Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Charlotte
Two days.
Forty-seven hours.
Two club gatherings.
And nothing.
The whole place has dulled to a point where I’m itching to go back to Craven Ridge. Every time I’ve had to return the advance to my students’ parents, I get this dreadful, sinking feeling. A feeling this stupid club war has no end in sight, and I’ll be stuck here forever.
I’ve also stopped messaging Ezra. Given that we’d only been on three dates over the last two months, it seemed like he wouldn’t understand the weird circumstances of my disappearance. I can’t obviously tell him the real reason, so ghosting it is.
Another major change is that it’s Ruin who’s been my guard for the past two days. Ever since Sarah came around, Wolf put Ryder on some top secret task apparently even Ruin doesn’t know anything about.
How do I know this? Because he wouldn’t shut up about it.
It’s almost as though his brain suddenly thinks I’m his best bud, always up for venting and chatting. He barely spoke to me when I was in the club. And now that I’m not, I’m getting a play-by-play on random club whispers.
I mostly remain silent and pretend to focus on my course work. That’s usually my go-to excuse whenever Wolf tries to approach me. Or Ruin gets a little too chatty.
But my semester is ending in less than a week. I’m ahead in all of my assignments, so it’s only a matter of a few days that the excuse will run out.
Then again, I’ll also be able to give my hundred percent to this danger hanging over my head.
The moment I step outside the spare room I’ve been given, I see him. Freshly showered, wearing his VP cut over a black henley. His boots clacking against the limestone flooring as he paces—almost impatiently.
He spins around like he’s been doing it for a while and freezes the moment his gaze lands on me. A lopsided grin taking over his face. I think he’s trying to go for flirty, but it comes off as… boyish.
Now, there are many expressions my face could’ve chosen from. A scowl, a smile, even reluctant amusement. But I couldn’t stop my face from contorting into a confused, almost sneering, grimace. Wiping that almost-smirk right off his face.
He clears his throat, hesitation coming off of him in waves. “I’m uh… can I take you somewhere after breakfast today?”
Another bizarre change. He fumbles all the freaking time.
“Where?” I ask absently, stepping into the hallway as I turn and lock my temporary room.
He’s been doing that a lot. Since I can’t step out of the club grounds, he arranges for us to visit different places within the massive compound, pointing enthusiastically at the changes they’ve made in the last two years. It’s a shame there aren’t many good sunset spots nearby.
“It’s a surprise,” he says.
But I jump because I notice he has stepped closer. His voice—rough and gravelly—is directly behind my ear. Not too close he’s invading my space, but enough to make me flinch.
I hear his boots scrape as he takes a step back.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
Another change, he apologizes at the drop of a hat.
My eyes narrow as I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want surprises. Tell me the location and the purpose, and I’ll think about it.”
He raises his brows at my clipped tone, slowly dragging his hand over his beardless jaw like he’s recalibrating.
“It’s just a cottage-style house,” he says carefully. “It was an empty lot when you left. Now it’s fenced in. Built out. It’s a nice house.”
“Okay,” I drawl. “And why am I being shown a random house?”
There it is. That flicker in his expression. Hesitation. Almost nerves. And I think I know what’s coming.
“It’s yours,” he says finally. “Wolf transferred the title to you.”
I have to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes. Yesterday, it was an email about a ‘trust fund’ I didn’t know existed. Today, it’s real estate.
Wolf is really determined to rewrite Savage’s will from beyond the grave.
I exhale slowly. “Fine. I’ll see it. But I’m not keeping it, or anything else Wolf is trying to throw at me.”
“Gifting you,” Ruin corrects, tone firm.
Now I do roll my eyes. “Whatever,” I mutter, stepping past him toward the stairs. “I’m not signing anything. He can keep his father’s assets.”
“There’s nothing to sign, Charlotte,” he says, ambling after me. “Quitclaim deed. Transfer is already done.”
I groan, loud enough a few heads turn as I hit the kitchen.
Perfect. Exactly what I needed this morning. New taxation headaches.
I ignore the stares and head straight for the pancakes stacked high on the counter. Food first. Property crisis second.
