Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Charlotte
A week passes in a blur.
That Mihai guy never shows up again, but he sends his men—discreetly. Slowly building up the armory in the basement. Apparently, he’s doing the same for Blaze’s club, the Nomads.
The uncomplicated willingness to supply weaponry has everyone on edge. No one trusts him. I see it every time Mihai’s men show up. Suspicion flashing in the eyes of every single brother. The whole club goes on lockdown. Women and children are sent to Wolf’s house under heavy guard.
I’ve always refused to leave. I want to see what the brothers might miss through their constant glares.
Ruin, for the most part, has left me alone. We’ve abandoned our daily walks around the compound. Wolf said we shouldn’t be taking any risks.
I agree.
Ryder has been back on my protection detail for four days now. I’m still not sure why that happened. When I asked, Ryder simply shrugged and said Ruin was probably occupied with VP duties. I don’t know why that irked me, but it did.
Shoving the covers off, I swing my legs out of bed and head to the attached bathroom. It’s almost four in the morning, and sleep continues to elude me.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I notice I’ve lost weight. Isabelle—persistent and sweet as she’s been—hasn’t been able to keep up with my declining appetite. Especially since Mihai’s ominous visit.
I finish up quickly, grab a throw blanket, and head outside. The backyard is fenced and secured, so it shouldn’t be an issue to stroll around.
The moment I open the back gate of the clubhouse, my hackles rise.
What the hell? It’s unlocked.
At a short distance, I hear a dull rhythmic clanging. Metal striking metal, followed by the occasional rustle.
My heart jumps into my throat as I move quietly toward the sound. I should probably alert Ryder or Wolf because the hammering is coming from the edge of the building closest to the second entrance.
I slip behind the bushes lining the clubhouse wall and peek through the leaves.
Then freeze.
There, in nothing but jeans, is Ruin.
One knee rests on the top rung of a step ladder, the other foot planted firmly on the step below. His bare back stretches as he works, muscles shifting under inked skin. Moonlight glints off the tattoos spread across his chest and back.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never while he’s deeply focused on… manual labor.
What the hell is he doing out here in the middle of the night?
“What are you doing?”
He jumps at the sound of my voice, and hand immediately flies to the back of his jeans.
God. He’s still armed.
“Jesus,” he mutters before setting whatever tool he has in his hand and jumping a good four feet from the top of the ladder.
His eyes immediately scan the yard for danger. In a blink, he’s right in front of me. Scanning… me?
“Charlotte?” His brows furrow with a mix of confusion and concern. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
He looks haggard, almost spent. Up close, I can see a thick stubble forming on his face, like he hasn’t shaved in a while. The hair on his chest has clearly not been trimmed either.
God. I can see his tattoos peeking out, making me swallow hard.
His hands hover between us, muscles coiling and flexing under the weight of his restraint.
“I’m fine,” I say, my stupid voice cracking from disuse.
“Oh.” He sighs with relief, swallowing awkwardly.
I nod at the ladder, staring at the massive hole in the wall. “What’s that about?”
He glances back quickly, not really seeing. Then his hand comes up, rubbing the back of his neck in an almost boyish hesitation. “Uhhh… it’s… well, it’s the hole for the chimney vent.”
I jerk my head back. That is not what I thought would come out of his mouth.
“What?”
He groans, frustrated—mostly to himself. Squaring his massive, bare shoulders, he powers through his dithering thoughts. “Alright, I’ll—fuck—I’ll show you,” he says, frowning at the muddy ground.
He sprints back to the ladder, grabs his white undershirt, and runs back to me. “But it’s not fully done yet, okay?” he adds, a little out of breath.
I open my mouth to ask further, but then relent. Nodding, I follow him, unable to catch up to his strange, callow body language. Even as he puts on his undershirt, his movements are rigid and strained.
Once we’re back inside, he leads me to the hallway to the officers’ rooms.
