RUIN: Psychological Enemies-to-Lovers Thriller

We’d rushed to the Victory Park bathrooms where she’d stopped by and only spotted a bunch of dirty kids eating apples and sandwiches.

I need that fucking cash, so we can go after the Paradise job.

The money would take care of our siblings while we were gone, as well as cover our expenses in the city during planning out the job.

I’m going to have to torture her, there’s no way around it.

I went to get a bottle of wine and two glasses. We would both be entering a long night of blood and pain. I might as well let her enjoy this time while she could.

The song started over.

I poured us both a glass of red wine. When I handed Phoenix her glass, I caught her mouthing the lyrics again. “You’re a fast learner.”

“I’ve heard the song a lot.” She took a sip of wine and closed her eyes.

A smirk spread across my face.

She opened her eyes. “This is really good.”

Leaning against the counter, I gently twirled the top of my glass, swirling the rich liquid around. “Try this.”

She mimicked me.

I put the glass to my lips. “Close your eyes and listen to the music as you drink the wine.”

She did exactly as I told her.

Intrigued, I watched her do as I said. “How does the song sound now?”

When she swallowed, she opened her eyes. “Maybe. . .”

“Maybe, what?”

“I think there’s a small difference with the song. . .Maybe.”

“Wine and music share the same quality of making us feel.” I sipped my wine. “Many wine scholars believe that listening to music while drinking wine can affect the wine’s flavor and enhance the song’s notes.”

“I’ve never thought of that before.” She gazed down at the wine.

“They say that Cabernet Sauvignon is the most suitable wine for listening to rock.”

She looked at me. “And opera?”

I held up my glass. “Syrah is the best for opera.”

“Syrah?”

“Also known as Shiraz.”

“That, I’ve heard of.” She sipped her wine.

“Shiraz is a dark-skinned grape grown throughout the world.” Instead of tasting my wine, I visually drank Phoenix in, wondering what flavor would she be on my tongue. “It’s a full-bodied, opaque wine. Yet firm.”

Her gaze remained on me.

I loved her attention. Loved the way those pupils expanded with curiosity. Loved the way her lips parted in enjoyment. I even loved that my white robe was the only thing covering her naked body.

For a second, I pictured the robe splattered with her blood.

Stop it. We have to eat first.

I sipped my wine. Darkness rose within the parts of me I tried to keep shielded away from my family.

I began to make a to-do list in my mind.

First, we eat. Second, I tie her back up. Third, I’ll sterilize the instruments. Fourth, I’ll sharpen the blades.

In my head, rich red blood trickled out of her neck.

Fuck.

I finished the wine, gorging on it like it was her blood.

Chapter 7

The Calm Before the Storm

Phoenix

C

ain turned off the opera.

For several minutes I missed those soothing lyrics. Now that I knew the story, the song sounded even more beautiful to me.

Cain poured me another glass of wine.

I probably shouldn’t drink this, but drunk is better than terrified.

When Cain began plating the food, Noah trotted out. The huge dog held bits of my thong in his mouth. Wagging his tail, he sat patiently at the edge of the kitchen, not putting one paw into the space.

He’s well-trained.

Cain pulled out a white porcelain bowl, slung strips of steak in with the bones, and then sat it in front of Noah. The dog happily scarfed it down.

He’s a good dog owner. Maybe, he won’t kill me too bad. It could all be talk.

I sipped the wine, hoping I was right.

Cain brought over our plates. “Eat.”

Meanwhile, he never sat down. Instead, he kept the bar between us and leaned on the side.

Nervous, I picked up my fork and tried the food.

Well. . .he’s a great cook.

We ate in silence.

The steak was juicy, tender, and loaded with flavor. The potatoes were crispy on the outside and buttery soft in the center. I hadn’t eaten this good in a long time. Loving it so much, I had to force myself to not lick the plate.

I wasn’t expecting that.

Every few seconds, I caught him watching me. His gaze kept falling to the curve of my neck. When he did, my pulse spiked, and he grunted.

Okay. Good dog owner. Great cook. But still pyscho. I can’t forget that.

Earlier, I’d given up. It was somewhere between the thirtieth repeat of the opera song and sipping the wine. I’d made peace with this being the night I would die. I could see it all over his face that he wanted to hurt me. But I could also tell that he didn’t love the idea.

That made me happy, at least.

In some ways, the pain could be less intense. If I was lucky, the pain could be pleasure. With the expensive wine and marijuana, I swam in this intoxicated ocean of numbness.