Chapter 40
FORTY
Charlotte
Voices wake me up. A disorienting rush of noise fills my ears. Words I can’t make sense of.
Did something happen at the clubhouse? Is there a party going on? Why is it so noisy?
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs when memories start flowing in.
Me and Ruin. Walking back from dinner at his parents’ home.
Ruin dropping like a dead weight before I could blink. Before I could even grab my gun that I kept with me all the time now.
I remember that prospect—whose name I can’t even remember—kicking and beating an unconscious Ruin.
He’d groaned once or maybe twice. I watched as his face twisted with pain, but his frame remained unmoving.
All while hands gripped my frozen, horrified frame. Disarming me effortlessly as a wet palm slapped over my mouth to keep me quiet.
I couldn’t even speak through the terror then.
The screams started when that prospect brandished a serrated knife, glinting menacingly in the dim, moonlit yard.
I don’t remember how long my shrieks lasted, but I remember the bitter burn.
Every gasp between my guttural screams cutting through the raw insides of my throat.
For a while, I’d hoped they’d turn me around, blindfold me, or do something—anything—for me to not see Ruin being brutalized.
How he hadn’t even flinched or twitched when the knife lodged clean into his abdomen.
I remember a voice asking the prospect not to stab anything vital. Just enough for him to bleed. Enough for Ruin to lose the ability to move without pain.
And I’d simply watched as his groans faded. Watched as his chest seemed to stop moving.
Fuck, I can’t remember—was it moving? Was he breathing?
The last thing I remember is his still form, lying beside Heath who had a bullet between his eyes.
Was Ruin dead?
Is he dead?
No. Please no.
A whimper slips past my lips as I move. My back burns as it rubs against whatever is beneath me.
Forcing my eyelids to part, my vision finally floods with a blurry, dark ceiling.
A throaty, feminine howl reaches my ears. For a brief moment, I hear my own choking screams.
But this is someone else. Someone whose fate I’ll soon mirror, given the rusty, tattered bars I see in my periphery.
Oh God. Where the hell am I?
I manage to push myself off the grimy floor, my palms stinging at the jagged surface.
Sitting beside me, beyond the bars separating us, is a woman, her clothes ripped.
God. Her pale skin is barely visible. Dried blood peeks out from where the scant clothing doesn’t cover her.
She’s whimpering. Nails digging painfully at the stone wall.
Her glassy eyes stare listlessly at something.
My heart sinks when I follow her gaze, barely feeling the click in my sore neck.
A man is sitting beyond her cell, wearing only a pair of torn jeans. Hands mercilessly shackled above his head to the wall.
I start to shake at what this means.
He’s purposely positioned that he can’t not see the woman.
“Delilah.” The name slips from his dry, split lips.
There’s nothing in his eyes. They look dead. Vacant. Like life has been stripped away from them.
Delilah.
She whimpers again at his soft voice. Her face remains blank, frozen with a version of terror I can’t fathom.
I lower my gaze. Like I’m prying at something that’s private.
Beyond them, I see a dozen more women. A few of them with men chained in front of them. Some of the men have twisted themselves at an unnatural angle.
One of them clings to the wall, hiding his eyes and ears under his arms as best he can.
He flinches every so often.
It’s probably his woman who had been screaming earlier. She was talking unintelligibly, but she’s quiet now. It probably destroyed him to hear her like that.
That’s what this place is about. Destruction. A slow, deliberate annihilation of humanity.
I finally shift, moving to the one solid wall so I can rest my aching back.
It’s almost as if a switch flips, and I don’t see them anymore. I see my own fate. Versions of me—fractured, broken, hollow—depending on how long I’d be here.
But I’m alone—
I freeze when I lift my gaze.
Ruin.
He’s here, in front of my cell.
No. No, no, no.
I lunge, instantly wincing as my knee slams into the ground. Pain shoots up my leg, but it barely registers. Swallowing the scream clawing up my throat, I scramble forward, my palms scraping against the jagged floor.
My skin burns.
Why is he here?
