Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Charlotte
Grapes.
I’ve been staring at this bowl of grapes for a good twenty minutes. Ignoring the soft clanging outside and an occasional movement of the chimney pipe above me.
I know the exact moment when he screws on the vent cover, and silence takes over. My legs keep twitching, aching to walk over to the window and glimpse through the curtains.
And now, with the quiet and solitude—peace—Ruin has created, I’m feeling awfully sleepy. Even blinking becomes a chore.
A heavy weight lifts off of me, craving the solace of the bedroom right next to me. A room I never thought I’d ever dream of entering again.
But it’s not the same room, is it? It’s been broken down to its core and rebuilt. And I have no idea why Ruin has done this.
Traitorously, my brain starts to compare the cottage Wolf “gifted” me with this apartment I suddenly find myself in. It’s downright terrifying to allow even an ounce of comfort I feel here. In contrast with the rage that simmered in my bones when I saw the cottage.
It’s almost as though I’m comparing Wolf’s methods to Ruin’s. But there’s one thing they’ve both done that still rattles me.
Trixie and Juggles.
They kicked them out—unceremoniously. I’ve heard the gossip plenty of times from Ol’ Ladies. Especially Lana, Hound’s Ol’ Lady. That sweet yet feisty woman told me the story plainly. The colorless version of them being here one day, and gone the next.
Everyone believed Wolf and Ruin did it out of anger, even justice. But I know why they did it. It’s been plain as ever.
Guilt. Penance.
They probably didn’t want reminders of that night. And getting rid of the two club girls was an easy fix. Wrong—but easy.
This apartment, however, feels different. It doesn’t register as a band-aid over the massive gash I possess. It’s a stitch. A single stitch, and I hate I’m even considering it as one.
I don’t remember when I push myself off the barstool. Or when I trudge down to the bedroom and collapse over the covers. Not even when sleep finally overwhelms me.
When I wake up, it’s already 8:37 a.m. I had looked over to my left, almost out of reflex. And there it was, my digital clock on the nightstand.
The similarities to my apartment are unsettling and soothing in equal measure. But when I blindly walk toward the bathroom with one eye closed, I don’t think. I carry on my routine I was forced to abandon a few weeks ago.
The comforting familiarity is so strong I’m almost certain I’ll be receiving a ping on my laptop. Then I’ll amble over to start my tutoring session. I can almost hear one of my students starting to grumble about the SAT stress.
There’s one massive difference, though.
The shelf, fully covering the door I was dragged out of—stacked with my books from Craven Ridge. You won’t even know there was a door here unless you move the teak monstrosity.
I swallow hard at the detail.
He thought of everything, didn’t he?
I groan loudly, hands dragging over my face. Shaking off the cold memories and the muddled perception of Ruin, I square my shoulders.
I’m about to head out, perhaps nibble half-heartedly at breakfast in the clubhouse kitchen when I brighten up slightly.
Let’s see how thorough you were, Ruin.
I’m ready for scoffing, perhaps even a little bit of laughter at the possibility of an empty refrigerator. But the damn thing is stocked. Eggs, bacon, vegetables, a massive loaf of bread, apple juice—fucking hell. It’s a frickin’ grocery store in here.
Fine. You win this time.
An hour later, I’m almost singing to myself. My fork dancing over the plate for the last bite of my scrambled eggs, the last strip of bacon enticing me.
I pause at the sink when I’m done. This is the first full meal I’ve had in weeks—not just breakfast. A hearty, proper meal I didn’t leave halfway through.
I swallow audibly, forcing the thoughts away. Half my mind is thinking about how this apartment is the best thing to happen since I came back to Whiterun—to Wardens.
The other half wants to strangle Ruin. Shake him until his teeth rattle. Wrench the softened parts out of him—the sudden one-eighty he seems to have made.
A knock sounds at the door. My door.
I frown, walking over to see who it is. The moment I open the door, I beam.
“So this is what he’s done, huh?” Mama Deb smiles, looking beyond my shoulder.
