the illusion she still exists.”
The laughter rolls easy, and I shake my head, a reluctant smirk tugging at my mouth. “You all need hobbies.”
“Watching your love life is our hobby,” someone calls back.
“Told you.” Will leans in with a crooked smile. “This place might riot if she doesn’t make another appearance soon.”
JT steps out from the back, hoodie slung low, phone in hand, face grim. His eyes cut straight to me.
I know that look.
I move out from behind the bar, wiping my hands down my jeans as I follow him toward the stockroom. It’s quieter here, but only just. JT slides his phone into his pocket, arms folded, jaw clenched.
“What is it?”
He leans against the shelf. “Stauder’s sniffing. Not the cops—yet. But there’s pressure. Someone in Brandon Dillinger’s circle started asking questions about that Friday he was here.”
My spine goes tight.
“He was nothing but a fucking problem,” I say. “And a rapist.”
I drag a hand down my face, making sense of the pressure. I think out loud, “But Ned only cares about profit. If Dillinger helped launder money through Stauder’s shell companies and is now missing, their dirty money flow has gotten sticky.”
JT nods. “Exactly. And I’ve got eyes on Ned. He’s pissed. Texts between him and one of his guys say he suspects you had something to do with it. He’s not dumb.”
“But he doesn’t have proof.” I cross my arms, mind already spinning. “Cameras were down. Alibi’s solid.”
“But Stauder’s boys are getting twitchy,” JT points out. “You know they don’t care about proof.”
Will joins us, wiping his hands on his ever-trusty rag. “So what’s the play?”
I exhale with force. “This is the worst time to leave. But I’m not going far. If anything shifts—if anyone from Stauder’s crew so much as breathes near this bar—I want to know.”
“We got it,” Will says without hesitation.
“I mean it,” I say, tone hardening. “You see someone shady? You don’t wait. You call me. I’ll come back.”
JT raises a brow. “You sure about going?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I gave her my word. She needs a break. She needs to feel safe. And after what Ashley did to her shop… this weekend isn’t optional.”
Will gives a rare, serious nod. “She’s good for you, man.”
JT smirks. “Yeah, she might actually help you sleep with both eyes closed.”
I crack my knuckles and grab the duffel I left in the office. It’s not packed light. I’ve got extra clothes, my Glock, the backup piece, burner phone, and enough cash to disappear if anything were to go sideways while away.
Sable doesn’t need to know that possibility exists. Not yet.
I take one last look around the bar. The regulars are loud, laughing, a couple of them dancing near the jukebox. Business as usual. Exactly what I want.
“You good?” JT asks as I start for the door.
“I’ve got something to protect,” I say without hesitation.
He grins. “Then go protect her. We’ll handle it here.”
I pause, turn. “And if Ned’s people make a move?”
JT’s face goes hard. “We move faster.”
Good.
I push through the back door and head straight into another restless Friday night.
The road winds through rolling hills, draped in soft spring green, dotted with bluebonnets and wild poppies that hold the remaining sun in their petals. The truck hums beneath us, tires kissing the asphalt in a steady rhythm as the clutter of town falls away behind us.
Sable hasn’t said much since we pulled out of her driveway. Her hands sit quiet in her lap, fingers twisting the edge of her shirt sleeve. Her body’s here, but her mind’s still caught in the shop mayhem or the conversation she had with Andrew.
“You good?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road, letting the question remain light.
She exhales, long and low. “I don’t know. I think so. Maybe.”
I glance at her.
She’s staring out the window. “It all just got so out of hand. I’m not trying to start a pity party, but… damn, Hex. I’ve been trying to do everything right. I put myself through school. I built my businesses from the ground up. I worked my ass off to make my life into something that mattered—”
She pauses, and I don’t fill the silence.
“But, somehow, I still ended up with a love life that compares to a car crash. Or maybe a really shitty reality show. And I can’t say I regret it. I got Bash out of it, and he’s everything. But… why does it feel like I keep getting the shit end of the stick no matter how hard I try?”
“Because life’s an unfair bastard,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “Doesn’t matter how good your intentions are—sometimes you’re just the one it decides to take swings at.”
I watch color bleed through the crisp blue sky outside the windshield as night approaches.
Long strokes of rust and lavender pour across the Hill Country horizon.