“R-Ruin,” I croak, my voice barely shaping his name.
I reach the far end of my cell, pressing myself against the cold metal bars as they dig into my cheeks. I flatten against them as if I can somehow push through.
Are you alive? Why won’t you move?
A quiet, broken sound leaves me. I don’t even realize I’m crying at first—not until the tears blur him, smear him into something unreal. Not until my breath starts hitching, my chest tightening.
But it doesn’t matter. The noises around me—those whimpers, torn-apart cries—swallow mine whole.
He’s sitting with his back against the wall, chin resting on his chest.
Both his arms are raised, brutally manacled above his head, like all the other men. I wince at the metal cutting into his skin, wrists swollen and angry where the shackles bite deep.
The tattoos on his hands—those beautiful, intricate thorns—they’re slick now with sweat and blood.
The coiling vines that once wrapped his wrists like restraints are buried beneath cruel, very real shackles.
God. His face is bruised, mottled with dark purples and reds. Blood drips steadily from the corner of his mouth, tracing a slow, merciless path down his chin to his chest.
He’s not wearing his shirt. Just his cut—torn, bloodied—crumpled between his neck and shoulders like someone couldn’t even be bothered to dress him properly after breaking him.
There’s a dressing wrapped around his abdomen. Thick. Soaked with blood.
My stomach twists violently.
His jeans are cut open at the knee on his left leg, the fabric jagged and uneven. A bandage wraps around his shin—stained.
Please be alive.
A sob catches in my throat. “Theo.” His given name breaks out of me like something fragile. Something sacred.
The only fucking sign is the uneven rise and fall of his chest. It’s shallow. Wrong. Barely there.
His legs stretch out in front of him. He’s barefoot.
Something about that feels too vulnerable, too exposed. Like they stripped him down to nothing before chaining him here.
“T-Theo, please,” I whisper, my voice splintering. “Please, w-wake up. Please.” The one time I am able to say his name and he can’t even hear me.
The distance is unbearable. It’s too much even if it’s only a few feet.
I reach through the bars, my arm snaking out as far as it can go. My fingers stretch, strain—aching with the need to touch him. To feel him. To know he’s real.
But I can’t reach.
A broken sound tears out of me.
Shit.
I drop to the ground fully, my body hitting the floor hard. The impact jolts through me, but I ignore it, twisting, stretching—pushing myself further.
My shoulder burns. The jagged stony floor digs into my chest, my face tilting sideways, pressing hard against the bars. I don’t care. “Please.”
I stretch more. My fingertips brush his warm ankle.
He’s alive.
A sob rips through me, violent and shuddering. Relief crashes into me so hard it leaves me dizzy. My entire body sags.
He’s here and I can touch him.
My fingers curl weakly around his ankle, like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
Everything crashes in at once. The fear. The pain. The exhaustion. It drags me under like a tide I can’t fight.
My cheek rubs against the filthy ground, my arm still stretched through the bars, my hand clinging to him like he’s the only thing tethering me to reality.
And slowly, helplessly, I slip into a fitful, broken sleep.
??????
A rough yank at my hand tears me out of whatever fractured sleep I’d fallen into.
I gasp, scrambling back, my heart slamming violently against my ribs as panic claws its way up my throat.
“Well, isn’t this absolutely adorable.” Scar’s voice echoes off the stone walls, warped with amusement. The sound of his laugh splits something open inside me.
“No.” I don’t even realize I’ve spoken as I scramble backward, my body moving on pure instinct. I hit the far wall of the cell hard, breath knocking out of me as I try to put as much distance between us as possible.
He watches me with an infuriating smirk. Lazy. Unbothered. Like I’m entertainment.
His fingers tap lightly against the lock of my cell.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Then he pulls out a key, and I freeze.
No. Fuck no.
The metal clicks. Loud. Final. And the bars creak open.
My lungs seize. Air thins, vanishing from around me as panic sets in fast and suffocating. I try to breathe, but it won’t come.
A shadow moves behind him.
Before I can react, a rough hand fists into my hair and yanks.
