Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Charlotte
“Spike!”
I hear a bark from behind me. Ruin.
The instant confusion I feel is cracked right down the middle when I stare at Spike—Shane. The prospect I had worked alongside with at the Sinful Chugs once.
Wasn’t he nice? I thought he was. Has the patch suddenly made him feel invincible? As a prospect, he was always polite with me. It sure seems like he left all his friendly demeanor back in the past when I was wrongfully accused, huh.
It’s clear from the faces surrounding Shane that they are as shocked and perplexed as I am.
Before I can even open my mouth, Wolf lets out a deep growl, charging toward Shane—Spike. Grabbing his cut at his shoulder, Wolf slams him against the pool table behind him. “The fuck did you just say?”
The loud music cuts off, but the silence doesn’t last more than a few seconds. I hear several brothers attempting to voice their confused rambles.
“…fucking hell, Spike!”
“…Christ, he’s dead, now, isn’t he?”
“…does he not know? What the—?”
Spike directs his furious gaze at his prez. His anger taking complete hold of him. “I know she’s your sister, Prez—”
Hardly.
“—and you tried to spin that fucking lie that she was innocent. But I was there when you dragged her out, gagged. I was fucking there. Some of us don’t fall for bullshit.”
Spike almost spits the last few words, presumably not caring he’s sticking to the wrong script. Probably staking his life on it.
I thought he liked me. Well, he liked me enough when he was Shane, the prospect.
Wolf lets out a dark chuckle that makes me shiver. He ruthlessly shoves him once more before addressing the whole room. “Some of us, huh? Who else here thinks your Prez was lying to you? Who here thinks I was only trying to protect my sister?”
The room grows silent. No one raises a hand or even lets through a grunt of agreement. I’m not entirely sure who this protective display is for. Not me, surely.
“ANSWER YOUR PREZ!” Scar bellows, scanning the room with his fierce glare.
“Listen, Prez,” one of the brothers I recognize as Hound steps forward hesitantly. “We know you held that meeting. And we know what you said. But… it didn’t add up. She was banished by you, brother, and we just… we understand you protecting your sister but—”
“Protecting my sister?” Wolf grits out in disgust. “You think getting her fuckin’ beaten up was me protecting her? I fucking failed her! And you think me setting things straight was what, a lie?”
He swiftly turns toward Spike again, who is now pale with realization that he may have miscalculated. And all I’m doing is watching this unfold with a quiet, amused smile. It’s entertaining.
“Hand in your patch, Spike. Now!” Wolf’s roar is so intensely blaring that even I flinch. But not so much that I don’t roll my eyes right after.
An unwise snort leaves my mouth, gathering everyone’s attention. Even Wolf’s.
I violently shrug off the hand gently holding my elbow. Ruin doesn’t get to dictate this stupid situation.
“Shane, right? I know you probably remember me as Glory’s bitch. And from the times we worked together… at Sinful Chugs. But no need to hand in your patch. Unfortunately—Wolf here, wasn’t lying to save my skin. I had nothing to do with Glory’s plan. Which is why I. Fucking. Left.”
I angle my body slightly toward my br—Wolf. “Come on! Just properly inform him, Wolf.” He flinches. “You really don’t need to make club decisions on my behalf. I’m no one to you, remember? Or this club.”
“Charlotte—”
I wave at him dismissively, ignoring his plea-ridden eyes. It’s bold of him to assume he could call me his sister twice in one night, and I would give a damn, when he’d never done that before.
“Oh, and that’s another thing.” I turn to pin my hardened gaze on Hound.
He’s simply frowning at me like he’s assessing me.
Trying to reconcile me with the girl he knew as the club-girl-in-making.
“I don’t go by Charlie. My name is Charlotte, and I’d prefer you all call me that for the limited amount of time I’ll be here. ”
I’m thoroughly impressed by the restraint everyone is showing. Not a single grunt. No belittling comment. Not even one smart-ass remark.
That’s when I notice that the club girls are surprisingly absent. The only ones I recall besides Trixie and Juggles, are Bel, Misty, Pearl, and DeeDee. And they’re not here, which I find odd, yet completely on brand with Wolf’s remorseful actions.
