Page 59 of Ruin My Life
“It’s been a pleasure,” she says, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. “I hope we never meet again.”
Monroe opens the door, and she strides out like she owns the place—no backward glance. No fear.
We all stand there silently—like she’s the aftermath of a storm and we’re caught in the wake of her exit.
“Holy fuck,” Lee mutters.
Monroe rolls his eyes. “Keep it in your pants,hermano.”
I turn back to my desk, tossing the sweatpants onto it. “Set me up with access to the cameras you installed today. I want eyes on her.”
“I’ll take second shift,” Connor says darkly, his brow wiggling with ill-intent.
I ignore him. He talks a big game when it comes to women, but that’s all it is—talk.
Chavez leans against the doorframe. “What if someone comes after her? She said she doesn’t want protection.”
I shrug. “We’re not protecting her. We’re protectingme. She knows more about my life than anyone else on the planet—more than the four of you combined.”
And that’s why I should’ve killed her.
Ishould’ve. But I didn’t.
And part of me prays I won’t have to.
Chapter Twelve
Brie
IHOPEINEVER HEAR THE NAMEDAMONKINGever again.
The cab ride home was awkward, to say the least, considering I’m basically naked from the waist down. Thankfully, the driver just gave me a strange look didn’t ask questions. The drive was silent, save for the quiet hum of the engine and the static crackle of the radio. I kept my gaze fixed on the window, watching the skyline blur in the rising sun.
When we finally reached my building, I paid in cash and didn’t wait for change.
I punch in the code at the front door and step inside, pressing my back hard against the wood as it shuts behind me. The lock clicks, but it doesn’t make me feel safer.
The apartment is cast in soft orange light, the early sun filtering in between the buildings across the street. Any other morning, this kind of glow might feel warm—gentle. Like something worth smiling about.
Today, it just exposes the wreckage.
The broken lock on my living room window. The furniture askew from the struggle. Dried blood stains on the rug.
I drag my fingers through my hair, but they catch on knots—on the dried sweat, the tension, the ghost ofhistouch. The feeling of Damon’s fingers still tangled in my scalp lingers like phantom vines, making my skin crawl.
I need a shower.
A long,scaldingone.
I drop my laptop in the office and lock the door behind me. Then I move through the apartment on autopilot, making my way to the bedroom.
I toss my phone onto the bed and tear off my T-shirt in one frantic motion.
It feels abrasive on my skin—like the ropes. Like his hands.
Even after it’s discarded in a heap on the floor, I still feel bound and helpless. Like I’m back in that fucking chair.
Something is wrapped around me. Coiling. Constricting. Tighter and tighter.