A scream rips out of me as I’m dragged forward, my body too weak to fight properly. My arms are wrenched behind me, something cold biting into my wrists as they’re locked in place.
Everything feels wrong. Heavy. Slow.
My limbs don’t respond the way they should. My vision blurs at the edges, a hazy dizziness threatening to swallow me whole.
Scar crouches in front of me, his movements almost gentle as his fingers curl under my chin, forcing my face up.
I whimper, trying to turn away, trying to look past him, to find Theo.
His grip tightens. “Uh-uh-uh,” he murmurs softly, almost playful. “You keep looking at me, princess.”
That word curdles in my stomach. It sounds wrong. Twisted. I swallow against the bile rising in my throat.
“How are you finding the service?” he asks lightly, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “Or are you still processing the accommodations?”
I try to wrench myself free. My body jerks, weak and uncoordinated, but I fight anyway.
“Ah, Charlie. Do you not know why you’re here?” His fingers brush my cheek. Slow and mocking. Then he smiles at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you. You’re here,” he continues, voice dropping, “because you had a weak man for a father.”
I try to spit at him—try to do something—but my throat is too dry, too raw. Nothing comes out.
His smile widens. “But then again…” His hand trails down, fingers grazing the hollow of my throat. “He wasn’t your daddy, was he, little princess?”
Disgust slams into me, violent and sharp.
His touch moves lower to my collarbone, lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl. He frowns suddenly, like he’s inconvenienced.
Then there’s a flash of metal.
I stiffen.
The sound of fabric tearing rips through the air as he slices through my hoodie, yanking it apart just enough to expose my chest and shoulder.
I shudder violently, every muscle in my body locking tight.
“Better,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
I want to disappear.
Help me disappear.
“Where was I?” He hums. “Ah, yes.” His gaze snaps back to mine, sharp and unhinged. “He wasn’t your father,” he says, voice laced with something dark, “but he was the president who promised me his position.”
My breath stutters.
“Well until…” he says, brows furrowing in thought. “Until Wolf was old enough to take over.” He leans in closer, his breath hot and foul against my face. “Spoiler alert,” he whispers, lips curling. “I wouldn’t have let him take over anyway.”
My stomach churns as he rubs slow circles on my chest.
“But then…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s still offended by it.
“He hands the club to a twenty-year-old child. Just like that.” He snaps his fingers, huffing lightly.
“And I couldn’t even negotiate with the invalid bastard anymore.
” His voice cracks with something ugly. “I was so, so fucking angry, Charlie.”
My old name on his lips makes my skin crawl.
“Wouldn’t you be? You get me, right?”
My body trembles as I try to pull away again, but the man behind me only tightens his hold.
Scar laughs softly. “So yeah.” He straightens slightly, spreading his arms like he’s presenting something. “Now you understand. You’re here,” he continues, “because I found a better way to get that same power.” His grin sharpens. “More profitable, actually.”
My stomach drops. He’s about to end his vile monologue. And I’m not sure what he plans next.
I choke on a sob, struggling harder now, desperation breaking through the haze.
His eyes gleam, staring lewdly at my breasts. “Patience, double princess,” he murmurs, nodding at my chest. “I’ll handle those for you soon.”
He stands up straight. “God! I can’t wait for Wolf to join us.” An animated, almost thrilled shiver washes over his body. “Then both he and Ruin can see me enjoying your virgin little cunt.”
That’s when I hear it.
A low growl. Rough. Animalistic. Followed by a loud clank of metal hitting stone.
My heart stutters.
Theo’s awake.
Relief surges through me so violently that it almost hurts. It’s gone just as fast because suddenly, I can’t turn my head when I try.
Scar’s fingers dig into my jaw, forcing me to face him.
My pulse roars in my ears.
His gaze darkens as he leans in, voice dropping to something colder. “Hellfire made me a promise, you see—” he says, studying my face. A small, eager smile on his face.
Then he speaks again, quietly. But loud enough that I’m sure Theo can hear him.
“—that I can take his long-lost daughter for a spin.”