Page 42 of Shades of Ruin

Christ, he remembers everything from Halloween. All these months, he’s been telling me it’s him, and I didn’t even notice. “Youscare me,” I whisper.

He flinches, hearing my words as an accusation and not thetrue declaration that they are. “Because I cut you and stuffed you with a knife?”

“No.” I feel a sharp prick of wetness at the backs of my eyes, but I shove it away before it can betray my weakness. “Because you made all the noise in my head quiet just enough for me to exist for a moment without the weight of all the other shit suffocating me. Even as you hurt me and choked me, you helped me breathe for the first time in years.” I swallow hard before continuing, “The way you made me feel—well, I trusted that less than any lie. So I panicked and ran because that night was too perfect to be real.”

“Oh it was real, angel. I have a scar on my hand to prove it.”

He holds up his right hand, cuts and dried blood decorating his fingers. But I barely notice any of the other gore; my eyes are fixed on a long, pink scar that runs the length of his palm. Realization floods my thoughts like ice water. His bandage in the interview, when I thought I was meeting him for the first time. I asked him about it without ever considering the connection to Halloween night.

I thought I ran from my demon, but he’s been here all along, tormenting me and driving me mad every single day.

“Still being reckless, chef?” I ask with a smile, remembering his excuse for the bandage.

He matches my smile as he bends down to press a scorching kiss against my lips. “I think it’s fair to say I’ll never be anything but reckless when I’m around you, pretty little ruin.”

Heat bursts across every inch of my skin when he uses the nickname he gave me on Halloween. “Any regrets?” I gasp when he starts to move again, his piercings hitting that perfect spot curled deep inside me.

“Not a single goddamn one,” he growls, his pace turning brutal. “Now soak my cock again so I can get you cleaned up.”

It doesn’t take long before I’m screaming, the violent stabs ofhis cock shoving me into an abyss of absolute bliss. “Grey,” I moan, the soft word a plea as I fracture over and over. He follows right after, bathing my insides in another warm explosion of cum that doesn’t even seem possible given how much he stuffed me the first time. I’m going to be cleaning his cream out of my pussy for fucking days.

After he’s spent, he rolls onto his back beside me, his chest heaving just as much as mine. He runs his thumb over his lips, his expression thoughtful. When he turns toward me, his eyes are the most vivid shade of blue. “How do you feel?” he asks. “Now that you know?”

“Like you should have told me who you were from the very beginning so we could have been fucking like this for the past six months.” I scowl at him in spite of how beautiful and freshly-fucked he looks right now.

I see the exact moment he realizes what an idiot he’s been. “Yeah, I didn’t think that through.” He leans over and kisses me harshly before nipping at my lips with his teeth. “Sorry for being a vengeful twat.”

“See,thatapology I actually believe,” I answer with a laugh, smacking him against the chest. He groans when my fingers graze one of the deeper cuts I gave him.

“I liked you better when you were talking about how much I scared you,” he grumbles, rubbing at his sore chest. When his fingers come away with fresh blood, he rolls his eyes and announces, “Time for a shower, vicious thing.”

“Hey, you promised me dinner,” I argue, a shower sounding far less appealing than the filet mignon and scallops I saw in his fridge earlier. After two rounds of sex and an unknown amount of blood loss, I’m practically starving.

“Don’t worry, angel. I won’t let you go hungry. Just need to clean up my mess first.”

He trails his fingers over all the blood and cuts I have etchedinto my body. There’s likely glass embedded beneath the skin that’ll be a nightmare to remove. All in all, I probably look like a horror film come to life. He drags his tongue over my lips, licking away the dried blood before biting down hard enough to break the skin again. When he pulls away, his crystalline eyes shine brighter than ever.

“Prettiest fucking ruin I’ve ever seen.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

ANGÉLICA

The past couple weeks have been perfect enough to have me anxiously holding my breath, waiting for the destruction that always follows. I’ve never felt so happy. My culinary talents are respected and utilized for the first time in my life. My boss is still cruel and exacting in the kitchen, but he makes up for it by being especially attentive with his lips, fingers, and cock after-hours when we head up to his apartment. I want to believe it’s real, but I know this period of serenity is as fragile as glass, sure to break when any amount of pressure is applied.

People with blood on their hands don’t get happy endings. And Greyson and I are both guilty.

Dinner service today has been rougher than usual—a few prep mishaps and an accidental overbooking leading to tension in the kitchen. No one has lost their shit yet, but we can all feel the temperature rising, and someone is bound to boil over before we finish tonight.

Greyson is called away with an important phone call in the middle of course seven, and it’s up to me to keep everything up andrunning. The amount of power he’s granted me in the kitchen is unusual by industry standards. He’s never named me sous, but he treats me as his second-in-command any time he’s pulled away from the restaurant.

His decision initially caused ripples of dissent amongst the other chefs, but I think we’ve all grown so accustomed to his unorthodox methods that we’ve learned to roll with his commands without too much overthinking. Working for a renowned culinary genius comes with its own set of concessions.

A trickle of unease slinks under my skin when Greyson still hasn’t returned by the final course. The door to his office has remained shut for over an hour, so unless he slipped up to the apartment, he’s still there. The sanctity of his office is an established, unspoken command at the restaurant. I haven’t even ventured into his private room since he ordered me inside and gave me a spanking that would send us hurtling over any bounds of professionalism that we had left.

I don’twantto trespass and break one of his rules, but if he’s not out here by the time we’ve closed down the kitchen, I’m walking my ass into his office. Consequences be damned. If I’mbeing honest, I could use another spanking anyway.

My bravery lasts right until the last chef has left for the night, and I’m forced to uphold my courageous decision at my own peril. Greyson is unpredictable to say the least, and I never know how he will react. I hover with my hand above the wooden door, honest enough to admit that a tiny spark of fear holds me back. A crash sounds on the other side, and I’m concerned enough that my knuckles slam against the door with a sharptap, tap, tap.

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