We haven’t passed another car in ten minutes.
It’s just us and the winding two-lane roads that snakes through fields of mesquite and passes low stone fences that haven’t held a damn thing in decades.
Everything out here has been weathered slow. Nothing forced. Nothing fake.
Sable props her elbow against the passenger door, cheek resting in her hand.
Her other hand picks at the fray in her jeans where a hole has formed—absently, the way people do when they’re trying not to think too loud.
The soft light of evening slants across her profile, catching in the curve of her jaw, the loose strands of dark brown hair she didn’t bother to tie back.
The exhaustion etched in her posture, her eyes, her lips, mimics the one I’m all too familiar with.
The kind of fatigue that lives in your bones.
“My dad left when I was eighteen,” she says, voice barely above the hum of the road. “Just… gone.”
I keep my eyes on the pavement. I listen.
“My parents split, and he decided the version of me that didn’t need him anymore wasn’t the version he wanted in his new life.” Her laugh is quiet and bitter. “Independent daughters with opinions don’t fit well in starter families.”
She looks at me, almost wincing, as though realizing too late that her honesty might paint her in a way she’s not ready to wear. But it doesn’t sound angry to me. It’s real.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “We both had to grow up at eighteen. I took on my little brother when my mom died. I didn’t really get a say.”
Sable turns fully to face me then, pulling her leg up into the seat, one arm curled around her knee. Her eyes are wide, glassy at the edges, catching every bit of light. “God, I shouldn’t have brought that up. My story is melodramatic compared to—”
“No.” I shake my head, jaw set. “Don’t do that.”
“But—”
“Don’t,” I say again, softer this time. “Your story means something. All stories do. Doesn’t matter if they’re brutal or quiet or messy or clean. They’re real. And I’ve got the feeling no one’s really listened to yours in a long time.”
She doesn’t speak. Just stares, caught in the space between understanding and denial. Hearing me say it is one thing but believing that I mean it is something else entirely.
The truck cab goes still. The road, tires, and evening wind are the only sounds enveloping our space.
“I think I’ve spent most of my life taking what I can get,” she says finally, voice cracking at the edges, “then holding on for dear life. Because I figured if I didn’t, I’d end up with nothing.
If your father can so easily walk away, any man can.
I just kept doing more and more in an effort to try and get people to want to stay. ”
She shifts, swallowing hard, fingers curling tighter against her knee.
“I don’t want to do that with you,” she adds. “But I don’t know what this is. And honestly? I’m off to one hell of a start.”
I glance at her, eyes dragging over the way she’s drawn in on herself. There is so much fire in this woman, who keeps waiting to be told she’s too much of something. Or not enough of something else.
“Maybe we don’t need a name for it yet,” I say quietly. “You just show up. I’ll meet you there.”
She lets out a shaky breath, like she’s still bracing for the catch.
So.
“I don’t want what’s easy, Sable.” I lean onto the center console, voice steady. “I want what’s real. The kind of real that’s messy. Unfinished. Still figuring it out.”
I watch her closely as I continue, “You don’t have to earn me. You don’t have to hold your breath or shrink yourself down just so I’ll stay.”
Her head tips slightly, eyes glassy but focused on me.
“You show up with all your sharp edges and I’ll keep showing up with steady hands. That’s the deal.”
She blinks, slow.
I reach out, my hand resting over hers, thumb brushing that tight curl of her fingers.
“I don’t need you perfect. I just need you. And you’ve already given me more of that than most people ever do.”
Her mouth pulls tight, ensnared within a fragile space between laughter and tears, unsure which emotion will win. She presses her lips together and blinks hard. “You’re gonna ruin me if you keep saying those kinds of things.”
I smirk, but it’s softer now. Quieter. “Pretty sure we’re already ruined, Sable.”
She glances at me, breath hitching.
I squeeze the delicate hand below mine. “The point is finding someone who’ll walk out of the ruin with you.”
The air in the cab shifts. Not fixed. But less sharp and easier to breathe.
Outside, the land opens wide around us. Rolling hills unfurl under a cotton-candy sky, dotted with wind-gnarled oaks and ranch gates rusted with stories. It’s quiet in a way that feels earned.
And for the first time since we left, Sable exhales the kind of breath you don’t fake. The kind that says she’s finally letting some of it go.