Page 284 of Ruin Me Gently

I swallowed hard and followed, placing each step carefully, gripping the cold metal rungs like they might vanish beneath me. The yacht rocked slightly under our weight, the water lappinggently against its sides, and when we reached the top, I crouched low, pressing myself against the damp railing.

Stay low. Keep quiet.

Silas moved ahead of me, his body a shadow against the moonlight, creeping across the deck. He paused, scanning again.

There.

Right across the window.

A full silhouette. A man. Crossing the space.

A sharp shock of adrenaline surged through me, my body locking up, every nerve ending screaming at me to run.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to breathe.

Silas crept toward the cabin door, testing the handle gently.

Locked.

My stomach churned.

He turned to me. Maybe he was going to suggest another plan. Some smarter, quieter way to do this.

But his gaze flicked back to the door, fingers twitching at his side, knuckles flexing, whole body coiled like a live wire.

He wasn’t waiting.

The crack of impact split through the night as his shoulder slammed into the door, the old wood groaning, splintering, shuddering beneath the force. A second hit, then a third—and then the door gave way, bursting open with a deafening crash.

I flinched, pulse slamming against my skull, panic clawing up my throat.

I wasn’t hesitating. I surged forward—stupid, rusty-ass wrench raised as I stumbled through the wrecked doorway.

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

Thick. Sour. Sweaty. Mouldy.Rotting wood. Stale beer.

It clawed down my throat, curled in my gut, made me gag.

It was everywhere—from the damp, spongy floorboards, to the water-stained ceiling that sagged like it was seconds from collapse. The walls were streaked with grime, the wallpaper curling away in brittle, yellowed sheets. Empty bottles littered the corners, their contents long dried to sticky, congealed sludge. Something dark crusted the edge of the counter—blood, maybe. Or vomit. Or both. The air was damp enough to cling to my skin, heavy and humid, like the whole place was sweating along with me.

“Well,” a voice rasped. “This is unexpected.”

My head snapped toward it. Clark stepped forward from the far corner, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

Holy mother of God.

He looked like he’d crawled out of a sewer and barely lived to tell the tale. His hair clung to his forehead in damp, greasy strands, eyes bloodshot, the whites spiderwebbed with angry red. His clothes were rumpled and stained, hanging loose on a frame that had thinned quite a bit since I last saw him.

And yet, despite all that, despite looking like absolute shit, he still had the fucking audacity to smirk.

His gaze flicked over me, scanning the scarf, the hood shadowing my features.

“Why do you have your face covered?” He tilted his head, squinting. “I know it’s you, Lilith.”

Bile rose up my throat. I didn’t knowwhatI’d thought. I’d just done it for sentiment.

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