Chapter 7
SEVEN
Charlotte
Peace.
That’s the first thing I felt when I moved to Craven Ridge. After a few months of chaos from my past life, I settled in. Even today I try to remember why I never left earlier.
At first, I gave an excuse of Glory. That she cared about me and it wasn’t right to leave her alone. She’d say things that made me feel she was lonely. But I found out later I was projecting.
Great. Now I’m using words my therapist reminds me too much of. According to her, the Glory I saw was a reflection of me. She made sure I never saw the real her. The real her that wasn’t naive, bereft, aimless, and confused—like me.
‘Even when there’s more than a dozen people around me… I don’t feel I’m welcome here.’
She’d say such things so softly—oh so sullenly.
And it felt as though she took the words right out of my mouth. I felt seen, but never heard.
That was the tactful delicate balance Glory created, I realized. Giving me the words I couldn’t voice. Some were true, most were not.
As years passed, I stopped questioning the mirror she posed as. I stopped dissecting which words of hers reflected my true feelings and which ones were injected. So when she told me to ‘stop making googly eyes at Ruin’ when I wasn’t, I surprisingly started doing it.
When she said the club wasn’t my family and she was, I believed her. And I drifted farther away from anyone who could’ve potentially heard me. Like Mama Deb.
I know better now.
For one, the club wasn’t indeed my family. Hell, my family wasn’t even my family.
A mother whose greatest gift to me was her death. A father who never cared. And a brother who barely looked at me for more than two seconds.
I also failed to use the second chance at gaining one. And it all went back to trust. Trusting the wrong ones and distrusting the right ones.
My therapist told me I had lost trust in the adults in my life. My mother barely cared since she was more interested in finding her next bedmate than feeding her own daughter. After her death, it was easier to accept that my father was going to be the same. And I was right—Savage was just like her.
When Mama Deb’s love stared me square in the face, I ran in disbelief. Away from her.
Since Glory was young like me, thinking like me. Voicing the words lodged within me. I had gotten reeled in, easily. I didn’t even think of her as family, or a carer. Just a mirror.
Unbeknownst to me, I was her friend designed to help achieve her goals. To this day, I don’t know what those goals were.
I know mine now, and they don’t reside with the Wardens of Sin anymore. They’re with my work. With my students—I love calling them that. It’s with my BSW degree I’ll eventually earn, so I can help kids like me. Kids who didn’t have anyone until it was too late.
I glance at my phone and curse under my breath. “Shit.”
Of course, the one time I decide to take my classes online, I end up running late for work. I didn’t even realize that the sun had been set for hours now. My back aches sitting against the concrete wall of my terrace.
Yes, it’s my terrace. I claimed it the day I visited Bellamy Hall for my first semester classes. It has the best northwest facing views in the whole campus.
I quickly collect my things, shoving them hastily into my backpack.
Besides tutoring, I’ve been bartending at a local dive for the last nineteen months. I’m a shift supervisor now. The pay’s better, and the hours are tolerable.
It’s almost 9 p.m. and I’m sprinting down the street when my phone rings—my custom ringtone making me smile on instinct. “Hey, M—”
“Don’t you dare ‘Mama Deb’ me,” she snaps. “You haven’t called in three days, Charlotte. Three days.”
I laugh, breathless. “I told you it’s the last few weeks of the semester, Mama. I’m… busier.”
She huffs, dramatic as ever, and I can hear her pacing.
I smile. “Alright, alright. I promised three calls a week. You’ll get three calls a week.”
She hums, satisfied. “Good. I’ll hold you to that. Now… Why are you out of breath?”
“Late for my shift. Power walking before I get fired.”
She chuckles. “It’s a fifteen-minute walk, sweetheart. You’ll survive.”
“From home, yes. But I was still at Bellamy Hall, Mama.”
“Ah.” She sighs. “Well, you better run then. Oh! Before I forget. Did you get the package from Torch yet? He sent another batch of that marmalade I made. But I think he snuck in a surprise for you too.”
“Ooooh, what is it? And no, I haven’t gotten anything.”
