“Charlotte,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “I’m… truly sorry. For my part in everything.”
I turn to find him already looking at me. Those gray eyes hold something dull and old. Regret. Memory. And it only makes me angrier. “You were following orders, right?” I say, the words edged like glass. “Beat the club princess who stole the club’s precious money.”
He winces. “If I could take it all back… God, Charlotte, I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve looked closer at what that bitch was doing. I can’t believe none of us saw it sooner. We failed you long before that night. And I’m—” His voice breaks, startling me. “I’m sorry.”
Something in my face must shift. Some flicker that gives away the fact that I hear him. I know he means it, because guilt does that. Forces sincerity.
Because he steps closer. Slowly. His hands hover near my waist—hesitating, like he’s fighting the urge to touch me. To steady me. To take my hands in his.
The movement is so unexpected I take a sharp step back.
He freezes. And that’s when it clicks.
He’s been doing this for days now. Hovering. Standing too close. Looking at me like I’m something fragile and combustible at the same time.
It’s not just guilt. Guilt doesn’t burn like that.
I miss Ryder suddenly. At least with Ryder, I don’t feel like I’m standing in the center of a furnace every time he looks at me.
I’ve been ignoring it. Telling myself it’s remorse. Old shame. Protective instinct toward his Prez’s‘sister’. But it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t see what’s under it. Harder to ignore the way his jaw tightens when I walk away. The way his eyes soften when he thinks I’m not looking. Actions that suggest he might—
A blaring phone alarm splits the air. Sharp and violent.
Ruin stiffens instantly. One second he’s standing in front of me. The next, he’s pulling me against his chest and turning his body so I’m shielded behind him, away from the window. His arm cages me in without hesitation. All softness gone. His gaze scans the windows. The doors. The blind spots.
“Stay here—don’t move,” he orders, already turning.
He releases me and strides toward the windows, yanking the blinds down with swift, practiced movements. The room darkens in seconds.
My heart slams against my ribs. “W-What’s happening?” I ask, the tremor in my voice impossible to hide.
He doesn’t answer. He’s already crossing to the front entrance, locking the main door, engaging something on the security panel near the wall. His fingers move fast. Precise.
Another alert tone chirps as the system arms fully. The house that felt like a cage moments ago now feels like a bunker.
Ruin pulls his phone from his pocket and answers before it even finishes vibrating.
“Tell me,” he snaps. A pause. His jaw tightens. “Are you sure?” Silence. “Fuck.” He turns slightly away from me, lowering his voice but not enough. “When?” Another pause. His shoulders go rigid. “Got it.” He ends the call.
The silence that follows is heavier than the alarm. I can hear my own breathing. Too loud. Too fast. Ruin turns to me. And whatever I see on his face drains the last bit of heat from my body.
Grim. Focused. Ready for… war.
“We’re on lockdown,” he says.
My stomach drops.
His eyes flick briefly toward the windows. Toward the outside world. Then back to me. “Hell’s Army just made their first move.”
And suddenly, this house doesn’t feel like a gift.
It feels like a target.
SIXTEEN
Wolf
I’m not where I’m supposed to be. And the wrongness of it crawls under my skin, settling into every nerve ending.
