His hands clench tighter around his drink. “He said you’d understand.”
“Oh, I understand just fine,” I say, offering a smile made of broken glass. “And you need to understand that when I take care of a problem, it doesn’t come back. Ever.”
The implication lands. His throat works around another nervous swallow. “That’s what I need. I need her to disappear. She could fuck everything up.”
I take another sip, considering him. Considering this.
Once, I didn’t hesitate. Once, it felt easy. Violence served as more than a tool; it was survival. I built Ruin's End as my clean slate. Controlled. Less dirty.
And yet, the past always has a way of knocking, doesn’t it?
I set my glass down, the sound loud in the quiet of the bar. “Here’s the thing,” I murmur, leveling him with a look. “If I do this, it doesn’t come cheap. And you don’t get to pick how it ends.”
He nods quickly, too quickly, and slides a piece of paper across the bar. “Understood.”
I study him for a long moment, I don’t touch what no doubt has the name, before exhaling through my nose. “I’ll think about it.”
His shoulders ease, the tension melting with the quiet desperation of someone who thinks they’ve bought themselves mercy.
He moves to go, but I lift a hand. “One more thing.”
He freezes.
I lean in, just enough for my voice to drop to something lethal. “If you lie to me about any of this, if you waste my time”—I smile, a lazy, wolfish grin—“you become the problem.”
He pales and nods again, this time more carefully. Then he’s gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of too much cologne and desperation.
I stare at the warped reflection of myself in the glass.
Ruin's End was supposed to be my way out.
But I’ve never been good at walking away from a fight.
I’m nervous. Nervous as hell. I haven’t been out in… forever. I’ve got that first-day-of-school energy buzzing under my skin. But I need to hold it together, pass for a confident adult and not a mom escaping for one kid-free evening.
Demi’s made sure I look fabulous—by her standards, anyway—though it feels a tad morelook-at-methan I’m used to. But Demi’s insistent voice rings between my ears:“You’ve got it, flaunt it!”
Maybe she’s right. Or maybe this is a little much for a thirty-nine-year-old mother of a ten-year-old. But then again, who the hell knows anymore?
I tug at the hem of the little black dress, then rub my hands over my arms, wishing I had something to cover the top half of my exposed body. The last thing I need is to attract all the wrong people.
Demi’s humming beside me, far too excited about the night yet to unfold. We round the corner, and that’s when I see him.
The guy leaning in the Ruin's End doorway is a fucking marvel.
He’s so tall, his head nearly grazes the frame, broad enough to block out the neon sign behind him. His biceps bulge against his leather jacket’s sleeves, clinging to him like a second skin. His hair is that effortless kind of dark and tousled, the kind that saysI woke up this gorgeousand didn’t need to try.
And that jaw—holy hell, that jaw could slice diamonds. Chiseled, exact, a perfect right angle begging to be traced with a tongue.
My gaze lingers—too long—until my pulse drags me back to earth.
He’s got to be in his twenties. Maybe thirty, if the universe feels like granting me a bit of mercy. Still too young.Waytoo young. The fact that I even noticed makes my stomach twist.
What is wrong with me?
Because I’m old. Done. Well done. I might as well just settle into my golden years, buy a single-story house in Florida, and maybe take up knitting. I’ll be found dead on my lanai. Dead from old age—not loneliness. Or more likely, skin cancer from the sun I’d worship. That’s the future I’m looking at.
Not a future with some mysterious, brooding, andvery fuckableyounger man in a leather jacket.
