Page 137 of Ruin My Life
I’m listed as a potential threat.
Not surprising—but it hits different seeing it in writing, seeing my face flagged like I’m some kind of ticking time bomb everyone needs to be wary of.
And he’s not wrong.
I find the photos I’m looking for in a recently updated section of the database, listed underSongbird chain of command—and what I find makes my stomach drop like a stone.
They’ve been added into the file for a man namedAlexander O’Doyle. I don’t even have to go looking through Lee’s database to know where I’ve heard the name before.
Matthias O’Doyle is the leader of the Songbird gang.
And Alexander is hisson.
My blood runs cold.
Isthatwhy Damon kept it from me? Because of the deal he made with Matthias? He said the Songbirds treated him like family. Was Alexander like a brother to him?
The questions come fast, hard, and unrelenting—splintering me from the inside until a pounding headache anchors itself behind my eyes.
But none of them matter.
Not really. Notright now.
Because Alexander O’Doyle killed my sister.
He helped kill my parents.
He shattered my world and tried to bury me under the rubble.
And I am going to end him.
My hands tremble as I transfer his full profile onto my laptop—every file, every photo, every detail Lee managed to compile. Then I open R.O.S.E., drag his image into the facial match system, and pressEnter.
The familiar loading bar begins its crawl, and my palms start sweating immediately. I wipe them down the sides of myjeans, again and again, trying to focus on the screen instead of the rage boiling beneath my skin.
He’s so close. I canfeelit.
But the search times out.
No match.
Just out of reach.Again.
It’s four A.M., so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ll have to try again when the sun comes up. Hope that he puts his face in front of a camera so R.O.S.E. can catch him live.
I snap my laptop shut, my jaw clenched so tight I think I might crack a molar. I gather my things and slip out of the security office, bypassing the main bar and sliding through the rear hallway. I take the same route I did the night Damon first brought me here—past his little torture cell, and out the side entrance.
I press my back to the alley wall and slink through the shadows until the dim glow of the streetlights stretches far enough to touch me.
A yellow cab idles at the curb—likely waiting for some drunk girl in stilettos to stumble out of the bar and need a ride home.
Instead, he gets me.
I slide into the back seat, tossing my duffle beside me like it weighs nothing—when in truth it feels like it’s packed with bricks.
Regret. Rage.
My sister’s ghost.
