Page 93 of Ruin My Life

My pulse is still hammering in my throat, but I lower the knife—slowly. I don’t put it down though.

“Do you always sit around in the dark at...” I glance at the clock on the oven. “Fourin the morning?”

“Only when I’m feeling particularly dark and brooding,” he says, sipping from his glass. His eyes gleam faintly in the lamplight. “You’re hungry, I presume?”

I don’t answer, but he stands, moving toward me.

Somehow, the dim light behind him only makes him more intimidating—his silhouette sharp and commanding, all clean lines and controlled power. It’s the kind of presence that makes you feel like prey, even when you’re not being hunted.

Then again, Damon always seems to be hunting.

I instinctively step back, pressing my hip into the island.

But he doesn’t touch me.

He steps past me instead, opening the fridge again. This time, the light spills across his face, revealing something softer in his eyes. He looks tired—not worn down, exactly, but like he’s been thinking too much and sleeping too little.

“There’s chicken fried rice and sweet and sour pork left over from dinner,” he says, nodding toward the containers. “Chavez ate all the fortune cookies though.”

I set the knife down on the counter, fingers still twitching from the lingering adrenaline.

“Is it weird that doesn’t surprise me?” I mutter, trying to ground myself again. “Considering I only met him today.”

Damon huffs a soft breath—something almost like a laugh.

“You can take whatever you want,” he says, stepping aside and giving me full access to the fridge.

There’s something unusually generous in the way he says it. Not in the offer itself—but in the way he moves out of the way.

He doesn’t crowd me.

He lets me make the choice on my own.

And I don’t know why, but that feels more dangerous than the knife I just put down.

I reach into the fridge and grab both containers of takeout. Before the door can swing shut, Damon reaches past me and flicks on a soft, ambient light beneath the cabinets. It casts a low, golden glow across the counters and floor—just enough to see, not enough to chase away the shadows.

“Any chance‘whatever I want’extends to a decent internet connection?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Ididhack into his network, after all.

“Working while on vacation,little rose?” he drawls.

I roll my eyes, shoving the containers into the microwave. “This isn’t a vacation,” I mutter. “And besides... wouldn’t it be faster to track down Lola if I helped?”

I don’t hear him approach, but I feel it. His presence creeps in like static—pulling goosebumps to the surface of my skin.

Then his voice rumbles from his chest, low and close behind me. “Had you joined us for dinner, you’d know we already found her.”

I spin on my heels and end up nearly nose to nose with him. I didn’t realize he was standing so close to me. My breath catches as I instinctively step back, needing the space.

“You found her?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

He nods. “She’s running business out of a club downtown. High-end. Private. Women-only access. Men only get in if a woman brings them.”

A smirk curls on my lips. “Sounds like a problem for you and your boys,” I say. “Shame there isn’t a woman here who might help.”

His brow rises. “I assumed you’d be interested, considering it involves you.”

I shrug. “Why helpyouwhen I could just go see her myself?” I ask sweetly. “We both know I can handle it.”