Page 98 of Ruin My Life
Every detail—from the concept to the layout and lighting—has been curated for the female gaze. The few men that’ve been let inside aren’t prowling. They linger near the women who brought them like quiet, unthreatening accessories to the night. It’s meant to be a sanctuary—safer than a nightclub, softer than a bar. It’s the kind of place I’d normally admire for just existing.
But tonight, that admiration is buried beneath something sharper.
Because we’re not here for drinks and dancing.
We’re here for Lola.
“I can see the back rooms Lee mentioned,” Connor murmurs, dipping his head toward Brie so she can hear him over the beat. He nods toward a curtain at the far end—flanked by another bouncer in a black suit.
Brie follows his line of sight, her eyes narrowing. “We’ll have to split up,” she says. “If all three of us approach, it’ll raise flags.”
“She’s right,” I say.
In most cases, I’d tell Connor to stay on lookout while I try to talk my way in. But every muscle in my body is telling me not to let Brie out of my sight.
“Con, you try your luck. Lola knows me. Odds are she won’t let me anywhere near her, considering the situation.”
It’s not a lie.
Lola and I have crossed paths before. Briefly. There’s no bad blood between us personally—but she’s the type who’d throw anyone under the bus if the price is right.
And right now, I doubt she’ll welcome me with open arms. Not when she’s already sold her services to whoever tried to use Brie as a pawn.
Connor doesn’t argue. He simply adjusts the cuffs of his shirt and slips into the crowd, projecting charm like it’s cologne.
Brie starts to move too, angling toward the bar—but I catch her wrist, pulling her back against me.
“Where are you going?” I ask, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.
She doesn’t even flinch, like she was already expecting it from me. “We have to wait for Connor,” she replies coolly. “Might as well grab a drink while we’re at it.”
“You do remember that this is a job, right?”
She rolls her eyes before she turns to me, her breath warm as it mixes with mine.
“Yes, Damon.I remember.”
Damon. The way she says my name sounds like a dare—like she wants to see just how far she can stretch my patience. It makes my cock jump and strain against my zipper.
“I’ve taken down plenty of people with a single drink in my system. Don’t worry. I won’t be sloppy.”
She moves again, and this time, I let her go.
But only long enough for me to follow.
At the bar, she glances at the specialties for only a split second before she orders a cocktail calledPussy Power.
It’s fitting, to say the least.
The bartender sets a pink drink in front of her, the light catching the swirl of edible glitter inside. A lime wedge clings to the rim.
Her lips wrap around the straw as she takes a slow sip, her throat working with a swallow that has no right being that fuckinghypnotic—and yet...
Then comes the quick swipe of her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving a constellation of tiny sparkles in her lipstick.
It’s not an accident. It’s choreography.
“Are you going to order yourself a drink,” she asks, turning toward me with that slow, knowing smile, “or are you just going to sit there and stare?”
