Page 45 of Ruin My Life
Fear creeps along my spine, but I smother before it can take hold. I bury it deep—in a dark place he, and no one else, will ever get close enough to see.
I won’t hand that to him. Not Damon King.
Men like him feed on fear, sharpen it into weapons—and I’ve already been carved up once.
Never again.
Then something shifts.
My mind sharpens through the fog of pain and pressure, and I remember—Iknowhim.
I've seen Damon King’s digital skeletons. His bank records. His company’s encrypted files. I know the names of the people closest to him.
Monroe Vargas. Chavez Navarro. They’re not just bouncers—they’re fixtures, embedded in every layer of his empire.
And he has no idea how much I know.
I straighten in my chair, pain be damned, and force a slow smirk onto my lips. My eyes lock with his—sharp, calculating, unafraid.
Something flickers in his expression. A fracture in his control.
Maybe I’m the first person who’s ever looked him dead in the eye and refused to flinch.
“Do I get any guesses on who you’ll send in next?” My voice is low, laced with mockery. “My money’s on Chavez. Seems fair, since Monroe already carried me in here like a sack of potatoes.”
His eyes ignite.
Rage. Intrigue. A flicker of something darker.
The air vibrates with it. Like the space between us might shatter.
Then—without warning—he moves.
In one swift motion, Damon closes the gap between us. His hand knots into my hair, yanking my head back so hard my neck protests and my spine arches against the chair to keep from snapping.
The world tilts, and pain bursts like fireworks along my scalp—but I grit my teeth. Bite Hard. Taste blood.
Iwill notgive him the sound of my scream.
His grip tightens, and I catch the movement of muscle in his forearm—every tendon lit with tension. The tattoos along his skin shift with the motion, smoke swirling over his veins like they’re alive.
He leans in close—tooclose.
His breath grazes my lips, cool and minty. The scent of him floods my senses—spice and amber, undercut by something unexpectedly soft.
Lavender.
It doesn’t belong on a man like him.
And maybe that’s what makes it stand out.
"You’re going to learn something very quickly,little rose," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against my skin. "Sometimes… knowledge isn’t power."
My pulse thrashes in my neck, but I keep the smirk etched onto my face like armour.
“Doesn’t seem that way from where I’m sitting,” I whisper.
His eyes pause on mine, something unreadable churning beneath the surface. His grip loosens—almostreluctantly—before he lets go altogether.