A few Ol’ Ladies off to the side are throwing me proud, woman-to-woman smirks, but I barely give a shit. Two years ago, I would’ve beamed, had tried to win them over, fought for my place beside them like a desperate little mutt.
But years worth of therapy and a whole lot of perspective later, I now understand they could’ve helped me. They could’ve shielded me from the fallout. Maybe even stood up for me when Glory first twisted her claws in. But they didn’t. They chose to follow Savage’s silence. And Wolf’s ignorance.
I was just a teenage stray they never truly saw or wanted. And now their remorse, their little nods of respect, or their too-late guilt doesn’t belong to me.
And God, it feels good. That slow, satisfied warmth spreading across my chest. I truly don’t care anymore. Not about them. Not about what they think of me. The only two people I do care about aren’t here—oh!
“We’re barely five minutes late and you’ve already made a mess, Prez?” Mama Deb’s voice slices through the tension.
Every head whips to the main doors as their matriarch steps in like she owns the damn place, because let’s be honest, she kind of does.
Torch ambles in behind her, smirking as Wolf stiffens under her scrutiny. Which I find rather odd.
Mama doesn’t stop moving. She crosses the floor like a damn storm and slaps Ruin—the damn VP—in the back of the head without breaking stride.
“Mama,” he groans, face contorted in mock-annoyance.
My grin takes over before I can stop it. I haven’t seen her in almost a year, and all the hardened armor I’ve been wearing since I walked in, melts off.
“Mama!” She opens her arms before I even reach her. Two seconds later, I’m wrapped in warmth and lemon-ginger perfume and the kind of love I stopped hoping for long ago.
We’ve grown closer while we were apart these last two years. As opposed to when I was right there for half a decade. I still feel some resentment toward her at times. But it washes away whenever I realize I was equally responsible for the chasmic distance that unfolded between us.
“Oh my sweetheart,” she whispers into my hair. “Can’t believe you’re finally here.”
I exhale against her collarbone, letting myself be small. “I missed you, Mama.”
Behind her, Ruin watches us like we’re a hallucination. Eyes a little too wide. Lips twitching, like he’s trying to mouth something to himself. And it looks suspiciously like ‘Mama’.
I want to smack the weird awe right off his face. And Torch must read the thought on mine, because when I hug him next, he leans in, gruff and quiet. “Ignore my son,” he mutters. “He’s not been right in the head since you left.”
I truly can’t imagine anything to do with me would ever affect the VP. So I laugh, throwing my head back.
Torch throws me an amused look, shaking his head. “Oh—I’ll be getting your package back from Craven Ridge. The one I just sent.”
Shit. I forgot about that. I recall how Mama told me that Torch had stacked a surprise in it.
I squint up at him, smirking. “What’s the surprise, by the way? Mama wouldn’t say.”
There’s a possibility I might already know what he sent me. But I let him smile cheekily as he shrugs.
“It’s a baby gun,” Mama whispers conspiratorially.
“It’s a P365, my love.” Torch rolls his eyes at Mama, then looks over at me. “It’s smaller than the one you have. Easier to carry with you.”
I grin, already excited to give it a spin. But the moment doesn’t last.
As I take a step back, letting Mama Deb loop her arm through mine, Wolf’s voice barks out across the room. “Alright. Show’s over. If you’ve got something to say, say it to me. Or shut the fuck up.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Resigned.
He strides over, looking less like a Prez with every step and more like… a brother. I hate that I’m even able to identify the difference. It’s so obvious with the way he stares at me with a gaze that looks too similar to what he wore when I first arrived here.
Who am I kidding? That feeling lasted all of one day. Maybe less.
He joins us with a stiff nod at Mama and Torch. When his gaze flicks to me, there’s that crack in his mask again. Just a sliver. “Charlotte,” he starts, awkward as hell. “Can… Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
My body stiffens, instinctively. Talk? What now? Another confession? A half-assed apology? Another fucking letter?
I glance at him, calculating. Suspicious. He looks like he’s trying not to flinch under my stare. That hesitation alone makes my spine relax by a centimeter.
“I promise you, it… it’s something important you should know,” he adds, quieter.
I stare him down for a beat longer, then exhale through my nose. “Fine. You’ve got ten minutes.”
Let’s see what the Prez has to say when his first line of defense has always been his infamous silence.