Page 33 of Unlocking Ruin

You know what happened to the Trojans, asshole? They let a pony in, and surprise, they’re gone!

Your mistake was bringing me inside.

I’m a hacker—once we’re in, it’s hard to throw us out without something crumbling.

Maybe that’s what I should do. Listen to him. Get inside and then tear him down.

I tear my gaze away and scan the room. My relief isn’t about feeling safe. Not even close. It’s just that I’m not on a plane or helicopter.

Honestly, I want to leap from the bed and kiss the ground.

I groan, roll over, and sit up, yanking the unfamiliar covers off. I’m still in my Halloween dress, not that there’s much comfort in that.

“Do you get off on watching people sleep?” I snap.

“Apparently,” he replies, “but it only pertains to you.”

“I’m honored,” I sneer. “Why me?” I ask, as I rub my eyes until a kaleidoscope of colors appears. I want to smack the side of my head to stop the throbbing.

“I don’t know.” He pauses briefly, his expression unreadable. His dark hair looks more tousled than before; a few pieces fall over his forehead.

“I keep watching you, hoping to find out—or get over it.”

His eyes roam over me, taking in not just my body, but where I am: in this bed, trapped in his domain.

I don’t like how deep those eyes pry. I’ve buried parts of my soul to survive.

“That’s nightmare-inducing,” I mutter as my vision clears.

Sunlight spills over half his face, his left eye glinting like a tranquil sea—safe and inviting. The other half is lost in shadow, as if he’s wearing a drama mask: one side serene, the other pure menace.

He fights a smirk, clearly unused to so many insults—and apparently enjoying it.

I should stop feeding his ego, but snapping at him gives me a twisted sense of pride.

I’m not used to speaking up; Frank would have punished me for less. Somehow, my kidnapper lets me speak more freely than my own family ever did.

He nods towards the nightstand. “Advil and water.”

I eye both bottles.

“Oh, so you’re not playing water fountain today? I get to drink from the bottle this time, not from your mouth?” I bite out, my voice scratchy with thirst.

“If you’d prefer my mouth, just say the word.” He smirks, waiting.

I try not to scoff… or drool.

Why is the devil so damn handsome?

My thighs clench on instinct. It’s wrong. This whole twisted situation is a beautiful disaster.

“Come near me and find out what will happen,” I retort, but it’s weak and questionable.

“Her claws are back.” His lips twitch upward, the first real sign of satisfaction. He sinks deeper into the chair.

So he does have a spine that moves. For a moment, he almost looks human. Almost.

“The claws never left.” I snatch up the water bottle. “I’m just smart enough to know when and where to scratch. No use in wasting energy.”