Page 16 of Ruined By King

I go through the motions — eating meals I don't taste, sleeping in fits and starts, pretending everything is fine while my insides are screaming. My father doesn't notice anything's wrong. He's too focused on Thursday, too amped up about finally getting one over on the Sons of Ruin. Every time he mentions it — a comment about checking weapons, a phone call about timing — I want to throw up.

I try to convince myself it's not my problem. That whatever happens between the clubs is beyond my control. I'm just Rocky's daughter — I don't have a say in any of this. I'm not a patched member. I'm not part of the business. What happens Thursday night is between the Road Kings and the Sons of Ruin, and it has nothing to do with me.

But every time I close my eyes, I see King.

The way he looked at me that last night, soft and unguarded in a way I don't think many people get to see. The way he said always when I asked if he worried about me. The way he kissed my palm like it was something sacred.

He trusts me. He's let me into his bed, his clubhouse, his life. He's shown me pieces of himself that I'm pretty sure no one else has seen.

And if I don't warn him, he's going to walk into a trap and die.

The choice should be impossible. Blood versus... whatever this is. My father versus the man I've been sneaking around with for two weeks. Everything I've known my whole life versus something that's barely begun.

But the thing is, it's not impossible at all.

It's the easiest decision I've ever made.

I'm just terrified of what comes after.

Thursday afternoon, I tell my father I'm going to Tina's for the evening. He barely looks up from his phone — too busy coordinating with Chains, running through the plan one more time.

"Be back by ten," he says absently. "I might be out late."

Yeah. I know exactly where you'll be.

"Sure, Dad."

I drive to the Sons of Ruin clubhouse with my hands shaking on the wheel. I've never come here during the day before. Never walked through the front door where anyone could see me. But I don't have time to be careful. I don't have time to be smart.

The prospect at the door recognizes me — same guy from before, the one who let me in that first night without knowing who I was. He knows now. His eyes go wide when he sees me approaching in broad daylight.

"I need to see King," I say before he can speak. "Now. It's urgent."

He hesitates, clearly unsure what to do with Rocky's daughter showing up demanding to see his president. I can see him weighing his options — turn me away, make me wait, ask questions I don't have time to answer.

"Please," I say, and something in my voice must convince him, because he nods and steps aside.

"He's in the back. I'll take you."

The main room is half-full of brothers — drinking, playing cards, working on bike parts at a table in the corner. Every single one of them stops what they're doing when I walk through. I feel their eyes on me, the weight of their suspicion and curiosity. Rocky's daughter, here in the middle of the day, asking for their president.

I keep my chin up and my eyes forward, following the prospect down the hall to King's office.

He knocks once, then opens the door.

"Prez. You've got a visitor."

King looks up from his desk — and freezes.

For a long moment, we just stare at each other. I watch his expression shift from surprise to concern to something darker as he reads my face. He knows something's wrong. He's always been able to read me.

"Leave us," he says to the prospect. His voice is calm, controlled, but I can hear the tension underneath.

The door closes behind me. We're alone.

"Demi." He's on his feet and around the desk before I can blink, his hands reaching for me. "What's wrong? What happened?"

I open my mouth to answer, and to my horror, I start to cry.