Page 55 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

“The Raiders?” I repeat, my voice dangerously low.

They aren’t just some street gang looking to make a name for themselves. The Raiders are a different breed of chaos—ruthless, unpredictable, and feared even by men who have seen death up close. They don’t play by any rules, don’t care about survival.

“Are you sure?” I press, my voice sharp.

Willow nods, rubbing her cheek against Vincent’s chest like she’s trying to ground herself. His arms tighten around her instinctively, his expression dark, possessive.

“I’ll have some guys look into it,” I say, already moving. I stride toward my desk, grabbing my phone, my mind already running through possibilities. This isn’t random. The Raiders don’t move without a reason.

I type out a quick message to Damien, assigning him the task. He grew up in Raider territory—he knows their ways, theirweak points, the kind of grudges they hold. If anyone can dig into why the hell they’re coming after Jasmine, it’s him.

She nods, pulls back from Vincent and smacks him in the chest. “You disappeared for two months!”

Vincent chuckles, the look in his eyes fond. “And you have a new hairstyle and color. I like the red, Princess.”

She blushes and looks at me, before slowly walking over to me with a naughty smile. “What do you think of my new hair Juan?”

Her voice is low, so I only hear her use my government name and there’s a reason she’s the only one I haven't killed for using it.

I whisper, moving closer to her ear. “I would love to see your hair wrapped around my fist while you suck my dick.”

“Mmm,” she hums. “Your wish is my command.”

Vincent chuckles. “Should I give you some privacy?”

My eyes don’t leave hers. “Yeah.”

Vincent moves towards the door, but I stop him. “You can stay here until we figure it out, but just so you know, Damien may kill you on sight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” he nods.

“And no disappearing again!” Willow growls.

“You got it,Princess.”

17

WILLOW

It's four in the morning, and the kitchen is eerily quiet, the hum of the fridge the only sound keeping me company. I'm sitting on the counter, spoon in hand, the carton of rocky road ice cream in front of me like a cruel comfort. I can't sleep.

I take another bite, the chocolate and marshmallow sweetness melting on my tongue, the coldness a stark contrast to the warmth of unshed tears behind my eyes.

"Rocky road at four in the morning?" Vincent's smooth voice rolls over me. I peek over my shoulder at him.

He's standing in the doorway, shirtless, his bare chest catching the dim kitchen light. His muscles shift as he crosses his arms, jaw sharp yet relaxed, eyes heavy with sleep but intensely focused on me. The grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips seem hardly secure, and I wonder if he realizes how distracting he is.

Heat creeps up my neck despite the late hour. I glance back down at the ice cream, taking another bite to avoid his gaze, the sweetness turning bitter.

"Couldn't sleep," I say, not meeting his eyes, though I feel him studying me, trying to read the thoughts I've been desperately trying to hide.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "I can see that. But ice cream?" He steps into the kitchen, his presence making the room feel smaller, the air between us charged.

"I wanted to crawl in bed with you, but your room was empty," I whisper, stuffing another spoonful into my mouth to stop myself from saying more. "I thought you were gone again."

"I would never leave you on purpose." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin. "You know that."

"Do I?" I snap, jerking away from his touch as if burned. The spoon clatters against the counter.

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