Page 17 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Damon

T HE BURLY MAN BEHIND B RIANNA REACTS fast—as if instinct alone tells him he’s fucked.

He yanks her flush against his chest and raises a hilariously small knife to her throat. It looks like something ripped off a homicidal teddy bear at a carnival.

Cute. Pointless .

“How the hell did you get in here?” he barks, scanning the suite like I crawled in through the goddamn vents.

“Quite easily,” I say casually, pretending to pick some lint off my shirt. “Considering the hotel uses my security system, getting in was child’s play. Tracking your room took a little longer, but once I had your face and name— Calvin Brenner —it was a cake walk.”

He flinches at his own name, snarling.

I can’t tell if it’s from fear or the hit to his ego.

Brianna still hasn’t moved. She’s staring at me like she’s seen a ghost. That fractured look in her eyes doesn’t belong to the woman who breaks firewalls for fun and seduces gangsters into spilling their secrets.

It’s the girl underneath—whoever she really is.

It only lasts a second. As soon as the knife presses too deep and a bright line of blood curves against her throat, she blinks, her gaze snapping away from mine.

The smell of her blood hits first—sharp, metallic, wrong .

Calvin’s a nobody to me. Not Songbird, or at least not old blood. I know their top dogs. A job like this wouldn’t be handed to an amateur .

If Lola hired him, he’s decent. Trained. Disposable. She doesn’t waste time on loyalty—only results.

Doesn’t matter who he is.

If he doesn’t get his hands off her in the next ten seconds, I’ll paint the walls with his brain matter and send what’s left to the pig farm.

They won’t even find his teeth by the time I’m done with him.

I lift my gun—silent, efficient, steady in my grip.

“Now,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “why don’t you let the girl go so we can have a real conversation. You can tell me what your boss wants with my information—before I tear it out of your fucking throat.”

Calvin shifts, pulling Brianna tighter, that tiny blade twitching closer to her artery.

He smirks like he thinks he has leverage. “I’m not an idiot, King. You won’t shoot an innocent girl.”

“Innocent?” I echo, arching a brow. “Have you met her? She hacked into my entire network. She’s not exactly a saint.”

Brianna scoffs under her breath.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she snaps. “I can handle this.”

My jaw tics.

Of course she’s stubborn. Bleeding and restrained, and she still wants to win. She always has to win.

Would it kill her not to be a tad bit grateful I’m here?

“Lucky for you, I could care less if you make it out of here alive.” The lie rolls off my tongue smoother than it should. My expression stays cool, unreadable. “I’m just here to protect all those secrets locked in that pretty little head of yours from leaking.”

She glares, twin daggers in her eyes—but it’s Calvin’s knife that draws another line down her skin, slicing just above her collarbone.

Shallow. Deliberate.

I see red .

There’s something primal snarling in my gut at the sight of her blood on his blade .

If anyone’s going to make her bleed, it sure as hell won’t be some third-rate thug with cheap shoes and twitchy fingers.

If anyone gets to push her limits—tests her strength—it’ll be me.

But she doesn’t scream. Doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, her eyes catch mine again, and there’s something wicked behind them now. A spark.

That crooked little smirk isn’t from fear. It’s from the thrill of the game.

She’s enjoying this. She’s performing .

The Black Rose isn’t just playing along—she’s daring me to watch.

If she wants to show off, far be it from me to stop her.

I lean back on one hand, my other lazily holding the gun aimed at them. “Honestly, now that you bring it up,” I murmur, voice low and amused, “I’d love to see how you planned to get out of this all on your own, little rose.”

Her hand is already poised at the hem of her dress, right leg slightly bent. I catch the glint of metal beneath the fabric a heartbeat before she moves.

She lifts the edge of her dress and goes for the weapon strapped to the top of her thigh.

She’s smooth. Fast. Sexy as hell .

But Calvin isn’t as slow as he looks.

He locks an arm across her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, keeping her elbow trapped so she can’t lift the gun. His other hand clamps around her waist, dragging her back against him like she’s his last shot at leverage.

Brianna doesn’t panic—not even for a second.

She flicks the safety off and curls her finger around the trigger, cool as ice. Then she lifts her leg, wraps it tight around the back of his calf—

And she fires.

The sound of the shot punches through the room.

Calvin’s howl follows right after—high, ragged, broken. He releases her, drops the knife, and crumples down, clutching what’s left of his shattered knee in his hands .

She stumbles out of his grip—but he’s not done yet.

He grabs her ankle mid-step, dragging her down hard. She hits the floor, gun skittering from her hand as he pulls her backward across the carpet, the friction probably ripping her skin raw.

“You bitch!” he snarls, spitting through his teeth as he lunges for the knife. Stringy saliva drips from his mouth like a rabid animal.

He grabs the blade and raises it like he’s about to stake her into the floor.

My finger twitches on the trigger of my gun—but I don’t need to pull it.

Her heel slams into his gut. He folds, gasping as the air knocks from his lungs.

She rips her leg free and dives for her gun, gripping it with both hands as she rolls onto her back and takes the shot.

The bullet tears through his neck. Blood fans out across the room, his own hand fumbling uselessly to cover the gaping hole in his throat.

It doesn’t matter how hard he tries. It’s already over.

He hits the ground a few seconds later, all dead weight and twitching limbs.

Brianna’s dress does a decent job of hiding the worst of the spatter, but it’s streaked through her hair, splashed across her arms, her cheek.

Her chest is heaving as she scoots backward from the corpse, gun still clenched like she’s expecting Calvin to resurrect himself.

