Page 50 of Ruin Me
He leans against the counter, looking every bit the ruthless businessman and hotel heir he was raised to be. “We need to make sure she stays protected, though,” Harry says, his tone serious now. “She’s become a target.”
“Fuck anyone who tries to get at her through us,” I spit out.
Harry nods in agreement at my possessiveness but switches the topic and goes for practicality. “Let’s go over the plan again.”
We spend the next hour talking strategy, refining details until we’re confident that we’re prepared for any eventuality. The kitchen is filled with the intensity of our focus, a microcosm of the larger battle we’re facing.
As Harry speaks, my mind wanders back to Vogue—her strength, her intelligence, her fucking kiss that could start wars and end them just as quickly. She might not have been raised in this life like Callum, Quentin, Harry or me, but she was born into it regardless, and she sure as hell belongs here now.
“I’m not going in today. There’s too much to dohere and at the casino location. You guys go ahead, I’m going to get started,” I say to Harry as I finish my coffee and push off the counter. His nod tells me he’s got my back, same as always.
I can feel the tension in the air, thick as the dark roast we drink. It’s a familiar feeling, a prelude to the chaos that’s about to unfold. But this time, we have Vogue, and I can’t shake the sense that she’s our trump card that no one saw coming.
Everything is set,and the time is now. As the sun sets, I slip on a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, black pants and jacket, and my knife, always present, always in reach. Leaving my room, each step towards the living room is another beat closer to victory or defeat. Callum, Quentin, and Harry are already there when I arrive, their expressions grim and determined.
We’re a fucking formidable sight—the four of us together, each one of us more dangerous than the last. Vogue walks in moments later, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. There’s a whisper of appreciation among the guys as they take in her figure clad in a black dress that sits on her knees with thin straps and flat black shoes, which I smirk at. She’s learning our language—she’s dressing the part. No heels in case you gotta run for your life.
She comes straight to me, drawn to me by the reminder of our kiss, and I can feel the energy crackle between us—electric and alive. “Ready?” she asks.
I nod once curtly. “Born ready.”
That’s all it takes. Together, we move through our plan meticulously, executing each step with precision as we head to the illegal casino we have set up in a disused building on campus and open up the night with a bang.
The casino hums to life with roulette wheels spinning, cards being dealt, and a symphony of debauchery and deception. Vogue slides through the crowd like a panther, her eyes sharp and watching for any signs of betrayal or weakness. Callum and Quentin are working the room, their presence a silent threat to anyone who dares to make a move.
Harry and I keep close to Vogue, our focus razor-sharp. This is more than just a game of chance—it’s a statement. We’re clawing back our power, bit by fucking bit, asserting our dominance over this rotten core of academia that thought they could bury us.
“East Side,” Harry murmurs, eyes tracking a group of new players entering the fray. “Looks like Johnson’s boys decided to crash.”
My hand moves instinctively towards my knife, hidden beneath my jacket. The cold metal against my fingers is a comfort—a reminder that I’m never truly unarmed.
Vogue catches my eye and nods slightly; she’s seen them, too. Her brain is already calculating the odds, figuring out how we can turn this to our advantage.
Callum slides up to me, his voice low and even. “Trouble?”
“Maybe,” I reply, watching as Vogue engages one of Johnson’s boys in conversation. Her smile is warm, but her eyes are ice cold—she’s drawing him in, making him feel special while she sizes him up for the threat he is.
“Let her work it. She’s got an angle.” Quentin adds from the other side of me, his quiet intensity pinging off my honed instincts.
I watch her, feeling that primal surge of protectiveness even as I admire her cunning. She leans in, laughs at something the guy says, and touches his arm casually, all while scanning the rest of his crew for weaknesses. Vogue’s got this—she’s playing him like a fucking maestro.
Her father’s blood is roaring through her veins, and she is Queen on this board.
The room continues to buzz with illicit excitement, money changing hands in the blink of an eye, glasses clinking, and people laughing a little too loudly. Through it all, we remain a solid wall of danger and unspoken threats.
I glance around and catch Harry’s eye; he gives me a subtle nod—a silent confirmation that he’s ready to jump into action if needed. We’ve done this dance before, watched each other’s backs without needing words.
As the night wears on, the tension doesn’t let up—it coils tighter around us like a spring ready to snap. I see it in the way Callum’s jaw sets, in Quentin’s hawk-like focus, in Harry’s restless energy. We’rewaiting for that inevitable clash, ready to defend what we’re building here at Crestmont.
“Hey!”
Vogue’s shout has me moving swiftly, knife already pulled as I get within reaching distance of the fucker who just tried to lay his hands on her.
“She screams, you bleed,” I murmur, and hold the knife to his throat.
His hands go up immediately, sweat beading on his brow as he realises just how close he is to the edge. “I-I was just,” he stammers, but I cut him off with a look that could curdle blood.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I growl, pressing the blade a fraction closer to remind him of the line he’s crossed. Vogue watches, her fury barely contained as she steps back into my protective shadow.
