Page 1 of Ruin

Chapter One

Carmen

Adventure. There’s not a one size fits all sort of thing. Some people could find excitement in a new recipe. Others need extreme thrills like climbing Mount Everest or scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef. I’m somewhere in the middle, I suppose. There’ll be no oxygen defying climbs or swimming with sharks, but I need something to get my blood moving.

I climb onto the back of Ruin’s motorcycle and lean into his solid frame. He smells like leather, exhaust, and some kind of tree. It’s funny. I’ve hung around bikers my whole life and they all have a unique smell. I don’t know what it is. You’d think leather was leather, but it’s not. Ruin’s leather is so much different than my brother’s leather, and they both smell completely different than our close buddy, Country.

Ruin’s scent is my favorite, though. It’s deep, wild, and there’s a musk beneath all of it that’s drawn me in and won’t let go. That, or I could be crazy.

Pine trees and pastures pass as we climb the mountain toward a place only we know. We come out here every so often to talk about life… as friends. Anything more than that would be clearly prohibited by my brother, the leader of Ruin’s MC, Outlaw. He’s raised me from the time I was fourteen. There’s no paying him back for that, and it seems the least I can do is not put the moves on his friends, though it’s getting harder and harder by the second.

Ravens gather at the side of the road and hardy wildflowers pop in wind feathered fields. The prickle of a sunburn is on my bare arms, and my cheeks are cold from the incoming wind.

Ruin pulls into a gravel outcropping, parks behind a glacial boulder, and kills the motor on his bike. I love this ride. We’ve taken it half a dozen times over the past six years or so, and it gets better every time. The sky always looks different with the clouds streaking in unique and beautiful patterns, and the forest floor is ever changing as its inhabitants go about their everyday lives.

“Pretty up here today,” Ruin says, helping me off the back of his bike. My thighs are still numb from the rumbling.

I pull up my sunglasses and scan the horizon, looking out at the valley below. White-capped mountains cascade down into a turquoise lake and tall pine trees crawl up in the distance. There’s a steep climb here and a short trail that leads around to a sheer drop. Call us crazy, but we always have to go right to the edge of that cliff to sit and talk.

I’ve always felt safe here with him. He’s big, strong, and could clearly fight off a bear or whatever else wandered our way, but it’s more than that. He’s mentally strong. When I’m falling apart, he holds me together. When I need to vent, he doesn’t take it personally. When I’m down and can’t find my way up again, he leads me toward the light.

“What’s going on?” He turns toward me. The sun is on his face, brightening the line of tattoos that streak down his neck. “Sounded pretty important when you called.”

“Yeah… I don’t know. I’m freaking out a little.”

“Why?” His tone is stoic and flat, as though he wants to understand me. No one else in my life is like that. Not Outlaw, not my friends, no one. You’d think that would be easy to find in a friend, but it’s not. So many people are ready to jump you with their opinions, their judgment, their advice. How many people listen… just to understand you?

“I need an adventure,” I say, looking out at the mountainscape before us. “Like a real, crazy, take me out of my skin type of thing.”

“Like what? Skydiving? I don’t want you skydiving, Peach. It’s dangerous, and you heard about that guy who went out in Wyoming and his chute didn’t open, right? Dude went tumbling down and splat.”

“Splat, huh?”

Ruin nods.

He’s called me Peach since I was young. He said it was because I was sweet, like a peach. I like to think it’s because of my thick and juicy ass… that I wish I had.

Either way, when he calls me Peach, my thighs tingle.

“Not skydiving. That’s too wild. I do have something in mind, though, but it’s embarrassing.”

“What?”

My cheeks heat, and while I had all intentions of telling him my wild, fantastical, exploration idea… now I’m chickening out. “Never mind. I can’t even say it. So, clearly, I shouldn’t be doing it.”

He laughs. “This is your process, though. You think of an idea, back pedal out of it, stall, then finally tell me. So… what is it?”

I glance toward him. I adore that he knows me so well. “That’s not my process.”

“You’re literally doing it right now. Step three… stall.”

I shake my head and bite back a grin. “Okay, I’ll say it.”

“Okay. So, say it.” His tone is deep.

“Well… there’s this club in the Springs. It’s this exhibitionist place called The Lookout.”

His heavy frame tenses beside me, which is odd because usually, he’s so cool. “What about it?”

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