Chapter 50
FIFTY
Ruin
It must have taken me some godlike, supernatural strength to pry myself off of Charlotte last night.
Her eager moans had me nearly snapping and ready to strip off our clothes. And then the minx offered her bed again.
“We won’t do anything,” she’d said slyly. “Just stay the night.”
My cock had been weeping by the time she let my mouth rest. I’d never thought I’d be happy when her eyes drooped.
Her sleepy mutterings ebbing into sloppier kisses until her hand stopped teasing my cock over my sweats.
God-fucking-damn!
I’d told her I won’t be going there. Not until I’ve taken her out on a proper date.
When I repeated that this morning, she looked at me strangely. And I had no idea what went through her beautiful head when she suddenly kissed me to the point of insanity—before reluctantly letting me leave.
As always, I didn’t want to leave.
Not her bed. Not her arms. And definitely not the hypnotic grip of her gaze that seemed to be ordering me to stay put.
All while her luscious mouth formed the words I had started to cling to.
“Get to work, Prez.”
If not for her, I wouldn’t know how to start my day and not completely drown in the stifling routine. Fuck. A routine that wasn’t much more than a steady erasure of Wolf’s presidency—poorly disguised as transition of power.
“Prez.”
I hear Ryder call for me, and I quickly curb the urge to flinch.
He must see the effect it has on me. Which is why he simply frowns for a beat. Pensive. Grim.
“Uh…” he fumbles, then clears his throat. “We’ve disposed of the bodies. They bled out by afternoon yesterday. Thought you’d want to inform the Rosca fucker.”
They were dead.
Of course, I knew they’d bleed out eventually—the gunshot was to ensure they did.
We chose to leave them there. Swimming in piss, shit, and a nice little add-on; blood.
It was a deliberate decision that their screams were to be their only fucking company.
A hellish prison shrouded in darkness. That they’d feel the reality of their impending death in the haunting silence from whoever succumbed first.
That twisted satisfaction from yesterday is duller now. More like an afterthought. And all I can manage right now is the push toward fixing this mess.
“Yeah, I’ll get to that,” I tell him, nodding. “He wants an audience in a few weeks—said he’s close to getting the client list.”
“Fuck!” Ryder groans, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I’ve been trying too. Bug is getting nowhere.”
“We’ll find the rest of them, brother.” I slap his shoulder as I stride past him toward my office.
It doesn’t take me long before I bury myself in work. Stretching that VP muscle a little farther than it should.
Fuck. That reminds me.
We need to appoint a new Road Captain. A new Treasurer too, now that Ryder’s stepping up as VP, and Hound’s moving into the SAA role.
I make a mental note to hold church tomorrow.
As hours drag on, my body slowly begins to hum with anticipation. The clock ticking closer to 5 p.m.
All I can think about now is her. Work be damned.
God, I can’t wait until I’m at her door. Pulling her into my arms and savoring that closeness she so willingly gives me now.
My first fucking date with Charlotte.
There was a time when none of this would’ve been possible. And there’s a part of me that still can’t wrap my head around it.
The woman who wanted nothing to do with me is allowing me to be in her vicinity. It’s nothing short of a fucking miracle in my book. Not to mention I’ve been counting the number of times she initiates our kisses—like a lovesick sap.
The score has reached a nice, rounded six.
And fuck, I’m desperately hoping for the day I’ll lose track. When her kisses start to feel less like an undeserved gift to me and more like the peace she deserves.
The day I finally became the man deserving of her.
Hell, her kisses… There’s practically nothing else we’ve done. And I’m already this far gone. What will happen if she lets me in—fully?
Well, if my head fucking explodes, then so be it.
A shrill scream from my phone makes me jump.
Shit, I forgot I put an alarm so I could start getting ready on time. Even giving myself at least half an hour to spare.
That’s how far I’ve fallen. I have a fucking slot assigned to buy my woman flowers.
An hour and a half later, I’ve showered and dressed up and got her an arrangement of white dahlias with a light purple dusting and peach roses. Considering I have no clue about flowers, I went along with whatever the florist suggested.
She was pretty adamant about the white dahlias—something about representing new beginnings. So that’s exactly what I made sure to add to the beautiful bouquet.
