Page 66 of Ruin My Life (Blood & Betrayal #1)

Brie

One Year Later

M Y SHOES ECHO SOFTLY AGAINST THE cobblestone path as I make my way through the courtyard.

A warm breeze threads through the trees, cutting through the thick end-of-spring heat.

The other graduating students are scattered across the city—some crawling through bars to celebrate the end of exams, some staging photo shoots on MIT’s grand steps, others prepping for the big graduation ceremony next week.

Me?

I already have what I came for.

I hold the diploma in my hand— Bachelor of Science in Computer Science and Engineering . No cap, no gown, no stage walk while strangers clap politely. This paper is enough. This moment is enough.

When I look down at it, I swear I can feel my dad’s hands on my shoulders, warm and proud. I can hear my mom’s teary voice, cracking with joy as she tells me she knew I’d do it.

And for the first time since I lost them, I don’t feel haunted. I feel held— embraced by the memory.

A year and a half ago, I had no plans to ever come back to Massachusetts. No plans to finish this degree. Revenge was my compass, and everything else felt irrelevant.

But then I met Damon and his stubborn, loyal, maddening inner circle. And I realized that just because my life had been ruined once, it didn’t mean I had to leave it that way.

Because flowers still grow through cracks in concrete.

Once my leg had healed enough, Damon suggested I come back and finish what I’d started. I only had a year left. And MIT, to my surprise, had never rescinded my placement, probably out of respect for what I’d been through. All I needed was the nudge.

The only real downside?

The distance.

Damon stayed in New York, naturally. King’s Eye doesn’t run itself, and now that The Speakeasy is on its way to reopening—with a client list longer than some Manhattan therapists—they’re busier than ever.

Before I left, I rebuilt R.O.S.E. and taught Lee how to use it. We saved a copy of the program on King’s Eye’s server, but it’s heavily encrypted, even internally. Only two people have access: him and me. That was Damon’s request.

Connor’s betrayal left scars that still haven’t closed. Maybe never will. Damon still trusts his circle like family, but he’s become more measured. More protective. More aware of how easily a system can be used to destroy instead of defend.

I push open the heavy doors to the residence hall and head down the long corridor. New Vassar is eerily quiet now. Most students cleared out after finals. The common room is empty. The kitchen—usually a battleground of mismatched Tupperware and stolen granola bars—is spotless.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was walking into the opening scene of a thriller. The heroine makes her way down a suspiciously empty hallway… just to get ambushed by the killer lurking at the end.

But no. This is just campus at the end of May. Everyone’s either out celebrating success or drinking to forget failure.

I was invited out too, actually. One of my classmates—more like a study partner—texted about a group meet-up at a bar downtown. I probably should have gone. A normal person would. Closure, camaraderie, and all that.

But all I really want is to go home.

And home isn’t here.

Home is arguing with Chavez about which Degrassi characters are the most chaotic. (We made it to Season 10 of The Next Generation before I left. He’s invested.)

Home is sparring with Monroe in the mornings while he dodges my questions about him and a certain red-headed vixen he’s very obviously given in to.

Home is debating encryption strategy with Lee until he makes that scrunched-up face of defeat when I inevitably prove him wrong.

And Damon.

God. I didn’t know it was possible to miss a person the way I miss him.

I miss his chest pressed to my back when we sleep.

His mouth at my neck, murmuring sweet Spanish nothings like confessions meant for another lifetime.

I miss the way he fails—spectacularly—to stay out of bed when he’s supposed to be working.

His rough hands on my skin. His breath against my throat. The weight of him between my legs.

I sound like I haven’t seen him in a decade.

It’s been two weeks.

He visits more than I expected—drives four hours down the I-90 just to spend the weekend. We get a hotel room. Order room service. Have sex like the world’s ending.

On his way home, he usually detours to Rhode Island to visit Rebecka.

He asked her once if she’d consider coming back to New York.

It’ll never be fully safe for her there, but since I burned that bridge with Matthias and left him with enough blackmail to level his empire, he’s not exactly itching to pick a fight.

Not when he knows I could end the Songbirds with a single keystroke.

But Rebecka said no. She likes the quiet. The ocean. Her beach walks. She’s close with the nurses who care for her, and she’s built something peaceful on that island.

So, Damon goes to her instead. Brings the boys when he can. She lights up like a lighthouse every time they show up .

