Page 53 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Brie Lola: Deal made. Money is in your account now.

Me:

Me:

I figured.

Don’t forget plan B. Lola: Just try not to fuck up plan A, darling.

After sending the encrypted email to Matthias—with the evidence file, the terms, and the $500,000 transfer—I exhale for what feels like the first time all morning. It’s all in motion now.

Phase two: complete .

My phone slips back into my pocket as I leave the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind me. I pad barefoot into the kitchen, where Lee is still parked at the island, watching my laptop with focused intensity while R.O.S.E. scrapes through the CCTV feeds.

“Anything yet?” I ask, climbing up onto the stool beside him.

He shakes his head, eyes never leaving the screen. “Not yet. But this program…” He whistles low under his breath. “It’s impressive. How’d you come up with it? ”

I shrug. “School project. We had to design a program with real-world application. I wanted something that could help find missing people—replace the need for Amber alerts.”

Lee looks at me like I’ve just handed him the lost gospel. “Tell me you got an A.”

I scoff. “Nope. Prof said it was too dangerous of a concept. Called it a breach of privacy.”

He laughs under his breath. “And now you’re using it to track a murderer.”

“Funny how that works.”

We’ve been like this for hours—me using R.O.S.E.

to try and get us an image of what happened, and hopefully a decent picture of Jennifer’s killer, and him tracking activity in the NYPD’s case files while also trying to trace the hacker who cracked into King’s Eye.

His code crawler is a brilliant piece of programming.

Not quite as advanced as R.O.S.E., but it’s already dug through more of the police firewall than I thought possible.

Connor’s still on door duty. Arms crossed. Gaze unfocused. He hasn’t spoken much, and his usual smugness has dimmed into something colder, more withdrawn. He seemed so awake and ready this morning, but now the dark shadows beneath his eyes make it look like he hasn’t slept in days.

Something about it scratches at my nerves.

He volunteered to be here. No one asked him. But he looks... pissed . I can’t help but wonder if he’s still angry at me, despite our truce last night.

I try not to dwell on it. I need my focus.

Lee suddenly sits up straighter. “Police database just updated.”

I lean in closer.

He clicks through the file. “They got DNA from under Jennifer’s fingernails. She fought back.” His voice drops. “But the DNA didn’t return a name.”

A chill needles its way down my spine.

Just like mine. Just like Amie’s. The cops told me the same thing after I woke up in that hospital bed .

No match.

They said the DNA would stay in the system. That it could be connected if the person ever committed another crime.

“Does it link back to any other cases?” I ask slowly, my voice suddenly too tight in my throat.

Lee glances at me, then back to the screen. “Give me a second…”

He filters the DNA results. Scrolls.

My heart starts thudding before he even says a word.

“It matches Anya’s file,” he murmurs. “Same guy.”

He keeps scrolling.

Then, his body goes still. The silence feels like a vacuum. The warmth drains from the room. From my skin.

“What is it?” I ask.

He looks at me. Really looks at me.

And I see it—the one thing I never want to see in someone’s eyes.

Pity.

I snatch the laptop from him, turning the screen toward me.

There it is.

A third match.

My name.

The breath rushes out of me like I’ve been kicked in the ribs. My lungs seize. My stomach caves inward.

Jennifer.

Anya.

Me.

The man who killed Jennifer and Anya was Xander’s partner—the man who raped me, shot me, took everything from me.

I’d suspected it, but having it confirmed in black-and-white, in data and timestamps and undeniable evidence… that’s a whole different kind of gut punch.

He’s been here. Recently.

All this time I’ve come up empty. No name.

No trace. Nothing but venomous green eyes in my nightmares and a silence that screamed too loud to follow.

I thought being alive would draw him out.

That surviving would taunt him back to me so I could finish this.

But Xander said it himself. I was never meant to die. I was bait. A tool. A trap.

And now? I’m starting to wonder if all this—Jennifer, Anya, the hacks—wasn’t about revenge at all.

It was about sending a message.

The question is, is the message meant for me, or for Damon?

I don’t realize I’m gripping the edge of the counter until R.O.S.E. pings, snapping me back to the present. The final batch of compiled CCTV footage flashes on the screen—footage tagged with Jennifer’s face, pulled from every camera in Kings.

My stomach clenches.

“We’ve got something,” I murmur, pushing my stool in beside Lee. I center the laptop between us and press play.

The clip opens on Jennifer stepping out of a yellow cab just down the street from The Speakeasy. Sunset bathes the sidewalk in amber light and long shadows. She lingers on the curb, fingers curled around her phone, eyes carefully scanning her surroundings.

