Page 97 of Made For Ruin

“Who?” Cruel amusement twists his smile. “Your brother gave us this location before he had his change of heart. Foolish boy thought he could double-cross me. Now he pays the price.” Another pained sound filters through the wall. “And that mountain man you’re seeing? He doesn’t even know you’re gone.”

The door closes with quiet menace. I stare at the folder holding my father’s legacy. Everything I’ve fought to preserve. The gun glints beside it, patient and waiting.

Tears burn but I refuse to let them fall. The drugs make everything feel distant, unreal. But fear cuts through the haze with crystal clarity.

Marcus will come. I cling to that certainty. I just need to survive until he finds me. But my thoughts keep fracturing, scattering like broken glass.

The rope slices deeper as I work the knots. One hour. Sixty minutes to find escape or lose everything.

The lake sparkles beyond dirty windows. The same view from countless childhood mornings now feels like a farewell. My stomach heaves. The drugs pull me under, make planning impossible. But one thought burns through the fog.

Will he reach me in time?

Time stretches endlessly in the heavy silence. Blood slicks my wrists where the rope has rubbed them raw. Each pull against my restraints sends fresh pain through my shoulders, but the sharp sting helps cut through the drug-induced haze.

From the next room, Derrick has gone quiet. The silence terrifies me more than his earlier sounds of pain.

My arms ache from being wrenched backward and my muscles protest each small movement as exhaustion pulls at me like a weight.

What if Marcus doesn’t find me? The thought opens a pit in my stomach. What if he comes too late, after Enzo has already broken me? Marcus always calls me his brave girl when things get hard. His faith in me never wavers.

But I don’t feel brave now.

Another wave of dizziness hits. The room tilts and spins as tears finally spill down my cheeks.

Marcus would hate seeing me like this. Reduced to someone small and scared and helpless. He believes in me so completely. Sees something in me I can’t always see in myself. But I’m not strong now. Not with whatever drugs they gave me still pulsing through my system. Not with my brother’s silence screaming through the wall.

My chest tightens until breathing becomes difficult. The ropes aren’t just holding my body captive. They’re crushing everything inside me. Every hope. Every dream. Every bit of courage I thought I possessed.

The folder on the table holds my father’s legacy. Everything he worked for. One signature would end this nightmare. Wouldkeep Derrick’s fingers intact. Would let me walk away with enough money to start fresh.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

A soft whimper escapes before I can stop it. The sound is foreign and broken in the heavy air. I barely recognize it as my own voice.

Is this what breaking feels like? This slow crumbling from the inside out?

Another sound filters through the wall. A grunt. A thud. The sharp crack of something breaking. They’re hurting Derrick again. Each pained noise cuts through me. We used to protect each other when we were young. Now we’re both trapped in this nightmare of his making, and I can’t save either of us.

The despair rises higher.

I’m not brave enough for this. Not strong enough to hold onto my father’s dreams while my brother screams in the next room. Not capable of being the person Marcus believes me to be.

The truth settles over me with crushing weight. I might die in this room. In this house that once held such happy memories. The last thing I’ll see will be this view of the lake that holds the ghosts of a thousand summer days.

Maybe that’s what breaking really means. Not the moment when pain becomes too much, but the instant you realize no one is coming to save you. That all your strength means nothing in the face of reality.

TWENTY-FOUR

MARCUS

Reignand I race out of the diner and outside into the parking lot.

It’s buzzing with activity as fire crews pack up their equipment. The smoke has mostly cleared now, revealing scorched walls around the kitchen’s back entrance. Local news vans are starting to arrive, and reporters are already setting up their cameras to capture the scene.

None of them know they’re covering the wrong story.

Reign’s truck sits running at the edge of the lot, away from the chaos. He’s been on his phone since we left the diner, mobilizing the network we built for exactly this kind of situation. In our line of work, official channels move too slow. The cops will follow procedure, file reports, and wait for warrants.

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