Page 99 of Ruin My Life
I rest my elbow on the bar and lean in. “I’m just curious,” I say. “I’ve met plenty of people like you—bounty hunters, I mean. Tracking down a gang member is easy with the right connections. But getting close enough to convince them to break from the herd? That takes something else. I guess I’m just wondering howyoumanage it.”
Brie tilts her head, rolling my words around like a marble in her mouth. “I’m not a bounty hunter,” she says. “I’m not doing this for money.”
“Bounty doesn’t always mean cash,” I reply. “You’re after information. That’s still payment—even if you’re the only one who benefits.”
She shrugs noncommittally.
Then she takes another sip. The glass sparkles just like her lips.
She swivels on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The dress slides effortlessly, exposing the line of her thigh all the way up to her hip. It’s a stretch of bare skin designed to distract.
My gaze drags along it like I’m tethered to her.
When her knees shift toward me, I look up—and her eyes catch mine like a snare.
It’s not the same angry blaze I’m used to from her. It’s softer. A flame that seems safe to touch, even though deep down, you know it’ll still burn all the same.
“Tell me, Damon,” she says, her voice low but impossibly clear—like the music bends around her. “What do you think people see when they look at me?”
A question like that is like a tripwire.
I should know better than to step into it, but I’m already caught—hook, line, and fucking sinker—as she sets her drink aside and leans in, fingers grazing the fabric of my dress shirt.
She drags them slow—over my forearm, to the edge of my cuff—hooking the cotton just enough to slide her fingertip against my wrist. Bare skin to bare skin.
My pulse kicks like a goddamn war drum.
“What doyousee when you look at me?” she asks, hazel eyes molten and steady, drilling straight into mine.
I swallow hard, but her breath is already tangled with mine—orange, lime, tequila. Her cocktail and her body heat wrap around me until I can’t tell what’s making my head spin.
“A stunning woman,” I manage, barely. “One that’s hiding devil horns in her hair.”
She smiles—and fuck, it’s not coy. It’svictorious.
“Possibly,” she says. “But it was a trick question.”
Her palm drifts up, her thumb grazing my cheekbone in a slow, reverent stroke. The touch is too gentle. Like she’s testing how much of me she could melt before I realize how close she’s holding the fire.
“I study them,” she murmurs. “Not just what they’ve done, but what they want. Their habits. Their types. Before I ever leave my apartment, I’ve already become the fantasy they’ve been chasing.”
She leans in closer—so close her lips nearly brush mine, glitter and gloss catching the light.
“I can be whoever they want me to be,” she whispers. “That’s how I do it.”
Then sheslapsme.
Not hard—just a sharp little sting across my cheek that’s more playful than punishing—but it ignites something feral in my chest.
She starts to pull away, grinning like a devil, but I catch her wrist mid-flight and keep her close.
My grip is firm, but not cruel. I drag her hand to my mouth and bite the heel of her palm—just enough to mark her—then I kiss the same spot like a promise.
“It’s a dangerous game, little rose,” I murmur against her skin.
She glances down at the imprint I’ve left and smiles.
“I may not make all the rules,” she breathes, “but I can see all the cards.Imake the decisions.”
