Page 286 of Ruin Me Gently

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he drawled, tipping his head. “Are we leaning into the victim role again, Lilith?” His voice turned mocking as he stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “Poor, fragile little thing. Always making herself the centre of the tragedy.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Right. Because you’re the real victim here.”

The pout turned up into a smirk, and something flickered behind his bloodshot eyes as he took a step closer. “You always did love playing that part, huh? The wounded little bird. The mistreated girl who just needed saving.”

I barked out a sharp laugh. “Oh, fuck off, Clark.”

Silas shifted beside me, heat radiating off him in thick waves, but I squeezed his hand once, just a quick press, a silent ‘I’ve got this.’Because I did. Because I wasn’t her anymore. At least not the entire way. I was better now.

“You’re the one who’s been running like a wounded little bird,” I said, voice steady. “Hiding like a coward, like a rat in the walls. And judging by the state of this place—” I wrinkled my nose, sweeping my gaze over the peeling walls, the mould-stained ceiling, the rotting stench clinging in the air, “—you’ve been real comfortable rolling around in your own filth.”

Clark’s fingers flexed around the bottle, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

I tilted my head. “What? No smartass remark? No cutting little jab? That’s funny. You always have so much to say.”

The air shifted.

Clark lunged.

Silas moved.

His body collided with Clark’s, a sharp, bone-jarring impact that sent them both crashing into the far wall. Silas didn’t hesitate, he drove his forearm into Clark’s chest. Hard. Pinning him in place.

For a second—just a second—Clark’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic flashing through them.

Then, he twisted.

Using the tightquarters, the momentum, the sheer unfortunate angle of it all, Clark hooked his arm around Silas and yanked.

The yacht rocked violently, sending me stumbling back as the floor pitched beneath us.

“Silas!”

The thud of bodies hitting the ground was sickening, a brutal mix of flesh and wood and sharp, choked sounds. Clark was already scrambling, leveraging his weight, his knees pressing down as he swung—

Red tinged the edges of my vision.

Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

The first hit rattled through my bones in a sharp, jarring shock that travelled up my arm and shot through my shoulder, coiling hot and electric in my viscera as metal met flesh.

Clark let out a strangled noise, his body jerking sideways from the impact. But I wasn’t done.

I swung again.

A sick, wet thud sounded out as the rusted wrench slammed against his flesh and bone, vibrating through my palms, feeding something raw and primal inside me. Something I hadn’t even known was there. And shit, it washungry.

My pulse roared in my ears,yes, yes, yes,drowning out the shaky, rattled breaths that tore from Clark’s throat.

He coughed, curling inward, but I didn’t want to stop.

Adrenaline flooded me, filling every crack, every hollowed-out space left behind by too-harsh hands and cruel mouths from every person who’d touched me like I was nothing, who thought I’d stay quiet, who thought they’d get away with it.

I was not small.

I was not weak.

The molten lava in my blood burned away every second I had ever felt helpless, had ever felt trapped.

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