Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Charlotte
It’s been a week since I had seen Wolf completely disintegrate in front of me. I watched him try to claw his way out of a wreckage I didn’t fully understand. No one actually said who Leila was—is. I doubt Ruin even knew.
The look on Ryder’s face told me enough. The gray pallor. The way his jaw had tightened. The pity in his eyes, so raw it almost hurt to look at him.
Leila Richard was someone Savage took from Wolf. That much is clear. He might not have been my father, but what kind of man does that to his own son?
‘Savage got you out of a buyer contract. You were being sold to the Romanian Mafia’s flesh trade.’
I still remember the exact moment those words had landed. The cold that seeped into my bones when the meaning finally settled.
Savage saved me.
But the next part burned through that thought like molten lava.
He’d also swapped me. He’d handed someone else’s life for mine. And I still can’t reconcile how a person could make that choice.
Granted, I barely knew Savage when he was alive and functioning. During the years he spent confined to a wheelchair, I hardly interacted with him at all.
Still. None of it makes sense. Why would he save me? Why was I even in that position to begin with? And why the hell did he trade Leila for me?
Those same questions had flickered in Wolf’s eyes that day. Hollow, desolate eyes. He had drifted in and out of lucidity until he pushed himself off the grimy floor—swaying slightly—and called for church in a hoarse, defeated voice.
That moment gave me pause. Even as Ruin, Ryder, and Wolf left the office, I stayed where I was, staring at the door they’d walked through.
They had delayed church. For me. They waited until I knew everything before dealing with their club business. They had lost a major weapons shipment, their alliance with Reapers, and possibly stepped into a war. Yet, Wolf still prioritized telling me the truth first.
I didn’t know how to take that.
The longer I recalled my last few days, the more I noticed other small changes too. The way he handled things now as President. The way he didn’t seem to care if his decisions made him look weaker in the eyes of the club.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when a soft hand lands on my forearm. “Is it not good?” Bel—or rather, Isabelle—asks gently from beside me. “Do you want me to make something else? Something light… maybe garlic-shrimp salad?”
I quickly shake my head, forcing a small smile. Hopefully one that passes for contentment.
My plate is still full, a mound of pasta slowly going cold. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.
The longer I stay at the club under the weight of the past, and the uncertainty of whatever future waits for me, the more restless I feel.
“I’m okay,” I reassure her softly. “Just… not very hungry.”
Her face falls immediately before she brightens a little. “Oh! What about an avocado sandwich? You used to love those.”
God. I barely spoke to her back then, and she remembers something like that? Even when I was probably a complete bitch to her, considering Glory was horrible to all the club girls.
I chuckle awkwardly, a little embarrassed by the memory of my younger self. “I’m fine, Isabelle. I promise. The pasta’s great. I just… can’t eat much these days.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, her brows knitting with concern.
Sometimes I get the feeling she is trying too hard to make up for what happened with Glory. Not that any of it was her fault. Or any of the club girls’.
I’ve seen the same pattern with the Ol’ Ladies too. They try to include me in their gossip, their jokes, their little circles around the clubhouse. Trying to make me feel like I belong here. I don’t.
But Isabelle’s way is different. Her language is nurturing and food. So she keeps feeding me.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her fear has a way of killing your appetite. Until today, because she’s still looking at me like I’ll decide on a meal I will definitely eat—and she’ll be happy to make it.
I swallow hard, trying not to focus on the raw eagerness lighting up her face.
“Isabelle, why are you… why is everyone—” I turn my head, scanning the dining hall corridor discreetly.
“Why is everyone acting like this? I’m only here temporarily.
None of you need to go overboard with this… hospitality, okay?”
There’s an edge in my voice that makes her flinch. Guilt immediately prickles in my chest. I hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, even if it’s the truth.
“I…” She clears her throat. “I don’t know about the others, but—god.” Her head suddenly drops into her hands and her breathing turns ragged.
Concern has me reaching for her shoulder before I even think about it. “Izzy?” I squeeze gently. “You okay?”
She takes several seconds to pull herself together before looking up. Her eyes are glassy, her nose pink as she sniffles. “I—I was there, Charlotte,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “God… I saw T-Trixie and Juggles—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head rapidly.
Horror floods her eyes, like she’s seeing that night again—the basement, the ropes, Glory and I tied up beneath the club. “—I’m so s-sorry, Charlotte,” she chokes. “I was so w-weak. I couldn’t stop it. But I swear to you, I—I left. I wasn’t… I didn’t…”
Relief warms my chest, even though I already knew this. Isabelle wasn’t one of the girls who hurt me. I remember her stepping into the cell that night with the others. But I also learned a while ago she had walked out before ever laying a finger on me.
“You couldn’t,” I say gently, offering her a small smile.
“W-What?” she croaks.
“I know you left the cell. Ruin told me a few days ago. He didn’t want me wondering why Trixie and Juggles were kicked out of the club and you weren’t.”
Her shoulders sag as a long breath leaves her.
