Page 98 of Beautiful Ruins
I pressed my palms to my thighs. “He asked about Snake,” I said, lowering my voice as the words rushed out of me. “I overheard him on the phone. He knows about the fingerprint.”
Rowan grunted, his jaw tensing. “If I knew where that arsehole was hiding, I’d drag him out myself.”
I tilted my head, squinting against the low-lying sun. Rowan stepped in close, pressing a kiss to my lips, his stubble rough against my skin.
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering against my cheek. “You ready for dinner with your old man?”
I shook my head, a small sigh escaping. “Not at all,” I said, but the tremor in my voice gave me away. My fingers trembled as I adjusted the hem of my dress. Rowan didn’t say anything, just brushed a knuckle beneath my chin like he could hold me together with that alone. “But he’s promised me the truth about Mum. I’m just glad you’ll be there.”
Rowan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he grunted as he snatched it out. His frown deepened as he read the message, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Fuck,” he muttered.
My stomach knotted. “What is it?”
He glanced up, a silent apology in his eyes. “Iron. He needs me at the clubhouse. Didn’t even know the arsehole was back.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I’m sorry, Firefly. I’ll meet you back at your place after, okay?”
I blinked back my disappointment and forced a nod. “It’s fine, Ro. Be careful.”
Rowan cupped my face in both hands, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones, and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. Thetouch was brief, but it steadied something inside me, anchoring me before the storm I knew was coming.
“Always am, baby.” He swung a leg over his bike and kicked the engine to life, a low rumble vibrating through my body. He leaned in again and pressed his lips to mine once more. “I love you. See you soon.”
A smile crept onto my face. I’d never get used to those words falling from his lips, nor would I get used to them being pressed against mine. “Love you too.”
He winked and sped out into the street, the growl of his Harley disappearing the further away he rode. As the taillights faded, I rested a hand over my stomach. Nausea crept in, and no matter how hard I pushed, the dread still spilled out.
Jasmine’s sneakers crunched behind me. She offered her car keys with a grin. “Come on, Coop. I’ll get you home.”
I exhaled, shoulders loosening, and followed her toward her car.
Chapter Thirty-Two
ROWAN
Iron’s motorcycle sat on the gravel outside the clubhouse as I pulled in, its gleaming metal dulled by an extra layer of dust.
Whatever he wanted to say, he’d have to do it fast, because I wasn’t about to let Sadie go head-to-head with her old man alone. It was time John came clean about what he knew about Patricia’s investigation.
I swung off my bike and strode to the side door of the clubhouse, shoving my way inside. The familiar scent of stale smoke and old leather hit me like a memory I didn’t want any part of.
The place was quiet, not many brothers around that time of day. Most of them were still passed out or just crawling out of whatever hole they’d found their way into the night before.
It didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on hanging around.
Just as I’d figured, Iron was at the head of the meeting table, like the spot had been carved out for him. A thick cigar lolled between his fingers, its ash droppingonto the table in front of him. He stared out the window, the afternoon sun catching the lines etched deep into his face.
His skin had an unhealthy grey tint, a ghost of the man who once ran this place with an iron fist—hence the name. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was age. Either way, he didn’t look like the man I’d once admired. If I ever admired him at all.
His absence over the past couple of weeks hadn’t gone unnoticed. The club had divided itself, brother against brother. Not that Snake had been a brother to me. Still, he’d tried to take the life of another member, and almost succeeded. And now Iron was sitting there like a bomb hadn’t just shaken the entire foundation of the club.
Too many years he’d played king, and for what? It was time for a new regime, and I wasn’t patient enough to wait it out. With what was left of Iron’s power, I had no intention of being the last man standing. If he wasn’t going to do something about Snake, I sure as hell was.
I knocked on the doorframe, the hollow sound echoing through the empty room. It was odd knocking, as if I was a stranger intruding on his alone time. Maybe I was. My old man would have laughed his arse off to see me now. If he could see me. Alive or dead, it made no difference. He had always been blind to the choices I’d made, the things I’d done to survive.
Iron barely even looked my way, just gave a lazy wave of his hand. “Come on in, son.”
Son. The word used to mean something, especially coming from Iron. Now it was more a performance, a way for him to pretend he still had any power over me.
Even when my father had spoken the word, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. It never meant what it should have. Not loyalty. Not love. Just another chain around our necks. And nothing good ever came from it.
