Page 56 of Ruin Me
As we tail Harrow into an abandoned warehouse district, Callum hangs back even more. We stand out like a sore thumb with no other cars around.
My thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. This is where I come in—eyes peeled for anything out of place, any sign of danger that might be waiting to pounce.
“Here,” Harry says, pushing a black box into my hands. “You might need these.”
Binoculars. That doesn’t bode well for how far back we need to tail now.
Callum pulls over and we watch as Harrow finally pulls to a stop some way down the street.
We sit in silence when Harrow doesn’t move,watching as another figure slips out from the shadows and joins him in the car. They set off again, so we move as well, crawling along in their wake.
The tension in the van becomes tangible, wrapping around my throat like a noose as we follow Harrow’s car. Scanning for any sign of an ambush from the back of this van is becoming increasingly hard work. My fingers tap an anxious rhythm on the binoculars’ casing.
Every whisper of movement is a threat, every shadow a potential enemy. My guts twist with nerves because failure isn’t just about fucking up—it’s life or death in this game.
Quentin leans forward, his focused gaze never leaving the sedan. “We need to know where they’re going. But more importantly, who he’s meeting.”
“Yeah,” Callum agrees, his voice low and even. “If it’s the Vipers, we’re walking into a shitstorm.”
“Shitstorm or not,” Harrison murmurs from the seat next to me, his business-like attitude unbreakable even now, “we’re ready for them.”
I nod, trying to mirror his confidence. “Let’s just hope Harrow leads us straight to the fucking traitors.”
As we edge further into the warren of warehouses and decrepit structures, I feel like we’re entering the belly of the beast. This is no student drama—this is real mob shit.
We watch as Harrow’s car finally stops in front of one of the many rundown buildings. It’s nondescript—it could be anything from storage for stolen goods to a meth lab.
Harrow and the other guy exit Harrow’s car and disappear into the building without so much as a backward glance. We wait silently for Harrow to make his next move.
“We need to bail,” Callum states suddenly. “There is no way they haven’t spotted us.”
“Yeah,” Quen says.
And then a blast goes off and we all brace for something.
But it’s just a flare shooting into the sky.
“Drugs,” Quen says. “That’s the signal, for we’ve got some, come and get it.”
“Really?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.
“Works,” Thayer says.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Watch,” Harry murmurs, close to my ear.
“Moving first,” Callum mutters. “Let’s get to higher ground.”
We pile out of the van as silently as possible, creeping through the alleys on foot as Thayer leads us directly to a building close by. He pulls something out of his back pocket and crouches down at the lock.
Seconds later, we’re in. The stale air inside clings to my skin, thick with dust and secrets. The building is a relic, all rusted pipes and crumbling concrete, but it gives us the vantage point we need.
We make our way up the stairs, each step creaking a warning under our weight. I stay close behind Callum, his back a steady reminder that I’m not alonein this madness. Quentin is right beside me, his hand occasionally brushing mine—a silent promise that he’s got my back.
The top floor grants us a panoramic view of the street through grimy windows. My hands grip the binoculars, this time pulling them out of the case and raising them slowly to my eyes as I search for any movement. Harrow’s car is still there, a lone beacon amidst the desolation.
“There,” I point out quietly, as several shadows detach themselves and head towards the building Harrow disappeared into.
