Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Charlotte
I can’t look away. I can’t. Ruin’s face has twisted into something so brutally pained I’m unable to avert my gaze.
A blaring scream goes off in my head, two words crashing into each other over and over.
No. Why?
What’s more alarming is he isn’t even trying to hide behind his usual smirks and tight smiles. His throat keeps bobbing as if he’s swallowing something heavy, struggling with something I don’t want to name. His brows furrowed in agony.
The realization settles in my chest anyway. It has been hovering for days now. The dreadful conclusion.
God! This man has somehow deluded himself into believing he has… feelings for me. Like I did back then.
“I…” He manages a broken syllable.
I’ve never seen Ruin this rattled and defeated. It’s doing something ugly in my nervous system. Like wanting to swat away a mosquito that keeps buzzing in your ear.
I’m also not sure if I like how utterly mean my thoughts are becoming. That’s not me. It’s never been me.
“Anyway,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the rage still lingering in my chest. “I’d rather you just… do the protection thing, and keep your hands to yourself.”
He nods, still somehow managing to look completely devastated. I start to think it’s an act. A grand act to what?
Fuck. I can’t think around him looking like this. So I pace away, as I have been for the past few hours. My legs are constantly restless. What with the compound being hit.
I recall the moment Ruin got off the phone with Hound. The way his mouth moved on the words, ‘Heath was shot.’ How my entire body surrendered to the fact that a club war has broken out possibly because of me.
I know Ruin and Wolf keep saying none of this is my fault. Then why was Glory at my doorstep last week? Why was she with two Hell’s Army brothers, whipping out the old intimidation tactics?
Nothing makes sense. The dots keep getting scattered way too quickly for anyone to connect. And I’m here, at the mercy of my former family—useless. A powerless target they want to protect.
All the iterations of the ‘why me?’ questions fade when I startle at Ruin’s voice. “I—I promise not to make you uncomfortable,” he says.
I keep my back to him, not wanting another glimpse at his impressive performance. I’d say about eighty percent of my brain believes this is all an act.
“But Charlotte,” he croaks, clearing his throat. “None of this changes the fact that I was wrong during all those years. And the woman you are now? I… admire her.”
My eyes widen in shock at the softness and sheer awe in his voice. Something in his words makes me want to hurl more venom at him, because what he said was downright insulting.
I spin on my heel, pinning him with a hardened gaze.
“Really? A few days in and you admire this ‘new Charlotte’? Newsflash! I’m exactly the same girl—with some added spine for good measure.
You won’t be able to drag this Charlotte out by her throat…
naked.” My voice breaks at the last word, memories rushing in.
But I forge on despite the massive flinch taking over his frame. I’m enjoying the cracked silence and the tormented lines on his face too much. “This Charlotte doesn’t need your benefit of doubt. Or a house, or a frickin’ trust fund. She sure as hell doesn’t need your admiration,” I spit out.
He squeezes his eyes shut and I know he’s realizing he’s losing this battle.
“You keep saying sorry like it’s something that will erase everything,” I continue with a ragged voice. “I’m sure Wolf’s letters are just a written version of what you keep spouting, but I. Don’t. Need this!”
He finally looks up, his face torn with so much guilt that I look away.
My chest heaves so rapidly it starts to hurt. So I take a few breaths to calm myself before the walls of the panic room start to close in on me. “You know,” I whisper shakily. “You know the difference between Mama Deb, Torch—and you both?”
I wait for him to answer even though I phrased it as a rhetorical question. A joke of difference because he still wouldn’t understand if I spelled it out, never mind actually knowing the answer.
He shakes his head reluctantly.
“The difference is… they acknowledged my pain. My hurt. My anger. Not—not their guilt. They created space for my peace, not their penance. That, Ruin, is the difference.”
Twice. I’ve said his name twice in the past two years. I think I’m done for a while.
The silence stretches, heavy and deep. The only sounds are from his occasional tattered breaths. He looks almost completely elsewhere.
An hour passes and he finally mumbles that the lockdown is lifted. His eyes never lifting from his phone.
The first thing I notice when I enter the clubhouse is the grim yet enraged face of every single brother.
Hound is pacing around his Ol’ Lady. Guess having her so close to the line of fire must’ve shaken him.
Scar and Bulldog are in a corner, deep in conversation, but their faces are utterly dark. Spike is next to them, nodding along.
The whole atmosphere is foreboding and I can’t seem to stop wondering if they blame me. Again.
