Page 250 of Ruin My Life
He sighs and steps toward the blinds, twisting them open until the slats reveal the hallway. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
And he’s right.
Because if he had told meLola—of all fucking people—was here, I’d have laughed in his face. Or snapped something in half.
She’s not dressed like herself. No glitzy club wear, no stilettos, or red glitter lips. Just jeans, a navy-blue trench coat, and a cream turtleneck. Her signature red hair is pulled into a loose braid, her makeup muted and subtle.
When her eyes meet mine through the window, she smiles but it’s faint. Nervous.
She’s too calm for someone who should be terrified of me.
“Tell her now’s not the time to bother me,” I say, turning away from the window.
Like everyone else under my protection when The Speakeasy was compromised, Lola moved into one of the secure safehouses outside Kings. According to Monroe, she wasn’t exactly thrilled. They’re simple—the same ones we use for women who need a place to stay after they escape hell.
I gave her shelter. Security. Space.
And now she’s here?
I don’t have the bandwidth to listen to her bitch about boredom or beg for a new mattress. Not when Brie is lying in that bed—unmoving, silent, teetering between this world and the next.
“I told her that already,” Monroe says, unbothered by my tone. “She blew up my phone until I met her downstairs.”
“Then you should’ve sent her back.”
“She says it’s about Brie,” he says, voice low. “And that it’s time-sensitive.”
Thatgets my attention.
My jaw tightens and I stand from the chair I haven’t left in two hours. My hand rests against Brie’s for a moment longer before I let go.
I glance back at Monroe. “Come get me if she so much as twitches.”
“Of course.” He slides into the seat beside her like he was made for it—quiet and steady as ever.
I step out into the hallway, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. I shove my hands into my pockets as I close the distance between me and Lola. My expression is as cold as steel. My voice sharper than a blade.
“What do you want?”
She flinches—just slightly—but reins it in, her eyes flicking toward Brie through the glass. She looks for barely a heartbeat—like even that glimpse costs her too much—then turns back to me.
“I have something for you,” she says softly, reaching into her coat.
I tense instinctively.
But all she pulls out is her phone.
“I was told to send it to you,” she explains, her voice thin, “in the event Brie became… unavailable to receive it herself.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
Who gave her instructions? When? Why?
And how the fuck did she know Brie would be in danger?
Before I can demand answers, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Lola lifts her phone a fraction higher. “It’s that.”
I drag my phone out and glance at the screen.