I finally reach my dorm room and slide my key into the lock, twisting it open with a click before pushing inside.

It’s nothing fancy—just a single room with a twin bed tucked into the far-left corner. A desk and chair sit opposite, with a tall wardrobe beside them, all matching in warm cedarwood tones. A large window spans most of the back wall, spilling in the afternoon sun.

I’ve only added a few personal touches: a photo of me and Amie on the desk, a colourful desk pad, and a soft knitted blanket Rebecka gave me after I got out of the hospital. Something cheerful, she said, to remind you that softness doesn’t mean weakness.

I may or may not have also stashed an assortment of easily accessible weapons in every corner. Don’t tell my RA.

I drop my bag by the desk and set the diploma down, but before I can even exhale, the back of my neck prickles.

A presence. A shadow. A familiar heat at my back.

I don’t think. I move.

My fingers slip under the desk, unholster the pistol strapped there, flick off the safety—

I spin on my heel and press the muzzle into a wall of black.

And muscle.

“Good to see Cambridge hasn’t dampened your reflexes, little rose. ”

I release the breath I’d been holding.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I exhale, not lowering the gun. If anything, I dig it harder into his ribs. “I could’ve shot you.”

Damon chuckles—dark and low. “If you think you can take me down with that little thing—” He wraps an arm around my waist, yanking me flush to his chest, the pistol trapped between us as his other hand locks around my wrist. “—then maybe I need to remind you just how strong I am.”

In one fluid motion, he spins me until my back hits his chest, my arm pinned, the gun now pointed at my own chin.

“Impressive,” I huff. “But you forgot something.”

“Oh?” His breath ghosts the curve of my ear. “What’s that? ”

I hook my leg behind his and drop my weight. We both hit the floor.

His grip loosens just enough for me to break free. I scramble on top of him, knees planted either side of his waist. My forearm presses to his throat—firm, but playful—and I slide the gun to his temple.

“Monroe trained me for weeks once I got that boot off,” I say sweetly. “And I’ve been keeping up at the campus gym. I’m in the best shape of my life.”

He stares up at me like I just told him I’m the second coming of Christ.

Lust. Admiration. A stupid, reverent kind of awe.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t fall harder, you knock me on my ass.”

My pulse stutters. I flick the safety back on, toss the gun aside, and let my mouth crash onto his—hard.

“I missed you,” I whisper against his lips.

His hands slip under my thighs, lifting me easily as he sits up. “Fuck, Brie. I can’t even put into words how much I’ve missed you.”

I drape my arms around his neck, wrists locking loosely at the nape. “Is that why you couldn’t wait until tomorrow for me to come home?”

“Mm-hm.” He hums into my mouth, fingers sliding under my shirt. “Every time I left, I debated hauling your ass back with me. The only thing that stopped me was knowing how proud I’d be when you graduated.”

He lifts my shirt off, baring my chest to the warm air and his hungry gaze, then tosses it aside.

“And planning your graduation gift.”

I shiver as he undoes my bra clasp with one hand, freeing my breasts to the heat of his stare. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” I breathe, already flushed.

“Believe me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the scar at the center of my chest, trailing down between my breasts, “you won’t be saying that when you see what it is.”

His eyes flick back up—dark and ravenous .

“But first…” He nips at one of my breasts, leaving shallow teeth marks in the sensitive swell. “I need to fuck my little rose. Otherwise, we’re not surviving the drive.”

I don’t even have time to blush before he lifts me off the floor.

He drops me onto the edge of my desk with purpose, shoving aside the textbooks I meant to return this morning. A pen cup topples, and pens scatter and clatter across the laminate—but we’re past caring about messes.

He unbuttons my jean shorts with a flick of his fingers. I lift my hips for him, and he drags them down my thighs in one smooth motion. My panties go with them, and just like that, I’m bare—completely bare—while my clothes lie in a careless heap on the floor.

He grips my knees, spreading them wide until I’m on full display, propped up by my palms behind me. My body is folded open, raw and real beneath the full weight of his stare.

And yet—I don’t flinch.

Not this time.

Even with every old insecurity exposed—from the faded scar on my chest to the soft folds of my belly as I lean back—I don’t feel small or flawed.

Because when Damon looks at me, all I see is admiration.

“Beautiful…” he murmurs.

He runs his fingers through my slick folds, sending a shiver up my spine. He lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean, eyes locked on mine.

“Lethal…”