Page 77 of Beautiful Ruins
This wasn’t a fight. It was an execution.
Snake scrambled on his hands and knees, but Rowan dragged him back by the collar of his cut.
Rowan’s face was pure fury, lips curled in a snarl, blood already dripping from his knuckles. “You ever go near her again, I’ll slit your fucking throat.” The words flew out of hismouth, spit flying, wet and tinged with blood. He meant them, too.
Scout, Bear, even the usual hangers-on, just stood there, jaws slack, letting the show play out. My mouth went dry, but I couldn’t look away.
It was like watching a car crash play out in slow motion in front of me. Every punch landed with a sick crack and the dull thump of flesh on bone, over and over, until Snake was a broken pile of flesh and groans, barely recognisable as the man who’d whispered in my ear moments before.
But Rowan kept going. Past the point where it made sense, where you could call it anything but rage.
Jasmine slammed a glass down and straightened up, her glare fixed on Scout. “Jesse,” she yelled. “Do something.”
Scout’s eyes flicked from Jasmine to Rowan, then to me—a brief hesitation before he lunged for Rowan’s arm. “Ro! Come on, man, you’re going to kill him!” His voice cracked, not quite managing the authority Rowan demanded, but desperation made it stick.
For a heartbeat, Rowan’s fist froze in the air, his chest heaving. His eyes were a wild thing, barely contained inside their sockets—something beyond anger, a rawness that I could only describe as searing rage.
Some part of me wanted Rowan to finish the job. But Scout had already shoved his way into the blast-radius of Rowan’s eruption, clamping around his forearm with both hands. With a grunt, he dragged Rowan off Snake’s battered body.
Snake rolled onto his stomach, a tooth falling loose as blood dripped from his mouth into a fat puddle on the tiles.
The longer I stared at Rowan, the more he burned me. I wanted to get close to him, to breathe in the scent of his destruction and let it crumble around us.
He said he’d do anything to keep me safe.
It wasn’t a figure of speech. It was a vow, carved in blood.
And I was going to let him keep it.
Snake finally staggered to his feet, clutching his side, his breaths more of a wheeze. His face was unrecognisable, but he found his grin anyway—half his teeth red or missing, one eye already swollen shut.
He pointed a shaking finger straight at Rowan. “You just made yourself a dead man, Knight. That’s not a threat, it’s a goddamn promise.”
There was no law in Barrenridge, not in this world, but some things still counted as lines you didn’t cross, and Snake just ran right across all of them.
Rowan went for him again, boots slipping on blood and other bodily fluids.
But Bear moved in, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You’re done, mate,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Rowan tried to jerk away, but Bear’s arms locked around him like steel bands.
“Let go.” Rowan’s hands fisted at his sides, gaze still locked on Snake’s back as he stumbled his way out the door. “I swear to god, I’ll?—”
“You’ll what? Get us all killed?” Bear said, voice low. “There’s a time and place, and it’s not here. He won’t show his face again any time soon. He’s gone full psycho. We’ll sort him out, I promise.”
Bear caught Rowan’s eye, and something passed between them—regret, restraint, a lifetime of brotherhood held together by bruised knuckles and broken rules. Whatever it was, it broke Rowan more than the blood did.
Then those golden eyes met mine. “Fuck.” He shrugged out of Bear’s grip and rushed over, cupping my face, thumbsbrushing gently against my skin. “Jesus Christ, Sades.” His voice cracked. “I thought he—fuck, are you hurt?”
A breath passed, his touch grounding me like it always had. It wasn’t me I was worried about. He swayed, just a little, the adrenaline finally burning off so gravity could have its way with him.
With steady hands, I held onto Rowan. Something warm and wet seeped through his shirt, my palm coming away crimson. Frowning, I lifted the thin cotton to get a better look. Fresh blood spilled from the gash left by the bullet only days before. The stitches were torn—no surprise, considering how he’d just tried to murder a man with his bare hands.
“Oh my god.” I pressed a hand to my mouth. “You’re going to bleed out, Ro.”
Rowan tried to shrug, wincing as he clutched his side. “He deserved it,” he muttered. “He fucking touched you.”
“I don’t care,” I said, though it was a lie. My hands trembled as I pressed them to his wound. “You’re not dying on me tonight. Come on, I’m taking you home.”
