Page 27 of Ruin Me Gently

The door flew open.

Clark stormed out, the door slamming hard enough that the sound echoed down the empty street. His face was twisted, jaw tight, lips pressed into a sneer as he stomped toward the pavement. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

Rage simmered beneath my skin.

How fucking dare he.

There was a pull, an instinct, a raw, gut-deep need to rip him apart.

I had to be careful though. If I grabbed him right now, he might connect the dots. Or he might go back to her for help. And that? That wasn’t happening.

This had to look like nothing. Like coincidence. Like bad luck. Like he was just some guy in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was going to follow him. That much was already decided.

But I had to be smart about it.

So I trailed after him. Shadowed his every move, step for step, staying just out of sight as he kept walking, venturing into quieter streets, muttering to himself, still pissed that whatever happened, hadn’t gone his way.

He didn’t even hear me coming.

One second, he was sulking on the pavement. The next, I was dragging him into the shadows by the scruff of his jacket.

“What the—?!” His voice cracked as he flailed, twisting in my grip.

I said I had to be smart.

I said nothing about being gentle.

“Shut the fuck up.” I growled, hauling him backward, off the main road—somewhere darker, somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one would hear him.

A small, wooded patch tucked between old buildings, half-forgotten, damp with rain and rotting leaves.

His back slammed into a tree with a satisfying thud, eyes darting up, searching mine, andcazzo—he was small. So much smaller in my grip. Shorter, weaker, pathetic.

His lips parted, but whatever he tried to say dissolved into a stuttering mess. His hands clawed at mine, shoving against my grip, but he might as well have been pushing at a brick wall. I didn’t budge an inch.

I tightened my grip on his shirt, hauling him up until his shoes barely skimmed the dirt.

“W-what do y-you want?” His voice shook.

Oh shit, what’s my excuse?

I couldn’t exactly go with ‘Oh, surprise! This is a personal vendetta and you’re about to have a very bad night!’

No, that would be stupid.

Think. Think.

My grip tightened.

Think faster, idiot.

“Give me your money.”

What? That was what I was going with?

His head jerked back, a flicker of confusion flashing across his disgusting little face. “W-what? D-don’t hurt me, p-please.”

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