Page 21 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Damon

M EETING WITH M ONROE SHOULDN’T MAKE my skin itch like this.

But it does.

Because I know exactly what this is about.

I saw it in his eyes back in the apartment—the simmering disappointment, the anger he didn’t voice in front of Brie. He doesn’t like the fact that I brought her back, and he especially doesn’t like why I did it.

And he’s not wrong.

I don’t have to listen to him. But what I told Brie is true—my inner circle isn’t made up of employees.

They’re my family. Monroe, Connor, Lee, Chavez.

.. they’re the reason I never looked back after I pulled myself out of the Songbirds.

I trust them to tell me when I’m about to screw everything up. And I respect them enough to listen.

Usually .

But then there’s Brie.

I wasn’t thinking when I left the bar.

Wasn’t thinking when I hacked the hotel cameras or reprogrammed my keycard to access the room of the asshole who grabbed her.

And when I watched her take that guy down with blood on her skin and fire in her eyes, I definitely wasn’t thinking about anything except how fucking beautiful she looked doing it.

But she’s not here because of temptation. Not anymore.

She’s here because someone came after her to get to me. Which means we’re both in danger now .

When I reach the security office in the back of The Speakeasy, Monroe, Connor, and Lee are already inside. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

“Have you found—”

I barely make it to my desk before Monroe growls, “Damon, if you keep thinking with the wrong head, you’re going to send all of us into early graves.”

I grit my teeth. “I should’ve just kept her here. I know that.”

That earns me a long pause.

“But we’re in the business of protecting people, not trapping them. I made the call to let her go when she said no. When it backfired, I made the call to bring her back.”

“She should be in a safehouse,” Monroe snaps. “Not in your fucking apartment, estúpido .”

“You’ve met her,” I say dryly. “Do you really think telling her to sit still and play nice in a bolted-down safehouse would work? At least in the penthouse, I know she’s not slipping away or getting dragged off by some ghost with a grudge.”

His jaw tightens. My words hang there between us. It’s the truth, and he knows it.

“I let my guard down once before and you know how that ended,” I add, voice quiet but full of steel. “I won’t do it again.”

He exhales slowly. His expression softens just slightly—enough that I know he understands exactly what I’m talking about. We both know the consequences of dropping our guard, even for a second.

But he still doesn’t let me off the hook that easy.

“Having her that close is dangerous,” Monroe mutters. “For all of us. All it takes is one wrong move, one emotional misstep, and we lose everything.”

Guilt churns in my gut like old poison.

Monroe and I both wear our guilt like dog tags. Around the neck. Right over the heart.

I reach out, grabbing the back of his neck, and press my forehead to his.

“I know,” I murmur. “I won’t let that happen. We find the bastard who’s behind this... and we end it. ”

I pull back.

“You with me?”

Monroe holds my gaze, silent as stone.

Then he nods once, slow and solid. “Always.”

Connor claps both of us on the back, loud and obnoxious as usual. “ Finally , the boys are done fighting.”

Monroe glares at him, but Connor just grins wider.

Then his expression sobers. “Now that the bromance is over,” Connor says, “can we talk about the how someone hacked our goddamn cameras?”

“That’s the golden question,” Lee murmurs, already typing furiously at his computer.

I move over to him, glancing at the open King’s Eye server logs. He’s tracking every data access point, every line of code. I can read it, given some time to focus, but Lee sees it like a second language—he’s fluent, fast, and precise.

“In theory, it’s not impossible to hack the security system,” Lee says. “It’s just... hard. Really hard.”

“But someone did it,” I mutter.

He nods. “Whoever they were, they bypassed our usual login access points. They didn’t target a user account. They targeted the server itself.”

Monroe’s brows furrow. “So they didn’t need credentials?”

“They broke through the back end,” Lee confirms. “No alerts. No traceable IP. They knew exactly what they were doing.”

“You got anything useful yet?” I ask, scanning the screen.

Lee shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “Not yet. I’m still trying to trace the vulnerability they used, but so far... nothing. I’m sorry.”

I pat his shoulder. “Not your fault. We’re obviously dealing with a pro—a dangerous one at that.”

