Page 153 of Chasing Ruin
“Then they move you upstairs. For the real clients. Cleaner rooms. Fresh clothes…” She shrugs. “Y’know. Presentable.Then depending on your tag—mutt, princess—”
A sharp gasp escapes me at her crude, stomach-churning explanation. When she glances back at my paling face, she winces—quieting down. Her face slightly contrite.
I blink rapidly, but the tears still come. They just don’t stop. My body doesn’t care that I should’ve run out by now.
We push through another set of doors and suddenly the space opens up.
A massive hall stretches out before us.
An abandoned reception area. Wide. Hollow. The kind of place that once held chaos—patients, doctors, urgency—but now it just echoes.
Dust clings to broken counters. Chairs lie overturned. A flickering light hums somewhere above us.
No screams. No cries.
Just silence.
Click.
The sharp sound of heels striking the floor behind us.
My entire body locks.
“I don’t think Hellfire would approve of this, Mistress.”
That voice. Smooth. Sweet. Poison.
My stomach drops as we turn.
Glory stands a few feet away, posture straight, a smirk curling her lips. A gun rests steady in her hand, aimed directly at us.
At Mistress.
She doesn’t lower it as she starts walking forward. Slow. Confident. Like she’s already won.
Beside me, Mistress lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “God,” she mutters, rubbing her temple. “You again.”
Glory’s smile sharpens. “Missed me?”
“Not particularly,” she drawls. “Here to do your boss’s bidding?”
Glory huffs. “You always did think too highly of yourself.”
“And you never think—at all,” Mistress shoots back easily.
There’s something different in her tone now. Sharper. Personal.
Glory’s eyes flicker, irritation bleeding through. “I’ve got the gun, bitch. You’re not in a position to be running that mouth.”
Mistress tilts her head, unimpressed. “And you think you are?”
Glory’s smirk widens, delusion gleaming in her eyes. “I don’t think. I know. Hellfire trusts me. So you’re going to quietly walk Charlie back to the cells. Now.”
Something ugly twists in my stomach. But Mistress barks out a laugh. An actual cackle.
“Trusts you?” she echoes, incredulous. “Sweetheart, you barely register as more than a hole to him.”
My breath catches as Glory’s face changes. Subtly at first—then all at once.
