Page 68 of Ruin My Life

“Jason Peterborough won’t be a problem anymore,” Monroe says, keeping his voice low.

Chavez grins. “Also made agenerousdonation to the children’s hospital before he quite literally bit the bullet.” He flags a bartender with two fingers.

“Good.” I nod to both of them and push off the stool. “I’m stepping out.”

Monroe checks his watch. “Give me five minutes—I’ll come with.”

“No,” I say—too quickly. “It’s not business. I’ll be fine.”

Monroe gives me a suspicious look. One brow raised.

Chavez swivels on his stool, smirking. “If it’s not business, that make itpleasure?”

My silence says more than I intend it to.

Monroe narrows his eyes, reading me like an open file. Like a father scrutinizing his own disgrace.

“If you’re going to seeher,” he says, calm but firm, “you should be bringing backup. You can’t trust her.”

“Relax,” I tell him. “She’s meeting with someone. I’m just making sure she keeps her word. I won’t get close—she won’t even know I’m there. And if things go sideways, I’ll call for backup.”

Chavez snorts. I smack the back of his head, but he only laughs harder.

Monroe’s jaw ticks. “I don’t like this, Damon.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say again. “If I’m not back in a few hours, you’ve got my phone’s location. Feel free to kill anyone involved.”

The two of them glance at one another. No more warnings. Just a quiet understanding that they don’t trust this.

I walk out the door without looking back.

I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when I get there. I told Monroe it wasn’t business—and that much was true.

But I think he saw right through me.

He knows.

Knows that if I see a single Songbird lay eyes on her, I won’t be able to hold back.

She’s out there, chasing ghosts with fire in her veins. And I’ll follow her straight into hell if I have to.

Because she’s mine—I’ve decided.

Whether she likes it or not.

Chapter Fourteen

Brie

ISTEP OUT OF THE CAB ACROSS THEstreet from the Sandbanks Hotel, heels clicking against the cracked pavement. The Sandbanks is a little too upscale for your average Songbird, but Landen Olivander always did have a taste for gaudy surroundings. According to my lead, he treats the lounge here like his personal hunting ground.

And tonight, I’m planning to make him the prey.

The streets around the hotel reek of desperation. Drug dealers lean against parking meters like vultures, waiting for someone looking to buy. Sex workers line the curb in short skirts and smeared lipstick, dodging the eyes of cops who pretend not to see them. A shady man loiters at the mouth of an alley beside a rundown casino, ready to offer some young soul just enough cash to feel lucky tonight—one way or another.

You’d be amazed how many reckless kids or miserable brokes will take a shark loan just to feel important for one night.

Landen’s not directly tied to the men I’m after.