Page 30 of Ruin Me Gently

Then—Molly’s Instagram story.

The second I’d seen Lilith’s wrist visible in the corner of the frame, dark ink spilling across soft skin, neon light catching in her hair, I’d thrown those plans out the window and driven straight across the city.

I wasn’t there to talk to her. Just to keep an eye out. Clubs were breeding grounds for creeps. I’d seen it happen too many times in the past—drinks spiked in the blink of an eye, hands slipping too low, smiles turning to snarls the second a woman said no.

That wasn’t happening to her.

And Clark? After leaving him in his own blood and piss over a week ago, he’d kept his distance. He hadn’t gone near her house again—not that I’d seen through the doorbell feed anyway. And from what I could tell from my drive-bys and stints parked across the street from the store, he hadn’t shown up there either.

Good.

But men like him? They were slow learners. Fear faded. Pain healed. And they’d start thinking they were invincible again.

So I wasn’t taking my eyes off her. Not yet. That’s why I was watching. For precautionary purposes. That was all.

I lifted my glass, taking a slow sip as my gaze locked onto her.

She was tipping back shots like she was drinking water. Her clothes were painted onto her body in a way that made my brain glitch. Bare shoulders, delicate straps, littleconstellations across her collarbones. And her hair spilled over her shoulders like an invitation to glide my hands through the strands of silk.

Not that I had any right to be thinking about that.

Molly turned, disappearing into the crush of bodies, leaving her alone at the bar. The group of people they were with had already disappeared, and I knew Molly wasn’t the type to leave her best friend stranded. So where the hell had she gone?

Then, she reappeared, dragging a guy behind her. Tall, brown-haired, a smirk on his face that implied he was the kind of guy who would call Lilith ‘babe’ before he even knew her name.

I didn’t like him.

Lilith turned toward him, lips parting slightly as she tilted her head, andsmiled.Not polite. Not tight. A real, genuine smile.

My fingers flexed around the glass, stomach twisting, something dark curling at the edges of my chest.

No.

Then, just when I thought—when Ihoped—she’d shake him off, give him some kind of signal that she wasn’t interested, she did the exact opposite.

She reached for him, grabbed his wrist, and led him onto the dance floor.

I should’ve looked away, should’ve walked my imposing ass out of there. But I didn’t. I just sat there, teeth clenched, watching as she moved against him, rolling her hips, giving him exactly what he wanted. His hands roamed over her waist, down her thighs, back up to the perfect curve of her ass.

My vision blurred at the edges.

What would it feel like if her body pressed into mine instead, soft curves fitting like she belonged there. The warmth of her, the way her thighs would tremble under my hands if I gripped her just right. The way her ass would grind into me, teasing, testing, feeling just how hard she could make—

Fuck, Silas. No. Stop.

I wasn’t some desperate asshole, sitting in the dark, watching a woman who didn’t even know he existed, imagining how she’d feel grinding against him.

That wasn’t why I was here. That wasn’t who I was.

She nodded at something he said, and their fingers laced together.

My grip on the glass nearly cracked it in half.

I hated that. More than the dancing, more than the touching.That.The simplicity in it. The casual ease of her hand in his, the familiarity, the way she let him lead her off the dance floor, through the shifting bodies, straight to the bar.

I knew the move. The setup. The slow lead-in. I’d seen it a hundred times before. Hell, I’d done it myself. Not anymore, not in years, but I still knew the game.

Every second I sat there, watching his hands on her, watching her smile at him, letting him get closer and closer, it was a slow, drawn-out punch to the ribs.

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