Page 10 of Ruin Me
She’s curious about me, too. She has to be, or she would’ve ducked scared back into her haven. Her gaze is incisive, trying to peel back my layers and figure out the man lurking in the shadows.
I watch, and she watches back.
The air around us seems to hum with the force of what’s unsaid, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to turn away. It’s a move full of reluctance, every step heavy with the weight of leaving her there, surrounded by the dying plant and the rusty chair, a queen in her not-so-ivory tower.
With every step, the distance between us grows, but the connection doesn’t fade—it lingers, a threadstretched tight, vibrating with potential energy. But that one thought bounces around my head and will not be pushed aside.
She isn’t afraid of me.
I had my hands on her without her consent, I violated her boundaries, tried to push her past her limit, and yet, somehow, she isn’t scared.
There’s a mutual curiosity, a shared fascination that neither of us can deny. But we leave it unexplored. For now.
Walking further away, I leave her there, with the dying light and the ghost of our connection lingering in the air.
As I make my way back to the safety of anonymity, I’ve started down a path that could lead to destruction or ecstasy, and I’m not sure which I’m headed for. But one thing is clear: Vogue isn’t someone I can simply walk away from, even if instructed to by people bigger and badder than me. Not now, not ever.
7
VOGUE
All nightI dreamt of Thayer, Callum, Quentin and that other fucker whose name Istilldon’t know. Not good dreams either. Running, sweating, panting, chasing…hunting.
I was their prey, and they were as relentless as a wolf on a rabbit.
Thayer must’ve followed me home, or maybe I’m being paranoid, not to mention arrogant, and he was only there to make sure there was no evidence left from the beating up of that poor Jones fellow.
The weird thing was, I didn’t feel scared that he was looking up at me, knowing where I live. My rational brain tells me that if he were there to hurt me, he would’ve. Instead, he walked away.
Now, this morning, I walk towards the campus, more intrigued by these guys than ever. What is their end game? They’re obviously running some kind of game here, but there is more to it. I know there his. I canfeelit. Autumn leaves crunch undermy boots as I walk across the campus, ready to get another day under my belt where, hopefully, I don’t run into The Crowned Syndicate. The air is crisp, so I zip up my jacket and adjust the strap of my backpack. I hurry along the path to the main buildings, my mind on the mountain of reading I’ve got waiting for me before my first class in an hour. Students are milling about, some eager to start, others still half asleep.
As I get closer, a sharp crack splits the air. My steps falter. Another crack, and then chaos erupts. Screams slice through the morning calm. Students run in all directions, their faces twisted with terror. I stand frozen for a split second, trying to make sense of it all.
Gunshots?
My heart kicks into high gear, pounding against my ribs, and I break into a run, dodging people left and right as we swarm like bees but with no clear path, unsure where to go but knowing we need to move. There’s no time to think about anything else, only the urgent need to stay alive.
My legs pump furiously as I race towards the main building, a strange mix of robotic movement and raw panic. Echoes of terror that ricochet through the campus. I can’t think; there’s no room for anything but the primal urge to survive.
A shadow darts from my right. Too late, I try to swerve. My shoulder slams into a solid body, and we hit the deck. Hard. The impact drives the breath from my lungs, and for a blinding second, everything stops as something whistles over my head to slaminto the wall right where we had just been standing, right where his head just was, showering us with debris.
“Fuck,” I wheeze, scrambling to get purchase to keep moving, but I’m sprawled on top of someone, his hands planted firmly on my ass in a grip that’s probably meant to be stabilising but feels way too personal under any other circumstance.
“Get off!” I gasp, struggling to stand, but the guy beneath me doesn’t budge.
“Stay down,” he growls, an order of steel and delivered with the calm of someone who isn’t having their head shot at. I freeze, the reality of how close he came to being killed settling in my stomach like lead. “Thanks.” His voice is rough but composed. “Looks like you just saved my life.”
“What?” I gasp and turn my face to his, too close for comfort.
Quentin.
His unbelievably azure eyes fix on mine, fierce and unflinching. It’s unsettling, this sudden closeness with a stranger who licked my face in an effort to intimidate me.
“It wasn’t exactly on purpose,” I huff out as he rolls us over, so he is on top of me now, my backpack digging into my back, my sandwich probably flattened. But in his gaze, there’s something like recognition, as if by saving him, I’ve crossed an invisible line.
“Regardless,” he says, sliding his hands from my ass when I lift up and wiggle to press down on my hips. He is settled between my legs like we’re about tofuck right here in the middle of the campus while bullets fly at us overhead.
Sexy? Fuck, yeah.
