Page 22 of Whispers of Ruin

The car speeds through the night, and I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching as the world blurs past.

I should be relieved that I made it out of there alive. That he got me out of there. Yet all I can think about is Julian. The way he looked at me when he led me up those stairs. Like he knew. Like he had already accepted the cost of what he had done. Did he knew what they were going to do to me? Or did he just not care?

I close my eyes, my belly churning. I loved him. I shared a life with him. And in the end, I was just another price he was willing to pay. The ugliness of the world rises in my chest, twisting, curling into something that doesn’t feel like grief.

It’s hate.

The car jerks to a stop, yanking me from my thoughts once again. I blink, disoriented. We are in front of an old, run-down building, the kind people don’t ask questions about. The neon sign above the entrance flickers weakly, casting eerie shadows on the pavement. Xan kills the engine and turns to me.

“Inside. Now.”

I hesitate, my pulse hammering.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Mira, don’t make me carry you because I promise you, it will not be gentle.”

The way he says my name—so casual, so familiar—makes my skin prickle. He gets out first, slamming the door shut before stalking around to my side. I scramble to unbuckle my seatbelt, fumbling with the latch as he wrenches my door open.

“Move.”

I move. The second my feet hit the pavement, reality slams into me violently. My knees buckle. The ground rushes up to meet me, but before I can hit it, firm hands seize my arms, hauling me upright. Xan’s face is inches from mine.

“You’re in shock,” he mutters.

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt without thinking. His body tenses. I should let go. But I don’t. I can’t. This is unraveling, I am breaking apart at the seams, and the only thing anchoring me to reality ishim. The smell of leather and blood. The raw, undeniable strength he has inside of him. I trail my hand up his chest, feeling the rapid, thunderous beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

As much as I wish otherwise, mine is just as out of control. The night itself is to blame, of course—but more than that, it is him. The searing heat of his body, the electric charge pulsing between us. He is intoxicating, overwhelming, and I don’t know if I actually want to pull away. Maybe I could not even if I tried. The last shred of energy I have left is spent on keeping my gaze locked onto his.

Without thinking, I grab his hand and pin it against my chest, forcing him to feel the erratic pounding beneath my ribs. His breath hitches, and I feel the subtle shift in his muscles, the tension winding like a predator holding itself back. I press harder, refusing to let go, silently begging him to understand. I want more—I want his hands to move, to explore, to claim me in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

I want him to ruin me.

He remains still, a living fortress of self-control. Except his body betrays him. I feel his dick, hard against my thigh. A silent confession in his pants. He knows I know. A sensual, measured roll of my hips against him, a wordless promise that hunger is not one-sided.

Still, he doesn’t move or react. Just clenches his jaw, as if forcing himself to withstand the pull between us. I reach for him, my hand sliding lower, needing to feel more—to take what I crave—but before I can, his fingers close brutally around my wrist.

“Do not start something you cannot finish, Mira.”

The words slice through the dense atmosphere; a warning wrapped in steel. My head jerks up, offended.

“Excuse me? Who the fuck are you to decide what I can or cannot handle?”

Xan exhales sharply, clearly exasperated.

“What happened in the library? That was nothing. Just a taste. You are not ready for what I would do to you.”

My fury ignites, white-hot and violent. I shove him, slapping his torso with a trembling hand.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me! You think you do because you have stalked my every move, but you are sooo blind. You know what? I… I fucking hate you!”

He huffs out a laugh, dry and taunting.

“You are such a brat.” His smirk is infuriating. “Now that I think about it, maybe I should have left you there. Let that bastard take you like a worthless little whore, then send youcrawling back to your garbage boyfriend—the one who respects a prostitute more than his own woman.”

My palm strikes his face before I even register moving. The crack echoes like a gunshot in the quiet.

“And you think you’re better than him?” My voice is pure venom. “Hiding behind that mask like some untouchable fucking fever dream.Oh, look at me, I’m a big, scary killer. I’m dangerous. I’m so fucking mysterious.” I sneer. “You know what you really are, Xan? A fucking coward!”

---