Page 41 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Damon

M Y MOTHER AND I SPEND THE EVENING catching up—talking in hushed voices about what’s been happening back in New York.

I couldn’t risk calling her, not with everything in motion, so I passed messages through her nurses. Short, clinical updates. But there was only so much I could say without revealing too much.

Now that I’m here, sitting across from her in the glow of a kitchen light I used to think of as sacred, the weight of everything I couldn’t say comes crashing in.

I should’ve told her to go to bed hours ago.

But I won’t lie—I missed this. I missed her .

There are days I wonder what it would be like to give it all up. To stay out here with her forever. To become a ghost in a quiet house by the sea.

But I know myself. Know what I am.

A man like me can’t stay hidden. Not forever.

And even if I could, I don’t think I’d survive doing nothing—not while there are people out there who still need help.

I’m rinsing dishes, loading them into the small dishwasher beneath the counter, while she sits in the corner seat at the dining table, nursing what’s left of her tea.

Her gaze is fixed on the window, watching the ocean shift under the stars like it’s alive.

The open sky is one of the things she’s always admired—one of the things that’s convinced her to stay all the way out here, away from danger .

Then, casually—like she’s commenting on the weather—she says,

“So. How long have you been in love with Brie?”

I nearly choke.

I jerk toward her, blinking in disbelief. “ Mamá. ”

She doesn’t even flinch. Still looking at the window, serene as ever. “Oh, come now, mijo ,” she hums. “All these years and you haven’t mentioned a single woman, let alone brought one all the way out here. That says something.”

“I brought her because New York isn’t safe,” I say, my voice low but tight. “This just seemed like the best option.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replies, finally turning her gaze toward me. “That’s why those boys you call your brothers are all staying in safehouses, and she’s here with you.”

Her stare is sharp—the kind that doesn’t miss anything.

She’s right, and we both know it.

I’ve kept this place a secret from everyone. Monroe, Chavez, Connor, and Lee don’t even know it exists.

But when everything fell apart, I knew I’d bring Brie here.

Partly because she already had the address after hacking my system.

But mostly because I needed to.

Because if the Songbirds did find her, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be the one standing between her and a bullet.

And because…

I guess the real question is—would I have brought her here if she hadn’t already known the address?

If she hadn’t hacked my network and got her hands on my deepest well-kept secret, would I have just treated her like anyone else? Taken her to a safehouse where I know she’d be safe, but outside my reach?

Would I have even let her in at all?

But I guess there’s no point in what-ifs .

All that matters is what is .

I just wish I knew what this actually is .

“I know what you’re thinking,” my mom says softly as she rises, steadying herself on the table edge. “It’s the same look you’ve had for two years now. Maybe longer. You tell yourself it’s about protection. That you keep people close so you can shield them. But that’s not it.”

She meets my eyes, calm but firm.

“You’re scared to lose someone else.”

She hands me her mug and I take it, quietly placing it in the dishwasher and starting the cycle.

I let the silence sit between us for a beat.

“Problem is…” I murmur, “even if I try to keep her close, doesn’t mean she’ll want me to.”

My mother’s eyes soften.

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Only because I didn’t really give her another choice.”

She scoffs. “Damon, that girl is no damsel in distress,” she snaps, still gentle but now with an edge. “She is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. If she didn’t want to be here, she’d have already left. But she hasn’t.”

“Yet,” I murmur.

“Well, if she really wanted to run, I bet she wouldn’t be hanging out in the back yard, now would she?” she says, tilting her head toward the window.

I blink and follow her line of sight.

Outside, past the sliding doors, Brie stands at the fence overlooking the water. She’s wrapped in a thick knit sweater—probably my mother’s. Her long hair whips in the wind like smoke, and she doesn’t move. Just stands there, staring at the ocean like she’s waiting for it to take her.

She looks… unreal.

Ethereal.

Like a myth made of grief and fire.

I’m drying my hands on a dish towel when my mom says, casually but without softness, “You know, mijo , you can’t force your protection on people who don’t want it.”

I glance over my shoulder, but she doesn’t wait for my reaction.

“The best thing you can do,” she continues, standing and patting my shoulder, “is ask what she wants—and then do that. Even if it scares the shit out of you. ”

She rises onto her toes, and I lower my head so she can kiss my cheek.

“I’m going to bed,” she says, turning toward the hall. “Hopefully I’ll see you both in the morning. Maybe we’ll make pancakes.”

“Goodnight, Mamá ,” I murmur.

She disappears down the hallway in a slow, steady shuffle.

I grab my coat and boots from the door and head out the side entrance, letting the cold sea air hit me square in the chest.

The waves crash below the cliffs like they’re trying to drown the silence.

Brie’s still out there, standing at the old wooden fence like she’s been there all night.

Maybe she can’t hear me. Maybe she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t look over her shoulder until I’m right beside her, elbows resting on the railing like hers.

She doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Just needed some air,” she says softly.

Her voice is faint, clipped—but not angry.

Just empty .

“I noticed there’s another house across the beach,” she adds after a pause, nodding at the far cliff. “Kinda shocked you didn’t consider them a liability and buy them out.”

My gaze follows hers across the dark water, to the silhouette of the house she’s talking about.

