Page 23 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Damon

T ONIGHT’S THE NIGHT WE CONFRONT THE SNAKE in her own den. And I wish I could say I wasn’t worried—but the truth is, I’ve got a boatload of concerns tied to my spine like weighted chains.

Brie and I may have come to an agreement, but a deal doesn’t equate to trust. She doesn’t trust me, and she sure as hell doesn’t trust anyone in my circle.

The feeling’s mutual, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t respect her precision.

Her fire. Her restraint. The only thing keeping us in alignment right now is the same end goal: expose whoever Lola is working for—and eliminate the threat.

Of course, Brie has her own motives. She was promised something—information she won’t even hint at. My gut says she’ll still try to get it, whether it means helping us or betraying us in the process.

But the ugly truth is... we don’t have another play.

So, for now, I’m letting her walk with me and my inner circle, even as I prepare for the moment she might turn around and aim her gun at my back.

Connor and I are dressed in black tailored suits to match Blush’s strict dress code. A place this exclusive doesn’t let men through the door without an escort and a goddamn runway look. And even then, it’s not guaranteed.

We’re waiting in the kitchen for Brie to get ready. Lee’s monitoring feeds from home. Chavez is holding down the bar. Monroe’s our ride—and our exit plan if shit goes sideways. I’m hoping it won’t come to that, but it’s always best to be prepared for the worst .

It’s not a perfect setup, especially since we’ll be walking in unarmed. The club does a full body scan at the entrance. No weapons, no wires, no backup. Just wit, charm, and teeth.

I know Brie’s good with a gun or a blade, but I’m not sure what she’ll do if it comes down to bare hands and fast choices. Can she survive it? Probably. But I don’t like the margin.

I’m still adjusting my tie when I hear the click of a door opening at the end of the hall. Then the tap of heels on hardwood—slow, steady, each one echoing like a countdown to impact.

I turn.

And my tie suddenly feels like it’s choking me.

Brie walks in wearing a black silk gown so sleek it shimmers with each step, like stars in a midnight sky.

It clings to every inch of her body, like it was made to be a perfect fit.

The neckline is high, clasped at her throat—but the back dips scandalously low, exposing the graceful line of her spine and the soft curve just above her hips.

But for all its beauty and grace, her outfit is equally functional.

A thigh-high slit reveals the entirety of one leg with every stride, giving her a wider range of motion.

Her heels lace around her calves, secured with black ribbons, so they won’t slip should she need to run.

Even her hairstyle is carefully thought out—her brown waves pulled back from her face and neck, neat an elegant, and as practical as it is sexy.

She’s a weapon dressed in silk.

“Jesus,” Connor mutters beside me before he slaps a hand to the back of my shoulder. “Roll your tongue back in, Rover.”

I don’t bother responding. I’m too busy memorizing the curve of her hip, the line of her throat, the way she doesn’t so much walk as she does glide . A woman like her doesn’t just enter a room—she shifts its center of gravity.

Monroe gives her a once-over and nods. “Good. The three of you should have no trouble getting in.”

He’s not one for pretty words and compliments. Just confidence in the bait we’re bringing into the lion’s den .

Without wasting any time, we slip into our coats and file into the elevator.

It’s a tight fit—the elevator manufacturers obviously never considered a building-sized man like Monroe—so Brie and I end up toward the back, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that I can smell her.

Roses. And something a little darker. More Lethal.

Something that’s distinctly her.

It wraps around me, sinks into my skin, coils low in my stomach. It’s like I’m crawling through a field of blooming roses on my hands and knees. I can feel the softness of the petals against my face, but also the sharp scratches of her thorns across my body.

That imaginary pain is probably my mind’s way of deterring me from getting closer to her, but it only has the opposite effect.

She takes a slow breath beside me. Her face is composed, solid as stone. But her hands give her away. She’s twisting her knuckles, rubbing them like she’s trying to clean a stain only she can see.

My gaze is locked on her hands as I lean back against the elevator wall.

Then, behind her, I reach out with one knuckle and trail it gently up the line of her spine—skin to warm skin.

I don’t let my hand wander anywhere that might cross a line.

I just want her attention on me, not whatever storm is stirring inside that beautiful mind of hers.

Her body stiffens.

Her hands still.

