Page 38 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Damon

I SHOULD KILL HER.

Not because she hacked me. Not because she lied. Not even because she’s made herself the Songbirds’ top fucking priority now.

I should kill her to spare her from what they’ll do when they catch her.

Because they will catch her. Torture her. Break her slowly—methodically.

I’ve seen what they do to people who make them bleed. I was one of them, back before I walked away from the prison they dressed up as loyalty and called family.

All of that was rattling in my head when we pulled up to Oil-Pan Motors. Every step up that rusted stairwell, I was torn in two.

Save her. Kill her. Save her. Kill her.

And then I saw her.

It wasn’t the way she stood over Alexander, calm and poised with a gun to his temple. It wasn’t the bruise on her cheek—though that redirected a lot of my rage toward him.

It was her face .

The fire in her eyes.

Raw, unfiltered, explosive. She burned with it. Rage so hot I could feel it from across the room. It crawled over my skin and sank into my blood.

She looked like me two years ago, the day I almost killed Xander myself.

But where I hesitated, she didn’t.

She wanted it too much to pause. Needed it .

Now she shakes in my arms as I carry her down the stairs, light and trembling like she might fall apart if I loosen my grip even a little.

And I don’t let her go.

Even when I climb into the back seat of the SUV, I keep her curled in my lap, her face tucked into the hollow of my neck like she’s trying to vanish into it.

Chavez slides in beside us, while Connor and Monroe take up the front.

Connor glances over the seat, giving Brie a quick once-over. Then his gaze settles on me.

“What’s the plan?”

All three wait. No one says a word.

I fucking hate this part of my job—the way they always look to me. Like I’ve got answers when half the time I’m just surviving on instinct.

I never wanted to be a leader. Never wanted the weight of other people’s lives balancing on mine. But when shit goes sideways, I’m the one they follow.

“We go back to The Speakeasy,” I say finally. “Regroup. Meet with Lee. Find out how long we’ve got before O’Doyle figures out Xander’s dead.”

Monroe adjusts the rearview mirror until it catches my eyes. His brow lifts—just once. A silent question.

What about her?

I glance down.

Brie doesn’t react. She just stares at the space between us like it’s something she’s already fallen into and can’t climb out of.

I want to be angry. Want to scream at her. Demand why she didn’t wait. Why she didn’t trust me.

But I already know.

Because I didn’t wait either.

When Isabella died, I didn’t ask anyone’s permission. Didn’t stop to weigh the consequences. I went after the men responsible and made them suffer.

And Brie did the same.

She just did it better .

I wish she’d trusted me. But maybe she can’t . Maybe she doesn’t know how.

That night Xander tore her life apart... it didn’t just break her. It rewired her. Made trust into a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Made survival into something sharp and lonely.

I remember what Dahlia told me once—her voice like static in the back of my brain.

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

When I look at the girl in my arms, she doesn’t look like The Black Rose .

She’s not the girl who stalked and dismantled the Songbirds one by one.

Not the girl who hacked into my network like it was a game, or fought a man twice her size and won .

Not the girl who sat bound in the back room, hazel eyes lit with defiance—daring me to try and break her.

But she’s not Brie, either.

Not the one who curled into my chest last night.

Not the one who whispered my name like a secret she never meant to share.

She’s gone quiet. Hollowed out.

There's no fight left in her. No life. No fire.

Just... silence.

She’s so still, it scares me.

And yet—she’s familiar.

Not like someone I’ve known.

Like someone I’ve been .

Like staring into a mirror.

M ONROE PARKS THE SUV in the garage below my apartment, where Lee’s already waiting for us.

He doesn’t ask questions—he doesn’t need to. Chavez must’ve filled him in on the way. The tension in his posture tells me he already knows enough .

“I scrubbed the footage from Xander’s door cam,” Lee says quickly, his eyes flicking to Brie as I ease her down onto her feet. “But there’s no way to know if someone saw it first. If they did...”

I already know what he’s going to say.

If they did, we’re already fucked.

Whether Xander really walked away from the Songbirds or was cut loose by Matthias, one thing’s certain—his father wouldn’t leave him unprotected. Not without a backup plan. Not without eyes on him.

I’d bet real money there was someone watching those feeds. Maybe even stationed nearby for reckon.

War’s coming. There’s no question.

“Any rumblings yet?” Chavez asks as we unload from the SUV.

“Nothing so far,” Lee says. His gaze cuts to Brie again—still visibly wary of her. “I doubled security in the building. I think we should close The Speakeasy until the dust settles.”

“These are Songbirds ,” Connor grunts. “The dust isn’t going to settle. Not unless it clings to spilled blood.”

“Connor.” My warning comes out low and sharp.

I pull Brie’s duffle from the trunk and sling it over my shoulder. She doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, fists curled at her sides, eyes blank and unreadable.

“You know it’s true, Damon,” Connor snaps. “She made herself—and by extension, us —targets. In a war we can’t win.”

Beside me, Brie flinches.

But there’s no fury in her face. No spark in her eyes.

Just silence.

She absorbs Connor’s words like she’s already told them to herself.

