Page 10 of Made For Ruin

“And ridiculously hot,” Ruby interrupts, smirking. “Don’t forget ridiculously hot.”

I groan again, burying my face in a throw pillow. “You’re impossible. You know that, right?”

Fortunately, my phone buzzes on the couch beside me, saving me from more of Ruby’s teasing. I glance at the screen, and my stomach drops. It’s a number I know by heart—Blackwater prison.

My heart starts pounding, and I feel that familiar mix of dread and hope churning in my chest.

Ruby notices my expression immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“My brother’s calling me.”

Her face softens. “You should take it.”

I nod back, already standing up. “I’m going to my room.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just gives me a small, reassuring smile as I grab my phone and head down the hall. My mind races as I close the door behind me and sit on the edge of my bed.

My older brother Derrick went away to prison five years ago for armed robbery. I still remember the day the police showed up at our door, the grim expressions on their faces as they told us what happened. Derrick had always been a bit wild and prone to making bad decisions. But none of us ever thought he’d go so far to rob someone at gunpoint.

I take a deep breath and answer the call. “Derrick?”

“Hey, kiddo.”

Five years inside haven’t changed the way he calls me that, like I’m still the kid who used to crawl into his bed during thunderstorms. He was my protector back then – the one who walked me to school and who scared off bullies.

Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile that Derrick with the one who got caught up with the wrong crowd, who started running with the Southside Kings.

“How are you? Is everything alright?”

“Sure, sure.” There’s a pause and I hear the background noise of other inmates. “Listen, Lainey. I need a favor.”

The knot in my stomach tightens.

Derrick’s “favors” have gotten more frequent lately. And all of them usually involve me giving him money.

“What kind of favor?”

“I owe a guy some money. And I can’t pay him back.”

My stomach turns, a sickening lurch that feels all too familiar.

Even before he went to prison, Derrick had a gambling problem. It started small—a few bucks on football games, then poker nights that stretched into early mornings. By the time he was arrested, he owed more people than I could count.

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “How much?”

There’s a long pause, the kind that makes my heart race.

“Five thousand.”

“Five thou—” I choke on the words, my voice rising. “Are you kidding me, Derrick? Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?”

“Lainey, please,” he says, his voice urgent. “This is the last payment, I swear. After this, I’m done. Clean slate.”

I want to believe him. I want to believe him so badly it hurts. But I’ve heard this before, too many times to count.

“Who do you owe it to?”

Another pause, longer this time. When Derrick speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

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