Page 103 of Ruin My Life
The man still hiding in the shadows. The one whose hands are still covered in Amie’s blood. The Songbird I’ve been clawing through hell to find.
She sent me that photo—grainy, clipped from a surveillance feed to strategically hide his face—but it was him. I know it was him.
I still have the image saved in three encrypted drives, but I need more. I need to see his face if I’m going to track him down. Hell, anamewould even suffice at this point.
“How do I know you actually have what I’m looking for?” I ask, arms tightening across my chest. “If someone else hired you, who’s to say they gave you anything beyond what I’ve already seen?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lola’s smile lingers, but her eyes narrow—sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m afraid this one’s going to require a little faith on all sides.”
Faith. Not exactly my strong suit.
I flick a glance toward Damon.
He’s already watching me.
But his eyes don’t just rest—they scan, measure,readmy reactions. Like he’s trying to find the secrets buried under my skin, etched into my bones.
Like he’s trying to see just how badly I need this—and whether it’ll break me if it turns out to be nothing.
I inhale through my nose, slow and steady.
“Name your price,” I say, turning back to Lola. “And I’ll tell you if it’s worth it.”
Her gaze slides past me to Damon, the seductive mask slipping off like a silk robe.
“Protection,” she says.
Damon’s eyes narrow. “From what?”
“From the person who hired me.” Her voice has shed its charm as her eyes flick back to me. “The one who’s after you.”
The words hit like shrapnel.
Damon’s brow ticks up, and I can see the tension roll through his shoulders before he buries it beneath a slow, mocking smirk. “A snake is asking a coyote for help?”
Lola doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. “Do we have a deal, or not?”
The silence that follows is short—but not empty. Damon and Connor exchange a glance, something unspoken ricocheting between them. Strategy. Contingency. Memory.
Then Damon nods. “Deal.”
And just like that, something shifts.
It’s subtle, but I feel it—like a pressure valve releasing. An invisible weight lifts off Lola’s shoulders. Her poise doesn’t crack, but it softens. And I don’t miss the way her two guards stiffen slightly, like they hadn’t been told she’d ever need help from anyone but them.
She already has security. Already has men. Already has a room guarded like a silk-draped vault. But she feels like she needs more.
So what does that say about the person who hired her?
Whoever it is… theyscareher.
Andthatscares me.
“I don’t know the name or identity of the person who hired me to contact The Black Rose,” Lola begins. Her voice is still smooth, but now it carries weight behind it. “We communicated strictly over text. A burner number. No voice calls. Nothing traceable.”
She pauses just long enough to let the implications settle—how easy it is for someone to hide in this world. To pull all the strings and still leave no trace.
“I didn’t think much of it at first,” she continues. “Especially when he offered me a fat lump sum for such asimple job. All I had to do was send her the picture and tell her to gather intel on you.”