The scent of blood thickens the air—copper and heat, sweat and something sweet lingering underneath.

My cock presses against my zipper, hard and relentless.

I wasn’t ready for that. For her .

For the way she fought, the way she bled, the way she smiled at the chaos like it was foreplay.

Fuck.

That was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long, long time.

“Impressive,” I say, my voice still calm, even while my pulse is kicking in my throat .

My eyes drift over the ruined hotel room, the body, the blood. “Though... messier than usual. Or so I’ve heard.”

She shoots me a glare over her shoulder—fire and fury in one look. “Doing a little internet stalking of your own, Mr. King?”

My jaw tightens.

If she only knew …

“Keeping an eye on you,” I say instead, pointed and slow. “Which you should be grateful for, considering this display.”

She scoffs, rising to her feet like blood is just another accessory. She brushes off her dress—pointless, but oddly graceful.

“Should I?” she challenges. “You didn’t do much. Just sat at the edge of the bed like a cuck.”

I lean back on my palm, my gun still loose in my other hand. “You’re the one who said you didn’t need help. I was giving you the chance to prove it.”

“And I did.”

She starts toward me. Not limping. Not shaken. She stalks—long legs slicing the space between us, hips rolling like she owns the fucking room.

When she stops, she stands between my open thighs and raises the barrel of her gun until it presses right over my heart. Her voice is silk over steel.

“Do you need another demonstration?”

Fuck yes.

But not now. Not here.

She’s still vibrating from the fight, blood clinging to her lashes, gun smoke dancing off her skin like perfume. Every nerve in my body wants to pin her to the mattress and taste the aftermath of her violence.

But my control doesn’t break easily. And this isn’t the time.

I’m about ninety percent sure she won’t shoot me.

The other ten percent says she might enjoy it.

Hell, I might too.

I sit up straighter, shifting into her space until her gun digs into my chest. I wrap one hand around her waist and pull her in—slow, firm—until her balance tips and her knee plants itself on the mattress beside me.

She half-straddles my lap, the tension crackling between us like a downed powerline.

I press the barrel of my gun into her side, just beneath her ribs. A lover’s touch disguised as a threat.

“I bet I can pull the trigger faster than you can, little rose.”

Her scowl deepens, lips twitching like she’s fighting not to bare her teeth. But her body trembles subtly beneath my hands.

Not fear. Not quite.

For a moment, I think she might give in. Retract those claws of hers. Slide into my lap and dare me to do something I’ll most definitely regret.

My needy cock is practically begging for it.

But then her gun lowers—slowly, deliberately—as those flames in her eyes begin to flicker out. She pulls away from me, stepping back off the bed with a quiet exhale.

And I swear to god, it takes everything in me not to drag her right back.

“So,” she sighs, voice softer now, edged with exhaustion. “You got your I-told-you-so moment. What now?”

I slip my gun back into its holster. “Now, I call my cleanup crew to deal with that sad sack you just turned into wall art. Then…” I pull out my phone, eyes still on her, “I suggest you reconsider my offer to protect you.”

She grimaces, shaking her head like I’ve just offered to put her on a leash. “I don’t need protection.”

I rise from the bed, letting my full height cast a shadow over her. “You think this was a one-off?” I ask, scoffing. “You think they’ll stop after one failed attempt?”

Her jaw tightens, but I don’t press. Arguing with her isn’t going to help. She’s not stubborn without reason—she’s calculated.

She needs logic. Data.

The truth.

“Lee’s already searching for Lola,” I say, steady and direct. “Once we find her—and whoever she’s working for—we eliminate the threats to both of us. Then we go our separate ways.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re not keeping me in a fucking jail cell until this is over.”

I grin. Can’t help it.

“Aw, but it suits you so well.”

She glares at me like she’s two seconds from turning the gun back around.

“Fine,” I say, hands raised in mock surrender. “No cell. You’ll be somewhere secure. Somewhere I can keep an eye on you.”

There’s a flicker in her eyes—something dark and gleaming. Mischief. Defiance.

“And if I don’t come willingly?” she asks, her voice dripping with challenge.

I close the space between us in a single breath.

My hand wraps around her throat—firm but careful. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to hold her in place. Her eyes go wide as my thumb brushes the delicate line of her jaw, tracing down the curve of her throat until I feel her pulse. Fast. Erratic. Beautiful.

When I lean in close, her breath stutters, and I can feel her heart hammering beneath my fingers.

Still, she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink.

Adorable .

“Do you want to find out, little rose?” I murmur.

She swallows against my palm, sharp hazel eyes boring into mine like she’s trying to decode me. I let her try.

Then I smirk and release her, watching her stumble back a step.

“Whatever,” she snaps, trying to sound unbothered, but her rough, shaky breath betrays her. “Hurry up and call your cleanup crew. I want to get out of here.”

She turns and disappears into the washroom. A second later, I hear the tap running. Water rushing. She’s trying to scrub away some of the blood from her face and hands.

“Don’t get too comfortable in there,” I call through the door. “My guys are fast. They’ll be here in under ten. ”

“Comfortable?” she echoes, her scoff bouncing off the tile. “You wish.”

She’s not wrong.

My mind flashes with images of her naked in that bathroom—steam curling around her as she slips into a bath. Blood and grime peeling away from her soft skin until she’s finally clean. Her hands—strong and steady—working over every inch of herself.

That same rose scent she always wears rising with the heat, sticking to my skin even when I’m nowhere near her.

I grunt, because it’s safer than agreeing.

Safer than knocking the door down and showing her just how badly I do wish.