Page 9 of Ruin

He'd known this question would come. After seeing him cut through the Mogovian and his guards, she had to have gleaned some idea of what he was, what he did. No point trying to sweeten it.

Lira nodded, her gaze unwavering on his.

He sighed, running a hand over his bald head. Where to begin? How did one explain a lifetime of violence and death to someone who seemed so damn… innocent? Despite having survived a hellish existence, there was a wholesomeness to her.

Even knowing he needed to keep his distance, part of him—a dark, hungry part—longed to corrupt her, to sully all that pretty innocence.

Chapter 4

“I'm a mercenary, with a speciality for assassinations. I kill people for money.” Ruin paused, then tacked on, “Usually bad people.”

He watched her closely, gauging her reaction. To his surprise, there was no fear in her eyes. No revulsion or disgust. Only a gentle understanding that rocked him to his core.

“Is it lonely?”

That damn sure hadn’t been what he’d been expecting her to say. It took a second to recover and answer.

“Uh, not particularly, no. I work with a crew of other mercs. Most of us live full time on our ship.”

“How does it work, being a mercenary?”

“People hire us for various jobs. Sometimes it’s to steal somethin’. Sometimes someone needs protection. Sometimes people have a problem that can’t be solved… legally. Last job was helping a rebellion overthrow a dictator and her loyalists ‘cause she was using the citizens for experiments.”

“So, you’re good bad guys?”

“I don’t think anyone’s callin’ us ‘good’, little bird.”

“I think the people you help would.”

He found he couldn’t actually argue that.

“Why did you become a mercenary?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Just kinda fell into it. My people are warriors. It's in our blood.”

“Is that why you helped me? Because you're a warrior?”

Ruin blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t thought of it that way. His code, such as it was, had always been more about practicality than morality. But he had his hard limits. Don't kill kids. Don't rape. Don't torture… much. Basic lines he wouldn't cross, not because of some noble ideal but because he simply didn’t have the stomach for it. Anyway, he’d seen firsthand the kind of monsters such acts could create.

Hells, he was the one hired to kill those monsters.

“I helped you ‘cause it was the right thing to do. You’re a person. Not a thing to be bought and sold, to be hurt, to have your freedom stolen.”

Lira's eyes swam with tears at his declaration. She reached out, tentatively laying one small hand over his much larger one where it rested on the table.

Her skin was soft against his, so fucking soft, yet her touch seared him straight to the bone.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I know I can never repay you for?—”

Turning his hand over, he engulfed hers. “You owe me nothin’. Your freedom isn’t a debt to be repaid. It’s a basic right, one that should’ve never been stolen from you.”

He hesitated, not wanting to push if she wasn’t ready, but to keep her safe, there were things he had to ask. Clearing his throat, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

“I need to know about you, Lira. What happened? How’d you end up with that fuck?”

She tensed slightly, eyes falling to the table as she drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m not really sure, actually. I remember being in a pen with a bunch of other people, mostly human, but not all. Vargot bought me and another human, a male, but that man died not long after. Before that”—she shrugged—“nothing. Just haziness. Vargot said he had my memories wiped, so I’d be less likely to try to run. That was close to seven standard years ago.”

“Vargot. Did he… ”

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