Page 5 of Ruined By King

I watch her go. My hands are fists at my sides, and something in my chest feels cracked open and raw in a way I haven't felt in years. Maybe ever.

Let her go, I tell myself. This is insane. She's right — this can't happen. There's no version of this that doesn't end in blood and fire.

But I'm already counting the days until the next rally.

When I get back to the table, Rogue takes one look at my face and his whole demeanor shifts. The smirk drops away. His eyes sharpen.

"King." His voice is careful now. Wary. "Tell me that wasn't what I think it was."

"It wasn't anything." I sit down and reach for my abandoned beer. It's warm and flat. I drink it anyway.

"Prez." Rogue leans in, dropping his voice. "That's Rocky's daughter. The Road Kings' princess. If anyone saw you⁠—"

"No one saw."

"If Rocky finds out⁠—"

"He won't."

Lock is watching me with those quiet, assessing eyes. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I can read the concern on his face as clearly as if he'd shouted it.

"So that's it, then." Rogue's trying to convince himself as much as me. "You talked. You got it out of your system. It's done."

I think about the way she looked at me. The way she said this can't happen while her whole body leaned toward me like I was gravity. The way I felt more alive in those five minutes than I have in months.

"Yeah," I say. "Done."

Rogue nods, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "Good. Good. That's... yeah. Good."

Lock doesn't nod. Lock just keeps watching me, and I know he sees right through the lie.

I drain the rest of my beer and crush the can in my fist.

Done.

What a fucking joke.

CHAPTER 2

DEMI

Enjoy your tacos.

That's what I said to him. That's my big exit line — enjoy your tacos — like I'm not shaking so hard I can barely walk straight.

I don't look back. If I look back, I'll turn around, and if I turn around, I'll do something stupid. More stupid than standing there letting him look at me like he wanted to devour me whole. More stupid than the way my body leaned toward his without my permission, like gravity had shifted and he was the new center.

The crowd swallows me as I walk, and I'm grateful for it — the noise, the bodies, the chaos. Something to hide in. My legs feel unsteady and there's a pulse between my thighs that has no business being there, and I need to get my shit together before I get back to my father's camp.

I stop near a row of bikes, pressing my palm against cold chrome just to feel something solid. Real. My heart is slamming against my ribs like it's trying to break free.

What the hell just happened?

I've seen King before. Three rallies now, I've watched him from a distance — the way he moves through a crowd, the way his men orbit around him like he's the sun and they're just planets caught in his pull. I've noticed. Of course I've noticed. You'd have to be blind not to notice a man like that.

But noticing and this are two very different things.

At Mesa, I told myself it was curiosity. The Sons of Ruin are rivals, enemies of my father's club, and their president was right there across the lot. It made sense to look. To assess the threat. That's what I told myself when I stared at him for way too long, when our eyes met and something hot and dangerous flickered between us.