Page 54 of Made For Ruin

But beneath the initial rush of happiness, there’s an undercurrent of anxiety. Of fear. Because as much as I love mybrother, I know the kind of trouble he can get into. The kind of danger he attracts.

“I stopped by the diner looking for you,” Derrick says, jarring me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Wanted to surprise my baby sister. But Joe said you weren’t in today.”

“No, I...I had some errands to run.” I pick at a loose thread on my jeans, trying to steady my racing heart. “I didn’t know you were getting out.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted it to be a surprise.” He pauses, and I can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Listen, why don’t you come down to the clubhouse? We’re throwing a little welcome home party.”

My stomach drops. Every instinct screams that this is a bad idea.

“I don’t know, Derrick...”

“Come on, Lainey-girl.” His voice softens, and suddenly, I’m ten years old again, crying over a scraped knee while he bandages it. “Three years is a long time. I missed you. Missed my sister.”

I close my eyes. Marcus would never forgive me for going anywhere near the Kings. Everything I know about them screams danger. But the lost little girl in me, the one who still remembers when Derrick was her hero, whispers louder.

I sigh. “What time?”

“That’s my girl. Come by around three. I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The Southside Kingsclubhouse looms at the end of a desolate road on the outskirts of town.

Rusted barbed wire crowns the towering chain link fence surrounding the sprawling property. The crumbling sidewalk leading to the entrance is littered with cigarette butts and shards of broken beer bottles that glint menacingly in the late afternoon sun.

I pull my car to a stop outside the ominous black gates and cut the engine.

With trembling fingers, I pull out my phone and check for any messages from Marcus.

Nothing.

Part of me hopes he’ll somehow sense where I am, that he’ll call and give me an excuse not to go through with this. But the screen stays blank and accusing. I’m on my own.

I’m just about to shove my phone back in my pocket when movement near the clubhouse catches my eye. A figure detaches from the shadows by the door and starts toward me, his stride loose and predatory. Panic seizes in my chest for a split second before I recognize my brother’s familiar gait.

But as Derrick draws closer, I realize just how much he’s changed. Prison has hardened him, sharpening the angles of his face and adding new tattoos to his skin. .

I take a deep breath and step out of the car, my legs feeling shaky as I make my way toward him. Derrick meets me halfway, his face splitting into a grin that’s achingly familiar despite the changes.

“There she is,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug. His arms are more muscular than I remember, his chest broader. He smells like cigarettes and cheap beer, with an underlying hint of something sharper.

“Hey, big brother,” I murmur into his shoulder, my throat tight with emotion. “Welcome home.”

Derrick releases me, holding me at arm’s length to look me over.

“Look at you. All grown up.”

His gaze lingers on my face, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the old Derrick, the one who used to chase away my nightmares and sneak me extra dessert.

Then it’s gone, replaced by the hardened stranger with the prison tattoos.

“Come on, let’s get inside,” he says. “The boys are dying to meet you.”

He slings an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the clubhouse. As we step through the doors, the thudding bass of music hits me like a physical blow. The main room is dim and hazy with smoke, packed wall to wall with leather-clad men and scantily clad women.

As we weave through the crowd, Derrick stops to exchange greetings and backslapping hugs with several men. He introduces me briefly, but the names and faces blur together in the smoky haze.

Finally, he guides me to a booth in the back corner, the cracked vinyl seats worn and sticky beneath my jeans.

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