Page 202 of Ruin My Life

The Songbirds always drew blood, but it used to be territorial—rival crews, turf wars, betrayal handled in the shadows. Xander was the first to cross the line. The first to kill someone innocent and call it necessary.

That one death cracked the Songbirds to their core. I wasn’t the only one sickened by what we’d become. But I was the only one who did something about it. The only one who risked walking away—and the only one who fought back.

And now I’m walking back in.

Two armed guards stand at the entrance. High-ranking. Well-trained. And fully aware of exactly who I am. They let us pass, but not without venom in their eyes. Their hatred clings to us like smoke. I can feel it coiling in the back of my throat.

Monroe and Chavez stay tight at my back as I push open the reinforced metal doors that lead to the heart of it all.

To Matthias’s office.

It hasn’t changed. Not a damn inch.

No windows. No light. Just four concrete walls, a dark red rug designed to hide blood, and a thick silence that hums in the stagnant air.

Wall-mounted monitors flicker with grainy footage from his surveillance feeds. Behind his desk, the map of New Yorkglows—red veins crawling across the city’s skin, marking what’s his.

When the door latches behind us, the heavy deadbolts sliding into place, the hair on my neck prickles.

He built his office like a vault.

Completely impenetrable.

No one gets in unless he wants them in.

And no one gets out unless he lets them leave.

Matthias sits behind his massive mahogany desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His blue eyes pin me where I stand.

He’s older, but not softer. Silver hair slicked back to cold perfection. The scar through his left brow deeper than I remember. A gold canine flashes when he smirks.

A man who built his throne on the bones and debt of people who never had a chance.

He was made for this life. Molded by it.

“Damon,” he drawls, voice dripping amusement and quiet malice. “I must say—I’m shocked. Crawling out of your hole just to visit an old man like me?”

I stop a foot from his desk. Stand tall.

His presence presses down on me—an old weight I wore like chains. Once, it crushed me. Made me believe he was the monster I should fear most.

But now?

Now we both know better.

Because the thing he made—the thing he tried to leash—is the one standing in front of him.

And I’m no longer his monster.

I’m his reckoning.

“I’ve come to talk,” I say simply, hooking my thumbs into my belt loops. “It’s been a while. And I think we both know there’s much to discuss after some… recent events.”

Matthias’s jaw ticks.

He knowsexactlywhat I’m referring to.

“We drew lines in the sand, Damon. And those lines—your lines—were crossed,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “By you. By the company you keep. I’m a man of my word. Butyou? Seems you’re not. Burning down your little bar was a warning. A slap on the wrist for betrayal.”