Page 40 of Beautiful Ruins
Scout didn’t need to be privy to the plan. Not that I didn’t trust him, more that if it went south, it was fewer people I had failed.
“You got it.” Bear pushed up from the chair. “I’ll see you out there, bro.” He disappeared then, shutting the door behind him.
I sank further behind the desk and scrubbed the heels of my palms over my eyes as though that was going to do anything to force away the exhaustion.
Snake’s smug fucking grin from the previous day ate away at my brain like rust. The last thing I wanted to do was party—another celebration full of fake bullshit smiles and empty laughter echoing off the walls of the clubhouse. Even in the office, the smell of motor oil and burnt rubber clung to everything. The scent didn’t leave, just like the damn pressure.
Iron had fucking disappeared again—another trip to tie up loose ends—leaving me to pick up the slack. There was always something different happening with the club, but never anything new.
Apparently, we weren’t making enough profit. Before he left, Iron had glared holes through me, as if I had taken the cash and set it on fire myself.
“You need to be on top of everything,” he had said before walking out the door. “It’s important, Rowan.” Whatever was up with him, I didn’t like it.
The club had more baggage than a fucking airport. Someone started a fight in a neighbouring bar and needed to be bailed out of lockup. Not only that, but they’d also stood there grinning with split knuckles like it was all some sort of game. Another fucker got someone else’s old lady knocked up and almost had to have his entire face rearranged. And this was all in the span of twenty-four hours.
It was on a predictable loop, the same mess repackaged in a fresh layer of bullshit. I was tired of cleaning it up, like I didn’t have other things to worry about. Between the shit with the burnt-out bikes, Snake and Sadie, I was barely holding myselftogether. And Sadie—fuck. She hadn’t even scratched the surface yet, and I was already bleeding for it.
I exhaled sharply. Why any of this was still my responsibility was beyond me. Nothing was enough for Iron, and he just kept piling on more, expecting me to catch it all until I was drowning.
A knock rattled the office door.
I groaned and let my head fall back. “Go away, I don’t care.” I stared up at the cracked ceiling, the paint peeling from the edges.
Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to give a shit just yet.
“VP?” Scout’s voice seeped through the door, muffled by the thump of the music bleeding through the clubhouse walls. “It’s about Sadie.”
The name hit me like a gut punch.
Sadie.
I jerked upright, reality slamming into my chest like a freight train, and cleared my throat, feigning a calmness I’d never been good at evoking with her. “Come in.”
What the fuck had she done now? One wrong move, and the entire crew would start asking questions I couldn’t afford to answer.
The door opened inwards, and Scout’s lean form slipped through the gap. The stale tang of sweat and old beer trailed in with him, and he glanced behind him, likely checking to see who might be watching—or listening—then closed the door again, drowning out the bass blaring from the bar room.
“She . . .” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “She just walked in. Snake’s already on her like a goddamn shadow.”
“What?” My heart skipped, then started pounding hard enough to rattle my ribs.
He nodded, his lips set in a thin line. “Thought you’d want to know.”
Goddamn it. Of course, Snake had sniffed her out the moment she’d stepped foot inside this fucking hellhole. She was a magnet for arseholes—me included.
I clenched my jaw. She was stubborn, alright. Could never take no for a fucking answer. But showing up at the clubhouse wasn’t just reckless. It was downright dangerous. Not just for her, but for me, for all the precarious balances I was struggling to keep. Snake was already poking sticks into the holes I was desperately trying to patch up. And Sadie was ready to blow it all to pieces because she couldn’t let the past stay dead and buried.
Fucking great.
I forced myself up, the chair squealing like Old Man Jenkins’s joints as I shoved it back with a little too much force. It slammed against the wall, but I ignored it and moved toward the door.
“Thanks Prospect,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “You did good.”
Scout’s smile lit up his face, pure and eager, as if that one bit of praise was a rare coin he’d never seen before. Sad, really. “Jasmine’s working as well,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. I didn’t miss the hopeful urge at the edge of the words.
The man was obsessed.
The noise surged in the second I cracked the door, the heavy bass crashing over me like a wave I didn’t feel ready to swim through. I gestured for Scout to leave ahead so I could lock up the office.