Her head lifts and her eyes snap to mine—sharp, irritated.

But she doesn’t pull away.

There’s no smirk on my face, no trace of my usual taunts. And maybe that’s why her glare softens—just slightly. Enough for curiosity to flicker behind her gaze.

And a hint of something else.

Brie is a vault—with no handle, and no key. What little escapes is unintentional, and even then, you have to know how to look for it. But that’s what makes it so goddamn tempting. Every glance, every twitch of her fingers, is a clue I want to piece together with careful hands.

It only makes me want it more.

To figure out the mystery that is her .

To peel back those outer petals that’ve been damaged by the world and reveal who she really is on the inside. Who she might’ve been had this life not already begun to wither her.

I’ve been thinking about what Dahlia said.

She won’t come to you for help when she needs it, but it’s likely she will need it all the same.

I’ve been trying to figure out what she meant by that since she said it—it's actually what I was stewing over the other night when Brie finally came out of her room to eat something and found me sitting in the dark.

I’m used to people needing my help, but I’m also used to them asking for it—or at the very least showing signs that they want it.

But Brie would rather die than admit to needing anything from anyone. Which means if I want to protect her, I’ll have to watch her closely. Learn the signs she doesn’t even know she gives.

That’s why I touched her. Not for me. Not for the thrill.

But to offer solace.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. She steps away from me immediately, putting space between us like she’s reclaiming her boundaries.

I let her go.

I want to reach for her. Hold her hand. Tug her back into that space where my fingers were still brushing her skin.

But I don’t.

She wouldn’t let me—not yet.

Maybe not ever.

B LUSH LOOKS inconspicuous from the outside—just another aging structure in a forgotten neighbourhood.

Rusty red brick, windows blacked out with paint, and a front entrance disguised as someone’s townhome.

Arched brickwork frames a plain black door, unmarked by signage.

If you weren’t looking for it, you’d never find it.

The only giveaway is the mountain of muscle planted at the door, arms crossed over his chest like he’s auditioning to be a gargoyle.

We’re parked across the street, tucked into the shadows of an alleyway. The SUV’s engine is off, but the tension thrums like a live wire between all of us.

“Remember the plan,” Monroe says from the driver’s seat, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. “Once you’re inside, you need to find Lola. Lee’s confirmed there are private rooms in the back. That’s where she does her deals—but they’re locked down. You’ll have to get her to invite you in.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Connor says, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt beneath his jacket like he’s about to walk a red carpet. “Not many women can resist my charm.”

Before I can even aim my usual sarcastic retort at him, Brie scoffs next to me. The sound is short, unimpressed, and sharp enough to cut glass. It draws Connor’s attention instantly.

He narrows his eyes at her through the mirror. “Got something to say back there, hacker?”

She doesn’t flinch. “Nothing,” she shrugs. “I just hope your charm is as good as you say—or at least better than your defensive skills.”

Her gaze flicks to his stitched hand. The same one she stabbed clean through just days ago.

I can’t help the laugh that punches out of me. Connor glares over his shoulder at her, but even Monroe’s biting back a grin in the front seat.

“You wanna go again with an even playing field?” Connor mutters.

Brie rolls her eyes. “Maybe later. For now, put the claws away.”

And just like that, she opens the door and steps out, the slit in her gown slicing high along her thigh with every stride .

Connor looks to me, his jaw tight. “You just gonna let her talk to me like that?”

“Could be good for your massive ego,” I mutter, smirking as I follow her out onto the pavement.

He grumbles something under his breath but trails after us as we cross the street.

Brie leads the way up the stone steps like she owns the building. No hesitation. No nerves. Just cool confidence and a body made for distraction. She doesn’t falter—not even when the bouncer’s eyes drag down her form and linger too long at the curve of her hips.

My fists curl instinctively at my sides. He’s looking at her like he has a chance—like she isn’t already mine, whether she knows it yet or not.

The only thing that stops me from planting this bastard’s skull into the bricks is because we

need him

to open the fucking door.

“These two with you?” the bouncer grunts, his chin jutting toward Connor and me.

Brie glances over her shoulder, and for one hellish second, I swear she’s going to say no .

There’s a glint in her eye—the kind she gets right before she decides to set something on fire just to watch it burn.