Page 61 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Damon

I GUIDE C HAVEZ DOWN THE WINDING DIRT ROAD, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel it creaking in my skull. The trees blur past—nothing but streaks of dark and frost—and the silence between us is louder than the tires grinding over gravel and ice.

When we skid to a stop outside my mother’s house, I scan the property fast. No cars. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry.

But that doesn’t mean shit.

I grab my gun from the console, jerk my chin at Chavez. He does the same—no words needed.

We move in sync up the porch steps. I punch in the lock code, don’t even flinch when I kick the door open and it slams into the wall behind it.

“ Mamá! ”

My voice cracks out sharper than I mean it to.

My gun is up. Finger tight on the trigger. Every muscle wired to draw blood.

“Damon?”

Her voice freezes me mid-breath.

I turn—

And there she is.

Wrapped in her ratty housecoat and slippers, a small pistol in her shaking grip—pointed right at my skull. She’s trembling, but she’s still the woman who raised me alone. Solid and unyielding.

Her eyes widen when she registers my face—then flick past me to Chavez .

Safe . She’s safe.

I exhale slowly and lower my gun. Chavez follows suit. Only then does she flick the safety back on hers and set it on the hall table.

“What’s going on?” she demands, stepping closer, her eyes searching mine like she can see the war behind them.

“You’re in danger,” I say, scanning behind her for any shadow that shouldn’t be there. “Have you seen Brie?”

“Brie? No—she’s not here.”

My heart plummets like it just dove off the cliffs into the icy black waters below.

I hoped—god, I knew —Brie would find a way to keep Connor from reaching my mom.

But now? Now she’s alone with him somewhere out there.

And the longer she’s alone, the smaller the chance I have of finding her alive.

“Damon, what happened?” My mother’s hand clamps around my arm, her voice thick with worry.

“I’ll explain everything,” I say, too fast, leaning down to press my lips to her temple. Her warmth grounds me for a heartbeat—just long enough to remember why I have to move. “But I have to find Brie first.”

Except… I don’t know where to start.

Block Island isn’t big, but it’s big enough when the clock’s bleeding out. And if he’s hurt her—if she’s losing blood—if she’s already—

Think, damn it. Think.

“Damon.”

Chavez’s voice slices through my spiral.

“What?”

He points past me—toward the back window. “The house at the other end of the cliffs… it’s on fire.”

My head snaps to the glass.

Smoke.

Thick, black, coiling up through the winter air.

That house is supposed to be empty.

Brie .

It has to be her .

“Chavez,” I bark, already pivoting for the door. “Stay here. Guard my mother with your goddamn life.”

He nods once, hard, planting himself in front of the door—gun raised, locked in. “Nobody’s getting past me.”

“I’ll call the fire department,” my mom shouts, rushing for the landline.

I’m already halfway down the steps when Chavez calls after me. “Damon!”

I spin—each breath ragged.

“Be careful.”

I nod once.

Then I run.

I throw myself behind the wheel of the SUV—jam the key in—crank the engine. The tires scream on the ice before catching, the whole chassis jolting as I rip a U-turn and gun it straight over frozen grass.

This vehicle was never meant for off-roading. But I don’t give a fuck. I barrel through the uneven slope between the two properties, field grass and snow slamming against the bumper, the engine roaring under me like a war drum.

The house comes into view—

It’s fully engulfed. Flames claw up the siding, spit sparks into the sky, crawl across the roof like a living thing hungry for blood.

Two cars are parked outside the house. One to the side—Connor’s Audi. The other is a silver sedan in the driveway—someone else’s.

I don’t have time to wonder who. I don’t care who.

Because I know she’s in there.

I feel her. Not just in my gut. In every splinter of my soul. And if she dies in that fire—

Connor better pray the flames finish him first.

Because if they don’t?

I will.

My foot slams the gas until the SUV rockets onto the dirt drive.

Tires spin, fight for purchase on packed snow.

I barely hold it straight as it fishtails, skids sideways, then snarls to a stop right in front of the inferno.

I’m just in time to see flames burst through the front windows.

Glass explodes outward like a shotgun blast.

The fire roars—wild, frantic, starving. The front entry’s gone, choked in flame.

I need another way—

“ Help! ”

A hoarse, desperate scream cuts through the crackle. “ Somebody help! ”

My head snaps toward the sound.

I spot brown hair. A heartbeat of hope. Brie —

No.

