Ruthless Salvation

Chapter 1

Emmett

I don’t believe in ghosts. Not the kind that haunt houses, whisper through walls, flicker in the shadows.

No—I believe in the ghosts that live inside you.

The kind that wrap around your ribs, settle in your chest, dig into your fucking soul.

The kind that never leave. Because you don’t let them. Because some ghosts? You hold onto.

Asher looks like a man who finally understands what it means to have everything.

His son tugs at the sleeve of his tux, babbling about being the ring bearer, while Selena stands beside him, her hand resting on her swollen belly, carrying his second child.

And fuck— I’m happy for them. I am. But watching them, watching all of this?

It does something to me. Something sharp.

Something cold and unwanted. Because this isn’t my world.

This kind of love, this kind of happiness— It’s not for men like me.

I tried once. I tried to save someone. And I fucking failed.

So now? Now, I don’t save anyone but myself.

The bass thumps beneath my feet, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses dull in comparison to the constant hum of awareness in my gut.

I shouldn’t be here. Weddings aren’t my thing.

Watching Asher and Selena wrapped up in each other like they’re the only two people in the world makes my skin itch.

Not because I don’t want that—because I know I never will.

The ballroom is drenched in opulence—gold chandeliers casting a warm, flickering glow over the polished marble floors, expensive champagne fizzing in crystal flutes, and the scent of roses so strong it clings to the air.

Lush white tablecloths drape over tables set with delicate china, while waiters in pressed black suits weave through the crowd, balancing silver trays of hors d’oeuvres.

Outside the grand arched windows, the night looms heavy, thick clouds rolling in, swallowing the moonlight inch by inch.

Asher and Selena’s story plays in the back of my mind. How they nearly destroyed each other before they figured out how to hold on. How she left, how he hunted her down, how she finally let him in. Their love is built on fire and ashes, on mistakes and redemption. And somehow, they survived it.

And me? I just watched. Cleaned up the blood when it spilled. Took the punches when they came.

I never told Selena the real reason I helped her. Why Theo and I went against Asher. Why we risked everything to get her out before he broke her completely.

Because I knew what it was like to be too late.

Lena. My sister.

I see her face every time I close my eyes. The bruises. The blood. The way her body had gone still when I found her too late, her last desperate attempt at escape cut short by the hands of the man she thought loved her.

I told myself I wouldn’t fail again. That if I ever saw another woman walking that same doomed path, I’d fucking burn the world down before I let it happen again.

That’s why Asher hates me. That’s why, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much Selena forgives, he never will.

Because I was the man who took away what he thought was his.

The man who reminded him that even kings can be overthrown.

My gaze drifts across the ballroom, settling on the banner at the entrance. The Lillian Graves Foundation.

Named after Lena.

A tribute to the girl I couldn’t save, built by the man who will never forgive me for taking something from him.

I scoff under my breath and drain my whiskey.

Asher throws money at the sins he can’t undo.

He funds shelters and resources for women escaping abuse, like it will cleanse him of the past. Maybe it helps him sleep at night.

Maybe it makes up for the fact that he almost became the same monster who killed my sister.

But I know better.

Some ghosts never fucking leave.

I set my glass down, ready to slip out before anyone notices. That’s when I see her.

She moves like a shadow, weaving between guests, her posture stiff but graceful, head low. She doesn’t belong here. Not because she isn’t dressed for the occasion—her deep emerald dress clings in all the right places—but because she’s looking for an escape.

She’s running.

My fingers tighten around the glass. There’s something familiar about her, though I can’t place it.

The sharp jawline, the way her lips part like she’s caught between fight and flight.

But it’s her eyes that strike me the hardest—flashing hazel and gold under the chandelier light. Haunted. Determined.

She catches me staring. And for a second, the world grinds to a halt.

It’s a mistake. I know it the moment our eyes meet. There’s recognition in hers—faint but real. A silent warning flickers across her face before she pivots and heads for the exit.

Damn it.

I hesitate. For a split second, I tell myself to stay put. To let her go. To ignore the pull tightening in my gut like a noose. But then Theo steps up beside me, following my gaze.

"You see something interesting?" he murmurs, swirling the bourbon in his glass, the amber liquid catching the light.

"Something like that," I mutter, eyes still on her.

Theo follows my line of sight, his expression unreadable. "She yours?" His tone is casual, but I know better. Theo doesn’t ask questions without a reason.

"No."

"But you want her to be."

I don’t respond, because I don’t have an answer. I shouldn’t be thinking about her at all. Shouldn’t be drawn to the way she moves, the way she looks at me like she knows I’m dangerous but isn’t sure if she should be afraid.