Connor lets out a low whistle. “ My question is—if this is the same asshole who hired Brianna to hack your personal systems... why hire her at all? Why not do it themselves?”

Monroe crosses his arms, brow creased in thought. “Unless they wanted her to be the trail we followed. Distract us so he could get in without any of us catching on right away?”

That thought makes my hands curl into fists.

It’s one thing to go after me. I expect that. But to manipulate her —to use her as bait. A tool. A fucking scapegoat...

That’s a different kind of danger.

One I plan to bury six feet under.

“We need to look into this,” I say, pacing behind Lee’s chair, “but right now, our top priority is finding Lola. She’s connected to Brie somehow, and I want to know who she’s working for this time.”

Monroe grimaces at the mention of her—and I don’t blame him, knowing his history with her.

Lola DuBois is a viper wrapped in expensive silk.

She’d probably sell out her own mother for the right price. She has no loyalty. No code. Just cold ambition beneath red lips and stilettos. One day it’s going to catch up with her.

Maybe that day’s coming sooner than she thinks.

“Good news on that,” Lee says, tapping at his keyboard. His fingers fly across the keys, and a second later, he swivels his monitor toward me. “She’s been spotted at a club on the south side called Blush . Four separate times in the last two weeks. Might be her go-to spot for in-person meetings.”

I lean over the back of his chair, reading the surveillance notes. The address lights a fuse beneath my ribs.

“Lee, I’m going to fucking kiss you,” I mutter, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to jostle his chair.

“Might want to hold that thought,” he replies, frowning. “ Blush has a rule: women’s choice. No men get in without being vetted by a woman at the door.”

Silence falls.

All four of us glance at each other, taking inventory of the obvious lack of estrogen in the room.

Fuck .

Sure, we could stake it out—wait for her to leave, tail her to wherever she’s staying. But knowing Lola, she’s got exit strategies sewn into her wardrobe. She won’t walk out without at least two armed shadows and a Plan B hidden in her purse.

“What about Brie?” Connor offers casually from his spot against the far wall.

I glance at him, narrowing my eyes.

It’s both the best and worst idea I’ve heard all day.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Monroe says flatly, arms crossed. “She’s volatile. Unpredictable. We won’t be able to control what she does inside.”

Connor meets his stare without flinching. “And you really think she’ll sit back while someone out there’s trying to kill her for information?”

Monroe’s jaw tics, but he doesn’t answer.

Connor pushes off the wall. “Look, the faster we ID who hired Lola, the faster we neutralize the threat. Brie wants answers. This gives her a way to get them. It’s a win-win scenario”

Monroe, Lee, and I all stare at him.

It’s not uncommon for Connor to have good ideas. But considering most of his plans involve going in guns blazing or winging it with zero backup, it’s always a little disorienting when he says something that makes actual sense.

And he’s not wrong.

“He’s got a good point,” Lee says. “Speaking with Lola inside a territory she feels comfortable in will likely help too. She’ll be more talkative if she thinks she’s in control.”

I rub my hand along my jaw, grinding my teeth.

Brie’s not a soldier. She doesn’t follow orders. And the thought of sending her into a snake’s nest…

It terrifies me.

Not because I doubt her strength. Because I don’t .

She’ll walk in with fire in her eyes and blood in her teeth if she has to. She’ll take risks I wouldn’t. And I’ll be left watching, waiting, hoping I don’t lose her before I figure out why the hell I care so goddamn much.

All three of them are watching me now. Waiting for my call.

“We’ll ask her,” I say finally. “See what she says. ”

But I already know.

Brie Rosenberg doesn’t sit on the sidelines.

And if we don’t move fast enough, she won’t wait for us to catch up.

I HEAD BACK up to the penthouse with Connor at my side. Monroe’s taking first shift watching The Speakeasy, and Lee’s still planted in front of his screen, tracking Lola’s movements and trying to unravel whoever the hell breached our server.

The elevator opens into the entryway, and I immediately spot Chavez and Dahlia seated at the kitchen island. He’s leaning toward her, his elbow stretched across the counter like he’s mid-flirt—until he sees us. Then he straightens so fast you’d think he was caught stealing from a cartel.