Her hair’s too straight. Skin too peachy. No freckles under the soot. And those wide, terrified hazel eyes—

Not enough green.

Not hers.

She stumbles toward me, blood streaked through her hair, smeared across her temple. Her breath catches as she claws at my arm. “Please, you have to help!”

I grab her by the shoulders, steadying her. “Is anyone else inside? A brunette—wavy hair. Or a bald guy built like a tank?”

She nods, gasping. “Yes! Brie. She’s trapped. I tried—I couldn’t get her out—”

Brie .

Her name cleaves straight through me.

“Where did you get out?” I demand, scanning the house, my mind already racing.

“Around the back—living room window. It’s broken—”

I’m gone before she finishes.

“Fire department’s coming!” I yell over my shoulder. “Stay by the cars. Don’t move!”

I sprint around the side, boots punching through snow, skidding over patches of ice. I round the corner too fast and my knee gives, slams into frozen ground. Pain spikes up my thigh, but I plant my palm in the snow, shove myself back up, keep moving.

Smoke curls from the busted window like claws. Like the fire itself is an animal trying to break free of its cage .

“Brie!” I shout, hauling myself through jagged glass, my boots crunching over shards that have imbedded into the thick carpet.

The heat hits me like a wall. Air thick with lighter fluid, blood, ash.

Every breath scorches my throat raw. My eyes burn but I push forward.

“Brie! Where are you?!”

Smoke swallows my voice. The walls spit flame. Furniture’s nothing but glowing ruin. Overhead beams moan in protest, ready to bury it all.

“ Damon… ”

My head snaps to the sound.

There—center of the room. A heavy support beam has collapsed across the carpet. A small, blood-smeared hand curls around the far side.

My chest caves in.

I run .

I round the beam—

And freeze.

Her whole body is drenched in blood from stomach to throat. It soaks her shirt, mats her hair, pools beneath her on the scorched carpet.

Her leg is pinned under the beam, and I pray that’s the only reason she couldn’t drag herself out.

But when her eyes lock onto mine, she smiles .

“You… found me…”

I drop to my knees, hands shaking as I brush her hair back from her face. It’s stuck to her skin with blood and sweat. My ribs ache with every heartbeat, like they can’t contain all this relief and horror fighting for space inside me.

“Always, mi rosa ,” I rasp, my voice sounding barely human to my own ears.

Her skin is cold. Too cold. My fingers rake the blood from her cheeks, smear it across my palms as I scan her face—desperately looking for any obvious injuries. Bruises bloom purple across her head and neck, stark against the soot and sweat. No deep gashes. No burns .

But all this blood had to come from somewhere—

“Where are you hurt?” I force out, my voice barely holding. “Where’s the blood coming from?”

She’s so pale. Lips edged blue.

She tries to smile again—but it’s fragile, slipping.

“Leg,” she whispers. “And stomach. The rest… is Connor’s.”

The rest of the blood isn’t hers.

Relief slams through me so hard I nearly choke on it.

Thank god. Thank fucking god.

My gaze cuts across the room.

Connor’s body is slumped a few feet away, flames already crawling over his skin, claiming what’s left like the grave never could.

“That’s my girl.” I lean back to her, my voice shaking as I press my lips to her temple. “That’s my fucking girl.”

I force my eyes to the wound in her stomach. The blood is still fresh. Flowing too much and too fast.

If I don’t get her out now —

There won’t be a second chance.

The flames crawl closer, spitting sparks at my back. The heat is blistering, and the walls groan with the threat of collapse.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I rasp, my palm still cupping her cheek as my other hand braces on the beam.

I turn and wedge my fingers under its edge. No plan. No leverage. Just raw force and blind desperation.

I roar as I lift.

The weight of it tears through my thighs, my spine, my shoulders. My arms quake—every muscle fiber screaming—but I don’t let go.

I shove it forward and drop it— THUD —the impact ripping through the blaze like a crack of thunder.

I spin back to her.

Her calf is mangled—bloodied, purple, and raw. But she’s awake. Still here .

I drop back to my knees and hook my arms beneath her. She whimpers as her whole body stiffens, fighting the scream that I know is clawing up her throat.

It’s so like her—bleeding out and half-broken, but refusing to let the world see her flinch.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her damp, blood-soaked hair. “Hold on for me. Just a little longer.”

The fire hisses behind me, livid that I’m stealing its prey.

I carry her through the broken window. Glass crunches under my boots and flames claw at my back, chasing us out into the biting cold.