It honestly looks like something my Charlotte would toss over her head. Preferably wearing something white… Jesus fucking Christ. Stop!
At precisely 4:59 p.m., I’m walking over to her club apartment. Ignoring the smug looks of my brothers as I pass by.
Sure, I’m wearing a white fucking shirt and jeans. Something that’s entirely uncharacteristic of me. But I wanted to look nice for my very first date with the only woman I’ve ever loved. Sue me.
I’m not even wearing my cut. Which, to be fair, I couldn’t find. Probably because I’ve somehow made it a habit of forgetting it in Charlotte’s bedroom.
Christ. It only took two nights in her bed and I already have a habit.
Rolling my shoulders back, I knock. My heart pounds loudly against my chest. All this anticipation—the near feverish excitement—of finally taking the love of my life out on a date, has me trembling slightly.
I hear the distinct click of the door unlocking, followed by it swinging open—fuck. My. Life.
White. My Charlotte is wearing white.
I mean, sure—it’s an off-shoulder flowy top with frills lining the neck. And yes, she’s wearing jeans and boots.
But if you’d simply extend the fabric of her blouse, down to her ankles, it could almost be a dress. A weddi—shut the fuck up, Theo.
“Charlotte, you look—” My throat closes up. The sheer beauty emanating from her has my knees shaking. I hope I don’t fucking fall. On one knee…
Fucking hell.
“Hot?” she says, probably amused by the sputtering man in front of her, who’s currently gasping for air. “Cute? Oh, oh! Beautiful.”
I smile at her antics, still ridiculously speechless. My grip tightens on the bouquet, and I take a step toward her.
“Breathtaking,” I murmur in a low voice, finally gaining my composure.
“Captivating.” I lean over her.
She staggers back slightly, her chest moving with shallow breaths as I brush my lips against the shell of her ear.
“Tempting as hell,” I finish, dropping a light kiss on her flushed cheek.
I lean back, watching her stare at me with those wide, beautiful eyes. And I can’t stop grinning like a fool because it’s her tongue that’s tied now.
Suddenly, she clears her throat, muttering under her breath. “Stupid, hairless, thesaurus man.”
I chuckle, holding out the bouquet to my adorably flustered Charlotte.
Her lips part like she wasn’t expecting it, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with this new Ruin in front of her. “You’re giving me flowers,” she says, blinking up at me.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Yes, my love. Didn’t expect your hairless thesaurus man to bring you flowers on our first date?”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a smile tugging at her mouth. “Shut up.”
She takes them anyway. Carefully. Like I’ve handed her something sacred.
And then—fuck—then she actually lights up.
Then she’s moving fast, toward the kitchen. She reappears seconds later with a vase. I hover awkwardly in the doorway as she places the flowers into it, setting it on the coffee table.
I’m simply watching her admire the bouquet as she fusses over the stems and fixing the arrangement. “Come on, my love,” I murmur softly. “We’re gonna be late.”
“Late for what exactly?” she shoots back immediately, grabbing her apartment keys.
I just grin.
Her eyes narrow again. “Ruin—”
“Theo,” I correct lightly, already backing away.
“Don’t you dare be mysterious right now.”
I hold my hands up. “You’ll see.”
She groans, dramatic as hell, but follows me anyway. All while my whole stomach is vibrating with those sweet, fluttery little things because Charlotte is holding my hand.
She. Is. Holding. My hand.
By the time we reach my bike, she’s fully in huff mode. Looking absolutely fucking adorable.
“You better not drop me,” she warns.
I roll my eyes. And she promptly flips me off.
Laughing, I reach into the saddle compartment and pull out the second helmet. The one I definitely did not overthink buying. Before she even came back from Craven Ridge. “Come here,” I rasp, pulling her closer gently.
She steps right in front of me, and I lift the helmet. Carefully guiding it over her head, fingers brushing her hair, tucking stray strands back so they don’t catch. “There,” I murmur, adjusting the strap beneath her chin. “Perfect.”
Her eyes flick up to mine through the visor, squinting in suspicion. “You’ve done this before?”
“Never.”
She goes quiet. Her studying gaze suddenly has me sweating with panic. Because I know what I just revealed. What I just implied. She’s the only one.
