Page 78 of Ruin My Life
“Skip the shower,” he says. “Someone was definitely here. And not that long ago.”
I yank the clothes on quickly, biting back another wince as the fabric scrapes against the burn. My fingers tremble slightly as I pull the shirt over my head. “How do you know?”
Silence.
When I swing the door open, he’s standing just outside, eyes locked on his phone, tension thrumming through every inch of him. He’s scrubbing through a video—frame by frame—his face carved from stone.
“How do youknow?” I ask again, sharper now.
He finally looks at me, almost sheepish.
“I had Monroe and Lee install cameras in your living room.”
My stomach drops. “You fuckingperv.”
“In yourliving room,” he repeats, calm and slow, likeI’mthe irrational one. “It was a precaution. To make sure you didn’t pull anything shady after I let you go.”
“Usually,letting someone goimplies you’re not turning their apartment into the big brother house,” I snap. “You don’t get to play prison warden after the fact.”
I want to stay angry. Really, I do.
But if someone washere—if someone slipped past my defences while I was out there killing Calvin and pretending I had everything under control—then Damon’s overreach might have just saved me.
Again.
I take a breath, force myself to refocus. “Did you catch them on camera? If you got a face, I can run it. Find out who they are, where they went.”
He shakes his head, grinding his teeth.
“They hacked the system. Server-side. Which, by the way, shouldn’t bepossible.There’s a thirty-minute gap in the feed. Picks back up the second we walked through the door.”
Cold dread pools in my gut.
“But nothing’s missing,” I murmur. “We didn’t find anything moved.”
He looks at me like I’m missing the obvious.
“Because they weren’t here for yourthings, Brie. They were here foryou.”
My mouth goes dry.
“Then why leave?” I ask. “Why bail if I was the target?”
Damon shrugs, but it’s tight. Calculated. “If they can hack my cameras, odds are they tapped into your building’s trash security too. Maybe they saw I was with you. Maybe they decided it wasn’t worth the risk.”
Normally, I’d scoff. Call him arrogant.
But tonight? He’s probably right.
For the second time today, Damon King might be the reason I’m still breathing.
“Pack a bag,” Damon orders, shoving his phone into his pocket. “We’ll get to the bottom of this later—when you’re somewhere safe.”
My throat tightens as I nod and turn toward the closet, pulling out the same small suitcase I used the day I left my parents’ house. Back then, it was packed full of stuff. I didn’t know what I’d need. Now, most of the things I own just feel like dead weight anyway—except for a handful of items I refuse to part with.
I toss the suitcase onto the bed and start pulling open drawers, mindlessly stuffing in clothes and the photo album I keep in my bottom drawer.My hands move on autopilot, but my chest burns the second I see the frame with Amie’s picture that’s sitting on my dresser. I grab it with shaking fingers and slide it gently between folded fabric.
Behind me, Damon lingers like a shadow.