I freeze instantly, my feet rooted to the floor. Fuck, I haven’t been in this area since that night Glory told me to wait for Ruin in his room.
My hands shake as I stare down the darkened hallway. Ruin’s silhouette slowly fading before coming to an abrupt halt.
“Hey,” he says softly, facing me. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”
I sigh heavily and continue following him. The moment we cross his room, I exhale a breath of relief.
I can’t face that room. Not tonight—when the hands that curled around my throat are currently gesturing to me to follow him.
We reach the door next to his, and he unlocks it before throwing me a quivering smile.
My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the light. At a low setting, I’m blinking hard to comprehend what I’m seeing. Surely, I’m hallucinating, right? There’s no way there’s a living room with a massive kitchen staring at me right now.
Inside the damn clubhouse.
“This used to be Hound’s room,” Ruin rumbles from behind me, and I realize my feet have carried me inside.
“Lana wanted a place of their own so… he gave up this room a few months ago.” He walks over to the kitchen, his hand brushing the counter wistfully.
“There was a small kitchenette here. So I… errr… well, I got a pre-made kitchen installed.”
I frown at the familiar design, gulping hard.
“It’s actually the same color cabinets as your home. In Craven Ridge.”
Jesus. I can’t ignore the pleading quality of his voice anymore. The slight hesitant cadence whenever he speaks.
My gaze snaps toward him. “What’s this about?”
He sniffs. Then clears his throat, twice. “Well, you… you weren’t eating, Charlotte,” he says as though it should make all the sense to me.
“What?” When I show no sign of comprehension, he continues. Again—shakily. Who is this man?
“I just—I saw how the… the crowd in the dining area would always make you nervous. The few times I saw you properly eat were at night, or during odd hours when there was no one around. So…”
“What?” I repeat.
He meets my eyes, and his chest moves rapidly through every breath he takes. “This is yours. Your space away from everyone. I soundproofed the hallway facing walls. It’ll be like your own apartment. But close enough so I can—we can—protect you.”
My eyes widen when I see the couch is the same shade of gray as my apartment. The carpet is nearly identical, as is the coffee table.
He clears his throat. “The carpet, TV console, and coffee table are yours. I brought in as much as I could fit in my truck.”
I spin toward him swiftly. What the fuck? I want to hurl insults at him. Laugh at the jittery nervousness he’s displaying, but every venomous instinct dies a brutal death on my lips.
Because—hell—I can actually see it. I can see myself standing behind that counter in silence. Cooking whatever fancies me with my own two hands. Recreating the quiet peace I once built for myself in solitude.
I’ve done it before. I can do it again.
My gaze chooses that exact moment to land on a door that shouldn’t be there. It sits on the wall that should separate this room from Ruin’s.
My stomach drops. Fear rushes through my entire frame as the implication slams into me. Ruin follows my gaze, trying to understand what has suddenly spooked me.
“Charlotte?” he says urgently. “Charlotte, listen to me. Just—just look at the room once, okay? It’s not what you—”
His words fade. Every sound drowns beneath the thick, suffocating dread filling my ears.
I don’t move. Visions begin to creep in—sharp, vivid flashes of memory. Me, naked. Hands around my throat.
My skin starts to itch again, like it did when my bare ass pressed against the cold floor of the clubhouse. Eyes watching my every move.
I remember how thin that jacket felt, how little it covered. And I still can’t remember who the hell gave me that damn thing.
“Please,” I hear Ruin say, closer this time. “Shit. Please come back. I’m sorry. You don’t have to.”
My body shakes violently and I’m half-leaning against the couch for support. My vision blurs in and out as darkness begins creeping along the edges.
Much to my horror, my one arm is around my breasts, and the other cupped between my pajama covered thighs. Fuck. I quickly remove my hands, pressing the heels of my palm to my eyes.
God, why? I thought I’d left these panic attacks behind. Forcing myself to breathe through it, I blink rapidly. Expelling the visions, almost believing I could.
