Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             “You know nothing.” I focus on the window and the shadows blurring past us. “You and Tristan were made into monsters, but I was born one. It’s entirely different.”

                             “Then get treated,” he says in a calm voice. “You don’t have to let Tristan threaten you with it.”

                             “Why would I willingly go back to the mentally insane ward? So they can strip me from myself further more?” I point a finger at his chest. “Not going to happen, Dylan.”

                             He thrusts his phone in his pocket. “The conditions back then weren’t the same as now. At that time, their aim was to break, not heal you.”

                             “You always saw me as a hindrance to your little revenge game with Tristan.” My voice is monotone. “I know you’ve been plotting to send me away, but your schemes won’t work on me. Give it up.”

                             “Giving up isn’t in my dictionary.” A smirk plays on his lips. “You’re the one who told me I’m infuriatingly persistent.”

                             At least he’s aware of that. “For now, take care of your own demons and leave me with mine.”

                             He raises his eyebrows. “Fair enough.”

                             The rest of the ride is spent in mollifying silence as he goes back to stock trading on his phone. Unlike Tristan, Dylan knows when to hold his tongue. Probably because he hates me.

                             Mutual feelings.

                             Once I reach my quarters, I loosen my bow-tie, easing pressure off my neck.

                             The clock on the wall reads half past midnight. I dial Kane.

                             “What can I do for you, Sir?” There’s no hint of sleepiness in his modulated voice.

                             “From now on, I shall need two portions for my supper.” I gave up my soup for Mae earlier.

                             “Very well, Sir.”

                             No enquiries. No questions whatsoever. He’s a model help. No wonder he excels as an executive in the conglomerate, too.

                             Once I end the call, I click the remote control, springing the security footage to life.

                             Mae is curled in a ball on the bed, eyes closed, the sheet covering her from head to toe. Strands of grey-blonde hair cocoon her in their grasp. Her feet twitch as she tightens her hold on the sheet.

                             Long-term captives aren’t my expertise, but I assume they can freeze to death.

                             I rummage through my clothes and pick cotton trousers, a shirt, a jacket and a blanket, then head to the dungeons.

                             I press the automatic key, clicking the door open.

                             Mae isn’t on the bed. Strange, she was sleeping a few minutes ago.

                             I step into the room to check the bathroom when ripples of pain explode in my skull. I halt. My hands unclench. The clothes fall to the ground. Dizziness takes over, and I sway back, almost losing my balance.