Page 12 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Brie

I T FEELS LIKE I ’VE BEEN STUCK IN THIS concrete tomb for hours—alone with nothing but the relentless thumps of my heartbeat and the sting in my wrists for company. I’ve been twisting against the ropes, hoping I might loosen them. But all I’ve managed to do is grind my skin raw.

My wrists are on fire. My ankles too. Tiny pinpricks of blood have soaked into the twine, the cuts screaming at me every time I move. Every tug is just a reminder of how thoroughly I’ve been restrained.

In the corner of the room, Damon’s outburst from earlier still lingers—the shattered evidence of it scattered across the floor. The stool he kicked didn’t stand a chance. Two of its legs are snapped clean through, the crossbar between them splintered and jagged.

One of the sharper pieces has rolled toward the metal drain beneath me—just far enough away to make me furious. If I could get my hands on it, I might have a shot at cutting through these ropes.

I shift in the chair, inching it forward with jerky movements, twisting my hips just enough to make a little more progress. My toes brush against the shard of wood.

Once. Again. Closer .

But my arms are bound tight to the tops of the chair’s back legs, and even with it so close in reach, I can’t grab it.

Gritting my teeth, I lean to the left, tipping the weight of the chair. It wobbles. My fingers graze the edge of the wood. So damn close.

I stretch further —

And then the chair tilts too far.

It crashes to the floor with a deafening crack. My shoulder slams against the concrete, pain detonating along my side.

My head smacks the ground next, and stars bloom across my vision in a violent burst. My arm gets pinned between the floor and the chair’s heavy frame, and agony shoots through it like a live wire.

The metal door bursts open, and I brace myself.

For what, I’m not sure.

A blow? A boot to the ribs? Something worse?

But instead, I’m lifted off the ground—chair and all—and set upright again.

The sudden return to vertical leaves my head spinning. Through the pain radiating from my skull, I blink up at the man standing over me.

Not Monroe .

This one’s younger. Bigger, somehow. Built like a brick wall in motion. He has shorter brown curls, golden-brown skin, and striking ocean-blue eyes that don’t quite match the rest of his hardened exterior. A faded scar curves beneath his right brow, drawing attention to the intensity of his stare.

I know him. Read about him. He’s another one of Damon King’s handpicked few.

Equally loyal. Equally protective. Equally dangerous .

“Chavez,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

He crouches beside me, fingers surprisingly gentle as he tilts my chin and inspects the bruise forming near my temple.

“You’ve already gotten yourself into a lifetime of trouble,” Chavez murmurs. His voice is low, warm in a way I didn’t expect it to be. “Try not to add a concussion to the list.”

The tenderness in his tone throws me off.

A little too good cop , if you ask me.

I scowl. “Why does it matter? You’re not planning on letting me leave here alive anyway.”

Something flickers in his eyes—like disappointment. Maybe regret.

But before he can respond, the temperature in the room changes .

A familiar presence slides in like smoke under the door.

Damon .

“You surprise me,” he says, his voice cutting through the space with that same velvety amusement that always sounds just a little too smooth to be real. “Didn’t think you were the type to roll over at the first sign of danger.”

I glare at him, my jaw clenched tight. “You say that like you know me.”

“I’m getting there.” His smirk sharpened to a knife’s edge.

Chavez steps back toward the door. He doesn’t say anything, just casts one last look at me before slipping into the hall.

Part of me wishes he’d stay.

Not because I trust him. But because something about being alone with Damon King sets my nerves on edge. It’s like being left in a cage with a lion who’s still deciding if he’s hungry.

Damon stands close, his dark eyes lingering on the red bump I can already feel forming at my temple. He clicks his tongue softly and brushes a few strands of hair from my face. The gesture is infuriatingly gentle.

“That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.”

A shiver crawls down my spine—not from the pain, but from the contrast. The same hand that he pinned me with earlier is now touching me like I’m made of glass.

I jerk my head away. “Don’t touch me.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t push back. His hand drops, and both slide into his pockets like nothing happened.

But his lips twist with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

“You ready to start cooperating?”

I meet his gaze head-on, forcing steel into my voice. “I’m not the submissive type,” I snap.

His smirk deepens like I’ve just confirmed something he already suspected.

“Even if I cooperate, you’re not going to let me go. So why should I? ”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s studying a riddle. “I probably shouldn’t,” he agrees. “But I don’t get rid of people unless they really deserve it.”

