Page 153 of Ruin My Life

She looks at me like I’m just another thing she’s lost.

“Damon... I—”

BOOM!

The ground lurches beneath our feet.

Glass erupts across the street as the rooftop windows of The Speakeasy shatter, raining glittering shards onto the sidewalk.

Instinct takes over before thought can catch up. I drop Brie’s bag and wrap myself around her, shielding her body with mine as the shockwave hits.

My ears ring. My vision swims. Screams rise like sirens from every direction.

Brie’s palms press into my chest. Her breath trembles. It’s the only sound that cuts through the static.

I twist, forcing my eyes to focus.

The Speakeasy is onfire.

Flames roar through the broken windows and smoke curls up the building in thick, churning plumes.

I scan the chaos fast—Chavez and Lee are close, rattled but standing. Monroe’s already shouting into his phone. Connor just stares, frozen, the flames flickering in his eyes like ghosts.

I cup Brie’s chin and tilt her face up.

“Stay here,” I say. “Right here. Don’t move.”

She nods—once, slow. Like her body is trying to remember how while her mind’s somewhere else entirely.

I leave her there and move fast, checking the others.

Lee’s pale and shaking, muttering something about how we could’ve been inside if we hadn’t stopped to argue.

Chavez grips his arm, steadies him. He gives me a nod and a thumbs-up.They’re okay.

I reach Monroe just as he hangs up the phone. “Firetrucks are on their way. Police too, unfortunately.”

“They won’t find anything,” I say. Not that we had anything in there worth hiding—besides our computers, but I doubt they survived the blast. “This wasn’t an accident.”

Monroe nods grimly. “O’Doyle knows.”

Connor finally turns from the wreckage. His face is twisted—furious—as his eyes lock on mine.

He storms up, throwing a hand toward the chaos behind him. “What now, Damon?” he shouts. “Still think Matthias is going to want to talk?”

“Later, Connor,” I grit out. “We’re not doing this in the middle of the fucking street.”

“We don’t havetimefor later,” he snaps. “You think we’re going to get a seat at the family dinner table and talk this out?”

I grind my teeth, bite back the words clawing up my throat. Yelling won’t change anything. It won’t rebuild what we just lost.

What wecould’velost.

I take a breath. “I want each of you to pack a bag and head to one of the safehouses. Pick whichever one you want—but don’t tell me where. The less I know, the better.”

Chavez and Lee close in as I speak.

“We let the fire burn. We stay quiet. And when we come back, we deal with the fallout.”