Page 104 of Ruin My Life

She nods toward me, and for the first time, there’s something... not quite apologetic in her eyes, but close. A subtle tilt of the scales.

Then she lifts her hand, elegant fingers curling slightly. One of her guards steps forward. He opens his jacket to reveal an absurd collection of burner phones clipped inside the lining. He selects one and hands it to her, which she immediately passes to Damon.

“This is the one we used,” she says. “You can see for yourself—I’m not lying.” Her gaze flicks to me again. “The other photos he sent are in there, too. Before you ask.”

Damon powers it on, and I instinctively lean in closer to get a better view. Our shoulders brush. His body heat wraps around me, and for a second, I forget we’re not alone.

But Lola stands suddenly, her voice slicing between us like a blade, pushing us apart.

“Not here,” she says sharply. “Do it somewhere safe. As much as I hate to admit it, this place isn’t what it used to be. Not sincehecame in contact.”

Damon gives her a tight nod before slipping the phone into his pocket. “Connor,” he says, without missing a beat, “have Monroe come by tomorrow with cameras. We’ll lock this place down first, then wherever you’re currently staying.”

Lola’s expression flickers at the name. Her eyes soften—wistful, almost—but she recovers fast.

“Tell him he can come tonight if he wants,” she says lightly, but there’s a flutter behind her voice. “I’ll be here. Waiting.”

“I’m sure you will,” Damon replies, voice flat as ever. “We’ll be in touch, Lola. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“For once,” Connor mutters, earning twin death glares from Lola’s guards.

“A pleasure, as always, boys,” she hums, her smirk returning.

Then she turns to me. “And it’s nice to put a face to the title, Black Rose. I do hope next time, it’s under more...fruitfulcircumstances.”

I don’t respond.

I don’t really know what to say.

Strangely, I’m not as furious with her as I thought I’d be.

She sent Calvin after me. Tried to manipulate me. But in the end, she’s just another piece in someone else’s game—just like me. She took a job. She executed it. And now she’s trying to survive the fallout.

She and I? We survive in the same way. Take the jobs that pay. Stitch together control from whatever sharp pieces we can grasp. Her moral compass may spin in a different direction than mine, but... mine isn’t exactly straight anymore either.

That’s the thing about bloodstains—once they set, they don’t wash out. Eventually, you stop trying. You just learn to wear them like war paint. Let people see what you’re capable of and pray they’re smart enough to stay out of your way.

Damon’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and grounding. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

He and Connor cut a path through the fabric-draped room, then through the densely packed club, and I follow them out without a backward glance.

Monroe’s still waiting in the alley, half-cloaked in shadow. He starts the engine as Damon ushers me into the backseat and climbs in beside me.

“How’d it go?” Monroe asks, shifting to glance into the rearview mirror.

Damon pulls out the burner phone. “We need to get this to Lee. If he can trace it, we might finally get a lead on whoever’s behind all this.”

Connor leans forward, casual as ever. “Oh, and Lola sends her regards, Monroe. Says she’s looking forward to seeing you tomorrow... when you come by to install the cameras.”

Monroe’s entire body turns in his seat as he glares directly at Damon, exasperated. “I didnotsign up for that.”

“I’ll send Chavez with you,” Damon says.

Monroe grumbles something in Spanish as he turns back toward the road. I don’t know the words, but they twist with annoyance—and maybe a little embarrassment?

“The deal was protection in exchange for intel,” Damon adds. “Be glad she didn’t request a twenty-four seven bodyguard. Or a sleepover.”

“What’s Monroe’s issue?” I ask softly, turning my head toward Damon.