She scoffs and shoves three grapes into her mouth. Then levels a look at me, hard to read, but it settles like a damn boulder in my chest. I’ve never witnessed this look before.
“We already talked about it, fucker,” Ryder says. “She’s coming with us. Until we handle Glory. And whoever else is gunning for her.”
She swallows and glares at me. “And I’m guessing you won’t tell me which club it is that’s allied with her, either, huh?”
I hesitate. Because Ryder didn’t tell her, I’m sure. And maybe there is a reason. One—we’re not one hundred percent sure yet. Two—that name, Hell’s Army MC. It’s got a reputation. A legacysoaked in blood. And if Charlotte hears it? She’ll know exactlywhat that means.
I try to smirk. Try to play it cool. Try not to reach out and brush the hair away from her temple like a fucking idiot who still thinks he deserves that right. “We’ll tell you when we’re sure, sweetheart.” The second that word leaves my mouth, I regret it.
Her eyes narrow. Her jaw clenches. And she slides off the stool like she’s about to light my ass on fire. “Don’t ever call me that,” she snaps, whipping her phone out of her pajama pocket. “I’m calling my bar manager. Gotta make sure someone’s covering for me.”
Ryder hums in response while she disappears into her bedroom.
I sit there. Useless.
God, it’s been almost two years since I’ve been this close to her. She still doesn’t know half the shit I’ve done while watching over her. Half the guilt I’ve been drowning in since I made that horrible decision. She doesn’t care, and she shouldn’t. It’s not her burden.
The guilt I’d thought was fading in the last two years is coming crashing back. And I feel helpless in the wake of it.
“Christ. Get your shit together, Ruin,” Ryder mutters.
I shoot him a glare. “I haveit together, asshole.”
He barks a laugh and plates the omelette. “You’ve got a little something…” He gestures to the corner of his mouth.
I flip him off and dig into the food. But yeah, maybe I was drooling. Over her, like a fool.
Two hours later—we’re fed, packed, and nearing the gates of our clubhouse in Whiterun. And I’m still seething.
She clung to Ryder’s back on the way over. Not me. No hesitation. No second glance.
I fucking tried to make her choose to ride at the back of my bike. But damn if it didn’t gut me when she picked him. Without him even having to ask.
Inside, the clubhouse is buzzing. Midday meal, full house. Brothers, Ol’ Ladies, prospects, the usual noise of a Sunday at base.
But the club girls? Nowhere to be seen. All Wolf’s doing. Had to be. After what happened with Trixie and Juggles, we agreed. Our ways had to change drastically since that night we made the worst decisions.
We hadn’t necessarily planned on getting rid of the two of them. Not really. But a few weeks later, we started hearing shit we didn’t condone. Things that were as disrespectful as they were untrue.
As hard as we tried to clear shit up after everything happened, I think some people in the club might still believe that Charlotte wasalsoserving a sentence—just like Glory.
Guess, we’ll see.
Wolf walks toward us, posture straight, eyes heavy. His gaze catches Charlotte with a cautious, quiet sort of respect.
When I glance at her, there’s no fear. No flinch. No nervousness. She’s taking it all in, observing, analyzing. Calm as hell.
I almost smile. Then—
A voice from the back cracks through the air.
“What the fuck?!”
The room stills. Chatter dies down in an instant.
“What’s she doing here, Prez? We’re letting in traitorsnow?!”
Spike. He’s a newly patched brother. Loud, dumb, and uninformed, apparently.
