Charlotte fucking Wentley.No—Charlie. That’s what she insists everyone calls her now.
She’s by the pool table, perched on the edge of it like she owns the damn clubhouse. And Glory—our reigning club whore—is beside her, dressed in the same ripped shorts, tight halter, and ridiculous glitter all over her tits.
Fucking matching.
My beer turns bitter in my mouth.
“What the fuck is she wearing?” Ryder mutters beside me. He followed. Nosy asshole.
“Hell if I know,” I mutter, jaw tight.
Charlie’s laughing—this loud, exaggerated thing like she wants everyone to hear her. Wantsmeto hear.
She’s tossing back a drink Glory probably handed her, because let’s be honest. The girl’s been glued to her side since she turned fifteen four years ago and discovered eyeliner and bad decisions.
And all I can think is: what the fuck happened to the quiet little girl who used to sit in Wolf’s shadow and could barely look me in the eyes?
Now she’s parading around like she’s just another one of the club’s toys. But she isn’t. She’s the daughter of the former Prez. The sister of the current one. Club royalty. Charlie’s a goddamn princess. And she’s choosing this?
Choosing to play house with a whore and fuck up her own reputation—if there was even anything left of it after last summer’s pool table stunt where she pawed all over me. She had just turned eighteen, and made sure I knew.
She locks eyes with me then, her mouth quirks.
Fucking hell.
Not tonight.
Not when Sarah’s can walk through that door any second and see me scowling, because this damn girl won’t stop making sheep eyes at me.
I nod once. Sharp and dismissive.
She blinks. And for a split second, there’s a flicker. Then she’s laughing again, draping herself all over Glory like I didn’t just try to slice her ego in half with a look.
“You need a smoke,” Ryder mutters.
No.I need Sarah to show up and remind me what real affection looks like. Not the twisted version Charlie keeps throwing at me.
She better keep her damn distance tonight, because this is the biggest night of my life. And she’s the last person I want anywhere near it.
By the time Sarah shows up, the clubhouse smells like whiskey, gun oil, and sweat. She’s wearing that soft pink dress she wore the first time we met. Sweet as sin, all sunshine and good manners—so out of place in this pit of chaos that I almost feel guilty for inviting her here. Almost.
“Hey, Ruin,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. It pretty much registers asclaiming. And my gut promptly clenches at the thought.
I lean down, brush a kiss to her temple. “Hey yourself.”
“You look—” she starts, glancing down at my cut, her eyes catching the fresh VP patch, “—official.”
I grin. “Guess I am.”
Ryder whistles from somewhere behind me. “There she is! The saint who tamed the sinner.”
Sarah blushes. “Hi, Ryder.”
Wolf claps me on the back hard enough to knock the breath out of me. “About damn time you got VP, brother.”
“Wouldn’t have happened without you,” I say.
He grins. “Damn right.” His gaze flicks to Sarah. “Welcome to the chaos, sweetheart. Don’t let my idiot brother here drag you into the deep end.”
