Page 145 of Ruin My Life
“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss, my teeth clenched around the fire boiling in my blood.
I don’t lower the gun, even as I reach for his belt.
“Straight to business, huh?” he wheezes, choking around the pressure on his lungs.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Just yank the leather belt from his jeans and shift my boot to his throat.
I don’t press—not yet—but it’s a warning. One wrong breath and I’ll crush his windpipe like a paper straw.
I loop the belt around his wrists and cinch it tight, pulling until the leather bites into his skin and his face twists with pain. Then I haul him upright, shoving him against the wall like the piece of shit he is.
I press my gun back to his temple, my hand steady as a surgeon.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. Not even once. “You speakonlywhen I tell you to. You don’t move unless you want another hole in your body. And if you so much as twitch in a way I don’t like, I’ll put the next bullet straight through your dick.”
He lets out a broken laugh—croaky and faint. “So generous.”
“If you follow my rules,” I continue, my eyes locked on his, “I might kill youfasterthan you deserve.”
His expression flickers.
A spark of amusement gives way to something darker. Something wary.
But then he tips his head.
“Ask away.”
“Why.”
It’s the only word I say. Cold. Flat. Loaded with every implication.
I don’t need to elaborate. He knows exactly what I mean.
Alexander looks up at me from where he’s slumped, blood still leaking onto the concrete, and he shrugs.
“It’s all business, sweetheart.”
Wrong answer.
I tilt the gun down, aim it at his crotch. My finger shifts on the trigger—and it’s not a bluff. Iwanthim to twitch.
Alarm flashes across his face. His legs shift slightly, the instinctive urge to protect himself betraying the calm he’s trying to fake.
“Look, I wasn’t the one who came up with the plan,” he says quickly, eyes locked on the gun’s muzzle. “I was looking for a way to take down Damon King. So was my partner. When he said he had a job that could get us closer, I followed his lead.”
“That job,” I bite, “was murdering my family.”
He shrugs again, this time slower. “Collateral. Necessary to get to the real prize.”
“And how doesthatget you any closer to Damon?” My voice sharpens, brittle with fury. “I didn’t even know who he was until after the attack.”
Alexander chuckles—low, humourless. “And yet, now you know more about him than anyone else.”
I freeze.
His words land so hard they hurt—like a cracked rib. Small, but sharp enough to buckle my breath.
No.
