Page 58 of Chasing Ruin
“If Hell’s Army wanted Charlotte,” Ryder adds, his tone uncertain, “they could’ve grabbed her back in Craven Ridge.”
A thought hits.
“But they didn’t want to,” I cut in.
Three heads turn toward me.
“They waited,” I say, the realization turning my stomach. “They waited until she was here. Until we were stretched thin and leaning on our alliances with the Nomads and the Reapers. They’re planning something bigger.”
The room goes quiet. Silently absorbing the little detail.
Ryder exhales heavily. “Any word from Rebel?” He looks to Wolf when he asks it. Our Prez’s eyes gleam with calculation.
“No,” Wolf says. “But he told Blaze he’d join the call.”
Dad snorts under his breath.
We wait, and the minutes stretch. Wolf’s phone sits on the desk between us like a ticking bomb.
Finally, it buzzes. Wolf grabs it instantly and hits speaker. “Blaze.”
“Here,” Blaze answers, voice rough but steady. “Hold up. I’m pulling Rebel in.”
There’s a brief crackle on the line.
Then another voice joins—calm. Cold.
“Rebel.”
Wolf straightens slightly.
Six men. Three clubs. One mess.
“Blaze. Rebel,” he begins. “I’ve got my VP, SAA, and former VP here. You see the message I sent about Ioana Rosca?”
Blaze grunts in confirmation. Rebel hums thoughtfully.
“So you’re caught up,” Ryder says.
“Yeah,” Blaze replies grimly. “And I gotta say, Wolf… the second you dropped that name, things started smelling a whole lot worse. Rosca family is notorious for not getting involved with the clubs. I’m not sure why Hell’s Army would have anything to do with them.”
Rebel’s voice follows, quiet and cutting. “The Ro?ca family doesn’t move unless money—or leverage—is involved,” he says calmly through the speaker. “I’m guessing that leverage is currently sleeping in your clubhouse, Wolf?”
A growl tears out of my throat before I can stop it. Someone huffs on the other end of the line—Blaze, maybe Rebel. Hard to tell.
Dad jumps in next, his voice tight with fury. “I don’t know shit about these Romanian fuckers,” he snaps, “but Hellfire can find leverage in a goddamn desert if he looks hard enough. What I want to know is why he’s got his sights on Charlotte. And whether we need to start preparing for an all-out war.”
Blaze exhales sharply through the line. “Torch, I respect you, brother,” he says, voice rough. “But I just buried my VP. Shotgun’s dead. And it’s your club princess who dragged us into this shit.”
The room goes still.
Wolf’s chair scrapes loudly as he pushes himself up. “How exactly is that her fault?” he bites out. “By existing?”
Blaze doesn’t answer immediately, so Wolf keeps going, his temper finally slipping. “She didn’t grow up in the club,” he says harshly. “Our mother—fucking Sandy—raised her somewhere else. I didn’t even know my mother was alive. She fucking walked out on the Wardens when I was three.”
Rebel hums quietly. “Doesn’t matter,” he says after a moment. “She’s still a club princess.”
The way he says it makes my skin crawl.
