Page 44 of Ruin My Life
He leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees, eyes locked on mine.
“Tell me, Brianna…” My name drips from his lips like syrup over a blade—slow and sweet, but still sharp enough to cut.
I keep my face blank, but I feel the discomfort slide through me anyway.
I hate that he knows my real name. Hate that he says it like we’re already something more than enemies in a locked room. I worked so hard to disappear. Spent weeks scrubbing databases, forging trails, burning the digital fingerprints I left behind.
But not everything can be erased.
His eyes sharpen like he’s watching the thoughts behind my silence. “How does a pretty little thing like you end up in a business like this?”
My jaw locks. Hard. Bone grinding against bone.
The corner of his mouth curls—just slightly.
It’s the kind of smirk that says he sees everything. That he’s already logged my reaction and filed it underweakness.
“Not so nice when people know your secrets, hm?”
His voice is soft now.Mocking. Meant to coax and corrode.
He lifts a hand and places it under my chin. Just the pads of his fingers—light enough that I could pretend it’s gentle if I didn’t know better.
He tilts my head up, his eyes boring into mine.
The smirk is gone.
What’s left behind is something far colder.
Something focused.Lethal.
His hand falls away, and the temperature in the room seems to drop with it.
“Who are you working for?”
The question isn’t barked. It’s whispered. But it’s sharp enough to feel like a knife pressed between my ribs.
I don’t answer. I keep my eyes on him, my silence a scream of defiance.
Even if I knew exactly who sent me, I wouldn’t tell him. Damon King is the kind of man who doesn’t forgive trespasses. The kind who doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger when someone becomes a threat. If I open my mouth now, there are only two outcomes: he kills me to protect whatever he’s hiding—or he lets me live long enough to regret it.
And if he doesn’t kill me… whoever I’ve been working with might. I was given three days. Three days to deliver intel on the King of Kings.
Time’s ticking.
And the only thing more dangerous than Damon King is the person who wants him taken down.
Damon rises from his stool like a storm cloud taking shape—slow and inevitable. His shadow stretches across the concrete, swallowing the space between us as he towers above me.
The weight of his presence fills the room, presses against my chest with every breath he takes.
His eyes narrow to slits. Bottomless. Unforgiving.
“If you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs, low and razor-edged, “I can send in someone else to get answers. And trust me... their approach will be much messier than mine.”
The threat hangs in the air, coiled and heavy.
I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat doesn’t budge.