“Why would I ruin my husband’s surprise?”
The word hits me like a slap and I flinch involuntarily.
Christ, Charlotte.
She’s just using the damn word. Not mentioning him.
I clear my throat. “Alright, Mama. I’ll keep an eye out.”
My phone buzzes with a text, and the name on the screen nearly stops me in my tracks.
“I… I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, my Charlotte,” she says warmly, oblivious to the cold panic rising in my chest. “Love you, sweetheart.”
I mumble a quick “love you too” as I slow to a stop. Then I open the message.
Ryder: Don’t panic just yet. Glory got out two days ago. I haven’t pinned down her exact location, but I’m working on it. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere alone. Drop your late-night bar shifts, too. Please.
My pulse spikes. What the fuck? Why the hell is she out? How the hell is she out?
I shoot back a thumbs up, because what else can I do? I can’t call in sick, not tonight. Not when I’m already running late.
The familiar neon sign of Cravin’ Tavern glows as I round the corner, and sure enough, Beau is already scowling through the window.
“Sorry, Beau. First and last, I swear,” I say as I walk in, breathless.
He grunts, relenting, and goes back to his clipboard and inventory.
The hours pass in a blur of spilled shots, chaotic laughter, and too-loud music. I even manage to forget the dreadful text for a bit.
Ryder and I talk maybe once a month. That’s more than I expected, honestly. After I left the club, I didn’t realize until days later he’d transferred back $100K instead of the $70K that was mine.
I’d called him, furious. “I don’t care if it’s shut-up money or guilt money. I’m sending it the fuck back.”
That launched a month-long negotiation—me trying to return it, him insisting it was a mistake but also not a mistake. Somewhere in the middle of all that yelling, I realized something.
Ryder did feel guilty. He didn’t just want to say it out loud. He apologized too, many times. He never pushed, though, unlike some people. And for that, I was grateful.
So now, we’re friends. To a degree.
It’s almost 3:30 a.m. when I finally finish closing. Maria and Rendall left half an hour ago. Beau dipped right after.
I’m dead on my feet. But it’s quiet now, peaceful. And I’m walking home with a sweet ache that comes from a day being productively spent. But I need to be on high alert tonight.
The streetlight flickers as I round the corner to my apartment. That’s when I see her.
Glory.
Leaning casually against the brick wall of my building, one foot propped up behind her, arms crossed like she owns the night.
She looks older. Haggard, even. Her skin is paler, hair thinner than I remember. But her posture? That’s exactly the same. Calm, unshaken, like she never left. Like prison was a goddamn vacation.
I’d expected this. Ryder’s message warned me. But not this soon. Not tonight.
My hand stays loose by my thigh as I quickly text Ryder, thumb tapping fast.
Me: She’s here.
When I look up again, our eyes lock. And fuck me, she smiles. One of those soft smiles she used to wear when I was fifteen and still stupid enough to think she was the coolest woman alive. A smile that says, I see you, I know you.
But she doesn’t know me anymore.
“I see you’re out,” I say casually, forcing stillness into my limbs. “What’s up?”
Small talk? Really, Charlotte? I internally smack myself.
Glory pushes off the wall and starts walking toward me, slow and steady. That’s when I catch the movement.
Two shadows slip out behind her. Men. Big ones. Both broad-shouldered, tattooed, moving in sync like they’ve done this before. Their cuts don’t match the local MC. Hell, I don’t recognize their patch at all. Not Wardens. Not Nomads or Reapers. Not anyone I’ve seen before.
My stomach plummets. Who the fuck are they?
They’re not just with her. They’re flanking her. And they’re close. Close enough to corner me if they want to.
My throat dries. My pulse starts sprinting, but I keep my shoulders square.
Glory stops a few feet in front of me, hands still folded. One of the men pops his gum like this is all entertainment.
Then she speaks, her voice syrupy and serene. “I am, Charlie. And… nothing much,” she says, her lips quirking when I flinch at the name she’d once bestowed upon me. “Just wanted to see the girl who sent me to prison.”