Page 12 of Ruin Me
“Good girl,” Callum murmurs, his gorgeous eyes boring into mine. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, it seems.”
“Nope, it’s nothing.” I hold my free hand up, drawing even more attention to the one Quentin is still gripping tightly.
“We don’t back away from debts,” Callum says tightly, his fierce glare on Quentin before he turns back to me with a forced smile. “We pay up.”
So this is what it means to be tied up with the Crowned Syndicate. University suddenly feels like abattlefield, one almost exactly the same as the one I left and was hoping to leave in the past.
“Any casualties?” Quentin asks, glancing around while I struggle to keep up with the gravity of the conversation happening inches away.
“Two injured, no fatalities. Security’s locking the place down,” Callum responds.
“Quentin, we need to move,” Blondie interrupts, glancing at his watch like time’s about to expire.
“What’s your name then?” I blurt out suddenly, getting pissed with calling him Blondie.
He snorts in disbelief at my apparent rudeness. “Harrison Bennet. Charmed to make your acquaintance.”
“Fuck off,” I growl, getting my anger now that the shock is wearing off a bit. “You’re all a bunch of assholes.” I drag my hand out of Quentin’s and cross my arms, pushing my hands under my armpits for safekeeping.
“Feisty,” Harrison says. “Figured you would be.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Ah, well?—”
“Let’s move out,” Callum barks, almost as if he wanted to interrupt whatever Harrison was going to say.
“Right.” Quentin turns back to me, his face hardening. “Stay close to me. It might not be over.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter, the words tasting bitter. My life was complicated enough without dodging bullets. Now, I’m in the eye of the storm with these dicks who want to keep me close for reasons I’ve yetto discover. It could go either way, but I’m betting on ‘the talk’ happening fairly soon - a reiteration of ‘you didn’t see anything’.
“We need to keep you safe now. You’re involved, whether you like it or not.”
“Involved?” I shake my head, trying to dislodge the fear that’s setting in like quick-dry cement. “I didn’t sign up for this. I came here for an education, not a death wish.”
“Nobody signs up for this,” Callum interjects, his voice laced with something that sounds like regret. “But sometimes, trouble chooses you.”
Trouble chose me alright, with a capital T. I press my back against the wall, refusing to move, using it to prop me up as my knees feel like they might give out any minute. My mother worked so hard so I could get away from Westfield, away from the life she feared would swallow me if I’d stayed and got a routine job in the town. Now I feel like I’m throwing all that back in her face if I take even one step more with these guys.
“Listen,” Quentin’s hand finds my shoulder, a steadying presence. “You’re not alone in this. We will protect you.”
“Protect me,” I scoff, a humourless sound, but the look in Quentin’s eyes tells me I don’t have much choice in the matter anymore.
“Fine,” I sigh and muster the strength to stand straighter, facing the men who speak about danger as if it’s an old friend. “Okay. So, what do we do?”
The Crowned Syndicate exchanges glances, asilent conversation passing between them before Quentin steps forward.
“We survive,” he states simply. “We strategize, and we survive.”
Survive. I can do that. I’ve been doing it all my life, scrapping and clawing my way through each day. Maybe I’m not as out of my depth as I thought. Fear still coils in my belly, but alongside it grows a flicker of something else—a spark of defiance, a will to stand my ground.
“Can you do that, sweetheart?” he whispers in my ear as he moves closer.
Tilting my head back to look him in the eye, I nod, face grim. “Yeah, I can do that.”
He nods and takes my hand, taking responsibility for me on this shitshow of a day.
Heat prickles down my spine as we push through a side door, away from the chaos in the foyer.
