Page 44 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

I’ve seen people in shock before. Hell, I’ve put people in shock before. But this? Seeing her like this? It makes an ugly realization crawl up my spine.

Damien steps forward first, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Willow.”

She blinks, like she’s only just now realizing where she is. Then, as if her body finally catches up with the weight of everything, she sways.

I’m in front of her before I even think about it, my hands gripping her arms to keep her upright. Her gaze snaps up to mine.

"You're okay," I tell her, even though I know it’s a lie.

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

Damien is at her other side now, a bag in his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He doesn’t wait for her to argue, just guides her toward the bathroom like he’s leading a sleepwalker.

I follow, my grip on her tightening when she stumbles. The blood on her sleeves is dry now, but up close, I can still smell it—sharp, metallic, fucking suffocating.

We stop outside the bathroom door. Damien presses the bag into her hands. “Change.” His tone is gentle but firm, the kind that doesn’t allow for debate.

Willow stares down at the bag like she doesn’t understand what to do with it. Then, her fingers tighten around the plastic. “I don’t—” She swallows hard, her voice cracking. “I can still feel it.”

I know what she means. That kind of blood doesn’t just wash off.

I step closer, my fingers brushing over hers, smearing the dried red between us. “It’s not yours to carry,” I murmur. “Go clean up.”

She turns and disappears inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

Damien exhales sharply, raking a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

I don’t say anything. I just plant my feet in front of the door, crossing my arms.

He looks at me. “You standing guard?”

I meet his gaze. “No one touches that door but her.”

Damien nods once. We are silent for a moment then Damien runs his hand across his buzzcut and looks at me with expectanteyes. I lean in closer, and he whispers, “How did someone find your safe house?”

My stomach tightens, a slow, cold burn seeping into my veins.

No one—no one—outside the higher-ups in the cartel knows about that place. It’s buried, locked down tight, meant for situations exactly like this. The kind of place that shouldn’t even exist to the outside world.

And yet, someone had found it.

"I don’t know," I mutter, more to myself than to Damien.

"You don’t know?" he repeats, arching a brow.

I snap my head toward him, eyes flashing. "No one outside the fucking cartel higher-ups knows that place exists." My voice is low, sharp, vibrating with barely contained rage. "No one. So tell me, Damien, how thefuckdid someone find it?"

He looks at me with hardened eyes. “We have a mole problem.”

The thought makes my hands curl into fists, a wild, consuming fury clawing up my spine. My safe house.Myterritory. Myfuckingrules. And someone thought they could walk in and blow it all to hell?

The door clicks open behind us.

"What are you talking about?" Willow’s voice is quiet, rough from exhaustion, but there’s a strength beneath it. She steps forward, arms crossed over her borrowed hoodie, her damp hair sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes, still rimmed red from earlier, flick between me and Damien.

Damien shifts, his jaw ticking. I don’t say anything. My mind is still caught in the violent, circling thoughts of betrayal and bloodshed.

Willow takes another step forward. “Someone found the safe house?”

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