Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Ruin
I head back to the panic room on the second floor after running another check on the perimeter.
From the outside the cottage must look empty—blinds closed, driveway empty, but I’m not taking any risks. Wolf’s words still cling to my skin. If he needs to search the compound before lifting the lockdown, then so be it.
As much as I’m itching to go back to the clubhouse and stand beside my brothers, this is more important. Every cell in my body is screaming to protect her until this passes.
Somewhere between her humorless laughs and my whispered apology, I’ve realized this club is no longer what she wants. She might need us right now, but that’s only out of the danger hanging over her head.
I think back to the stilted silence that’s been sitting with us for the past hour and a half. I fear it’ll be the same for the next couple hours until I get the clear from Wolf.
I find myself remembering those years where Charlotte’s giggles and loud charm was what enveloped the clubhouse. How—even under Glory’s influence—she had the spark she still carries. It’s only that the spark carries less of her charm now, and more of her rage. Justifiable rage.
The olden memories pile on top of each other now.
Her smiles that had been more hesitant than sultry. Her laugh that carried a hint of hesitation. Her jokes that were followed by her darting gaze, sweeping her audience for validation. For belongingness.
All of it was missed. Ignored. Never acknowledged.
Shame claws at my chest from the devastating realization. Which is probably why the moment I enter the panic room and her gaze lands on me, she immediately goes pale. Her form starts to shake with fear.
“Oh god,” she breathes out shakily. “What happened out there?”
Fuck.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, walking toward her with a steady gait. “Everything is fine. Wolf and Ryder are back. The intruders are taken care of. The lockdown should be lifted in… two hours maybe. They’re sweeping the grounds first. We’re fine.”
She exhales shakily, but I can see the relief washing over her. Nodding, she relaxes, leaning back into the arm chair. The book she was reading is forgotten on her lap.
For the next few minutes, I watch her stare at nothing. Her mind is probably going through whatever she thinks her next steps should be. Every now and then, she sighs with something akin to resignation.
Like even in her mind her plans aren’t working as she’d hope. I can guess how she feels. She hasn’t said it outright, but in so many words, she feels trapped. Who wouldn’t?
A thought shatters through my conscience. For years she wanted to belong here. Now the same place she regarded as her family—is her cage. Albeit temporarily.
I wish I could go back in time and shake some sense into both myself and Wolf. Force ourselves to open our eyes to the plain neglect of a young teen.
“What if…”
My head snaps up to her hesitant yet calculating tone. I wait for her to continue but she shakes her head instead, curbing whatever thought plagues her.
“What is it, Charlotte?” I ask softly.
“Nothing—I just…” She pauses, biting her lower lip. “What if I go back to Craven Ridge?”
No. I want to refuse immediately. Start with my carefully constructed reasoning that she shouldn’t leave the club compound. But this is the new Charlotte.
She’s no longer the club princess who would cower under a few, firmly-framed sentences.
“Why?” I ask. My voice is gentle despite the fear brewing inside me.
“I feel like I brought the whole… they’re… I don’t know,” she says, her shoulders slumping. “I feel like it’s my fault, okay? I don’t want people to get hurt.”
Fucking hell. I shouldn’t have told her about Heath getting shot. So much for transparency, Wolf. Why the hell did I promise the bastard that I won’t hide shit from her?
I sigh, leaning over to rest my elbows on my knees. “It’s not your fault—I need you to know that. Hell’s Army has been after every smaller MC in this area for years. Don’t… don’t put the blame where it doesn’t belong.”
She scoffs lightly, face twisting like she doesn’t believe a word out of my mouth. My whole body locks in tight, thinking of ways to make her understand none of this is her fault. That she was probably just made into another tactic by the Hell’s Army—to simply take over our club.
She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. Her whole body tight with irritation, hurt bleeding through every movement.
I reach out without thinking, covering her hand where it rests on the armrest. “Listen—”
She’s on her feet in a blink. Flinching away like I burned her.
I keep forgetting I’m her trauma. My brain still hasn’t caught up to the fact that even though I’m assigned as her protection detail, she feels far from safe. She probably feels threatened.
“D-Don’t… touch me,” she says, eyes wide. Not just angry. Shocked.
I lift both hands immediately in surrender, but I stay seated. Standing will only make her feel cornered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I was just—” I drag a hand down my face. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
She groans into her palms, frustration spilling over, then starts pacing the small panic room like a caged animal. Two steps one way. Turn. Two steps back. She pivots sharply and strides toward me, stopping close enough she’s towering over where I sit.
Her face is stone. “You keep doing that,” she grits out. “Touching my arm. My lower back. Fucking… hovering.”
I mumble quickly. “Sorry.”
She throws her hands up. “This again.”
I curse under my breath, but there’s no bite in it, just defeat. “I know you hate it. I know I’m crossing… boundaries. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try to… control myself.”
She stills. Then slowly turns back to me, narrowing her eyes like she’s examining something she doesn’t recognize. “Control yourself?” she repeats, disgust curling in her tone. “I don’t even understand why you’d have these… urges.”
That one lands hard.
Fuck. I don’t deserve her. I’ve known that for over a month now, ever since I finally admitted what I feel. I know I don’t stand a chance.
But seeing the loathing in her eyes is making my head spin.
My throat dries when it sinks in fully: I’m unwanted. By the one person who once wanted me so openly it bordered on reckless.
She chased me, and I ignored her. Now my touch makes her recoil.
I clear my throat. Twice. It doesn’t help.
“God,” she groans. “Now you look like I kicked your puppy. Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
She’s studying me now, confusion mixing with irritation. A scowl firmly painted over.
I swallow hard. “You don’t have to worry about that, Charlotte. I’ve hurt you plenty.”
She scoffs. “Like you even cared back then.”
I freeze. Memories rise uninvited—her younger face, softer, hopeful. A version of her I helped break.
When the silence stretches too long, I lower my gaze and push forward anyway. “I did care,” I say quietly. “I just… I saw you. I always saw you. I just didn’t understand what your attention meant. I didn’t see it for what it was. I ignored your crush and—”
“Oh my God!” She bursts out laughing.
It’s not real laughter. It’s fractured. Sharp. Almost hysterical. She laughs like that a lot now. Like it’s the only way to survive what she remembers.
When it tips toward something manic, I look up. She wipes at a tear, shoulders still shaking. “My crush,” she giggles.
It takes her a few seconds to settle. Then she looks at me, amusement lining her features in a way that feels crueler than anger. “I’m going to tell you this once, Ruin,” she says, and her voice cracks on my name. “I was manipulated into thinking you were my one. You’re not.”
The finality in her tone hollows me out. All this time I thought I’d missed something that could’ve been everything. But she’s already dissected it. Pulled it apart. Decided none of it was real.
My chest feels like it’s splitting open.
“Charlotte, I—” I what? Apologize again? Explain? Beg?
My jaw locks, pain pulsing at my temples. There aren’t words strong enough to undo what I did. what I allowed.
She holds my gaze a second longer. “The sooner you forget those years,” she says evenly, “the better.”
Fuck.