Page 10 of Flames of Ruin

“You’re just going to let me walk out the door? After I know every incriminating thing about you? You sure ride fast and loose, bud.”

I drop my head, letting out an exasperated sigh before turning around to face him.

“It’s called taking calculated risks,” I say, as I turn around clenching my fists. “Do you enjoy living? Because that would end if my secret gets out.”

“Loosen up, pal.” He walks over beside me and slaps my shoulder. The light from the computer illuminates his face as his eyes search the screen before him.

I glare at where his hand lands on me. With a soft chuckle, he slowly removes his hand.

“Alright, I’m game. What do you need from me?”

Standing up straight in front of him, I fold my arms over my chest, “First, tell me all you know about Craig Demassi.”

I’ve never seen someone’s face turn ghostly white so fast who wasn’t bleeding out in front of me.

Until now.

Chapter five

CiCi

Opening my eyes, the bright light from the end table lamp obscures my vision for a moment until my eyes adjust. Looking around, I don’t recognize where I am. I am lying down, fully clothed in my work attire with specks of blood splattered across my chest and stomach. My boots are situated neatly by the door of the room. The back of my head is throbbing as I raise my hand and run my fingers through my matted hair. My hand runs along a slightly shaved area at the crown of my head, and I feel rough stitches sewn into my scalp. The skin around the laceration is hot and tender, and the throbbing increases the longer I stay awake.

Groaning, I throw the sheets off my body and attempt to sit up in bed. Within seconds, the room begins to spin and I feel an overwhelming sense of nausea take over.

“It’s best if you lie back down,” a quiet yet coarse voice says from the foot of the bed. “You have a mild concussion.”

When he rounds the bed to sit next to me, I scoot to the head of the bed, wrapping the sheet around my body as if it were a blanket of protection.

“W-What did you do to me?” I tense up, becoming defensive as I remember the forceful conversation we had in the booth.

Ignoring my accusation, he looks down at his hands, twirling the ring on his finger. “What do you remember about last night?”

“You being a douche, and then I walked outside to chase a guy who stiffed me.” Trying to rack my brain for clues, coming up useless, I continue, “After going outside, I don’t remember much.”

I pause. “Did you drug me or something?!”

He looks up, horrified at such an accusation.

“How would I have possibly done that?”

“I don’t know, Drake Reign, Mr. All Powerful. You tell me,” I snap, clutching the sheet closer to me. I know my accusations are empty. His reaction says it all. On top of the fact that I’m still fully clothed.

“You were attacked by four members of Las Serpientes.” He pauses for a moment, before continuing, “You’re safe now.”

Relaxing my muscles and gripping the sheets, I look up at him. “Are you sure about that?”

Miniscule as it may be, I see him flinch at my words as though I hurt him.

Silence falls around us for a moment, when my eyes gaze over the tattoo of his left hand. I didn’t get a good look at it last night in the dark bar, but in this room I can see the intricate drawing of a dragon. When his fingers move, the dragon looks as if it is dancing across his hand.

A gasp escapes my lips.

“Draco. The Dragon. Y-you’re him.”

His eyes meet my gaze, yet again filled with sadness and torment at the mention of his secret identity.

“How can you say you wouldn’t hurt me when you ruthlessly murder people every night?”

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