It’s the only other oceanfront property on this side of the island, practically a speck in the distance.

“I did a background check,” I tell her. “Elderly couple. Retired lawyers. They only come up in the summer. During the off-season, a local girl drops by once a month to keep it from going to shit.”

She nods, slow and distracted.

“You really did your homework, huh?”

She tries to sound light, but her voice lacks its usual edge.

No bite.

No fire .

Just smoke .

I told her nothing could kill her flame. But it seems she’s snuffed it out all on her own.

“Talk to me, Brie,” I say—quiet but firm. Almost pleading. “What’s really on your mind?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the moon’s reflection as it ripples across the surface of the sea.

I start to ask again, but she speaks first.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The question echoes my mom’s earlier one.

But this time, I don’t hesitate.

“Because it’s my safehouse,” I say. “And I wanted to keep you close.”

“To keep an eye on me,” she replies, flat and a little bitter. “Make sure I don’t ruin your life any further?”

“You know what?” I say, stepping behind her. “Yes.”

She flinches.

Hurt flickers in her eyes before she tries to lean forward, like she’s putting distance between us.

But I don’t let her.

I press in, slow but firm, until her back is flush to my chest. My arms cage her in, hands gripping the top rail on either side of her.

She tenses, but she doesn’t run. Doesn’t fight.

“I’m keeping my eye on you,” I whisper into her ear, “because if I sent you somewhere else and the Songbirds found you—if they hurt you—and I wasn’t there…”

My jaw clenches.

I breathe through the gravel in my throat.

“I couldn’t fucking handle that, Brie. It would ruin me.”

The silence that follows is brutal .

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

My heart thunders in my ribs like it’s trying to break free.

I don’t know if she’s going to lash out, retreat, or throw herself over the edge just to prove a point.

If she did, I’d follow her without thinking. I’d wrap my body around hers and hit the rocks first if it meant she’d walk away breathing .

That’s how far gone I am.

And she doesn’t even know it.

“I don’t deserve this,” she breathes, shaking her head. “The only reason we met is because I nearly exposed all of this to your worst enemies. Your mom—I could’ve gotten her—”

“What was your first thought,” I cut in gently, “when you realized I owned property in Rhode Island—private property I was trying to keep hidden—what was your first thought?”

She looks back out at the waves like she’s trying to rewind time. It’s only been a few weeks, but the distance between then and now feels like years.

“I thought…” she starts, slow and hesitant, “that it might be the kind of thing someone could use against you. But I also figured you were protecting someone here, though I wasn’t sure who.”

She swallows hard.

“I told myself that even though you were a Songbird, there was a chance whoever lived here wasn’t. That they were innocent. So I deleted the address from the file I was planning to send to the person who hired me.”

Pride flares in my chest, hot and unrelenting.

She didn’t know me. But she still protected this. Protected my mother.

“That’s why you deserve this,” I murmur, pressing my lips to the crown of her head. “And why I’ll never deserve you, mi rosa .”

She shudders softly, and I pull her tighter, wrapping my coat around her like it might hold the pieces of her together better than she can on her own.

“Maybe you should’ve picked a sweater with less holes in it,” I say, brushing my fingers along the frayed edge of the cream knit clinging to the back of her neck.

Her breath hitches.

“I’m not that cold,” she says. “Winters in Alberta are a hundred times worse than this.”

“You just shivered. ”

“Not from the cold…” she whispers, nuzzling further into my jacket. “I think… it’s the accent.”

I tilt my head slightly. “Accent?”

“When you speak Spanish.”

She looks at me from over her shoulder, and our eyes lock.

That flicker’s back.

That fire I’d thought might’ve died in her—burning low, but steady.

Alive .

It’s there in the curve of her mouth. In the way she looks at me like she wants to consume me.

My cock responds immediately, pressing against her back.

She feels it—no doubt about that with the way her lip disappears between her teeth.

“ Mi acento te pone cachonda, pequena rosa?”

She turns in my arms slowly, deliberately.

Her smile is dangerous and soft at the same time.

“I only took Spanish until the eighth grade,” she says, “but I definitely know what ‘ cachonda’ means.”

I grin. “Of course you remember all the dirty words.”

She laughs, warm and real, but it doesn’t last.

Her gaze lingers on mine a moment longer, those flames in her eyes slowly flickering out.

“I’m sorry, Damon,” she says, barely above a whisper. “For all of it.”

I reach up and take her jaw in my hand, guiding her chin until her eyes meet mine again.

“I’m not.”

She blinks up at me, startled, waiting.

I run my thumb across her cheek, memorizing the shape of her. Her soft skin. Her mesmerizing eyes. The thrum of her pulse against the pad of my finger.

If I could trace her into memory, I would—every inch, every glance, every fragile tremor in her breath.

“You want to know why?” I ask.

She nods, lips parted .

“Because every decision we’ve both made—the lies, the betrayals, the blood—it all led me to you.”

Her eyes well up again, lashes glittering with tears she won’t let fall.

“Bad decisions,” she whispers, shaking her head.

I brush my nose against hers.

“Those are all I know, little rose. You and me… and a whole lot of bad decisions.”