Page 92 of Ruin My Life
For everyone’s sake.
Especially mine.
Chapter Nineteen
Brie
ISIT IN THE DARK, CROSS-LEGGED ONthe bed, my laptop casting cold white light across my face. The door is locked. I’ve kept it that way since Damon left.
Every so often, I hear something out in the hall—distant chatter, footsteps creaking across the hardwood—but no one tries the knob. No one even lingers near the door. As far as I can tell, they’ve left me alone.
For now.
I don’t know if dinner was supposed to be some kind of peace offering, but I’m not ready to break bread with Damon and his crew like we’re one big happy dysfunctional family. Not after today. Not after everything.
Even if my stomach has other opinions.
The last thing I ate was split pea soup, and that was hours ago. My stomach makes a sound like it’s trying to chew through itself.
I should sleep, but I can’t.
Truth is, my sleeping schedule isn’t all that different from theirs. I’m used to staying up through the night when there’s work to be done—sometimes focus is easier to find in the dark. I assume at least one of them stays posted at the bar all night, while someone else rotates through Damon’s security network at The King’s Eye.
The kind of coordination it would take makes my head spin when I think about it too long. Especially on an empty stomach.
I’ve been trying to dig into thisLolawoman. But between the concrete walls and whatever encrypted firewall Damon’srunning, the Wi-Fi here is probably worse than anactualprison cell. I can barely load a YouTube video, let alone run R.O.S.E.
Eventually, I give up.
I shut the laptop and let the room go dark again, thick shadows wrapping around me like a blanket that doesn’t quite keep me warm.
My stomach snarls, as if the darkness has only made it hungrier.
I sit for another full minute, debating the pros and cons, before standing and moving to the door. I unlock it as quietly as I can, wincing at the softclickit makes. The hallway beyond is pitch black, but at the far end, pale moonlight filters in from the massive skylights above the living room. It paints the floor in shards of silver.
I move carefully, each step across the hardwood impossibly loud in the stillness. The furniture that looked so sleek and expensive during the day now blends into the shadows like it’s lying in wait.
The fridge is a glowing beacon in the dark when I open it. The quiet hum breaks the silence, and the harsh light floods the kitchen, stinging my eyes.
Inside, there’s a few boxes of leftover Chinese food. Chicken fried rice. Sweet and sour pork. There are also some essentials—milk, butter, a carton of eggs that’s near empty. Condiments. And, of course, a full drawer of energy drinks and canned sodas.
It’s a chef’s kitchen with the pantry of a college freshman.
I’m halfway through debating which container to grab when a voice slices through the dark behind me.
“Trying to air condition the apartment with the fridge?”
I jump—literallyjump—and slam the fridge door shut. The kitchen plunges back into darkness as my spine hits the cold marble of the island behind me. I reach out blindly and rip a knife from the block on the counter—the largest one I can find.
“Who’s there?” I demand, my voice sharper than the blade in my hand.
A low, amused chuckle comes from the living room. Then the lamp clicks on.
Damon.
He’s perched on the edge of the couch, one leg draped over the other, a glass of something dark in his hand.
“You know, this ismyapartment,” he says dryly.
