Page 76 of Beautiful Ruins
A sigh slipped out before I could stop it and my shoulders sagged under the weight of my uncertainty. That’s all it was supposed to be. Pretend.
But pretend wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not when it lingered.
I dropped my chin onto my palm, my elbow firmly pressed against the sticky, worn surface of the bar. Jasmine’s rose-scented perfume mingled with the citrus cleaner clinging to the old wood as it tried to mask decades of spilt booze and poor decisions. The dim lighting cast shadows over the rows of liquor bottles on the shelf behind Jasmine. Even my reflection in the mirror seemed to mock me—a warning that I was falling too hard, too fast, and I was about to hit the jagged bottom.
Rowan was due back any moment, and I couldn’t fight the bundle of nerves twisting in my stomach at seeing him again. The number I’d found earlier in Snake’s house might have meant something. I wasn’t going to explain to Rowan how I’d acquired it, though. I’d leave that little piece of information for the snails to devour.
Besides, if he so much as got a whiff of the lengths I’d gone to—what I’d convinced Scout to do—I was goingto be buried under those yellow daisies Scout loved so much. And Scout right there beside me.
A shadow fell over me, the chill creeping in like the mist on a winter’s morning—quiet, invasive, and impossible to ignore. Jasmine’s hand stilled on the beer bottle mid-pour, eyes locking on the person standing beside me. Her mouth twitched like she wanted to speak but thought better of it.
A cold sweat broke out, my heart galloping. Even the low hum of conversation behind me died, like the room sensed exactly the predator who had entered.
For one split second, my vision faded to black, the hole I’d been digging myself out of, caving in at the edges. It had me scrambling for solid ground.
I didn’t have to look to know who it was. His scent had burned itself into my nostrils during the five minutes I’d spent inside his house. As much as I’d tried to scrub myself clean, it still infected me like a disease.
Snake dropped onto the stool beside me, drumming his fingers over the worn timber. “So, if it isn’t the chief’s only daughter.” He snatched a peanut from the bowl in front of him and threw it into his mouth, his lopsided smirk signalling that this was far from a social visit.
He still looked like a busted-up arsehole—purple bruising around one eye, the bridge of his nose still swollen from Bear’s last warning.
But more importantly, how the fuck was he out of jail? What the hell had my father done? This was the man who’d tried to kill Rowan. My Rowan. And there he was sitting beside me, snacking on peanuts like we were going to pop a bottle of champagne and celebrate his release.
I straightened, keeping my expression neutral. Could snakes sense deception? I wasn’t sure, but I knew they sensedpanic, and I was fighting mine off like I was at war. He couldn’t have known what I’d been up to only hours before. Right?
“What can I do for you, Snake?” I said, my voice steady despite the tremble in my hands. I kept them wrapped around the glass, the only thing stopping them from betraying me like my heart already had.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, a gesture meant to convey innocence but one I didn’t trust for one second. It reeked of deception.
“What?” he said, his smirk widening as if he relished the game only he was playing. “I can’t come have a conversation with my VP’s old lady?”
My hands tightened around my drink. “How are you here?”
He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening as he leaned closer. “You think your daddy can keep me locked up?” he said, pinching a strand of my hair and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “You might be Rowan’s old lady, but don’t think for a second that’ll stop me from ending you if you threaten the club.” He sniffed, dropping my hair. “That’s why I’d be a real leader. Rowan’s too fucking soft. But me? I’d fucking destroy you before you even had a chance to sink the knife into me. Don’t think I don’t know about your past, Sadie Cooper.”
A chill ran down my spine, but I refused to let him see how much his words affected me.
I met his gaze, unflinching. “You don’t know shit about me, Snake.”
I liked to think that was the case, but I couldn’t shake his comment about my past. What exactly was he referring to?
He chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “Oh, I know more than you think, sweetheart. I know about the scars you hide,the nightmares that keep you up at night. I know about Logan.”
The name hit me like a physical blow. I clenched my jaw, determined not to react. But the tears still burned. I swallowed hard, forcing them back down along with the truth he’d just yanked to the surface.
Snake leaned in even closer, his sour whiskey-scented breath hot against my ear. “And I know what really happened to your mother.”
It was like my skull had been cracked open and all the sound in the world poured inside all at once. A high-pitched buzzing whirred in my ears, drowning out the noise of the bar behind me. Maybe it was the shock, or maybe something deeper.
And then, like falling headfirst off a cliff, the world snapped back into motion, and I blinked rapidly.
I opened my mouth to reply, but the air cracked first. A glass shattered. Then a roar.
Rowan was already on him.
Snake’s words disappeared in a cacophony of squeals and broken glass. One second, he was standing, the next he was on his knees, arms curled defensively over his head as Rowan hammered him with raw, ugly violence.
The entire bar froze. No one spoke. The jukebox kept playing—a scratchy country ballad skipping a verse. Somewhere, a bottle rolled off a table and shattered. Still . . . nobody moved.