For once, Ruin doesn’t push. Breakfast is mostly quiet, and I’m grateful for it.
A few minutes later, Misty and Bel slip in. I didn’t know them well back then. Glory made sure of that. She monopolized my time, my loyalty, my world.
Now, sitting across from them, I realize what I missed. They tell me their stories—how they ended up here, what the club became for them. There’s something raw in the way they speak. Something honest. Fascinating. Even heartbreaking.
I should’ve spent my time with them, not with Glory.
An hour later, Ruin and I are walking across the club grounds. Our walk is silent, as usual.
The moment the house comes into view, my steps falter.
Ruin undersold it. The house is stunning. Cream brick. Black sills and roof. Floor-to-ceiling windows catching the light. A massive arched entry on one side like something out of an old European village—but sharper. Modern.
For three dangerous seconds, I imagine living here. Waking up to quiet mornings. Sunlight through those tall windows. A place that’s mine and not tied to anyone’s shadow.
The thought is traitorous, and I kill it immediately. Unfortunately, not fast enough. When I glance sideways, Ruin is watching me with a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth.
“As you said.” I deadpan, schooling my expression. “Nice house. Am I getting the grand tour of my property or…?”
His grin widens and I hate that. Maybe that’s why I say the next part. “I need to know exactly what I’ll be listing.”
His grin disappears instantly. Petty satisfaction warms my chest, a smirk planted on my face.
“I get it,” he mutters, moving to the door. “You don’t want anything to do with the club.” He swings the double doors open gesturing with one hand for me to enter, but I’m frozen in place. The scent of fresh paint and clean wood fills my nostrils. “But it’s still yours, Charlotte,” he says quietly.
I stare past him into the house, and dread settles heavy in my chest.
‘It’s yours…’
No. It’s another tie. Another thread binding me to a world I forced myself to abandon two years ago… even while a part of me kept reaching back for it. A world I only ever half-belonged to until it ripped the ground out from under me.
Mama Deb’s loving whispers. The hardened betrayals from my own brother. They exist in the same place, somehow.
Inside, I barely see anything. I should be walking through all of it. Opening cabinets, taking pictures, cataloging what I’ll be selling perhaps. But my mind refuses to cooperate.
“…and the backyard’s huge. The grill alone—”
Ruin’s voice drifts in and out. He’s been listing features like a realtor with emotional investment.
I stopped listening three minutes ago. My gaze lands on the kitchen island. A stack of papers, weighted down by a velvet box.
Keys.
I don’t remember walking over, but I’m there, close enough to touch them.
Ruin goes quiet. He clears his throat when I brush my fingers over the top sheet. The deed. Notarized. My name printed in bold across it.
“That’s the title transfer,” he says carefully. Like I’m something fragile. “And the rest are property documents.”
I look around the living room. At the pristine floors. The untouched counters. The furniture chosen with intention.
Anger starts to simmer low in my stomach. Not explosive. Not yet, but enough to burn.
None of this should be mine. It doesn’t belong to me. Every brick, every tile, every single piece of furniture bleeds guilt.
“The box has the—”
“Stop!” The word rips out of me sharper than I intend. My head is buzzing. Rage and confusion tangling together until I can’t tell one from the other.
The uncertainty of this moment, the decision being forced on me, is almost enough for me to scream out.
The longer I breathe the air of this house, the more I recognize the guilt disguised as a gift.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, almost like it’s a reflex.
That’s what snaps something inside me. “Stop saying sorry!” My voice echoes off the high ceilings. “What the hell are you even apologizing for?”
He actually flinches.
I’ve never raised my voice at him before. I made a promise to myself when I stepped back onto club grounds that I would not lose control. But patience has eroded with every meaningless sorry.
And the one apology that mattered? It never came.
“I didn’t need this,” I say, my voice thickening despite my effort to steady it. “I was fine staying here until you handled the Glory mess. That’s it. That’s all this was supposed to be.”
I pace into the living room and grab the crystal rose off the table. Who buys a crystal rose? I set it back down harder than necessary.
