Page 40 of Ruin Me
My eyelids are heavy, and my body is screaming for rest for just a moment of peace. I shift, trying to find a less painful position, but there’s no relief. The ache in my muscles is constant, a reminder that I’m still alive—for now.
The guards watch me, their eyes hungry and cold. They’re waiting for me to break, to cry out or beg. But I won’t give them that pleasure. Mum didn’t raise a quitter, and even though she has lied and betrayed me, I can’t let her down. Not now. Not ever. It’s not who I am.
“Remember who you are, Vogue,” I murmur, clinging to the fragments of my identity that haven’t been stolen by this place. Yet.
23
CALLUM
“The plan is simple,”I start, the table between us littered with maps and scribbles. “We hit them hard and fast. No mercy.”
Quen’s eyes are sharp like he’s already playing the scene in his head. “They need to bleed.” His words are ice, but his mind is fire, calculating the moves before we even make them.
“Got them,” Harry states, grim-faced and ready to kick serious ass. I know he feels guilty for letting them take Vogue, but even the best of us can be outnumbered. He’s already paid the price by being shot and living with whatever shit Vogue has had to deal with while she has been with the Vipers. I’m not adding to that unless she’s hurt or worse. Then all bets are off.
Harry checks his watch and then looks at each of us. “In the city, Beats club. I don’t need to tell you this has cost us. A lot.”
“Fuckers,” I growl. “Don’t worry about that now.We’ll get it back. After we’ve got Vogue. Let’s move.” But I am worried. This has cost us turf, pride and a whole shitload of other stuff I can’t think about right now.
“Take out anyone who stands between Vogue and us,” Thayer adds unnecessarily, voice steady, hand on his knife.
“Remember, we’re not just fighting for her tonight,” I say, feeling the weight of my gun at my back and the knife in my boot. “We’re writing our names back into the rules of this game.”
Quen hefts his double-edged axe onto his shoulder, a fine piece of craftsmanship that is pristine, even though I know it’s hacked more than one asshole into tiny pieces.
“They’re going to regret this,” he growls as we head out to the black van Thayer secured. We pile in, me driving, and Quen riding shotgun, silent as a grave. Harry’s fingers tap a rhythm on his knee that’s anything but calm. Thayer’s gaze flicks from window to window, like he’s already seeing ghosts, the movement of his knife through his fingers never letting up. His idea of ‘warming up’.
The van eats up the miles, black as the mood inside it as we head into the city in the dead of night. Vogue has been with them too long. Anything could’ve happened to her, but I can’t think about that right now. Focus on getting inside and finding her, and then we deal with the shit afterwards.
The club comes into view, neon lights bleeding into the night. My hands grip the wheel tighter, theleather groaning under the pressure. The Vipers won’t know what hit them. Not until it’s too late, and they’re choking on their own blood.
The van rolls to a stop, tucked in the shadows of the side street. I kill the engine, and the four of us sit there for a second, letting the reality of what’s about to go down sink in. The club’s pulse is a dull throb from here, but it’s about to escalate. I turn, locking eyes with each member of my crew.
“Time to storm the castle,” I say, voice stripped of any bullshit. “No more playing around. We’re going in hard and fast. All of us together, through the back.”
Quen nods, his face set in a mask devoid of any emotion.
I pop the glove compartment and grab the spare piece, checking the clip. Metal slides against metal, a sound that’s come to mean business. My fingers work without thought, ensuring every bullet is seated just right. You don’t get second chances in this game, not when you play at this level.
“Check your gear,” I instruct. Each click of weaponry being primed is an echo of our intent. We’re not going in for a chat; we’re going to tear the place apart.
“Let’s go get our girl,” I say, and that’s all the motivation we need. We step out into the night, moving as one toward the neon haze of the club. It’s time to take back what’s ours, and God help anyone who stands in our way.
We’re shadows slipping through the night until we reach the pulsing glow of the club and slip into thealleyway filled with people smoking or throwing up. A couple fucking on a skip makes me want to lose my own breakfast. They don’t give a fuck. Low level scumbags. Nothing more.
There’s no hesitation now as we approach the back door; I smash my boot against it, and it gives way with a crash, wood splintering. The world behind the scenes is caught off guard, chaos erupting like a sudden storm.
The first guy comes out of an office straight for me, face twisted in surprise that shifts quickly to rage. He swings. It’s sloppy, amateur hour. I duck and pivot, and my fist connects with his jaw. There’s a satisfying crack, and he drops. Blood sprays, hitting the wall of the corridor we’re moving down with precision. More rush in, figures blurring as music thumps, a sharp backdrop to the violence.
Raising the gun, I fire.
One, two, three—they fall, bodies crumpling for me to step over.
I don’t look back at the guys. They can handle their shit. My only mission now is to find Vogue. I start kicking doors in.
The Vipers rally quickly. They come at us with everything they’ve got—knives flashing, guns drawn—but we’re an unstoppable tide. Harry and Thayer are grim reapers at my side, cutting down anyone who dares stand between us and Vogue.
A door at the back catches my eye. “There,” I murmur to Quen, who looks up from swinging his axe like a madman.
