Chapter 38 #2
A broken groan tears out of my throat as I try to push myself up. My arms tremble, useless for a second before they finally lock enough to lift my weight so I can sit up.
My head throbs.
Fuck.
I blink hard, vision swimming, black creeping at the edges before it slowly—painfully—sharpens.
And then I see Joe. Crouched right in front of me. Smirking.
My stomach drops.
Joe—the fucking prospect.
Joe—the traitor.
“Damn,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck like this is some casual fucking inconvenience. “I think I hit him a little too hard, Scar.”
A low chuckle sounds behind him, and I feel it crawl up my spine before I even see him. Scar steps into view, casual as ever. Like this isn’t a massacre. Like Heath isn’t lying a few feet away with a hole in his skull.
My head jerks to the side. Scanning desperately.
Charlotte’s not here. Where the hell is she?
My hand shoots to the back of my jeans.
Empty. Gun gone. They disarmed me.
Fuck!
My breathing spikes, chest heaving as panic claws its way up my throat.
Then I see a van. It’s parked just beyond them blocking the west perimeter like a fucking wall.
My heart stops.
Charlotte is in that fucking van.
Scar laughs, low and amused. “I hope he’s still able to inform his prez.”
He walks toward me, boots crunching against gravel before he crouches down, gripping my jaw and forcing my face up. My vision blurs again, but I lock onto his face anyway. Burn it into my skull.
“You can still speak, right?” He tilts his head mockingly.
Joe cackles beside him.
Something inside me snaps. I lunge. Every ounce of rage, every drop of adrenaline I have left—I throw it straight at Joe. But I’m too slow. Too fucked up.
He shoves me back like I’m nothing. I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air clean out of my lungs.
That’s when I feel the wet warmth on my shirt.
Blood. A lot of it. Fuck.
My vision tunnels, darkness creeping in again as Joe’s fist connects with my jaw.
My head snaps to the side, stars exploding behind my eyes.
Another punch and I taste dirt. Blood.
Boots crunch against the ground, as both Joe and Scar walk away from my broken form.
A distant, detached part of my brain clicks into place.
Joe didn’t just knock me out. He beat me. Probably shot or stabbed me too, for good measure. I don’t even know.
The van engine roars to life.
No, no, no.
My heart slams against my ribs. They can’t take her. My Charlotte. “F-Fuck,” I choke, trying to move, trying to get up, but my body won’t fucking listen.
My gaze catches something.
My phone, lying just out of reach.
I drag myself toward it. Every inch feels like I’m tearing something open inside me, blood smearing across the ground as I crawl.
My fingers finally close around it.
I hit SOS shortcut quickly, willing my hands to stop shaking.
The screen blurs, but within a second, Wolf is calling.
I can barely hold my phone as I drop it to the ground. Then I lower my head to rest near it so I can hear him.
“Ruin.” His voice cuts through the chaos.
“Joe—traitor. T-They…” My voice shreds apart as a violent coughing fit racks through me. Blood spills past my lips, choking me. “Charlotte,” I force it out. “Taking… her—”
On the other end, Wolf explodes into motion. Orders barked. Chaos. “Are you okay?” he demands somewhere in between.
“B-Bleeding,” I whisper. That’s all I’ve got. That’s all I can give him.
Brothers should be here any minute. But it won’t be enough. Because the van is already moving.
My eyes snap up, locking onto Joe.
He’s walking toward his hidden motorcycle. Calm. Smug.
No, not today, fucker.
Not with her in that fucking van.
Something ugly and feral claws its way through the pain. Pure, blinding adrenaline.
I push myself up again. My body screams in protest. Vision flickering. Legs barely holding, but I’m up. Almost on my knees.
“I’m f-following her,” I croak into the phone.
“No!” Wolf roars. “You stay put, Ruin. You need help!”
“Save… her.”
“Don’t, Ruin. It’s an order—”
I hang up, not willing to listen to him. There’s absolutely no part of me that will ever put myself before the woman I love—let alone put club orders before her.
I shake my head and immediately regret it. A pulsing pain shoots up at my temples. But I swallow it down and move, half stumbling, half crawling. Every step feels like I’m seconds away from dropping again.
