Page 3 of Bound By Ruin

Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all. Maybe it was a glimpse of the future.

My heart aches as I breathe in smoke and fumes. Thanatos is blocking the fire from view, but it’s impossible to ignore the inferno growing by the minute. Heat swells around us, but Thanatos makes no sudden movements, keeping his eyes locked on mine. His jaw sets with a firm clench of his teeth, and I get the impression that he doesn’t want to stand here with me—but Rage likely ordered him to keep me from running into the burning building after him.

It’s a smart call. I’m surprised that he didn’t tell Thanatos to drive me home.

But once Rage and Rebel suddenly burst from the front of the building with Ruin’s arms thrown over their shoulders, it makes sense. They need a driver to take Ruin to the hospital.

“Get in!” Rage yells, dragging Ruin’s unconscious body to the SUV. Thanatos and I both jump into action, helping them lift Ruin into the backseat. While I slip through the back door and lay Ruin’s head in my lap, Thanatos and Rage jump into the front while Rebel joins me in the back. We peel out of the road so fast that Rebel and I have to hold Ruin steady so he doesn’t slide off the leather seat.

His body is burning hot, his clothes charred or missing altogether.Shit.I don’t know anything about burns. I don’t have any medical experience. I don’t know?—

“Check for breathing,” Thanatos instructs calmly, “then find his pulse. If you see any burns?—”

“Take his clothes off,” Rage interrupts, “anything restrictive. Belt. Shoes.”

Rebel is already in motion, tackling Ruin’s belt, then what’s left of his shoes, discarding his knife holster and melted boots to the floor. He tears open what’s left of his brother’s pants while I carefully remove the top half of Ruin’s broken mask, my hands shaking.

I lower my ear to his mouth and listen for the rattle of air in his lungs. I double-check that his chest is rising and falling before declaring that he’s alive. “He’s breathing,” I tell everyone, “but it’s not good. It’s—it’s hard to know.”

“You’re doing great,” Rebel says, somehow staying eerily calm. “Check the pulse on his neck.”

His heartbeat is slow, but still present, contrasting the race of my own heart.

Rebel squeezes my hand for a quick moment. “Breathe through your mouth, baby, it’s easier.”

I do as instructed, but nothing prepares me for the sight of Ruin’s body. It’s hard to tell which scars are fresh versus which ones are old, the skin blemished across most of his torso and arms. I keep my eyes on his body for fear of looking at his face. He hasn’t wanted me to see him without his mask, and it feels disrespectful to look now when he might be…

I swallow hard and sweep my gaze across the red patches of skin on his chest and shoulders, breathing through my mouth to avoid the scent of charred flesh. It’s impossible to ignore, but I try as best I can.

“Hey, Ruin,” I murmur, brushing his hair from his face. Even that feels damp, either from sweat or gasoline. Chemical fumes pour from his body and sting my eyes, but I tell myself that if he still smells like gasoline, that means the fire didn’t touch him as badly as it could have. I guess that’s a blessing, if we’re counting miracles.

“Take him to The Box,” Rage says suddenly, “Wren Sakovia will meet us there.”

I glance up and catch Rage’s eyes in the rearview mirror. I’ve heard of The Box—it’s a medical facility the bratva uses when they want to avoid hospitals and legal documentation of patient stays. “Surely he needs a hospital,” I protest, narrowing my eyes. “With a real burn unit.”

“They handled our burns the last time, baby,” Rebel says gently, flicking his gaze from his youngest brother’s face to mine. “They’ll have records of the damage from before and know exactly what to do for him.”

“And which spots to treat,” Rage adds, his gaze piercing mine. “A burn until would fuck him up even more. He has dead zones on his body until you cut deep enough to get through the scarring.”

“It doesn’t look like he’ll need skin grafts.” Rebel flops back into his seat and starts to run a hand through his hair, then winces and pulls it back in front of him. I finally get a good look at his injuries from the side, finding ash smeared across his face and neck. His hands are bright red, shaking as he twists them in the passing streetlight.

“You’re burned,” I breathe, choking on guilt. It’s my fault that we left the house. If I hadn’t been so focused on Sara?—

Sara!

I gasp as a knife twists in my gut, regret flowing freely through my veins. Not only did my men get hurt, but we never found Sara. She could still be out there screaming, begging for someone to save her… and just like with Ruin, I’m too late—too weak—to stop any of it.

Clenching my fists, I blink tears from my eyes and vow to do better. Tobebetter. If I’m going to protect the people I love, I need more than a secondhand gun and a few self-defense lessons.

I need to learn how to put a bastard down.

No more tears. No more second-guessing. No more relying on others to keep me safe. This life is brutal, and the only way we’re all going to make it out alive is by being ruthless.

Someone’s hand finds mine and squeezes. My breath catches as I squeeze back, tearing my gaze away from our joined hands to Ruin’s face. High cheekbones, clean-shaven jawline, smooth-skinned, white scars along the entire right side, a missing eyebrow, and one eye that’s lighter in color than the other, a soft shade of gray.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

He returns my stare with a determined set to his jaw and a fire in his eyes that I can feel in my soul, continuing to squeeze my hand as he works his jaw like he wants to say something.

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