Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Ruin
I’ve never paid this much attention to another brother before. If anyone caught me right now, they’d think I’ve lost my damn mind. Like I’m obsessed with Ryder.
Kian Emerson. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced nineteen-year-old who walked into the club and impressed the hell out of Savage and my dad.
Back then… fuck, Dane and I were in awe of him.
The way he climbed the ranks. Fast and clean. He earned every ounce of respect thrown his way. Became someone people trusted without question.
I respected him, too. Still do.
I watched him back the older generation with that sharp head of his, that easy charm that made people listen. Made things smoother.
When Dane took the gavel, Ryder didn’t hesitate. Shifted his loyalty like it was second nature.
Then I stepped in as VP a few years later.
Not once did he flinch. Not once did he question us.
Maybe he should have.
Ever since last week—since the kiss—I’ve been watching him. Closely. Every interaction he has with Charlotte, I clock it. Hold onto it. Turn it over in my head like it means something more than it probably does.
Looking for something. Anything.
A sign that the kiss they shared changed something between them. But nothing seems different. Charlotte’s the same. Untouched by whatever the hell is going on in my head.
She treats him like she always has. She’s comfortable with him. There’s absolutely no edge, no tension. When he’s on her protection detail, she doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t question it.
Her hands never reach for him. Not once. I notice that too. Every single time.
Something in me loosens when I do.
Pathetic. Fucking pathetic.
But Ryder seems off. He’s distracted, like his mind is somewhere else entirely.
He can’t sit still. Keeps moving. His body tight, and jittery, wound tight.
Every time a random door opens, his head snaps toward it. Just as quickly, he looks away with an embarrassed drop in his face. Like he doesn’t want to be caught looking.
I’d bet money it’s about Bel.
The day after we found out she left, we had church. He didn’t say a word. His uncharacteristic silence was alarming.
Healer was pissed—rightfully so. Losing his best nurse in the middle of this shitstorm? Bad timing doesn’t even begin to cover it.
But Ryder didn’t react like the rest of us. Didn’t argue.
Even after church ended, he stayed rooted to his spot. Just staring past Wolf, like he wasn’t even in the room anymore. Like something in him had already checked out.
And yeah… I’m a bastard for it. For the small, ugly flicker of relief that settles in my chest when I conclude that it’s not Charlotte that has him twisted up like this.
It’s Isabelle.
But that doesn’t make this any better. Because a distracted man in his position? In a war like this?
That gets people killed. And we can’t afford that.
“Stop it!”
I jerk slightly at Charlotte’s voice, the sharp crack of it cutting straight through the noise around us.
And there it is.
Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to deal with the immediate twitch in my pants?
She’s been doing this a lot lately. Snapping at me. Reprimanding me like I’m some misbehaving kid she’s had enough of. And it does the exact opposite of what it should.
If anything, it makes me want more. Makes me want her to look at me like that again. Talk to me with that adorable scowl on her face. Every damn day.
It’s almost as if she knows exactly what it does to me.
Yeah right. Wishful fucking thinking.
Still doesn’t solve my problem.
Because I’m sitting in the middle of the main hall—with every brother within eyesight. Even a few out of the twenty-four of Mihai’s men have shown up. They usually ensure their presence isn’t overt enough to alarm Hell’s Army.
Or their plant.
I adjust in my seat quickly. The last thing I need is to look like I’ve lost control over something as basic as my own body. Especially not in front of Charlotte.
Fuck. Why is half my brain thinking, reprimand me some more?
Shut up, Ruin.
Then a thought hits. I don’t think I did anything to deserve that tone.
At least… not today. Have I?
“What?” I look up at her, all innocence.
“Stop picking,” she snarls, slapping my hand, “at your scab. You’re a tattoo artist. How do you not know this?”
Oh. I stare dumbly at the small drop of blood oozing out of the scab I just plucked off my forearm.
Fuck. She’s right.
The fact that I had a full month’s worth of work done on my hands in a matter of days, doesn’t help either. My tat is healing slower than usual. I should be more careful with it.
When I manage to look up again, I expect to see a huffing and puffing Charlotte with her fists on her waist. But she’s simply staring dazedly at my hands. Eyes never drifting from the ink swirling around.
I don’t dare make the mistake of moving. But a smile creeps up on my face anyway. Because I see it.
The awe gleaming in her eyes.
“Do you like them?” I blurt and instantly chastise myself for breaking the moment. Because her frown returns, gaze snapping to mine.
“I don’t want you lying in the infirmary with an infection, dumb-ster.”
Dumb-ster.
I bite back a grin. That’s a new one. So far I’ve been asshat, creepster, and jerk-tard.
Unable to resist, I let a small, teasing smile peek through. “Aw… you don’t want me hurt, Charlotte Hayes?”
She sneers, rolling her eyes. Then she plops down next to me on the couch. “No…” she drawls, deadpan. “I don’t want to lose my bodyguard before the war even starts, Edward Scabhands.”
She glares at me the second a grin curves my lips. How do I tell her I couldn’t help it?
Edward Scabhands.
She’s so fucking adorably creative with these nicknames.
My heart sinks when I realize that this wouldn’t last. Knowing that she’s talking to me only because I’m on her duty today.
I swallow hard, when her scowl falters. And I know it’s because of how my face probably fell.
“How many more nicknames do you have in your back pocket?” I ask, trying desperately to keep the banter going.