I chuckle and let her in.
“Well, I’d rather have our gossip sessions here instead of that room upstairs,” she says, plopping down on the couch with a slight bounce.
I roll my eyes, taking a seat next to her. “Then it’s good the walls are soundproofed. Can’t trust what’ll come out of your mouth, Mama!”
She slaps my thigh playfully, laughing. Then she sighs, staring at every single piece of furniture and accessory. “I didn’t know he was planning this,” she mumbles softly. “All he did was ask me about your food preferences.”
I frown.
Well, that explains the mussels in the freezer and the huge jar of peanut butter.
“Yeah, well…” I shrug. “It worked. I’m… eating. Properly.”
She looks at me then, studying me with that quiet concern I’ve grown used to. It’s jarring to see it in person rather than on video calls.
The intensity of her gaze makes me shiver slightly. Like she’ll figure something out that even I haven’t noticed.
Her lips part, still deep in thought. “My son,” she says, but it feels like the start of a longer story. “He was spoiled a lot. Paul—Torch…” She smiles to herself. “Always wanted him to become a brother. But he never forced it on him.”
I look down, wondering where this is going.
“When Sandra,” she continues, a sneer forming.
“May her soul rest in hell—when she had Dane a few months after I had Theo, I was ecstatic. The new generation, you see. The one that won’t make our mistakes.
I want to say I brought them both up. Because Savage was raising a future president, not a son. So I… I took it upon myself.”
Dread creeps in.
No.
“And when both my sons hurt you—”
“Mama, no!” I hiss, my tone firm. Unrelenting.
“Sweetheart—”
“No! Just… no.”
I shoot up from the couch. “No matter what, I’m not allowing you to take the blame for what they did,” I almost yell.
She sighs. “That’s not… okay, fine. I was implying it a bit. But, Charlotte, who else is there to blame? Surely the people who raised the two idiots.”
I sit back down, trying to find the words that would explain what I’m feeling. “Mama, to me, the parts of them that felt arrogant and violent enough were Savage’s. And the parts that feel the guilt—are yours, Torch’s. That’s how I see it because… Mama…”
I blink hard, trying to control the sting behind my eyes. “…there’s no way they would feel the way they do had you not been the one to raise them. To guide them. I see it, you know. The blame they carry. And even though it’s not for my benefit, I’m glad they took responsibility for it.”
She grumbles a bit at my explanation, shoulders sagging. “I told Paul not to let Theo become the VP so soon. But Wolf was already the prez—a bit too early, if you ask me. And he wanted Theo to start taking on his responsibilities. He should’ve… waited.”
I stare at her deadpan. “And now it’s on Torch, huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not blaming him, I just—”
“Ever wonder that the only people responsible are Wolf and Ruin? I don’t know what led them to that… decision. Maybe it was anger, or betrayal—”
“Immaturity…” Mama supplies with a drawl, raising her brows.
I nod. “Lingering influence of bad role models?”
Mama frowns.
I chuckle. “Savage for them. Glory for me. I made mistakes too, didn’t I?”
She starts to shake her head vigorously.
“Mama, I snuck into Ruin’s bedroom… naked. Maybe that bitch was to blame. But I was the one responsible for my actions.”
“That’s not a healthy way to look at it. I need to call your therapist.”
I throw her a mock glare. Something she returns with the same defiance.
A resigned sigh escapes me. “Fine, maybe it’s not a healthy parallel. But… you see what I’m saying?”
She nods reluctantly. “You only saw Savage’s last few years of presidency, Charlotte. Before that—”
“It was enough for me to know how awful he was.”
She shakes her head, eyes narrowing on her lap. A memory gripping her. “No. It wasn’t enough.”
I think back to the fact that we’re talking about a man who swapped me with another girl—sent her to the monsters. Relegating her to a life I can’t even fathom.
“He started this club with Paul,” she says, a cold detachment in her voice. “They were ruthless in the beginning. Paul was ruthless, but he softened when he met me. The club was still small back then. Four, maybe five brothers in total?”