“We’ve handled Songbirds before,” I say, my voice hard like steel. “We can handle whoever comes next. I’ll reach out to Matthias. Set a meeting. Try to manage the fallout—”

“Oh, great plan ,” Connor interrupts, laughing bitterly. “Tell him your little plaything revolted and executed his only son. I’m sure he’ll be reasonable. ”

The words haven’t even settled before my fist curls into Connor’s shirt and I slam him back against the side of the SUV.

My chest rumbles with the snarl I try to swallow. But it’s too late.

Connor knows how to push my buttons, and he rarely pushes me this far.

But this —this is too far.

He won’t talk about her like that.

Not while she’s standing right here.

Not while she’s mine .

“Enough!” Monroe barks, stepping between us and pressing a palm to each of our chests. He shoves Connor back roughly when he tries to push off the side of the car toward me. “Now is not the time to act like idiotas .”

Chavez grabs my elbow before I can take a swing. “Not when we’ve got real enemies lining up,” he adds.

My pulse hammers. Rage slithers up my spine, settles in my throat like a viper just waiting for permission to strike.

But they’re right.

Connor straightens, brushing Monroe off like he wasn’t just slammed against the SUV. He doesn’t look back as he stalks out of the underground.

For now, I let him go.

We’ll talk later.

And when we do, he’d better choose his words more carefully. Because if he ever says something like that about Brie again, I know Monroe and Chavez won’t be able to stop me.

We all follow behind him, the silence between us louder than footsteps.

As we step onto the street, traffic buzzes and honks around us like we’re just another piece of the noise. Brie walks beside me, head down, staring at the pavement like she’s waiting for it to crack open and swallow her whole.

I brush my knuckles against the back of her hand. Just enough to let her know I’m still here .

She flinches. Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide with something I haven’t seen in her before.

Fear.

But then it shifts—melts into something worse. Something heavier.

Grief.

She looks at me like I’m just another thing she’s lost.

“Damon... I—”

BOOM!

The ground lurches beneath our feet.

Glass erupts across the street as the rooftop windows of The Speakeasy shatter, raining glittering shards onto the sidewalk.

Instinct takes over before thought can catch up. I drop Brie’s bag and wrap myself around her, shielding her body with mine as the shockwave hits.

My ears ring. My vision swims. Screams rise like sirens from every direction.

Brie’s palms press into my chest. Her breath trembles. It’s the only sound that cuts through the static.

I twist, forcing my eyes to focus.

The Speakeasy is on fire .

Flames roar through the broken windows and smoke curls up the building in thick, churning plumes.

I scan the chaos fast—Chavez and Lee are close, rattled but standing. Monroe’s already shouting into his phone. Connor just stares, frozen, the flames flickering in his eyes like ghosts.

I cup Brie’s chin and tilt her face up.

“Stay here,” I say. “Right here. Don’t move.”

She nods—once, slow. Like her body is trying to remember how while her mind’s somewhere else entirely.

I leave her there and move fast, checking the others.

Lee’s pale and shaking, muttering something about how we could’ve been inside if we hadn’t stopped to argue.

Chavez grips his arm, steadies him. He gives me a nod and a thumbs-up. They’re okay.

I reach Monroe just as he hangs up the phone. “Firetrucks are on their way. Police too, unfortunately.”

“They won’t find anything,” I say. Not that we had anything in there worth hiding—besides our computers, but I doubt they survived the blast. “This wasn’t an accident.”

Monroe nods grimly. “O’Doyle knows.”

Connor finally turns from the wreckage. His face is twisted—furious—as his eyes lock on mine.

He storms up, throwing a hand toward the chaos behind him. “What now, Damon?” he shouts. “Still think Matthias is going to want to talk?”

“ Later , Connor,” I grit out. “We’re not doing this in the middle of the fucking street.”

“We don’t have time for later,” he snaps. “You think we’re going to get a seat at the family dinner table and talk this out?”

I grind my teeth, bite back the words clawing up my throat. Yelling won’t change anything. It won’t rebuild what we just lost.

What we could’ve lost.

I take a breath. “I want each of you to pack a bag and head to one of the safehouses. Pick whichever one you want—but don’t tell me where. The less I know, the better.”

Chavez and Lee close in as I speak.

“We let the fire burn. We stay quiet. And when we come back, we deal with the fallout.”

“You want us to hide ?” Chavez asks, grimacing.

“I want you safe ,” I say. “I made a promise—to all of you—that you’d be safe with me. I intend to keep that promise. I’ll deal with Matthias and the Songbirds. It’s me they’re going to come after, not you.”

“Maybe. But you’re not the one who pulled the trigger,” Monroe says, glancing behind me. His voice trails off—and I see it in his face before he says anything.

He’s searching for Brie. And he hasn’t found her.

I turn.

The sidewalk is packed now. Civilians with their phones out. People screaming. Pointing .

But no Brie. And no duffle bag.

Fuck.

My chest clamps down around my ribs.

She’s gone.

Again.

My thoughts spin—wild, sharp, useless. Just like they did this morning when I woke up and found her bed empty.

But this is worse. So much worse.

Because she’s not just running from me anymore. She’s in the middle of a war she started. And she’s not coming back for help.

She’s going to get herself killed .

I clench my fists. Breathe deep.

First, I have to make sure the rest of my family is safe.

Then?

Then, I’ll tear this fucking city apart until I find her.