She huffs through her nose, crossing her arms. “I have a whole list in my notes app.”
I snort, but my mood has already taken a dive. “Do you miss Isabelle?”
“Yeah,” she says, rubbing her palms over her jeans. “She… I think she left because of something I did.”
I jerk back, alarmed. “Charlotte, why… would you think that?”
She gives me a sheepish look. “I may have uh… shit. How do I tell you without…”
My frown falls away with the realization. “You think it’s because of your kiss with Ryder?”
Her eyes go comically wide, her mouth closing and opening. “You… you know about that?”
I chuckle, trying to keep the jealousy at bay. “Yeah.” I nod. “She told me. I was… uh… about to come see you. Ran into her instead.” I stare at her, urging my words to make the impact I intend. “Not your fault, Charlotte. At all. I think she left because of that moping fucker.”
I jerk my chin at Ryder who’s sitting beside Wolf. Lost in thought.
“…not you.”
“He does look… mopey.”
I curb the twinge of jealousy when she stares at him. A pensive look on her face.
“Maybe that can be his nickname,” I blurt without thinking.
“He doesn’t need one. Only you do,” she says quietly, looking at me now.
Her words send a shock through my system. Not because I feel privileged at her nicknames only being directed at me. But because of the way she says it.
Pain flickers in her eyes for half a second before it’s gone. And I feel helpless because I have no clue why she voiced her thoughts so… desolately.
I’m beginning to love these nicknames she bestows on me. But there’s a part of me that hopes she’d call me Ruin instead. Or Theo.
Yeah. Theo. Just once perhaps, in case our world implodes.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I immediately go alert at the buzzing pattern. That’s a discreet SOS from Wolf.
Shit.
Without alarming Charlotte, I lean forward slowly, elbows resting on knees. Then subtly, I pull my phone out.
Wolf: AMR loc 2. Rt n. W- C.
I swallow hard at the command. He’s using our code. Something is wrong or has already fucking gone down.
I look over to where Ryder had been sitting. He’s already gone.
“Hey,” I say casually, but my eyes hold a plea. Hoping she’ll catch the subtle instruction. “Wanna go on a walk with me?”
At first she looks at me startled. Like she’s processing my audacity to even ask for that. But understanding dawns on her quickly when I voice our privately decided signal.
“The weather’s quite nice, Charlotte,” I say gently, my hand outstretched. “Come on.”
She knows that ‘quite’ isn’t a critical SOS. So thankfully, she nods, a tight smile struggles to stay on her face.
We leave without drawing attention.
The moment we’re outside, the air feels different. Charlotte’s grip on my hand tightens as we move toward the houses lining the compound.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” I murmur back. “Wolf’s message didn’t say.”
Her silence after that is heavy. So is mine.
The five-minute walk feels like an hour. Every step measured. Every shadow watched.
My senses stretch thin, catching everything—the crunch of gravel under our feet, the faint rustle of bushes in the wind, the distant hum of generators.
Anything could be something. Anything could be nothing.
I don’t relax. Not even for a second.
We reach the house. The kind you’d never look at twice. I take the side entrance, leading her down into the basement. The lights hit hard. Bright. Sterile. Blinding for a second. Then my vision adjusts. And my brain short-circuits.
There’s nothing here. No crates. No weapons. No ammo.
Completely fucking empty.
Where the hell is everything?
Wolf stands at the center, behind a lone metal table. Both hands braced against it. A gun sits inches from his thumb.
Ryder’s already here, off to the side. His confusion mirrors mine—tense, unsettled.
My stomach twists with dread. Wolf hasn’t said a word. But there’s something in his eyes, a gleam I don’t recognize. I’ve never seen it before.
“What happened, Prez?” Ryder asks, his voice tight, uncertainty threading through every syllable.
I swallow hard. Whatever that look is—it’s wrong. Deeply, violently wrong.
“Charlotte,” Wolf says calmly. His gaze never leaves me. “Step away from Ruin and walk to me.”
What?
“Wolf—”
“Now.” The word cracks through the room. Sharp and guttural. No room to argue.
Beside me, Charlotte starts to shake.
“Charlotte,” Wolf repeats, his voice trembling now, but not with weakness. With fury. “Walk to me. Right now.”
“Wh—” Her voice breaks into a whimper.
“Hey,” I murmur, forcing calm into my tone. “Go. It’s okay.”
She hesitates. Then slowly steps away from me. Each step feels like something is being torn out of my chest.
And then I see it.
Wolf sags with deep… relief.
Relief? Why the fuck is he relieved she’s away from me?
The second she reaches him, he grabs his gun.
Fuck.
“The armory backups,” he starts, voice eerily even. “The ones I told you both about… were tampered with tonight. Someone broke in. Dismantled the security.”
A pause.
“Intending to take our weapons and ammo.”
My head spins, trying to catch up. Then he tilts his head slightly. Like he’s waiting for one of us to finish whatever terrifying train of madness he’s possessed with.
“Wolf,” I start, but the confusion in my voice sounds weak.
“Both of them,” he cuts in, ignoring me.
And then I see it finally. I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s not rage. It’s the violent, bone-deep pain of betrayal.
“…were decoys.”
My breath stutters.
And it’s not because of his words. It’s because the man I grew up with—my friend, my fucking brother—is raising his gun, pointing it straight at my chest.