Chasing Ruin (Wardens of Sin MC #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

Ruin

The party’s loud, the beer’s cold, and my patch feels heavy in the best fucking way.

Vice President of the Wardens of Sin.

I earned the hell out of it.

I lean back on the bar stool, watching my brothers raise hell around the firepit out back, music thumping like it owns the night. A couple of hanger-ons start chanting for one of them to strip. Typical Friday at the clubhouse, only tonight, it’s mine.

Patch-over night.

My night.

My name is etched into this new cut now. Ruin—bold and permanent under the Vice President rocker.

I can’t remember the last time someone called me Theo or Theodore. That name hasn’t existed since I patched in at twenty.

“Prez lookin’ sharp tonight,” Ryder mutters next to me, jerking his chin toward Wolf.

I follow his gaze.

Wolf’s got his arm slung around some redhead and I’m not sure when I saw him around a woman last. He has hardly dropped his focus from the presidency ever since he took over from his father.

Which is probably why I think he isn’t really listening to the girl yapping in his ear. His gaze darting around the room, looking for a distraction.

A rare, full grin escapes him when one of the prospects hands him a whiskey and they exchange a few words.

That twisted smile has always been his thing, even when we were kids stealing bikes and building makeshift gun ranges. But it’s rarer now, and hardly ever reaches his eyes.

So I’m glad it’s made an appearance today.

“You’d think he was the one getting a title,” I say dryly.

“Man’s just proud.” Ryder smirks. “Your girl’s showing up?”

Is she—my girl?

My gut coils uncomfortably at those words. It’s too early for me to decide on something like that.

“Yeah.” I nod, cracking my neck. “Said she’s bringing something sweet for dessert.”

“Please tell me that’s code.”

I shoot him a look. “Shut the fuck up.”

Sarah. Fuck, she’s something else. I met her a month ago at Sinner’s Ink—our tattoo shop that doubles as a laundering front and triple as my therapy.

She walked in shy as hell, asking for a delicate little moon tattoo.

Barely spoke above a whisper. The type of girl who flushes if you breathe too close.

Didn’t expect her to look up at me with those wide eyes and let me touch her skin for hours. Didn’t expect her to actually give me a chance when I asked her out.

“Be right back.” I shove off the bar, heading toward the clubhouse kitchen where the better booze’s hidden.

I don’t get far.

I see her.

The brat.

Charlotte fucking Wentley. No—Charlie. That’s what she insists everyone calls her now.

She’s by the pool table, perched on the edge of it like she owns the damn clubhouse. And Glory—our reigning club whore—is beside her, dressed in the same ripped shorts, tight halter, and ridiculous glitter all over her tits.

Fucking matching.

My beer turns bitter in my mouth.

“What the fuck is she wearing?” Ryder mutters beside me. He followed. Nosy asshole.

“Hell if I know,” I mutter, jaw tight.

Charlie’s laughing—this loud, exaggerated thing like she wants everyone to hear her. Wants me to hear.

She’s tossing back a drink Glory probably handed her, because let’s be honest. The girl’s been glued to her side since she turned fifteen four years ago and discovered eyeliner and bad decisions.

And all I can think is: what the fuck happened to the quiet little girl who used to sit in Wolf’s shadow and could barely look me in the eyes?

Now she’s parading around like she’s just another one of the club’s toys. But she isn’t. She’s the daughter of the former Prez. The sister of the current one. Club royalty. Charlie’s a goddamn princess. And she’s choosing this?

Choosing to play house with a whore and fuck up her own reputation—if there was even anything left of it after last summer’s pool table stunt where she pawed all over me. She had just turned eighteen, and made sure I knew.

She locks eyes with me then, her mouth quirks.

Fucking hell.

Not tonight.

Not when Sarah’s can walk through that door any second and see me scowling, because this damn girl won’t stop making sheep eyes at me.

I nod once. Sharp and dismissive.

She blinks. And for a split second, there’s a flicker. Then she’s laughing again, draping herself all over Glory like I didn’t just try to slice her ego in half with a look.

“You need a smoke,” Ryder mutters.

No. I need Sarah to show up and remind me what real affection looks like. Not the twisted version Charlie keeps throwing at me.

She better keep her damn distance tonight, because this is the biggest night of my life. And she’s the last person I want anywhere near it.

By the time Sarah shows up, the clubhouse smells like whiskey, gun oil, and sweat. She’s wearing that soft pink dress she wore the first time we met. Sweet as sin, all sunshine and good manners—so out of place in this pit of chaos that I almost feel guilty for inviting her here. Almost.

“Hey, Ruin,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. It pretty much registers as claiming. And my gut promptly clenches at the thought.

