Page 11 of Flames of Ruin

“I didn’t hurt you.”

“How do I know that?”

He pulls his phone out of his jacket, pulls up something on the screen, and presses the play button. The closed circuit street camera footage from last night begins rolling across the screen. From the moment I stepped outside, I was doomed. I never saw them lurking in the shadows. They grabbed me and pulled me into the darkness. One of the unlucky ones attempted to fire his gun at me, but I was able to kick it out of his grasp as he was firing off the shot. The bullet ricocheted off the ground and penetrated him. The way I am standing over the guy as Drake bursts through the doors and down the steps makes it seem like I was proud of myself.

He’s accompanied by one other person who I don't recognize, which is odd to me because I always heard The Dragon worked alone.

There is no audio to the footage, but I can see him yell something at the man who then runs off. As Drake turns around, he catches me in his arms, carefully assisting me to the ground. The last few seconds of the video remind me of how a man would hold his lover. He held me close to his face, gently wiping my hair from my eyes, whispering words to me that I don’t remember, nor can I hear now.

When he tucks his phone back into his jacket pocket, he looks at me, “How did you figure out who I was?”

“First off, that mask does nothing to hide those mysterious eyes of yours. And second, that dragon tattoo is a dead giveaway.”

If my concussion isn’t fucking with my head too much, I feel like I can almost hear him quietly laugh to himself.

“Yeah, I keep hearing that.”

After a few beats of silence, I reach out to grab his hand, causing every muscle in his body to tense up.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Saving me.”

“I didn’t save you. I just didn’t hurt you.”

The pain in his voice is unbearable, like he wants to say so much more, but he is at war with himself. I resolve to let it go, knowing he lost his father the same night I lost my parents, and I don’t know what emotional state he is in.

Looking around the room, I recount all the rumors I have heard about The Dragon. The way he enjoys tormenting his victims before he takes their lives. How he got his name in the first place, by burning the symbol of a dragon into their chests. How much pain could this man really be holding on to?

He is a murderer, for fuck’s sake.

“I would never hurt you,” he repeats himself. “But that doesn’t mean I am a good man, Cecilia.”

“Saving someone’s life is the very definition of a good man, Drake.” I counter back.

“No Cecilia, I’m not. I have a lot of blood on my hands.” He looks down at our hands, which are still touching, as if the blood is practically pouring over them.

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard all about the big, bad Dragon. You kill criminals.” I pause for a moment. “What confuses me though…is you are supposedly a criminal yourself. You’re Drake Reign, Dante Reign’s heir. I may not know specific details about you, but I know you continued to run the weapons trade after your father…” My voice trails off as his face twists into frustration.

I try to recover from my blunder and softly say, “but a notorious crime lord wouldn’t save a helpless cocktail waitress in a dark alley. If anything, you would have used me.” My voice barely registers as a whisper.

“I prefer the women I fuck to be coherent and consensual,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Feeling like I just kicked his puppy, I immediately regret those words.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

He rips his hand from mine. “It’s fine.”

Rising from the bed, he glowers down at me, “You need more rest. Take that white pill on the nightstand. It’s pain medication. And drink that glass of water. Doctor’s orders.”

He begins to walk off, but I can feel myself growing agitated at being told what to do.

“Oh, so now you’re a bossy crime lord and a doctor, are you?”

Striding back over to the bed, he grips my jaw firmly in his strong, rough hand, and carefully tilts my head up.