A few seconds pass by in a tense silence, my senses returning to me. Ruin doesn’t speak, but I can feel his eyes on me. I can hear the ragged pulls of his breath. I can see his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
I cough, but it comes out as a wet sob. Fucking hell.
“Fine, I’ll go look,” I manage to croak, steeling myself for whatever is behind that damn door.
“No,” he urges desperately. “No, wait. You don’t have to. I changed everything but… it’s… God!” He paces away from me, running his shaky hands over his face. He’s muttering under his breath, but I can barely make out his words.
“…fucking Christ…”
“…the fuck have I done?”
“…shouldn’t have dragged her out like that…”
Even with the residual panic still burning my chest, I can’t resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’ll get through this—I know I will. But he seems to have suddenly borrowed my panic.
“…stupid, stupid, stupid idea…”
“Ruin,” I snap, my voice hoarse.
He doesn’t listen.
Three steps forward.
“Ruin,” I repeat, a little louder.
Two steps back.
Jesus.
“RUIN!”
He jumps at my voice.
This man is apparently on a mission to make me compensate for not uttering his stupid road name for the past two years.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, almost panting.
“Show me the damn room,” I say, my voice clipped.
He hesitates again. “I don’t think you should see it, Charlotte. You… you just disappeared. You looked the same when—” He drags a hand through his buzzed head. “Please, baby, you don’t need to see it. I’ll seal it up, I promise.”
I stare at him, deadpan. Baby.
Scoffing, I sidestep him. I still can’t quite suppress the painful whimper caught in my throat, but I force it down.
Even though I wasn’t expecting the exact same room that held my humiliation preserved like some kind of shrine, I definitely wasn’t expecting this.
The room is exactly like mine. My apartment bedroom, down to the layout and the damn sheets. The bed frame is similar—but not exact. Ruin even painted the walls the same eggshell color as my bedroom.
I huff sharply in disbelief. Looks like he even got my vanity in here as well.
Ruin hovers a few feet behind me like a man standing too close to the edge of a cliff. I can feel him tracking my every move. “Charlotte?” he asks cautiously.
I don’t answer. My fingers trail lightly over the edge of my vanity. It’s clean, no longer wobbly as it was. And not a scratch in sight.
“Are you okay?” There’s a tightness in his voice I’ve never heard before.
I glance around the room again. It doesn’t even look like the same space anymore. The room where I was dragged from. Where my dignity was stripped piece by humiliating piece.
That room was dark and cold, and so small.
This one isn’t. The bed is neatly made. Fresh sheets tucked tight at the corners. The window is wider than I remember, but I know it’s the same damn window.
There’s even a damn throw blanket I bought a few months ago, folded at the end of the mattress.
I swallow hard and risk a glance over my shoulder.
He’s smiling, but it’s the most nervous smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
His eyes flick from the bed, to the vanity, to me—as if waiting for me to explode.
When I don’t, he exhales slowly. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together once like he’s dismissing himself. “I’ll leave you to it.” He gestures vaguely toward the ceiling of the new living room. “Just gotta get the chimney pipe… uh… yeah.”
Before I can even respond, he hurries past me, nearly stumbling. He grabs a bundle of plastic mattress covers lying near the door and scoops up a small pile of garbage from the floor. His tools go into a box with loud, clumsy clanks. Then he disappears, leaving me alone.
I take a slow step deeper into the room. My room. or something like it.
I stand there for a long time before finally stepping back into the living area. The space feels strangely quiet. Almost peaceful.
A few minutes pass. Then there’s a knock. Before I can answer, the door opens slightly and Ruin steps in.
He doesn’t look at me. Not really.
Instead he walks straight to the counter and places a bowl down.
Fresh grapes. Washed and destemmed.
He clears his throat awkwardly. Then turns and leaves as quickly as he came.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
I stare at the bowl of grapes sitting on my counter. And for a long moment, I stand there wondering—
What the hell happened? Or maybe more importantly…
What the hell just changed?