Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Ruin
I dazedly watch as two prospects drag a nearly unconscious Spike out of the ring. Healer is standing near the ropes, arms crossed, staring at me with a disappointed frown. I can’t care less about what he has to say.
The only thought on a constant loop is what Wolf muttered after Charlotte left us scrambling with our collective, useless guilt—forty minutes ago.
??????
“There’s… there’s something else and I wanna keep it between us,” Wolf whispers, like even the closed door would somehow catch the conversation. “For now.”
I blink at him, my heart still pounding with Charlotte’s last words.
‘You’re all the fucking same.’
“What is it?”
He sighs, picking up a folder from the bottom of the pile. “This is a printed email thread between my fa—Savage and someone named Ioana. I don’t know who this person is but they… they talked about a sale seven years ago in June.”
“Seven…” I repeat uselessly. This was the same time when—
“It was two months before Charlotte came to us.” He nods, sliding the document toward me with shaky hands.
“I don’t fully understand what this thread is all about, but I could deduce they were expecting a seventeen-year-old Charlotte.
The email conversation was solid. But I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out if anything out of the ordinary happened when she turned seventeen and…
” He shakes his head, his voice collapsing into a thick, strangled noise.
If this started seven years ago, and they wanted a seventeen-year-old Charlotte—four years ago—they could be coming to collect. Even my hands are shaking now.
We already know Hell’s Army is deep into flesh trade.
Christ. Did Savage actually make a deal with them and fail to comply? Was Glory involved in any of this?
“Ryder?” I blurt out. “Can I include him? I’ll find another way if you don’t trust h—”
“No, I trust him. But don’t let this get out any further.”
I give him a firm yet brittle nod, my throat locking at what this could mean for our club.
If Hell’s Army was promised something, they wouldn’t stop until they got it.
As I’m about to head out, calibrating my brain to beat the shit out of Spike, I hear Wolf again, nodding at the dreaded folder. “And find out who this Ioana is. Sounds… Romanian.”
Fucking hell.
??????
I need to find Ryder. Or perhaps develop better skills to understand the email thread from a technical standpoint. It’s been half an hour with me scouring through every page of this and… nothing.
I’ve logged into Savage’s email account and gone through the history, but there’s only so much I can do.
The longer I sit here in my room, the more frustrated I get. Charlotte is somewhere in the clubhouse, unaware her life was once handed over to a club that has terrorized so many for decades—by someone she thought was her father.
I need to find a way forward, because I’m pretty sure Hell’s Army is fully aware of Charlotte’s whereabouts.
It’s almost dinner time when I finally emerge from my room. A few prospects and brothers hanging around the main hall. Ryder is nowhere to be found, and I quickly find out why.
The fucker emerges from the staircase where most of the club girls reside. It’s also his room that’s situated upstairs. He hadn’t wanted to abandon the luxury of getting the corner room that was slightly bigger than the officers’.
He has his arms around Charlotte in a way that could seem platonic, but the jealousy crushing my gut is saying otherwise. It’s telling me to bash his head into the floor, like I did with Spike a while ago.
I need to get a grip before I actually do something that gets me kicked out of the club. How the hell would I protect her then? It’s a habit I wove myself into for the last year and a half. It’s not going anywhere.
The hall is a bustle of people talking over each other. I try my best to avoid listening to what Ryder and Charlotte are chatting about. It’s very clear she’s the most comfortable with him, but I don’t have to like it.
A few minutes later, I’m settled near Wolf, my voice low as we talk about how to proceed. Careful no one is listening to us.
That’s when I hear my buzzing phone. I had put it on a do-not-disturb mode for 24 hours. Guess it’s up.
A message glowing on my phone on the table pulls my attention for half a second, long enough for me to do a double take.
Sarah.
Fuck me.
I’d completely forgotten about her. And that alone should’ve told me how far gone this situation already was. There are barely a handful of people who can punch through my DND mode.
She isn’t one of them, which means whatever this is, it’s a problem.
“Give me a sec, Prez,” I mutter, already reaching for my phone between bites.
As I skim the ridiculous barrage of missed calls and messages, I hear Heath—a prospect—lean in and murmur something to Wolf. I barely catch it, something about Savage’s room and the attic finally being cleared out.
I’m about to comment when my phone starts buzzing again.
Relentless. This is apparently her twenty-eighth call today.
I’ve told her—more times than I can count—when I disappear, it’s club business. But there’s something about the Wardens that’s always rubbed her the wrong way.
“Sorry, Prez,” I say again, already standing and moving away from the table. “I’ll handle this.”
The second I answer, she cuts me off. “Sarah, listen, I’ll—”
“Where are you?” she snaps. The club noise nearly swallows her voice whole.
“I’m at the clubhouse, Sarah. Do you need something? I can’t really talk—”
I’m heading toward the far west corner, near the kitchen, when I feel it. A presence I’m sure to ignore.
“The club?” she shrieks. “Really? So you’re not with the whore you were cheating on me with?!”
My blood turns to ice. That voice didn’t come through my phone.
I spin around.
Sarah is standing right there, face flushed red with fury, eyes wild, chest heaving like she ran here just to explode. Fury I don’t understand. Fury that makes no sense.
She knows our deal. On. Off. No promises. No ownership. No commitment. And I’ve told her a thousand times I don’t fuck club girls. So what the hell is this?
The realization hits me a second too late. The club has gone quiet, only a low hum of the music audible.
Her voice has cut straight through the chatter, the laughter, everything. Conversations die mid-sentence. Heads turn.
“Sarah,” I grind out, keeping my voice low. “We’re not together. So there’s no one here I’ve cheated on you with.”
She laughs—high, manic—and I gently steer her farther toward the kitchen before she draws more attention. She flails anyway.
“Don’t touch me!” she spits. “You said she was gone. You said she was just another club slut wannabe.” Her arm jerks to the side. Pointing.
That’s when I see Charlotte standing still near the edge of the room, eyes locked on us. Her face is pale, but there’s steel there now. Confidence she didn’t have two years ago.
My chest caves.
Wait. What the fuck did Sarah just say? I mentioned that shit two years ago.
This is spiraling, fast. Fuck.
“Get her outta here, Ruin.” I hear Wolf behind me.
“Getting there,” I grit out, still staring at the menace. “Sarah,” I snap, letting the edge bleed into my voice, but I don’t get another word out.
“Didn’t you say she was never coming back?” Sarah screams at Wolf. “You fucking lied!”
And then—
Thud. A heavy sound cracks through the room and the music cuts dead.