I can’t stand near him.
In my periphery, I catch his frown. A small shift in his breathing.
I don’t fucking care.
He takes a step toward me. Hesitant, like he’s not sure if hisfucking masterwill give him permission to act on free will. Like he doesn’t even know how to move without it.
I don’t wait to find out.
I turn and walk the fuck away.
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.
