Page 15 of Ruin Me
“No shit.” My voice is raspier than usual, raw from the cough and the emotions scratching at my insides.
Quentin doesn’t have the same polish as the others, but he’s got an edge—sharper and somehow more real. I feel we’re alike—him and me—two people who found their way into a world that isn’t quite ours. There’s a bond simmering, one that formed under gunfire and adrenaline, and it pulls me towards him, gravity in human form.
“Thanks, anyway,” I mutter.
“Anytime.” His voice is low, a beat that seems to vibrate right through me.
We stand there, side by side, watching the city going about its business while we are up in the clouds planning a war, feeling the chasm between our worlds and the bridge we’ve built over it with shared secrets and survival.
“Today has been a lot. Even for me. Where do you go when everything gets too much?” I venture, not wanting him to leave, but finding the silence will push him away.
He leans against the balcony railing, his profile to me as he watches the city below, considering thequestion. Then, without turning, he says, “Away from all this, usually.” He gestures vaguely with his hand, encompassing the gilded luxury around us.
“Where’s that, though?” I press on, needing to understand this enigmatic man who stands beside me.
“Doesn’t matter.” He finally looks at me, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Tell me about Westfield instead.”
I hesitate, but then words come out, and I can’t stop them. “My mum worked two jobs so that I could focus completely on my studies and not have to worry about chipping in. Right up until I left for Westfield University. It’s all she ever wanted for me was to get away from that place, so she did what she could to make it happen. I feel guilty, you know. It drives me to succeed so that it wasn’t all for nothing.” The words come easier than I expected, and Quentin listens with an intensity that makes me feel heard for the first time in, well, ever.
“Sounds like you’re made of tough stuff, Vogue,” he says after I come to a stop, not really wanting to go further without some sort of reciprocation. His voice is soft, respectful.
“Guess I have to be,” I reply, shrugging off the compliment.
There’s a pause, then Quentin pushes away from the railing with a fluid motion. “We should head back in, figure out what’s next.”
“Yeah.” I follow him, but as we enter the hotel room, I drift to a sofa in a corner far from whereCallum, Thayer, and Harrison huddle over drinks and secrets. Their voices are low, intense, discussing payback with cold professionalism.
I watch them, feeling the weight of the situation settle into my bones. This isn’t some campus drama; it’s life or death.
As they talk strategy, my mind wanders back to the balcony and Quentin’s guarded answers. It’s that connection that sticks with me, a thread pulling me towards him even as I sit here quietly, wrapped in shadows and uncertainty.
As the minutes wear on, my eyelids are heavy, and the voices around me fade into a low hum. The sofa is soft and comfortable, like a warm hug. The plush carpet under my feet might as well be clouds, and the murmur of strategy is like distant thunder, rolling through my consciousness without meaning.
I curl up as I fight the pull of sleep, but it’s a losing battle. The exhaustion wraps around me, thick and suffocating, dragging me down into darkness. My body gives in, muscles relaxing for the first time since bullets shattered the quiet of campus life.
I’m somewhere between awake and asleep when I feel a blanket drape over me. I don’t bother opening my eyes, too far gone to acknowledge the gesture or the person behind it. A part of me whispers that I should stay alert, that danger is a constant companion now, but physical weariness overpowers mental vigilance. These men laid their hands on me without my consent, and somehow, through the terror of the day, that seems to be forgotten.
But right now, I just don’t care.
The sounds of plotting fade entirely as I slip under, surrendering to the need for rest. In this stolen moment of peace, there’s no gunfire, no fear, no need to be strong. There’s just darkness and the soft whisper of breath as I drift away, succumbing to the silence of sleep.
10
CALLUM
The first sliverof moonlight cuts across the hotel room, and I watch Vogue as she lies on the couch, still lost in sleep. Her chest rises and falls with a rhythm that screams calm, but everything’s about to change. She doesn’t know yet who her old man really is, what he does, or how deep his roots tangle with The Crowned Syndicate.
“I’m telling her,” I murmur to other guys, not giving a shit that I’m about to break protocol in the biggest way possible. However, today’s shooting changed everything. It changed the game, and we don’t know for sure if they were after Quen. For all we know, they were after Vogue, and she needs to be aware of what is going on around her. Secrets are all fun and games until someone gets hurt, and when that person is Vogue Jameson, the stakes are too high to fuck about.
Quentin shifts uncomfortably by the window. Harrison’s brows knit together like he wants to jumpin and stop me, while Thayer just stands there, arms crossed, the picture of silent disapproval.
“Not a great idea, Cal,” Thayer says.
“We have no choice. For all we know, she’s been made, which means she needs to be up to speed and on board before sunrise.”
“This is breaking every rule in the fucking book,” Harrison says.
“I’m aware, Captain Obvious,” I snap. “But if you’re worried about this coming down on you, don’t fret your pretty, little head. I’ll man up and take responsibility.”
