Page 16 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Brie

I STEP OUT OF THE CAB ACROSS THE street from the Sandbanks Hotel, heels clicking against the cracked pavement.

The Sandbanks is a little too upscale for your average Songbird, but Landen Olivander always did have a taste for gaudy surroundings.

According to my lead, he treats the lounge here like his personal hunting ground.

And tonight, I’m planning to make him the prey.

The streets around the hotel reek of desperation.

Drug dealers lean against parking meters like vultures, waiting for someone looking to buy.

Sex workers line the curb in short skirts and smeared lipstick, dodging the eyes of cops who pretend not to see them.

A shady man loiters at the mouth of an alley beside a rundown casino, ready to offer some young soul just enough cash to feel lucky tonight—one way or another.

You’d be amazed how many reckless kids or miserable brokes will take a shark loan just to feel important for one night.

Landen’s not directly tied to the men I’m after.

But he’s a Songbird. And that’s enough.

I need a new lead—preferably one that’ll take me far away from Kings.

After checking my coat at the front, I walk into the lounge like I belong here.

It’s a cathedral of excess. The deep purple colour scheme lands somewhere between regal and tacky, with gold accents and crystal glassware in every hand. The bar glows under pendant lights like a stage, but the rest of the room is dipped in shadow—faces melting into a blur.

Perfect. A mask for monsters.

I order a glass of white wine and start to scan the crowd.

I’m looking for one indistinct white man among a sea of indistinct white men. I also have no idea who else might be here with him from the gang.

My eyes travel across the lounge, brushing over every half-lit face until I spot Landen in a booth with two others, sipping whiskey that’s far too expensive for the likes of them. That tells me what I need to know—they’ve got friends here. Connections.

That makes this trickier.

Still, it won’t stop me from trying.

I tighten my grip on the wineglass and move toward them, heels silent against the plush carpet—until a thick, meaty body blocks my path.

A man in a black suit barrels out in front of me like a goddamn truck, knocking the glass from my hand. It shatters at my feet, white wine bleeding into the rug.

Heads turn. Eyes flick toward us.

“Ah, sorry about that,” he says, tone flat and disinterested.

He’s not sorry. Not even close.

His hair is platinum blonde, buzzed short. His eyes are a milky shade of grey-blue—almost white. There’s something off about them. Something… inhuman .

“It’s fine,” I say tightly, crouching to pick up a large shard of glass.

He kneels beside me. “Let me get that for you,” he says, plucking the shard from my hand. “Wouldn’t want those delicate fingers all cut up. Not good in your line of work.”

I freeze for a beat before rising slowly.

What does he think I do , exactly?

I school my expression and mutter, “Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m here to meet someone.”

As I step around him, his hand snaps out and grabs my arm. Hard .

His fingertips dig into my skin, cold and possessive.

“No,” he says, his voice low and venomous as his lips brush my ear. “I don’t think you’re going to make that meeting tonight. Not until the boss gets what she asked for.”

My mouth opens, but the words stall.

The boss.

My blood goes cold.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He grins wide, eyes crawling over me. “Come now, Rose . You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The name hits like a slap.

They know who I am.

Panic twists in my gut. I try to shake him off, but his fingers only tighten, bruising my skin. Pain blooms under his grip—sharp and immediate, like his nails are blades that he’s already dug deep into my arm.

“I told your boss I couldn’t get the info she wanted,” I snap. “The deal is off.”

He says nothing—just starts dragging me back toward the bar. I don’t fight. Not yet. Not in front of all these people.

He knows this place as much as it knows him. No one even looks twice as he pulls me forcefully away from the lounge.

He sets the broken glass on the bar top with care, like he’s doing me a favour. Then turns back to me, eyes hard as ice.

“You really think we don’t know what happened?” he murmurs.

My chest tightens.

Did Damon give me up?

No. No, he wouldn’t. If he knew who was behind this, he would’ve killed them. Wouldn’t he?

A sick thought creeps in like smoke through a vent.

Maybe Damon does know.

Maybe he’s planned this himself. Maybe he’s watching right now.

The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gold-plated switchblade—ornate, almost theatrical. It looks absurd in his massive hand, more like a toy than a weapon, but when he triggers the release with a sharp click, the blade snaps out with deadly precision.

I flinch before I can stop myself.

He yanks me closer by the arm, and the cold steel kisses the soft skin just below my ribs.

“It’s time to be a good little hacker,” he murmurs, his words almost as sharp as his blade. “I’ve got a computer waiting for you upstairs. You’re going to get the boss everything she wants.”

The knife digs in—just enough to break skin. Just enough to make a point.

I relent, letting him steer me toward the elevators, my heels barely catching the carpet.

Who is this guy?

No one even flinches as he hauls me across the room like a ragdoll. Security doesn’t glance our way. Not a single patron lifts their eyes.

He’s too familiar, and they’re too comfortable.

This man has power here.

And if he’s working with the Songbirds? That makes two layers of hell I can’t afford to descend into.

But what I don’t understand is how they knew I’d be here.

Did they track my phone? Did someone tail me from my apartment? And if they could’ve grabbed me at any time, why wait until now? Why leave so many witnesses, loyal or not?

The elevator dings and we step inside. His knife stays at my back—low, angled upward. His body heat wraps around me, thick and suffocating. It seeps into my skin like oil. Nothing about it feels human.

“This would be easier on my own laptop,” I mutter, trying to sound unaffected by him. “If you want the job done right.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “You had your chance to do it your way,” he says, lifting my hair with his free hand. His nose skims the side of my neck as he breathes me in like a fucking animal. “Now, we’re doing this my way.”

I tilt my head away from him, trying to get out of his reach. “It’ll take time. Probably more than you think. ”

His hand clamps around my jaw and jerks my face toward his, hard enough to send a bolt of pain through my neck.

“Well, let’s make a deal then. However long you take to get this shit done, that’s how long my payment will require.”

The word echoes in my head.

“Payment?” I ask, each syllable burning like acid in my throat.

He hums near my ear. “Boss said she’d compensate me for the trouble. I told her a little extra time with you seemed like fair trade. Not every day I’m hired to wrangle a pretty little hacker.”

My skin goes cold.

Whether I get that information or not—whether I survive the night—one thing is certain: I’m not leaving untouched.

Think, Brie. Think fast.

He continues like we’re chatting over dinner. “Maybe if you’re a good little whore, I’ll convince the boss to still give you that intel. Anything’s possible, yeah?”

The elevator stops with a soft ding .

He pushes me out into a silent, dimly lit hallway. The carpet muffles our steps as he walks me to the last door at the very end. When he finally lets go of my arm, I can already feel the outline of his fingerprints bruising beneath my skin.

He fumbles in his coat pocket for the keycard, but his other hand never moves from the blade. He’s watching me too closely. Reading every breath.

I can’t reach for my gun—he’d gut me before I even got close.

He’s trained. Professional. A merc, maybe. Or worse—ex-military.

I need a distraction. Something unexpected.

The lock beeps .

He opens the door and nudges me inside.

And I stop cold.

There—sitting on the foot of the queen-sized bed, one leg bent, hands draped over his knees—is Damon King .

His dark eyes snap to mine the second I cross over the threshold .

His jaw is tight. His glare is all fire and ice.

But his presence?

It’s my salvation in wolves’ clothing.

“Hello, little rose ,” he says, voice smooth as sin. “Is this a bad time for me to say I told you so?”