Page 37 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

“I wanted to finish the job. Put a gun to your head and force you to hack into Damon’s shit right there. But my partner? He’s a sick bastard. Into long games. Psychological warfare. He said letting you survive—giving you time —would do more damage. Said it would motivate you.”

His grin is slow and cruel. “Looks like he was right.”

The air suddenly feels thin. My thoughts start spinning, puzzle pieces snapping together too fast, too loud.

They shot everyone else in the head.

Me? In the chest. Not instantly fatal. Survivable .

And maybe that was the point.

Maybe the ambulance came quickly on purpose .

Maybe they made the call themselves. Just enough time to save me..

God.

Was this all by design?

Did someone— he —do this to me not because I was disposable… but because I was useful ?

The trauma. The rage. The need for revenge. It didn’t break me. It honed me. Turned me into a tool sharp enough to slice through any firewall.

And when I was finally primed, they handed me Damon’s name on a silver platter.

It was never a just another job request.

It was the next step.

Everything I’ve done—every choice I thought was mine—was choreographed.

When they burned my life to the ground, I didn’t escape the fire. I was forged in it.

Into a weapon. A pawn.

My mouth opens, dry and trembling .

I want to say something. Demand a name. Demand why me .

But a loud bang from downstairs cuts through the spiral.

Both our heads snap toward the sound.

Footsteps— many of them—slam against the metal stairs, climbing fast.

My blood turns to ice.

And then I see him. The first face that crests the landing.

Damon .

Gun raised. Jaw set. Eyes burning.

He looks like the definition of hell and fury carved into flesh.

His gaze drops to the blood on the floor, follows the grim path—from Alexander’s shattered leg to the stained wall and the twisted belt—until it locks onto me.

His stare scours every inch of me for damage. For answers.

He doesn’t say a word. But I see it all in his face.

Betrayal. Relief. Rage. Fear.

And underneath it—buried so deep I almost miss it—is something like heartbreak.

“Ah, the whole gang’s here,” Alexander chuckles darkly as Connor, Monroe, and Chavez crowd into the loft behind Damon—each one with a gun drawn.

“Shut it, Xander,” Monroe growls, stepping forward to plant himself between Alexander and the others, like he’s shielding them from view.

Damon doesn’t rush at me. He walks toward me slowly, like I’m an animal backed into a corner—wild and dangerous and unpredictable.

“Brie,” he says carefully. “Listen to me—”

“ STOP! ”

My voice cracks through the room like a gunshot.

My hands are trembling, but I still raise my weapon, turning it on Damon.

Chavez reacts instantly, leveling his gun right at my head.

“You will not take this from me,” I hiss, blinking against the tears now spilling down my cheeks .

Damon lowers his weapon slowly, hand raised.

His eyes never leave mine.

“I won’t,” he says gently. “But you know who he is. You know why I couldn’t tell you. If you kill him here, you become a target. Every Songbird in this city will come for you.”

My aim shifts back to Alexander, and when I look at him, my whole body shakes.

“I was a target,” I whisper. “All along. They killed my family. He—he raped my sister while I watched. They did it all to use me. To turn me into this—this monster .”

I tip my chin over my shoulder toward Damon.

“Just so I could give them information on you .”

It’s like my words hit Damon square in the chest. He staggers. But he keeps walking toward me, step by step through the blood and horror.

“Brie... he will pay. We’ll find the partner—the bastard pulling the strings. They’ll both suffer. And when they die, it’ll be because we took everything from them first.”

His voice is low. Furious. Vicious.

“But it can’t be here. Not like this. Please—trust me.”

I bark a bitter, broken laugh.

“Trust you?” I echo. “If it were up to you, I’d be locked in that penthouse like some kind of glass doll. Safe. Protected. Owned .”

His jaw clenches.

“I’m not that girl, Damon. I’m not soft, or sweet, or made for silk sheets. That girl died six months ago. You want to save me? You’re too fucking late.”

“I was going to tell you,” he says, desperation cracking through his voice. “Once I had a plan—”

“I already have a plan,” I snap, turning back to the man at my feet.

I lock eyes with Alexander. My voice drops to a growl.

“Tell me who your partner was. Give me a name. ”

Alexander smirks, blood staining his teeth. He looks at Damon. Then Monroe. Connor. Chavez. And finally, back to me .

“You know how loyal Songbirds are,” he says. “Even shunned by my old man, that shit still runs in my blood.”

Then he tilts his head at Damon, and his voice softens with something close to cruelty.

“But he knows. Even if he doesn’t know he knows. I wish I could see your face when you figure it out, D.”

I can feel the rage vibrating off Damon as he takes a step toward Alexander.

But my anger has already simmered too long.

BANG!

The bullet rips through Alexander’s forehead. Blood spatters like paint across the stonework behind him.

His body slumps forward, chin hitting his chest like a puppet with its strings cut.

Dead.

Finally dead.

I drop the gun, and it clatters onto the floor like it weighs a thousand pounds.

I stare at his lifeless body—the body of the man who killed Amie.

And I feel…

Nothing .

No triumph. No closure. No relief.

Just silence. Numbness .

My knees hit the concrete hard, and my palms land in the warm blood still pooling on the floor.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

This was supposed to be the reason I lived. The thing that justified everything. The one truth I could hold onto: Amie deserved justice.

But this?

It doesn’t feel like justice.

It feels like I was used. Shaped into a weapon by the same people who ruined my life.

A pawn built from trauma.

I thought I was fighting fate—but I walked right into its hands.

I should’ve died that day …

I wish I had.

Connor’s voice cuts through the silence, harsh and urgent. “We need to go. Now.”

He raises his gun and shoots out the lens of a security camera mounted by the stairs. One that I missed on my way in. One of the others takes out their phone to call for cleanup, their words a blur of static in my ears.

None of it matters.

This was supposed to be it—the last thing I had to do. The reason I survived.

But it’s not really the reason.

They let me live on purpose.

It was never some miracle that left me here on earth to avenge my family. It was all planned from the very beginning.

“Brie...”

Damon’s voice reaches me through the fog.

I look up, and he’s not light.

He’s shadow. He’s gravity.

He’s the consequence of everything I’ve become.

I betrayed him. And for this?

He should kill me. I want him to.

But he doesn’t lift his gun.

He walks toward me, kneels in the blood, and scoops me into his arms like I’m not the girl who just set fire to everything he built.

Like I’m not the stray bullet that just started the war.

He holds me close.

And I don’t fight it.