I nudge her lightly with my shoulder, snorting. “Honestly? He tells me random, stupid things all the time now. It’s like he physically can’t shut up around me.”
She lets out a watery laugh, eyes widening at the way I’m casually roasting her VP. There’s a lot more where that came from. And I don’t care.
“He’s been… different since you left,” she murmurs. “So has Wolf.”
I shrug, unwilling to talk about the two confusing men.
I turn toward her fully, abandoning my untouched pasta. A grin spreads across my face. “So,” I drawl teasingly, “tell me about that guy you were texting the other day. Nick, was it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Noah. Dr. Noah Almonte.”
Her entire face turns red when my grin widens. I twirl my hand impatiently, gesturing to her to continue.
She sighs softly through a shy smile. “Well, he works with Owen—er… Healer—at the clinic. We’ve known each oth—”
“There you are.”
We both jump at the sharp voice cutting through the room. I glance up to see Ryder striding toward us. His walk is casual, but there’s a rigid irritation in his posture that immediately sets me on edge.
He softens slightly when his gaze meets mine, all while I’m frowning at his abrupt intrusion.
“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Ryder drawls with a charming smirk. “Gossiping, love? Really?”
My expression drops into a flat glare. “You just interrupted the only fun I have in this damn club.” I add an exaggerated huff for good measure.
He shakes his head, amused. The moment his gaze lands on Isabelle, the easy humor drains from his face, replaced by a sharp scowl.
She’s sliding off the bar stool, standing stiffly like she’s ready to bolt.
“I’d suggest you don’t use a brother’s legal name again, Bel,” Ryder says coolly. “I won’t tell Healer, but there better not be a next time.”
I frown at the harshness in his tone.
It’s not hard to imagine why Isabelle might slip up every now and then. At the clinic, she calls him Dr. Owen Moore all day. If I worked those hours, I’d probably forget he even had a road name.
I’m about to defend her when she murmurs a quick, “Alright,” and flees the dining hall.
Ryder’s scowl lingers until she disappears completely.
“That was harsh,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
He raises a brow at me. “You know better than anyone you don’t use a brother’s given name where people can hear it.” He gestures loosely around the open dining area—far from private.
I slump a little. “Fair,” I admit reluctantly.
Before I can question his irritability further, he steps closer. “So,” he says lightly. “How’s the protection detail going? Ruin giving you trouble?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Not since the… the—the… the thing.”
“The ambush?” he supplies, grimacing.
I nod, but his gaze has already dropped to my plate. The full plate of pasta I’ve barely touched.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
I shrug, resting my elbows on the counter. “Not really hungry. This whole situation’s messing with my appetite.”
“You’ve got cabin fever, Charlotte,” he concludes.
He’s not wrong. It feels like I’ve been gasping for air in a room with no oxygen.
“Tell you what,” he murmurs. He leans in close—so close his breath brushes the shell of my ear. His fingers gently hook under my chin, turning my face toward him. “We’ll go out to the Whiterun Bridge Trail once this is over,” he says softly. “Beautiful falls. Blue water. We’ll make a day of it.”
He’s so close it feels like he might kiss me. His breath fans over my lips. Do I want him to?
The strange moment shatters when his phone vibrates between us. He curses under his breath, stepping back and pulling it from his pocket. “Prez?”
I sit up straighter immediately. My nerves spark to life.
“Understood,” he hisses after a beat. A pause. “Be right there.”
When Ryder hangs up, he looks at me again. That same yearning I’ve noticed for days flickers across his face—something softer than what Ruin carries, but similar enough to unsettle me. “I gotta go, love.”
It’s the first time I’m actually absorbing that term of endearment.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, my throat tightening as I notice how dark his expression has turned.
“Don’t worry, okay?” he says, trying—and failing—to keep his tone gentle. “I’ll send Ruin back when we’re done.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek before hurrying out.
And just like that, the charged moment we shared dissolves into dread. My entire body itches to move. To follow. Something tells me there’s a new development, and I don’t want to wait for Wolf to give me the watered-down version later.
I push off the stool and slip out of the dining hall. My feet carry me quickly toward Wolf’s office.
The main hall is scattered with people, but no one pays much attention to me or the nervous energy thrumming under my skin.
I slide into the side corridor just in time to see Ryder disappear into Wolf’s office near the staircase.
I wait a few seconds. Then I quietly plant myself outside the door, listening.
At first, I think they’re speaking too softly. But the first clear words reach me—and the air leaves my lungs. My knees give out before I can stop them and I sink to the floor.
“I don’t want any of this getting to Charlotte yet,” Wolf says inside. “But Hell’s Army’s president—Hellfire—was just seen meeting Ioana Ro?ca. She’s the one our mother—fuck… Sandy coordinated with to sell Charlotte.”
“Fuck me,” Ruin groans.
I flinch when another voice cuts in.
“That fucking bitch!”
Torch. There’s a vicious edge in his voice I’ve never heard before.
Then again—I didn’t know until this moment my own mother had tried to sell me.
While the man who wasn’t my father… traded me.