Page 95 of Ruin My Life

Until finally, he nods.

“Deal.”

Chapter Twenty

Damon

TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT WE CONFRONT THE SNAKEin her own den. And I wish I could say I wasn’t worried—but the truth is, I’ve got a boatload of concerns tied to my spine like weighted chains.

Brie and I may have come to an agreement, but a deal doesn’t equate to trust. She doesn’t trust me, and she sure as hell doesn’t trust anyone in my circle. The feeling’s mutual, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t respect her precision. Her fire. Her restraint. The only thing keeping us in alignment right now is the same end goal: expose whoever Lola is working for—and eliminate the threat.

Of course, Brie has her own motives. She was promised something—information she won’t even hint at. My gut says she’ll still try to get it, whether it means helping us or betraying us in the process.

But the ugly truth is... we don’t have another play.

So, for now, I’m letting her walk with me and my inner circle, even as I prepare for the moment she might turn around and aim her gun at my back.

Connor and I are dressed in black tailored suits to matchBlush’sstrict dress code. A place this exclusive doesn’t let men through the door without an escort and a goddamn runway look. And even then, it’s not guaranteed.

We’re waiting in the kitchen for Brie to get ready. Lee’s monitoring feeds from home. Chavez is holding down the bar. Monroe’s our ride—and our exit plan if shit goes sideways. I’m hoping it won’t come to that, but it’s always best to be prepared for the worst.

It’s not a perfect setup, especially since we’ll be walking in unarmed. The club does a full body scan at the entrance. No weapons, no wires, no backup. Just wit, charm, and teeth.

I know Brie’s good with a gun or a blade, but I’m not sure what she’ll do if it comes down to bare hands and fast choices. Can she survive it? Probably. But I don’t like the margin.

I’m still adjusting my tie when I hear theclickof a door opening at the end of the hall. Then the tap of heels on hardwood—slow, steady, each one echoing like a countdown to impact.

I turn.

And my tie suddenly feels like it’s choking me.

Brie walks in wearing a black silk gown so sleek it shimmers with each step, like stars in a midnight sky. It clings to every inch of her body, like it was made to be a perfect fit. The neckline is high, clasped at her throat—but the back dips scandalously low, exposing the graceful line of her spine and the soft curve just above her hips.

But for all its beauty and grace, her outfit is equally functional.

A thigh-high slit reveals the entirety of one leg with every stride, giving her a wider range of motion. Her heels lace around her calves, secured with black ribbons, so they won’t slip should she need to run. Even her hairstyle is carefully thought out—her brown waves pulled back from her face and neck, neat an elegant, and as practical as it is sexy.

She’s a weapon dressed in silk.

“Jesus,” Connor mutters beside me before he slaps a hand to the back of my shoulder. “Roll your tongue back in, Rover.”

I don’t bother responding. I’m too busy memorizing the curve of her hip, the line of her throat, the way she doesn’t so much walk as she doesglide. A woman like her doesn’t just enter a room—she shifts its center of gravity.

Monroe gives her a once-over and nods. “Good. The three of you should have no trouble getting in.”

He’s not one for pretty words and compliments. Just confidence in the bait we’re bringing into the lion’s den.

Without wasting any time, we slip into our coats and file into the elevator.

It’s a tight fit—the elevator manufacturers obviously never considered a building-sized man like Monroe—so Brie and I end up toward the back, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that I can smell her.

Roses. And something a little darker. More Lethal.

Something that’s distinctly her.

It wraps around me, sinks into my skin, coils low in my stomach. It’s like I’m crawling through a field of blooming roses on my hands and knees. I can feel the softness of the petals against my face, but also the sharp scratches of her thorns across my body.

That imaginary pain is probably my mind’s way of deterring me from getting closer to her, but it only has the opposite effect.