She looks tense. Guarded. But not afraid.

Then something shifts.

She turns sharply—someone must’ve called her name. I can’t see who it is from this angle, but her whole expression changes. She smiles.

Then she walks toward them. Right into the blind spot.

I curse under my breath and swap camera feeds.

The next angle picks up a figure walking beside her.

A man. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a sweater with the hood pulled low over his face.

The shadows make it impossible to make out any details, but Jennifer looks relaxed, still smiling as she talks to him.

Like she trusts him.

That’s the part that makes me the most uncomfortable.

They cross the road toward Damon’s apartment building, the man expertly avoiding all the camera angles that might give away his identity. They round the corner toward the front entrance.

Then, without warning, his thick fingers latch around her wrist. He yanks her hard into the mouth of a narrow alley.

Jennifer's smile disappears. Her whole body recoils in panic.

She fights like hell.

Kicks at his knees. Swings her fists. Jabs her elbow into his gut. I watch her knee him in the groin once— twice —but he doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t even flinch.

He slams her back against the alley wall, using his weight to pin her. I still can’t see his face, only Jennifer’s.

And, mirrored in her wide, teary eyes, I see myself from six months ago.

His hood falls back.

Shaved head. Tanned skin. No scars. No tattoos. Nothing conclusive or recognizable.

Part of me questions if we’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion. Xander’s partner had long black hair when I saw him last. Tied back. Sleek. This man’s different—on the surface.

But the DNA says otherwise.

And people like him evolve to hide.

If I could just see his eyes .

Jennifer claws at his arms. Her nails leave four bloody gouges across his forearm, all the way to his wrist—but he barely notices, even as blood beads along each line.

He’s calculated. Mechanical. Like he’s done this a hundred times before.

Then his hand curls around her throat.

And I feel his grip close on my own.

Suddenly, I’m not in the kitchen anymore.

I’m under him. Struggling. Gasping for air.

The memory of my own screams feels like static in my ears. My nails digging into carpet. My vision going black at the edges. His voice in my head.

Goodnight, sweetheart.

I force myself to swallow the memory. Lock it all back down.

Jennifer stops fighting. Her body slumps. Her lips part, one last breath rasping past bruised skin.

He lifts her like she weighs nothing. Tosses her over his shoulder and disappears deeper into the alley, likely to dump her body in the dumpster.

When he reappears, the hood is back up. He tugs down the sleeve of his hoodie over his bloodied wrist before he vanishes down the street, swallowed by the early evening shadows of Kings.

No face.

No name.

But I know it’s him.

“Damn it.” I slam my fist against the edge of the counter. “Whoever this guy is, he knows exactly where all the cameras are.”

“So, we know he’s either local,” Lee says slowly, “or he’s done his research.”

He doesn’t need to finish the thought. We’re both thinking it.

This wasn’t a random kill—he didn’t pick her name randomly from the long list of people Damon’s helped.

This was a hunt. A tactical one.

A beat later, Lee’s laptop pings—the crawl through the King’s Eye server is complete. He scrolls rapidly, his eyes scanning the output, fingers twitching nervously across the trackpad.

Then he freezes.

His shoulders stiffen. His brows draw in sharply.

“No. No, that’s… that’s not possible,” he murmurs.

“What?” I ask, leaning in, my pulse quickening.

Connor pushes off the wall and drifts over to join us, resting his hands on the counter beside Lee.

He’s quiet. Watching. Looming .

Lee shakes his head. “It found the IP address used to access the server.”

“Okay… so what’s wrong with it? ”

He glances at me, his face pale.

“It came from inside The Speakeasy.”

I blink. “Someone hacked the server from inside the building?”

“Yeah.” Lee nods. “From the back office. Damon’s computer.”

My stomach twists violently.

No.

No, that doesn’t make any sense.

“Damon wouldn’t hack his own network. He helped build it. He already had access to all the information.”

“Exactly,” Lee says. “Which is why I thought it had to be a mistake. But this crawler doesn’t make mistakes.”

Connor leans over the screen, narrowing his eyes at the code. If he understands any of it, he doesn’t let on.

“Who else had access to that room?” I ask.

Lee runs a hand through his hair. “Damon. Me. Connor. Monroe. Chavez. And I guess… you, once you broke in. But aside from that, no one.”

“Is there any way someone else could’ve gotten in?”

“There’s been no signs of forced entry, so I doubt it. Not unless they had keys.”

Keys .