Page 12 of Unlocking Ruin

“What?” I blink, confused. “No.”

“Then why”—he presses, his eyes roaming over my body—“do you always wear this?”

“I’m tired of people gossiping about my weight. This covers it.”

“Maybe you should stop caring about what people think and do what you want.” His eyes gleam, as if doing him were the number one item on my list.

“Hard to do that in the world we live in,” I mock.

“Live? When you walk on campus, it’s with your headphones on; fuck, you even keep them on in class. You spend most of your time in front of a computer, unless it’s a rare day you can’t stand your skin any longer.”

His words slam into me like chains dragging me down. It’s true, but I argue. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen you wear a lot less when you go to that shitty cheap club outside of town.”

My throat thickens. How does he know that?

Slowly, he moves his right hand to the hem of my sweatshirt. He holds himself perfectly steady in a one-handed push-up above me.

“Wait,” I warn him. The warmth of his fingers feels like fire grazing over my hipbone.

“Two days ago you were cradling your right side when you walked to campus. Why? Answer me,” he demands. “Or I will check for myself.”

Fuck it. “I fell and bruised my ribs. The hoodie is comfortable.”

The fabric of his mask shifts. Is he grimacing?

“Lie to me again, Rylan, and see what happens.”

“It seems you know the answer, so there is no point in indulging you with my voice,” I reply. My throat opens to let churning acid climb higher. The bruises seem to pulse again.

His breath stops as his fingers push up the side of my hoodie. It’s dark, so I don’t know how he sees the bruises, but it’s clear he does.

“Who?”

“Currently you. You weigh a ton.” I shove him again. “Get off me.”

My stomach clenches when he moves. Air flows through my lungs, making me feel sick. He stands and offers me a hand, which I refuse. “You can’t embody the gentleman and the asshole,” I scold, as I stand on my own.

“Gentlemen have assholes, Rylan. Everyone does.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

His head tilts. “I’m offended that you don’t know.”

“Sorry.” I sit up and shove my hand into my hoodie pocket, grabbing my pepper spray. “I don’t hang out with masked men for fun.”

“There’s another lie.” His voice drops, curling around me like smoke. “Your mask is a computer.” He rolls his shoulders back, slow and deliberate. The movement draws my eyes to his wide, powerful stance. I can still feel the heat radiating off of him. He’s got to be at least six-two. The bookshelf is only a little taller than he is. “You hack into places you shouldn’t,” he confirms, gaze locked on mine, daring me to deny it.

My eyes narrow. “You’re not the feds. Who are you?” I flip off the pepper spray’s safety switch. Just act cool, Rylan. Don’t attack yet.

“The people you hacked don’t use the feds.”

Oh shit! Shit! Shit.

The founding families sent him!

“How did you know?” I rasp. How did I fail?