Page 67 of Ruin My Life
Coke scorches up my nose and down my throat. I cough into my fist, my eyes burning—not from the drink, but from her.
She’s dressed in blood red. A dress short enough to bare most of her plush thighs. Cinched at the waist, high-necked but scandalous in every other way. Her chestnut hair falls in loose, wet-looking curls down her back. Her lips are painted to match the dress—deep velvet. Her hazel eyes are rimmed in shimmery champagne and sharp black liner.
She looks like a dream—atrap.
An angel with devil horns hidden beneath her halo.
My cock strains painfully against my zipper.
The things I’d do to be in that room with her right now…
I shift my sitting position under the bar, jaw tight, fingers clenched around my glass.
She slips into black heels. Shrugs on a long trench coat. One final glance in the mirror by her door.
She’s going somewhere.
Dressed likethat.
A slow, seething rage coils in my gut.
There’s a short list of reasons a woman dresses like that at this hour, but only one is on my mind.
She’smeetingsomeone.
The idea of someone else looking at her—touchingher—makes my vision haze around the edges.
She’s not mine. I have no right.
Butfuck, the thought of another man seeing her like this. The thought of another man’s hands even comingnearher—
That’snothappening.
Not tonight. Not ever.
She pulls out her phone and types something quickly into what looks like a private chat. The interface is familiar—almost identical to the forum Lee traced her to. The one she uses to track Songbirds.
Whoever she’s messaging replies with an address. A hotel not far from her apartment, perched right on the border between Kings and Queens.
She types a quicksee you soon, shoves the phone into a clutch that’sdefinitelynot big enough to hide a decent weapon, and then—
She lifts the hem of her dress.
Just enough to reveal the sleek silhouette of a small handgun strapped to her upper thigh.
The tightness in my chest eases.
Not all the way. But enough.
She’s not meeting someone. She’s hunting again.
The Black Rosebounces back faster than I expected.
The moment she steps out of her apartment, the front door to the bar swings open and Connor bursts in like a hurricane.
“Drinks!” he calls to the bartenders, grinning like a jackass.
Monroe follows behind him, silent and composed, brushing off the cold as he heads straight for me. Chavez closes the door and drifts to the stool beside mine.
