Page 192 of Ruin Me Gently

I sat in the driver’s seat, staring through the windshield at the flickering ‘VACANCY’ sign, its neon glow stuttering weakly in the midday light. Cigarette butts littered the cracked pavement, and the walls were stained brown.

“Jesus,” Finn muttered from the passenger seat. “Bets on coming out with at least two diseases?”

For just over a week, we’d been running a ghost-monitoring system—a passive surveillance net, built specifically for this.

Long story short, it monitored public WiFi networks within a hundred-mile radius. It flagged devices that auto-connected. The kind of stupid, thoughtless mistake people made out of habit.

And ninety minutes ago, Clark Thorn made that mistake.

His phone had connected to the WiFi right here at this shitty, rundown motel.

I flexed my hands on the wheel, jaw clenching. Who the hell even turns their phone on when they’re in hiding? Clark Thorn, that’s who. Lucky for us he was a complete fucking idiot.

We’d sped over immediately, but there was no guarantee he was still inside.

I’d had to leave Lilith at home for this.

The thought made me sick. Physically sick. Like something was clawing its way up my throat, sinking teeth into my ribs and hollowing me out from the inside. I’d barely kept it together when I walked out that door, had to force myself not to double back every ten steps.

I’d told her something had come up at the office, something urgent, something I couldn’t get out of. She’d frowned, tired, still wrapped up in the blankets on the couch, butshe’d nodded. Said she had an appointment with Dr. Hayes on the phone, and she’d be fine on her own.

I felt like a bastard for lying.

But if I found him—if I ended this now—there wouldn’t have to be any more lies. She would finally be safe. Fully. Completely.

“So what’s the move?” Finn asked, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Are we sitting here all day, or are we actually going in?”

I didn’t answer right away. My focus was locked on the exterior, scanning for anything—just one sign that the little weasel was there.

Finn sighed dramatically. “You think he’s still here?”

“Don’t know.”

“We gonna check?”

I gave him a flat look.

Finn grinned. “Alright, cool. So when we go in, you just act scary.”

“Act scary?”

“Yeah. Just, you know…” He waved a hand at me. “Pull your normal face. You’ll scare the shit out of them. They’ll give us whatever we need.”

I snorted as we stepped out of the car, cold air biting at us.

“This feels kinda badass, though,” he muttered as we made our way across the parking lot. “Like, real undercover cop shit. We should be moving in slow motion right now.”

“Is that so?” My mouth twitched despite myself.

“Hell yeah. Some peopledeservea cinematic entrance. And today, that’s us.”

I pushed the door open. The motel clerk barely looked up. Some guy in his mid-forties, coffee-stained polo stretched over his gut, a Friar Tuck haircut clinging to the sides of his head. He was slouched in a chair, watching something on his phone like the world around him didn’t exist.

Finn stepped forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Hey, man. We’re looking for someone.”

Tuck didn’t even glance up. “Okay.”

Finn smiled. “Clark Thorn. He’s here.”

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