“When Paul made me his Ol’ Lady because I got pregnant with Theo,” she continues, “Savage was against it. When he kicked Sandra out for cheating on him, he was convinced I was cut from the same cloth. Sandra and I used to hang out a lot, so…”
My heart sinks.
What the fuck did Savage do to her?
“A few years after Sandra was gone, I was coming back from my parents’ place. I hadn’t told Paul about my visit because it was a surprise. I was… I was pregnant.”
No. No, no, no!
“Savage found me when I walked into the clubhouse. Took my five-year-old to a different room and me to his office. He had pictures of me and my… OB. Exiting the clinic near my parents’ place.”
God!
“I was in the basement cell for two hours before Paul came back from the club run. I was shaking, vomiting, wondering what would happen if Paul believed Savage instead of me.”
She looks up, finally, a sad smile marring her face. “He didn’t believe a single word out of Savage’s mouth. Got me out of that cell and took me home. It was that day when it became a standard practice for Ol’ Ladies and club princesses who betrayed the club—to be sent to that… t-that cell.”
My vision swims, image after image of the cell pours in. My mouth sours, and I can feel the gag crawling deeper in my throat.
“I lost the baby that night. Curled up against Paul in our bed, b-blood and tears soaking everything.”
My God!
She chuckles, the sound unsettling. “I don’t think Paul ever forgave Savage. I’d like to think he felt guilt, maybe a little bit of shame for what he almost did…” Blinking rapidly, she sniffs. “But I don’t think he did.”
She looks up, forcing me to meet her ravaged face. I want to hug her, cry with her for what she went through. But my body is locked with horror.
She smiles. “That’s who raised them, Charlotte. And I’m so happy for the clogged artery that gave him that stroke. I’d have given the bastard buttered up, red meat steaks way before, had I known.”
A shaky smile pulls at my lips at the vehemence in her tone, but it doesn’t last.
BANG! BANG, BANG!
The violent pounding on my door makes us both flinch. Mama and I jump to our feet at the same time, striding to the door. I yank it open.
Wolf stands on the other side, looking wrecked. Haggard.
Torch is right behind him, just as tense, but he barely seems aware of anything around him. The moment his gaze lands past me—on his wife—his entire body sags.
His hands drop to his knees. “Christ!” he croaks. Then he pushes past me and grabs Mama, pulling her into his arms so tightly she squeaks. “Paul, what—”
“Please,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Just… just a second.”
I step aside, watching the two of them. Torch buries his face in her hair like a man who’s been drowning.
My gaze drifts from Torch to Wolf. Only then do I notice the look he’s giving me. Shock. Relief. And something that looks suspiciously like pain.
“I… I went to your room upstairs,” he says hoarsely. “Y-you weren’t there. And… I thought…”
Oh. The realization settles heavy in my stomach.
“Paul,” Mama says, her voice muffled against his chest. It cracks slightly. “Honey, what is it?”
“You were gone when I woke up,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. There’s a rough edge to his tone now. “And then I couldn’t find you.”
“I was here,” she says, frowning in confusion. “With Charlotte.”
My gaze flicks between Torch and Wolf, and I notice another figure a few feet away.
Ruin is leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His eyes are fixed on me, watching intensely. But his posture is anything but relaxed.
“Did something happen?” I ask quietly, but no one answers.
The silence stretches long enough to make the air feel thick. Wolf sniffs, dragging a shaky hand down his face. “The Reapers’ compound was hit again,” he says finally. “Nine of their brothers are dead.”
The words land like a physical blow.
Wolf looks like he might crumble trying to continue, so Torch picks up where he left off. His eyes flick to Mama for a moment—as if he needs to see her standing there to steady himself. “They’re gone, my love,” he says quietly. “Their Ol’ Ladies. Their princesses.”
A cold dread crawls up my spine. Torch’s jaw tightens. “They’ve disappeared.”