Theo takes a slow sip of his drink, studying me over the rim of his glass. "Reminds me of another girl we had to save once."

I tense, the old wound flaring open. "Don’t."

He exhales through his nose, setting his drink down with a quiet clink. "I’m just saying, you have a habit of trying to fix what’s broken."

I shoot him a look. "And you have a habit of pretending you don’t give a shit."

A small smirk tugs at his lips. "You know me too well."

I do. Theo and I have walked through fire together. We were the only ones who saw Selena for what she was—more than just Asher’s possession, more than the woman he thought he could control. We got her out when no one else would. When it nearly cost us everything.

And now here we are, years later, still standing in the shadows, still watching, still waiting for the next battle.

"You think she’s in trouble?" Theo asks, nodding toward the woman disappearing through the terrace doors.

"Yeah."

Theo doesn’t question me. Doesn’t try to stop me. He just nods once, like he already knew what I was going to do. "Then go. I’ll cover for you."

And just like that, I move.

The crowd shifts, breaking my line of sight. When I spot her again, she’s already weaving toward the terrace doors. She moves fast, her steps quick, like she’s afraid she won’t make it before someone notices.

Who the hell is she running from?

I scan the room, searching for anyone watching her the way I am.

And that’s when I see it— A man near the far end of the ballroom, his eyes locked on her retreating figure.

He’s dressed well, blending into the wealth and elegance, but there’s something off.

His posture is too rigid. His stare too intent.

A predator tracking his prey.

Fuck.

She disappears through the terrace doors, out into the darkness.

And I go after her.

The cold air bites as I step onto the stone balcony, scanning the dimly lit garden below.

The scent of night-blooming jasmine lingers in the air, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from inside.

The wind has picked up, carrying the electric charge of an approaching storm.

Thunder rumbles low in the distance, a warning of what’s coming.

She’s ahead of me, moving toward the back exit of the estate, the hem of her dress billowing with each hurried step.

I follow, my pulse hammering, every instinct I have screaming at me that this woman is trouble.

And I’ve always had a weakness for trouble.

The rain hammers against the pavement as I step off the curb, the weight of my leather jacket doing little to keep the chill from seeping into my bones. The storm has turned the air thick, the scent of wet asphalt mixing with the faintest trace of night-blooming jasmine.

I spot her just ahead, dark hair a mess of damp waves, her emerald dress clinging to her frame as she moves with purpose—too fast, too desperate. Like a woman who knows she’s being hunted.

And she is.

I follow.

“Following women into the dark now? Bold move, stranger.”

Her voice slices through the rain, sharp and laced with sarcasm. She doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t turn, but she knows I’m here.

“Didn’t take you for the damsel in distress type,” I counter.

“Good. Because I’m not.”

She halts suddenly, whirling around to face me. Hazel eyes flash with defiance, her chin tilted up like she’s daring me to push her. Water drips from her lashes, her red lips parting just enough to suck in a breath. I don’t think she even realizes how goddamn captivating she is. Or maybe she does.

“Why are you following me?” she demands, crossing her arms.

“Because three men just left that ballroom after you.”

Her smirk falters, just slightly. She covers it with a scoff. “And you assume they’re after me?”

“Am I wrong?”

She doesn’t answer, just exhales sharply before throwing up her hands. “Whatever. Enjoy your little game of shadowing me, but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Lightning flashes, illuminating the tension between us for half a second. And then, as if on cue, the low hum of an engine growls from the street corner. My gaze flicks past her, finding exactly what I expected—a black sedan idling too long, headlights off, windows tinted.

Dante’s men.

Her breath stutters. She saw it too.

“Still think I’m following you for fun?” I murmur.

She curses under her breath, turning sharply. “Fine. You get points for being observant, Stranger. You got a name?”

“Emmett.”

She studies me for a moment, like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth knowing. “Raine.”

“Fitting.”

She rolls her eyes. “Let me guess. Brooding, dangerous type with a hero complex?”

“More like a guy who doesn’t like seeing someone walk into a death trap.”

She snorts, tucking damp hair behind her ear. “I can handle myself.”

The way she says it—it’s not bravado. It’s truth. But that doesn’t mean I believe her.

I exhale, stepping back slightly. “Alright, Raine. You don’t need a bodyguard. Have fun getting yourself killed.”

I turn, walking back the way I came, letting her think I’m gone.

But I’m not.

I keep to the shadows, moving parallel to her as she disappears into the night, unaware that I’m still there.