Joe’s just about to swing his leg over the bike when I grab him and we go down hard.
He snarls, twisting fast—faster than me—but I don’t let go. Not this time. His fist slams into my ribs.
Something cracks. Or maybe it was already broken. I don’t care.
I swing back and miss by an inch.
He lands another hit. My head rings, but I stay. Cling. Like a fucking animal.
“Persistent bastard,” he spits, reaching for his gun.
Big mistake.
I grab his wrist. We struggle.
My strength is failing fast. But rage? Yeah, rage is still there.
I slam his hand into the ground. Once. Twice. The gun slips and I grab it.
I don’t fucking give myself a moment to hesitate. I pull the trigger. The shot echoes.
Joe jerks and promptly goes still.
Silence crashes around me for half a second.
The van is gone.
“Fuck!” I shove his body aside, barely managing to haul myself onto the bike. My hands shake as I grip the handles. Blood drips onto the metal.
My vision blurs again, but it doesn’t fucking matter.
If I can’t stop them, I’ll follow. I’ll hunt. But I am not fucking losing her.
The engine roars beneath me and I take off. The wind tears past me. Or maybe I’m tearing through it. I can’t tell anymore. All I know is speed, reckless and unforgiving..
The engine screams as I push it harder than it should ever go. The back road they took is uneven, riddled with dips and cracks. Every bump sends a violent shockwave through my body.
Fuck.
I almost lose control on a sharp turn, vision blurring as black creeps in again. My grip tightens, knuckles slick with blood.
Stay up. Stay conscious.
The van comes into view and undiluted relief hits me followed immediately by dread.
Two motorcycles flank it.
I bare my teeth, pushing the throttle harder. The engine howls as I surge forward, overtaking them before they can react. One of them shouts something, but I don’t slow down. Not until I’m ahead.
I slam the brakes. The bike skids sideways violently across the road, gravel spitting under the tires as I come to a stop a few dozen feet ahead of them.
The van’s headlights flood over me as it comes to a stop.
For a second, I see nothing but white.
I sit there. Waiting. For a bullet, perhaps.
I know I’m outnumbered. I shouldn’t have made it this far. This ends here.
I just don’t care.
The door slides open and Scar steps out. Slow. Deliberate. With that same amused smirk carved into his face like he’s watching a show.
I swing my leg off the bike, boots hitting the ground harder than intended. My knees threaten to buckle, but I lock them in place.
Stay up. Just a little longer.
“Really, Ruin?” He laughs, gesturing lazily toward the van behind him. “The goods inside aren’t that important to you, are they?”
My vision tunnels, fingers tightening around the gun hanging limply at my side.
I lift it. It feels heavier than it should, like it’s dragging my arm down with it. But I raise it anyway, and I aim right between his eyes.
“Let Charlotte go,” I manage, my voice rough. Barely there.
He huffs out a laugh. “Aren’t you a good little cuck?!”
The word scrapes against something raw inside me. But I don’t bite. Don’t react. Just tighten my grip. “Let. her. go,” I repeat, each word dragged out through blood and grit.
But I can feel the life draining out of me.
My chest tightens.
I’m running out of time.
Take me with you or fucking kill me, I beg soundlessly.
Scar clicks his tongue, eyes dragging down my body. His gaze lingers on the blood soaking through my shirt. “That’s a lot of blood, brother.”
He looks almost impressed. Then he lifts a hand and signals.
All I hear is a shot. And then blinding agony. White-hot pain. explodes through my shin, as I swallow a scream in my throat.
My leg gives out beneath me and I hit the ground hard. Both knees slamming into gravel.
The gun nearly slips from my hand.
Scar’s boots stop right in front of me. I barely register him moving.
A rough hand grips my jaw, yanking my face up as he forces me to look at him. “Well, well,” he murmurs, smiling down at me like I’m something pathetic. Something broken. “Looks like we have another cuck here, boys.”
Laughter echoes somewhere behind him. Distant. Muted.
I’m already slipping away.
Before I can react, a sharp sting in my neck makes me stiffen.
Fuck. A needle.
My body goes heavier in an instant. Everything slows. Sound dulls. Sight dims.
A desperate and broken thought claws its way through the fog before I succumb to the blackness.
Take me with her.