I take the opportunity to quickly put my helmet on—hiding behind the mirrored visor. Then, climbing over, I tilt my head for her to hop on.
She hesitates for half a second before swinging her leg over behind me.
The moment her hands settle—tentative at first, then firmer—against my sides, I’m already melting.
Jesus fucking Christ. I might actually die.
Charlotte is on my bike. Holding onto me.
For a second, I just sit there, gripping the handlebars, trying to act like my entire soul didn’t just combust.
“You gonna drive or…” she mutters, leaning closer, “is this the whole date?”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Woman.”
Then I kick the bike into drive and start toward the club gates. But not before breaking softly, making her squeal as she slips closer—tightening her hold on me.
The ride stretches out, the wind cutting clean as the city gives way to quieter roads. I take the long way on purpose. Dragging it out. Memorize every second of her pressed against my back.
She taps my shoulder at one point and streaks through our connected helmets. “Are we going to another country?”
“Maybe.”
“Theo.”
“Charlotte.”
“Where are we going?”
I shake my head. “Patience, baby.”
She groans loud enough for me to hear over the engine. “I hate you.”
“No,” I drawl. “You don’t not love me. There’s a difference.”
Her fingers curl tighter into my shirt.
About forty minutes later, I finally slow the bike, pulling off near a narrow path edged with trees.
She climbs off behind me, immediately pulling off the helmet. “If this is where you murder me, I’m going to be slightly annoyed.”
“Only slightly?” I chuckle, taking the helmet from her. “Baby, I have a whole evening planned before I do that.”
“Jerk.”
“Come on.” I smile, holding out my hand that she really takes.
The walk isn’t long, just enough for the noise of the road to disappear completely. Leaves crunch under our feet. And then the trees part.
A small cliff opens up in front of us, the horizon stretching endlessly as the sun dips low, painting the sky in gold.
She stops. Actually stops. “…Oh,” she breathes.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze.
A prospect is already there, finishing up the setup. Blanket laid out, a small spread of food, a bottle tucked neatly to the side. He glances up, gives me a subtle nod, before making himself scarce.
Charlotte turns slowly toward me. “You actually planned a romantic picnic?”
I shrug, suddenly feeling weirdly exposed. “I used to watch you go to your campus terrace every now and then. You rarely missed the sunsets. So… this seemed like a good first date.”
“A good—” She looks back at the view, then at the setup, then at me. “…It’s perfect,” she admits quietly.
Fuck.
“Sit,” I murmur, guiding her down.
It doesn’t take long for us to fall into an easy rhythm after that. Talking. Teasing. Sharing bites of cake while she pours herself some wine—that I quickly refused.
“At least pretend you’re classy,” she says, handing me a glass.
“I am classy.” I take the glass and set it aside. I’m not drinking while she’s on the back of my bike. I’ll never risk that.
“You wiped your cake-hands on your jeans.”
“They’re clean jeans.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
We watch the sun dip lower, her back resting against my chest.
“Why here?” she asks after a beat. “There’s plenty of trails closer to Whiterun.”
I go still. Of course, she’d ask that.
For a moment, I stare out at the horizon, my chest tightening, unsure of how she’ll take this.
“It’s…” I exhale slowly. “It’s a halfway point.”
She frowns slightly, turning to look at me. “Between what?”
“Craven Ridge,” I say quietly. “And Whiterun.”
Silence stretches between us.
“If you ever decide to leave,” I continue, my voice rougher now, “to go back to your life away from the club…” I gesture vaguely, like that explains anything. “I’ll visit, obviously.”
Her gaze sharpens.
“Or,” I add, forcing a small smile, “we could meet here sometimes. Halfway.”
She stares at me for a long second. And then, of course, she scoffs. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”
I grin at her. “Yeah?”
“Planning our future already.”
“Not planning,” I correct gently. “Just finally learned how to hope when it comes to you, my love.”
She snuggles closer the moment the endearment leaves my mouth. I don’t even know if she realizes it.
“There’s no stopping now,” I add.
She chuckles, shaking her head, but her eyes soften in a way that hits somewhere deep. Like she’s giving in. And all it does is make me hope even more.
“Idiot,” she murmurs. And drops a shy kiss to my lips.
Seven.