Page 58 of Ruin My Life
An older white guy with a hunched posture. A lanky kid in an NYU hoodie. And a redhead with her hair twisted into a tight bun.
My stomach sinks.
“I know her,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Lola DuBois. She’ll do anything for the right price. I doubt she’s the mastermind, but she’ll probably know who is.”
Brianna leans back nonchalantly. “So if you already know who she is, you don’t need me anymore.”
Lee leans in over her shoulder. “What was that program you used to pull the café footage?”
“Something I built,” she says flatly, slamming her laptop shut with a little more force than necessary. “Can I go now?”
“A deal’s a deal,” I reply, shrugging like it’s simple. “But just because you walk out of here doesn’t mean you’re safe. You’ve tangled with some dangerous people—”
“Worse than you?” she interjects dryly, her voice dipped in venom.
I grin. “Ten times worse, little rose. Whoever hired Lola to bait you with intel both has connections and knows you well. Which means you’re not just in the game—you’re a piece on the board now.”
“Lee watched me destroy everything I found,” she mutters. “I’ll tell them I couldn’t get in. Problem solved.”
I laugh—the sound comes out sharp and cold.
Obviously she hasn’t been doing this long.
“If you don’t deliver what they want, someone will come knocking. And next time, it won’t be me.”
“Great,” she drawls. “Thanks for the lecture.”
“You’d be safer here,” I say. “Now that I don’t have a reason to kill you myself.”
She squares her shoulders, as if that’s going to make her the least bit intimidating. “I don’t need your protection—I don’twantit.”
“Fine.” I step in closer, lowering my voice until my breath holds like a blade to her throat. “But if you ever breathe a word about what you know, I’ll find out. And then Iwillhave a reason.”
“Understood.” Her voice is cool and composed, though I don’t miss the way she swallows her fear as she looks at me.
She gathers her laptop and phone in record time and darts toward the door.
“Hold on.”
She pauses. But she doesn’t turn.
So fuckingdefiant…
“I’m going to need those pants back,” I tell her.
She spins to face me, eyes blazing like twin infernos. Her mouth opens in protest—but then she sees the smirk tugging at my lips. And she shuts it.
“Fine,” she growls.
She drops her laptop on the desk, glares at me like she’s already plotting my murder, and hooks her thumbs into the waistband.
She peels the pants off slow, never breaking eye contact.
There’s a glint in her eye as she kicks them across the room and nails me square in the chest.
I catch them—barely.
I stand there, frozen, my pulse hammering as she tugs at the hem of her oversized T-shirt, trying to pass it off as a dress that’d fit a toddler better than it fits her.