“Now you’re tying me here with your… your guilt. I don’t need a trust fund. I don’t need a house. I don’t need a…” My voice cracks before I can stop it. “…a brother. So why do I suddenly have all of them?”
Ruin exhales slowly. The words weren’t meant for him. They were meant for the man who isn’t even here.
“He is your brother,” Ruin says quietly, eyes pained. “And maybe you don’t need him. But he knows what he did, Charlotte. We know what we did. And he… needs his sister.”
A bitter laugh leaves me before I can contain it. “He doesn’t need a sister,” I say coldly. “He doesn’t have one. He lost her the day he walked away while she was getting beaten to shit.”
The silence after that is suffocating.
I move to the back windows, staring out at the massive fenced yard. It should feel peaceful.
Instead, it feels like a penance trapped in a gilded cage.
“Where even is he?” I ask flatly, shrugging.
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “He and Ryder left for something. I’m not sure where.”
Of course. Club business.
I don’t look at him. “Does Mama know he’s done this? Torch?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t even know until last night.”
Silence stretches between us. I can hear his breathing now—uneven. Weighted.
“Charlotte,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “I’m… truly sorry. For my part in everything.”
I turn to find him already looking at me. Those gray eyes hold something dull and old. Regret. Memory. And it only makes me angrier. “You were following orders, right?” I say, the words edged like glass. “Beat the club princess who stole the club’s precious money.”
He winces. “If I could take it all back… God, Charlotte, I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve looked closer at what that bitch was doing. I can’t believe none of us saw it sooner. We failed you long before that night. And I’m—” His voice breaks, startling me. “I’m sorry.”
Something in my face must shift. Some flicker that gives away the fact that I hear him. I know he means it, because guilt does that. Forces sincerity.
Because he steps closer. Slowly. His hands hover near my waist—hesitating, like he’s fighting the urge to touch me. To steady me. To take my hands in his.
The movement is so unexpected I take a sharp step back.
He freezes. And that’s when it clicks.
He’s been doing this for days now. Hovering. Standing too close. Looking at me like I’m something fragile and combustible at the same time.
It’s not just guilt. Guilt doesn’t burn like that.
I miss Ryder suddenly. At least with Ryder, I don’t feel like I’m standing in the center of a furnace every time he looks at me.
I’ve been ignoring it. Telling myself it’s remorse.
Old shame. Protective instinct toward his Prez’s ‘sister’.
But it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t see what’s under it.
Harder to ignore the way his jaw tightens when I walk away.
The way his eyes soften when he thinks I’m not looking. Actions that suggest he might—
A blaring phone alarm splits the air. Sharp and violent.
Ruin stiffens instantly. One second he’s standing in front of me. The next, he’s pulling me against his chest and turning his body so I’m shielded behind him, away from the window. His arm cages me in without hesitation. All softness gone. His gaze scans the windows. The doors. The blind spots.
“Stay here—don’t move,” he orders, already turning.
He releases me and strides toward the windows, yanking the blinds down with swift, practiced movements. The room darkens in seconds.
My heart slams against my ribs. “W-What’s happening?” I ask, the tremor in my voice impossible to hide.
He doesn’t answer. He’s already crossing to the front entrance, locking the main door, engaging something on the security panel near the wall. His fingers move fast. Precise.
Another alert tone chirps as the system arms fully. The house that felt like a cage moments ago now feels like a bunker.
Ruin pulls his phone from his pocket and answers before it even finishes vibrating.
“Tell me,” he snaps. A pause. His jaw tightens. “Are you sure?” Silence. “Fuck.” He turns slightly away from me, lowering his voice but not enough. “When?” Another pause. His shoulders go rigid. “Got it.” He ends the call.
The silence that follows is heavier than the alarm. I can hear my own breathing. Too loud. Too fast. Ruin turns to me. And whatever I see on his face drains the last bit of heat from my body.
Grim. Focused. Ready for… war.
“We’re on lockdown,” he says.
My stomach drops.
His eyes flick briefly toward the windows. Toward the outside world. Then back to me. “Hell’s Army just made their first move.”
And suddenly, this house doesn’t feel like a gift.
It feels like a target.