Page 21 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

Then, Jasmine pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “You arenotdoing this alone,” she says fiercely. “You hear me? I’m going to be right there next to you. Every second.”

Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them, and she wipes them away with the sleeve of her hoodie like she used to when we were kids.

“I need you there,” I admit, my voice small.

She cups my face, her forehead pressing against mine. “I’m already there, Wills. Always and forever.”

9

DAMIEN

They erasedevery trace of Tommy, scrubbing bloodstains, replacing broken items, and restoring the house to a pristine, eerie calm. It was as if he had never existed.

Cast wonders if Willow will want the house back someday. Maybe not now, but eventually. I remember my own grief—how I clung to my mother’s home, leaving everything untouched, as if she might return. It wasn’t logical, but grief rarely is. When I finally let go, I realized loss was a constant in my life. My mother. Tommy. Even Willow, slipping away despite still breathing.

Yesterday, I held her trembling body, offering what little comfort I could. But beneath it, something darker stirred—a need to break her, to control that fragility. Her pain mirrored my own, a reflection of the emptiness I buried. And in that moment, I knew—she was holding on to me—and even with Cast and Vincent within reach, she chose me.

Maybe I could love her. Maybe I already did. It wasn’t a thought I had allowed myself to entertain before, not with everything going on, not with the way my life was already a mess. But looking down at her in my arms, feeling her pulse againstmine, and everything in me shifted. It was subtle at first, the quiet whisper of a possibility. Could I really love her, with all the darkness that came with me? With everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve done?

I could see it now, the way she fit against me, the way we fit together. There was a flicker in her eyes when she looked at me, a flicker of something raw and unspoken, that told me she needed me just as much as I needed her. And maybe that’s what terrified me the most—that I could lose myself in her, that I could let her into the hollow parts of me I’ve spent so long keeping locked away.

I walk into Tommy’s room, the silence around me thick, almost suffocating. The air still smells like him, like the cigars he used to smoke, and the leather of his chair where he spent hours brooding over business deals. The room feels like a tomb, a reminder of everything that’s been lost.

I stare at the tan brown jacket hanging in the corner, dusty and crumbled from days of hard work. The collar still smells of cement and cedar, even though he's gone. I reach for the jacket, my fingers brushing over the rough material. I slowly pick up the last jacket he wore, taking a deep breath before I slip the pin from Tommy’s jacket—a hard hat with flowers, one Tommy always wore on his jacket before going to a construction site—and pin it carefully on my jacket.

The gesture feels absurdly final, like a token of respect that can never be repaid, a reminder of all that has been left behind. The pin on the fabric seems to add a layer of heaviness to the air, as if it was being sealed away. I linger for a moment, looking at the suit, at the space where he used to stand, and then I turn to leave.

My phone rings, breaking the stillness. Without looking at the caller ID, I swipe it open, already preparing myself for whatever bullshit Vincent is about to throw at me.

“Yeah?” I answer, my voice low, edged with impatience.

“Where the hell are you?” Vincent snaps, his tone sharp, the urgency in his voice clear. “The funeral starts in twenty minutes.”

I pause, the words hitting me harder than I expected. The time is here. Everything’s been leading up to this, and now, standing in the hallway of this house—his house—my heart sinks a little. I’m not ready, but then again, when the hell will I ever be?

“On my way,” I reply, my voice clipped, as I slide my phone back into my pocket, not even giving myself a moment to think about the significance of what’s coming. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.

I step into the cold night air, the memories of Tommy’s house still pressing on me, choking me. As I walk to my car, I can’t stop the thoughts that claw at my mind. Would Tommy ever have let me be with her?

The question gnaws at me. He was a man who loved Willow more than life itself, and I know I am not deserving of her but I wonder if he knew that. If he knew all the ways I wanted to break his beloved daughter for my own entertainment. He surely did know, but it doesn’t matter now.

It fucking doesn’t matter what Tommy would’ve thought, because none of that shit is relevant anymore. He’s dead. He’s gone, and the rules he set for this world, for Willow—they’re all meaningless now.

Willow isn’t his anymore. She isn’t anyone’s but ours.

That’s the truth. And fuck anyone who thinks differently. I don’t need Tommy’s blessing. I don’t need his permission. She’s got my mother’s heart in her chest. She has my heart in the palm of her hand. She’s tangled up in me, her love, her pain, everything she is—it’s all twisted in with mine, and there’s no way to undo it. No way to take it back.

She can’t be with anyone else. She won’t be. Not while I’m still breathing. Not while she still has a pulse. She’s mine—body, heart, and soul—and if anyone dares try to take her from me, I’ll die before I let them. She was always meant for me, even if I never admitted it before. She’s always been mine, and I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone forget it.

10

WILLOW

My dad would’vehatedthis funeral.

I’m sitting in the third row, too afraid to sit in the front, and wanting the crowd to put distance between me and the casket through the sea of black suits and too many floral arrangements. All I hear are the occasional sniffles and the low murmur of voices, as people shuffle in their seats, avoiding eye contact like the awkwardness will just go away if they pretend it isn’t there.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

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