Finally, I enter Wolf’s office. Ryder is standing behind his desk, arms crossed.
That’s when I notice the second thing. Wolf’s arm. Dried blood still marks his skin, as though cleaned haphazardly. A white bandage peeking under his left sleeve.
Ruin and I take the seats across from Wolf’s desk. The silence doesn’t help anything, and for a moment I realize I haven’t actually looked at him yet.
When I finally do, my chest tightens. His face is streaked with dried tears, but his eyes are empty now—dry, distant. He’s staring at a phone in his hand like it holds the answer to something he can’t solve. I don’t think he’s even noticed that Ruin and I walked in.
Ryder places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Wolf jolts like he’s been shocked. “Charlotte,” he croaks when he looks up.
Relief softens his entire face. His eyes close as he exhales, a small, exhausted smile touching his lips. He clears his throat. “You okay?”
For once, I don’t have a comeback ready. No sharp retort. No venom. The devastation I saw in Ruin earlier feels tremendously small compared to what I’m seeing in Wolf.
So I answer honestly. “No. Someone was shot. The compound was hit. And I’m not sure this club can handle Hell’s Army alone.”
Ruin and Ryder both bristle at my bluntness.
But Wolf? He simply nods. “You’re right. We—”
He stops mid-sentence, like the words refuse to form. Then he straightens slowly, squaring his shoulders. The shift is immediate. “Alright,” he says evenly. “I promised transparency, so here it is.”
My lips part as dread coils in my stomach. I’ve clearly missed something in the past few hours, especially judging by the bandage wrapped around his arm.
“This morning, Ryder and I were overseeing our usual weapons shipment—with the Nomads and the Reapers. But we—”
“You said it was delayed,” Ruin snaps.
“Quiet,” Wolf growls, exhaustion bleeding through his voice. “But… we were ambushed. The Nomads lost their VP—”
Ruin stiffens beside me while Ryder drops his head.
“—and the Reapers lost a prospect. We’ve also lost the Reapers’ alliance.”
My stomach twists. This… this is club business. Why are they telling me this?
Wolf must see the shock on my face, because he gives me a tired, almost rueful smile. “Transparency, Charlotte.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “We also lost the shipment that was supposed to help us deal with Hell’s Army. So right now, we’re stretched thin until the next supply comes in.”
Ruin curses quietly beside me.
God. This isn’t just about me, is it? Hell’s Army isn’t just targeting me. They’re hurting everyone here.
“We… we also learned something else,” Wolf says.
His voice cracks horribly. His eyes squeeze shut, and for a terrifying moment I think he’s going to cry.
“We learned the reason you came to the club when you were fourteen… was because Da—Savage got you out of a buyer contract. You were…” His voice falters, staring at me with pained eyes.
“Charlotte, you were being sold to the Romanian Mafia’s flesh trade. ”
My hands start shaking.
“But Savage swapped you with… s-someone else.”
The words echo in my skull.
Sold. Mafia. Swapped.
“W-Why… what?” My voice barely sounds like mine. My whole body feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.
“Charlotte,” Ruin says softly beside me.
I can’t hear him. All I hear is the ringing in my ears.
Sold. Flesh trade. Mafia.
“Why are you t-telling me this?” I whisper, my voice thick with fear.
Wolf shoots up from his chair. The legs scrape loudly against the floor, making me flinch. He starts pacing, dragging his hands through his hair like he’s trying to tear the thoughts out of his own head.
“Charlotte, look at me,” Ryder says quickly.
I can’t. My hands are clenched tight in my lap, palms slick with sweat. Is this what it feels like? Realizing that the nightmare of a life you lived through might have been the better option? That something worse existed out there. Something that could still come for you.
“Please, love.”
I lift my head. A low growl rumbles from beside me, but I ignore it, keeping my focus on Ryder.
“Hell’s Army,” Ryder says gently. “They work with the Romanian flesh trade. We think… they might be coming to collect.”
I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste blood. He keeps talking, throwing in reassurances, but I’m drowning. Part of me wishes I never heard any of this. That the dots hadn’t fallen into place so perfectly.
Another thought claws its way to the surface. “Y-You said I was swapped,” I whisper. “Who was it?” Who was the person Savage sacrificed for me? Who did he send into that hell instead?
My eyes lock onto Ryder’s. I can see the hesitation on his face. He glances at Wolf before looking back at me, his expression heavy with regret. “Her name was Leila Richard,” he says quietly. “She was seventeen at the time.”
Crack!
Glass shatters to my left. My body freezes.