Ride of Ruin

Night Watch

The safe house was quiet in a way that felt unnatural. Not peaceful — charged, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Rhett walked ahead of me down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding softly against the hardwood floor. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to make the fear in my chest loosen.

He stopped at a door near the end of the hall and pushed it open.

“This is yours,” he said, voice low and steady.

Warm light spilled out. The room was simple but comforting — soft blankets, clean sheets, a dresser, a lamp, and a window overlooking the storm‑soaked trees. It was more than I’d had in weeks. More than I’d expected from men who looked like they lived on the edge of violence.

Rhett leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

He hesitated — just for a moment — then added, “You’re safe here, Aria.”

Hearing my name in his voice did something strange to my chest. I swallowed and stepped inside.

Rhett closed the door gently behind me.

I stood in the middle of the room, listening to the storm outside. The wind howled. Rain hammered the roof. But inside, everything was warm. Still. Protected.

I sat on the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. My mind raced with everything that had happened — Lucien’s claim, Jax’s teasing, Cole’s sharp eyes, Rhett’s quiet strength. Four men who didn’t know me, yet had already decided to protect me.

Why?

Why me?

Why this?

A soft knock broke through my thoughts.

I stiffened. “Yes?”

The door opened a crack.

Cole stepped inside, his expression calm, composed, unreadable. He held a mug in his hand.

“Chamomile,” he said. “Helps with shock.”

I blinked. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He set the mug on the nightstand. “Drink it.”

I should have been annoyed. I should have pushed back. But Cole wasn’t commanding me. He was… caring, in his own quiet way.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded once, then turned to leave. But before he reached the door, he paused.

“Lucien’s taking first night watch,” he said. “He won’t sleep.”

My stomach tightened. “He doesn’t have to do that.”

Cole’s gaze met mine — sharp, assessing, almost gentle. “He does. You don’t understand him yet.”

I swallowed. “Then explain.”

Cole studied me for a long moment, then said, “Lucien doesn’t protect people. He protects what he claims.”

My breath caught.

“And he claimed you the moment you walked into that bar.”

Cole left without waiting for a response.

I stared at the door long after it closed.

Claimed.

The word echoed through me, unsettling and strangely comforting all at once.

I lay down, pulling the blanket over me. The chamomile warmed my hands. The storm outside softened. My eyelids grew heavy.

Just as I began to drift, another knock sounded — louder this time.

My heart jumped. “Who is it?”

The door swung open.

Jax leaned against the frame, arms crossed, grin wicked. His hair was damp, his shirt clinging to his chest, tattoos gleaming under the hallway light.

“Just checking to make sure you didn’t die of boredom,” he said.

I stared at him. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He stepped inside anyway. “But you should know something.”

I sighed. “What?”

He pointed toward the window. “If anyone comes for you tonight, they’ll have to get through me first.”

I blinked. “You’re on watch too?”

“Second shift.” He winked. “I’m the fun one.”

I shook my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

Before I could respond, Lucien’s voice boomed from down the hall.

“Jax.”

Jax winced. “Busted.”

Lucien appeared in the doorway, filling it completely. His eyes locked onto mine, then flicked to Jax.

“Out,” Lucien said.

Jax grinned. “She likes me.”

“Out.”

Jax slipped past him, laughing under his breath.

Lucien stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room felt smaller instantly. Warmer. More dangerous.

He looked at me — really looked — and something in his expression softened.

“You should sleep,” he said.

“I’m trying.”

He nodded once, then moved to the window, checking the locks, the curtains, the view outside. His movements were precise, controlled, lethal.

“Lucien,” I whispered.

He turned.

“Why are you doing all this?”

His jaw flexed. “Because you’re in danger.”

“That’s not a reason.”

He stepped closer, stopping at the edge of the bed. His voice dropped to a low rumble.

“You walked into my bar. You looked at me like you were drowning. And something in me decided I wasn’t letting you drown.”

My breath caught.

Lucien reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear — a touch so gentle it made my chest ache.

“Sleep, Aria,” he murmured. “I’ll be right outside.”

He turned to leave.

“Lucien?”

He paused in the doorway.

I swallowed. “Thank you.”

His eyes softened — just barely.

“You’re mine to protect,” he said. “Get some rest.”

He closed the door behind him.

I lay back, heart pounding, mind spinning, body warm in a way that had nothing to do with the blankets.

Outside my door, Lucien Blackthorn — President of the Iron Serpents, billionaire, monster, protector — sat down in a chair and began his watch.

And for the first time since I ran, I fell asleep without fear.