“Shut your mouth.” My grip tightens before I even realize it. “You’re done.”
Her tears catch the light, and something in my chest twists, but I shove it down quickly.
I need my rage tonight. And I need it to kill her silly, little obsession.
Ryder grabs a jacket off a chair and throws it around her shoulders, but I’m too far gone to stop.
“You’re banned,” I announce, voice echoing through the clubhouse. “A month. No parties. No clubhouse or club properties. You so much as breathe near those places, I’ll double it.”
Wolf’s jaw locks. “Ruin—”
I finally release her and spin toward him, eyes blazing. “Don’t fight me on this, brother.” I barely recognize my own voice, the wild quality of it. The sound echoes through the silence of the room, rendering it near violent.
Charlie’s still sitting there, on the cold concrete floor, drowned in Ryder’s jacket, tears streaking her cheeks. She looks… small. Helpless. Staring at almost nothing.
For a split second, I hate myself. Hate the loss of control. How I unleashed the part of me I’ve kept caged for years.
Then I walk the fuck away.
Because I’m Ruin.
And Charlie brought this on herself.
TWO
Charlotte
TWO MONTHS LATER
It’s been eight weeks since I got dragged naked through the clubhouse. Eight weeks since Ruin’s hand was on my throat. And now, I’m back behind the club bar.
Sinful Chugs smells like beer, sweat, and skin. Always has.Except this time, it’s quieter. Or maybe I’m quieter.
I shouldn’t even be here. I had begged to resume this gig like it was penance, and Wolf finally caved after a week of relentless pleading once my banishment was over. I told him I needed the money. That I needed purpose.
But the truth is, I didn’t know what else to do.
The prospect, Shane, leans against the counter, trying to look casual while wiping glasses. “You’re gonna rub a hole in that counter, Charlotte,” he mutters, smirking faintly.
“Charlie,” I correct him automatically. Like it’s a trigger response ingrained in me.
“Right. Charlie,” he says, lips twitching. “Why aren’t you always this sunny?”
I offer a thin smile. “Only on weekends.”
He laughs, low and awkward, before turning to refill a tap.
I’ve worked with him at the club bar for just under a year now. And this is usually the extent of our conversations. Nothing more, nothing less.
But it’s strangely calming. And extremely daunting since he’s the glaring exception.
I don’t know what I expected coming back here. Maybe familiarity. Maybe to feel like I still belonged in the club, but I’m starting to realize it’s different now.
Most people are careful around me, like I’m glass, or worse—a ghost that hasn’t figured out she’s dead.
My throat tightens.
I haven’t seen Glory in two months either. The name tastes wrong in my mouth. She’s been my best friend since I was fourteen. My only friend, really. But is she?