Light snowfall slams against the my skin—a shock after the heat—but I don’t slow down. I clutch her tighter as sirens wail closer. Red and blue lights scatter across the white yard like spilled paint.

“Damon…” Her voice is threadbare. Fragile. “Is Lee…?”

“He’s safe,” I tell her, tightening my grip until my arms shake. “Lee’s with Dahlia. And you’re next, mi rosa .”

She winces, her eyes fluttering, fighting. “I’m not… gonna make it there.”

My throat locks tight.

“Yes, you will,” I rasp, the words cracking at the edges. “You hear me? You’re not going out like this. I’ve got you—and I’m not letting go that easy. I’ll chase you all the way to hell and drag you back if I have to.”

Her lips twitch. The faintest smile. A ghost-laugh breaks through the smoke—barely there—but it’s everything.

I round the house’s charred corner as the fire trucks pull in, their hoses already unfurled as water arcs hiss across the blaze. The house probably won’t last. But Brie—

Brie might not either…

The woman from earlier runs toward us, wide-eyed. “Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” I lie—to her, to myself—pulling Brie tighter against my chest. “She just needs a hospital.”

I scan the drive. There are cruisers, fire engines, blinking strobes—

No ambulance .

“Where’s the medic team?” I bark at the nearest firefighter.

He lifts his radio, urgency cutting through the static

Dispatch crackles back: the only available ambulance is responding from its last call—a car crash on the far side of the island.

Too far.

“We can’t fucking wait that long,” I mutter, my pulse hammering so hard it rattles my skull.

I don’t hesitate—I bolt for the SUV.

“Damon…” Brie murmurs, her voice thinner now, threads fraying.

“Shhh,” I hush her, gentler than I feel, as I wrench open the passenger door and slide her inside—careful, so fucking careful. She gasps, clutches her stomach tighter—

And I get my first real look at her.

At the fresh blood seeping through her fingers.

“Let me see.” My whisper is more plea than command.

Her shirt’s stiff with dried blood, but near her waist it’s soaked through—dark red and still wet. I peel it back slowly, and my gut twists.

Deep. Right under her ribs. Angled bad. Definitely a blade of some kind.

It’s still bleeding heavily, pulsing with every heartbeat. Too close to an artery. Too close to everything I can’t fix here.

I rip open the glove box, claw out the first-aid kit, and tear into it like a rabid animal. I find the gauze and rip the pack open with my teeth.

“This is gonna hurt,” I warn, my voice raw as I press it to her wound.

She jerks under the pressure. Her strangled cry knifes the air. Her whole body bows under my hands, trembling so hard I feel it in my bones.

And it feels like I’m the one stabbed.

“Pressure. Press —right here,” I rasp, guiding her cold fingers over the gauze. “Don’t let up. Squeeze. Hard. Please.”

Her breath stutters. Her lips are losing colour—fading out of my world inch by inch .

I yank off my jacket, wrap it around her, tuck it tight to stop the shaking. Then I slam the door and sprint around to the driver’s side, my hands dripping with her blood.

I’m behind the wheel before my mind catches up—key in, gas down.

I don’t care about roads. Or limits. Or who I have to plow through.

I’m not losing her.

Not after this.

Not after she survived him.

I rip away from the burning house like a lunatic, fishtailing onto the road, tires chewing up slush and ash as police lights and local news vans blur to nothing behind me.

They don’t matter.

Nothing does.

Except the girl bleeding out in my passenger seat.

I know the way to the local hospital. It’s small, underfunded, barely equipped for simple stitches and aspirin. But it’ll hold her long enough to get her flown out. Dahlia will be waiting at NewYork-Presbyterian. She’ll fix this. She has to fix this.

Brie shifts beside me, a soft, broken whimper escaping her lips.

“Stay with me, Brie,” I croak, one hand reaching to squeeze her thigh. Cold—she’s so fucking cold . “No more running, remember?”

Nothing. Not even a ghost of that smartass smile.

The silence cuts deeper than any scream.

I clamp my hands on the wheel and floor it, the speedometer climbing well past the limit. I blow past stop signs, red lights, blind corners. I don't care. I don't have time to care.

Let them chase me. Let them try to pull me over. I’ll drive through every barricade between here and heaven if I have to.

Because all that matters is her .

Not the fire. Not the wreckage. Not the blood drying on my hands .

Just Brie.

Because I’m not losing her now.

Not after everything.

Not after I just found her.