Page 73 of Ruin My Life

Instead, her eyes catch mine again, and there’s something wicked behind them now. A spark.

That crooked little smirk isn’t from fear. It’s from the thrill of the game.

She’s enjoying this. She’sperforming.

The Black Rose isn’t just playing along—she’s daring me to watch.

If she wants to show off, far be it from me to stop her.

I lean back on one hand, my other lazily holding the gun aimed at them. “Honestly, now that you bring it up,” I murmur, voice low and amused, “I’d love to see how you planned to get out of this all on your own, little rose.”

Her hand is already poised at the hem of her dress, right leg slightly bent. I catch the glint of metal beneath the fabric a heartbeat before she moves.

She lifts the edge of her dress and goes for the weapon strapped to the top of her thigh.

She’s smooth. Fast. Sexy ashell.

But Calvin isn’t as slow as he looks.

He locks an arm across her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, keeping her elbow trapped so she can’t lift the gun. His other hand clamps around her waist, dragging her back against him like she’s his last shot at leverage.

Brianna doesn’t panic—not even for a second.

She flicks the safety off and curls her finger around the trigger, cool as ice. Then she lifts her leg, wraps it tight around the back of his calf—

And she fires.

The sound of the shot punches through the room.

Calvin’s howl follows right after—high, ragged, broken. He releases her, drops the knife, and crumples down, clutching what’s left of his shattered knee in his hands.

She stumbles out of his grip—but he’s not done yet.

He grabs her ankle mid-step, dragging her down hard. She hits the floor, gun skittering from her hand as he pulls her backward across the carpet, the friction probably ripping her skin raw.

“You bitch!” he snarls, spitting through his teeth as he lunges for the knife. Stringy saliva drips from his mouth like a rabid animal.

He grabs the blade and raises it like he’s about to stake her into the floor.

My finger twitches on the trigger of my gun—but I don’t need to pull it.

Her heel slams into his gut. He folds, gasping as the air knocks from his lungs.

She rips her leg free and dives for her gun, gripping it with both hands as she rolls onto her back and takes the shot.

The bullet tears through his neck. Blood fans out across the room, his own hand fumbling uselessly to cover the gaping hole in his throat.

It doesn’t matter how hard he tries. It’s already over.

He hits the ground a few seconds later, all dead weight and twitching limbs.

Brianna’s dress does a decent job of hiding the worst of the spatter, but it’s streaked through her hair, splashed across her arms, her cheek.

Her chest is heaving as she scoots backward from the corpse, gun still clenched like she’s expecting Calvin to resurrect himself.

The scent of blood thickens the air—copper and heat, sweat and something sweet lingering underneath.

My cock presses against my zipper, hard and relentless.