“Maybe we should take another ride in the elevator,” Connor mutters beside me, smirking as he elbows my arm.

Dahlia doesn’t even flinch at the insinuation.

“How’s the hand, Connor?” she asks, not looking away from her drink.

Connor flexes his fingers. “Healing nicely. Though, personally, I think I could’ve skipped the stitches.”

“ Right ,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Thanks for coming, Dahlia. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

She stands from the stool, smiling politely. “I should be going. Early shift tomorrow.”

“Of course.” I nod. “Before you head out, can I ask—”

“She’s going to be fine,” Dahlia cuts me off gently. “Just a surface burn. It’ll heal in a day or two. She knows what to do.”

I nod, my jaw tight. “Good.”

Her gaze sharpens a little. She steps closer, lowering her voice. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but keep an eye on her. She won’t come to you for help when she needs it, but it’s likely she will need it all the same. ”

“Thought you were a trauma nurse, Dal, not a therapist,” Connor calls from the fridge, where he’s already cracking open an energy drink.

Dahlia ignores him, eyes still on me—unflinching and completely serious.

“I’ll watch her,” I say, my voice lower than hers now. “Should I call you if I notice anything in particular?”

She shakes her head. “There’s nothing I can do for her.” Her tone is so final, so certain, it hits like a slap. But she softens it a second later with a faint smile. “Just... be careful. That girl’s not fragile, but even stone will break eventually.”

Without another word, she turns, patting my bicep gently as she walks past.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, boys,” she calls over her shoulder.

Connor and Chavez say their simultaneous goodbyes, but before she steps into the elevator, Dahlia meets my gaze.

“Call me if you need me, Damon,” she says. “But try not to need me again anytime soon.”

I hear the translation loud and clear: try not to get hurt again anytime soon.

Most of the rooms are spoken for—semi-claimed by the guys when we’re not on rotation. Only one was left unoccupied, so I told Chavez to settle Brie there. Second-last door on the right.

It’s closed. Locked

I knock lightly.

There’s a beat of silence. Then a rustle.

“Brie?” I knock again.

I hear her signature sigh and the sound of her footsteps before the lock clicks and the door cracks open.

Brie peers out, only showing me half her face, half her frame. She’s changed into a loose white T-shirt and baggy grey sweats—so soft and oversized they look like something stolen from a past life. Like something she could’ve borrowed from me.

She already looks annoyed.

“What do you want?” she asks flatly .

“Just checking in,” I reply. “How’s the leg?”

“Fine.”

“Do you know any other adjectives to describe how you feel?”

“ ‘Fine’ is enough.”

I sigh through my nose.

“Is this all you wanted?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“Family dinner’s in an hour,” I tell her, ignoring her tone. “You’re welcome to join. There’s something we’d like to discuss.”

She arches a brow. “It’s after midnight.”

“We eat late. The job kind of requires it.”

She hesitates, but only for a second. “I’m tired.”

I grind my molars behind closed lips. I need her engaged. Cooperative. Not hiding behind the excuse of sleep.

But I won’t push. Not yet.

“Rest,” I say instead. “We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

She starts to close the door.

But I stop it—my hand bracing the frame just above her head. She freezes beneath the pressure of it.

“But don’t take too long, little rose,” I murmur. “I don’t like waiting.”

She looks up at me then, eyes cold, steady, and unimpressed by my very presence in the room she’s now claimed as her territory. As if I wasn’t the one who let her have it in the first place.

“The longer you stand in this doorway,” she says coolly, “the longer you’ll wait.”

I hold her stare for a moment longer than I should. Then, slowly, I pull my hand back.

The door slams in my face hard enough to rattle the frame.

I don’t flinch. I just turn and walk back toward the kitchen, every nerve in my body wound tight.

Monroe’s right.

I can’t let my guard down. I can’t let her get too close. If I do, I won’t think straight. I’ll stop protecting the mission, and start protecting her .

And when that happens— everyone loses .

As soon as this is over, she has to go. And I have to let her.

For everyone’s sake.

Especially mine.