Page 9 of Ruined

Clean apartment. Every detail screamed control, from the polished counters to the antique gun on the wall. Even his trinkets seemed to say: This is the life you’ll never have. I moved silently and muffled my footsteps on thick rugs lining the hallway. The living room blended luxury and masculinity—leather furniture, abstract art, and a glass coffee table. A massiveflat screen hung above a marble fireplace. A plant sat on the windowsill. The leaves drooped toward the light. I spun the pot to face the window.

The bedroom had a king-sized bed covered in dark linens, framed by heavy curtains. A mirror faced the mattress, and the dresser displayed his jewelry.

I froze.

Dominic’s cufflinks. Flashy enough to scream money without trying too hard. The first time I noticed them, he was rolling his sleeves while rattling off a coffee order. I pictured his big hands flicking them off. Probably cost more than my car, and he tossed them on his desk like trash.

Whenever he wore them, I caught myself staring. They looked so fucking perfect on him. The gold against his tanned skin. The little engravings. The faint scratches proved that even he had flaws.

And now they were mine.

My hand closed around them, slipping them into my pocket. I crossed to the bathroom. Tan cabinets and floors with an accent wall. His scent crawled into my lungs. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw him smirking. I hated him so much it hurt.

My gaze settled on the black soap, the black tray under the black towels. Everything matched. Could this guy be any more gay?

I scoffed, returning to the bedroom. I didn’t want to imagine what he did with men in this room. Instead I pictured what I’d do to him.

It’d be easy to put a bullet in him from the shadows, but I wanted him to look me in the eye before it was over. Dominic Caruso, the golden boy. I’d never needed to destroy someone so badly.

He’d beg for mercy when I strapped him to the chair. I’d keep him alive for a bit. Play with him. Once I got sick of his crying, I’d kill him.

The front door opened.

I hurried to my hiding spot as Dominic strolled in, whistling. I watched him through the crack in the bedroom door. He ditched his shoes and hung his jacket in the closet.

He swaggered into view and stripped off his shirt. He was jacked. Steroids? Whatever it was, it worked. Too well. I couldn’t stand him, but he knew how to look good.

I averted my gaze, heat rising in my face. I risked another glance as he dropped his pants, his ass bare and just as sculpted as the rest of him. He disappeared into the bathroom, hitting the light switch. The shower turned on, giving me the cover I needed. I had to get in, but my legs froze.

Was I doing this?

Cross the room and he’s yours.

As steam clouded the mirror, I moved.

The glass wall separating the shower from the bathroom fogged over. Dominic was in there, naked. I had him.

Go.

I unsheathed my knife from the belt at my waist. Then I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

THREE

DOMINIC

TWO HOURS AGO

I took a bite of what was supposed to be a roast beef sandwich. My mouth blistered. I coughed, wincing. Then I shoved the food away.

“Problem, sir?” asked my ultra-attentive bodyguard.

“Something spicy. It’s burning my tongue off.”

My bodyguard peeled apart the bread. A chili pepper sat in the middle of the lettuce leaves.

Could’ve been antifreeze. Either I got off easy, or the Bratva Brat didn’t have the balls to take his vengeance.

My bodyguard’s frown deepened. “Want me to bring him back?”

---