He steps in, closing the space between us until his voice is a low hum brushing against my lips.

“You, though... you might be worth keeping around.”

The warmth in his voice spreads across my skin like fire.

I hate how it feels—how it lingers.

My cheeks flush, and I curse the heat rising up my neck. “Go to hell,” I bite, trying desperately to mask the tremor in my chest. “I don’t work for anyone— especially not a Songbird.”

“ Ex -Songbird,” he corrects, his eyes gleaming. “So, all that personal info you pulled on me... that was just for fun?”

I don’t answer. I keep my glare steady, refusing to give him what he wants.

He’s testing me. Looking for the weak seam in my armour. But I’ve come too far to let it split now.

He leans in again, slow and calculated, those dark eyes locked on mine. “I know someone hired you to dig into my life. I’ll find out who it is—sooner or later.” Then his voice drops to a gravelled whisper. “My own hacker’s already tearing through your system as we speak.”

Rage surges through me, sharp and immediate.

“Don’t touch my laptop!”

The chair jerks forward with the force of my movement, scraping loudly against the concrete.

But Damon clamps it down with both hands, gripping the sides of the seat tightly.

His wrists brush against my bare thighs as he pins the chair back in place, and the sudden skin-to-skin sends a jolt through me.

His face is only inches from mine now. I can feel his breath—warm, threaded with the promise of a threat—and my chest tightens with a cocktail of fury and adrenaline.

“Behave,” he whispers darkly, “or I might reconsider letting you leave here with your life. ”

My pulse thunders in my ears as his gaze burns into my very soul—dangerous and unblinking—and I know he means it.

There’s no bluff in those eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I don’t know who hired me,” I whisper, the words slipping out smaller than I want them to. “They texted my phone from a generated number I couldn’t trace. I already tried.”

He watches me carefully. “Sounds suspicious,” he says. “I’m surprised someone as careful as you would take a risk like that without digging deeper.”

“They offered me something I couldn’t refuse,” I say flatly.

I don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know what I’m after.

He leans back slightly, hands still braced against the chair—close enough to remind me who’s in control. “Are you willing to risk your life over it?”

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t know the answer—but because I need to choose my words carefully.

Truthfully, I’d burn the world to the ground for revenge. But I also know revenge can’t be served from a coffin.

“No,” I say finally. “If I’m dead before I can use it, there’s no point.”

He studies me like he’s reading the fine print in a contract.

My breathing slows. “If you promise to let me go, I’ll find out who hired me and give you everything I can,” I offer. “You can watch me delete every file I took from your system. Clean break.”

A grin spreads across his face, sharp and predatory. “Trying to bargain with me, little rose ?”

The nickname twists something deep in my gut.

I hate how easily it slips from his mouth.

I hate how much it affects me.

“Yes,” I answer coolly, even though my skin’s still burning where he touched me. “Because I know you don’t care about me. You care about whoever’s using me to get to you.”

He doesn’t deny it .

Instead, he steps back and folds his arms, weighing his options.

“What do you need to get it done?”

“My laptop. And an internet connection.”

He raises a brow. “I’ll bring you a laptop.”

“It has to be mine .” I keep my tone firm. “The program I use is stored on it. I can’t run it from anywhere else.”

His eyes narrow, and suspicion bleeds from them. “That’s awfully convenient.”

I shrug. “That’s just how it is.”

He watches me a beat longer before turning toward the door. His hand rests on the knob as he says, “Fine. But you’d better think twice about trying anything.”

Relief rushes in like a tide, but I don’t get the chance to enjoy it.

“Wait,” I call out.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

I flick my eyes toward my bare thighs, trying to sound casual. “Can you also bring me some pants?”

Damon’s gaze drops to my legs.

Then his smirk returns, slow and wicked.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” I snap. “I’d rather not sit around in my underwear with all the testosterone in this place.”

He chuckles, turning the knob. “Maybe it’ll motivate you to work faster.”

“ Asshole ,” I mutter as the door clicks shut behind him.

I lean back in the chair and exhale, letting the quiet settle around me. For the first time tonight, I feel something worse than fear.

Regret .

Not for bargaining. That was smart.

But because giving Damon even a sliver of leverage over me feels like the first step in a game I’m not sure I know how to win.

And I can already tell…

He plays dirty.