I lean down, brush a kiss to her temple. “Hey yourself.”

“You look—” she starts, glancing down at my cut, her eyes catching the fresh VP patch, “—official.”

I grin. “Guess I am.”

Ryder whistles from somewhere behind me. “There she is! The saint who tamed the sinner.”

Sarah blushes. “Hi, Ryder.”

Wolf claps me on the back hard enough to knock the breath out of me. “About damn time you got VP, brother.”

“Wouldn’t have happened without you,” I say.

He grins. “Damn right.” His gaze flicks to Sarah. “Welcome to the chaos, sweetheart. Don’t let my idiot brother here drag you into the deep end.”

She laughs, soft and polite, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s nervous. Always is around them. I can’t blame her. The club’s a lot for someone like her—all ink, fire, and violence packed into leather.

I introduce her to a few of the Ol’ Ladies—Marla and Val—the ones who actually play nice. Hound’s girlfriend, Lana joins them. They fawn over her, tell her she’s “too pretty for this hell den,” and I can see her shoulders relax.

That should make me happy. It doesn’t. Because something feels off.

My gut’s been twitching since the second she walked in. And it’s not the booze. It’s the silence.

The brat’s gone. Nowhere in sight.

No laughter, no glitter, no fucking headache hovering at the edge of my vision. Which should be a goddamn blessing, but the itch won’t go away.

I lead Sarah through the hall, toward my room. I just want ten quiet minutes with her—away from the music, the noise, the brothers yelling for another round.

I push the door open ready to crash my mouth on hers—and everything inside me goes cold.

The brat’s here. Naked. On my bed.

Her long dark hair spilled across my sheets like a fucking sin. Eyes half-lidded, lips curved in a slow, deliberate smile. “Oh, Ruin, baby,” she purrs. “Are you back for more?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Sarah gasps beside me, a broken little sound that slices clean through the haze of my shock.

“No,” I rasp, stepping forward, palms out. “Sarah—wait—”

She’s already running, heels clicking down the hallway like gunfire, her voice shaking. “Don’t—don’t follow me, Ruin!”

My focus snaps back to the naked devil on my bed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Charlie blinks, smile fading into something smaller, unsure. “I—I thought Glo—”

“Thought what? That this is cute?” My voice is pure gravel now. “That this is funny?”

She flinches but doesn’t move.

I stride forward, rage pounding through my veins. My vision blackens around the edges and my hand finds her throat before I even think twice.

She gasps—small and sharp—her hands coming up to claw at mine.

“If you wanna act like a club slut, I’ll fucking sign you off as one,” I snarl, dragging her to her feet. “But you don’t ever step foot in my room again. You hear me?”

“Theo—p-please—” she chokes out, eyes wide, terrified.

I ignore her terror, zeroing in on how her entitlement is costing me. How easily my given name slips through her lips.

She doesn’t matter. Not tonight. Not while she’s trying to destroy the one night that mattered to me.

“Don’t you fucking dare say my name out of that mouth!” I haul her out, ignoring her struggling, her bare feet slipping against the concrete—her bare fucking body. The hallway’s full of brothers, noise and laughter dying in an instant as they see what’s happening.

But I can barely see them anymore. Unchecked fury is climbing up my spine. My periphery darkening with a pulsing heat. All I can see is her blurring form.

“Jesus fuck,” Ryder mutters.

Wolf freezes, his face going pale when I briefly glance at him. “Ruin—”

“Don’t,” I bark.

Charlie’s trembling now, trying to cover herself with her hands, voice breaking. “I’m s-sorry. I-I didn’t mean—”

“Shut your mouth.” My grip tightens before I even realize it. “You’re done.”

Her tears catch the light, and something in my chest twists, but I shove it down quickly.

I need my rage tonight. And I need it to kill her silly, little obsession.

Ryder grabs a jacket off a chair and throws it around her shoulders, but I’m too far gone to stop.

“You’re banned,” I announce, voice echoing through the clubhouse. “A month. No parties. No clubhouse or club properties. You so much as breathe near those places, I’ll double it.”

Wolf’s jaw locks. “Ruin—”

I finally release her and spin toward him, eyes blazing. “Don’t fight me on this, brother.” I barely recognize my own voice, the wild quality of it. The sound echoes through the silence of the room, rendering it near violent.

Charlie’s still sitting there, on the cold concrete floor, drowned in Ryder’s jacket, tears streaking her cheeks. She looks… small. Helpless. Staring at almost nothing.

For a split second, I hate myself. Hate the loss of control. How I unleashed the part of me I’ve kept caged for years.

Then I walk the fuck away.

Because I’m Ruin.

And Charlie brought this on herself.