Page 34 of Ruthless God

“What the fuck is right,” Snow says, climbing into my window with a smirk on his face.

He is wearing a polo shirt with beige shorts, and my eyes venture up to his white spiked hair. My cheeks flush at the nearness of him. He stands in front of me with his arms crossed.

I tilt my head back to look him in his eye. “Where the fuck is my shit?”

“In storage. Where it belongs. I told you we’re moving in together.”

Rage fills my blood. Removing my shoe, I toss it at his head, but he catches it before it makes contact.

How fucking dare he try to control my life. He’s treating me as if I don’t have a say in my own life.

This is about power.

I want to slap that stupid-ass smug look off his beautiful face.

I’ll buy more stuff with my trust fund money, I don’t need the things he’s taken. And I don’t care, I’m not living with this bastard.

Fuck him.

“No.”

“Suit yourself, Blue.”

When he leans down, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes.

I beat my palm on his back. “Put me down, you bastard!”

He doesn’t respond, just proceeds to climb out of the window and down an oak tree.

Snow has lost his fucking mind if he thinks I’m actually going to live with him.

Once he carries me to his car, he opens the passenger door, tosses me onto the leather seat, and slams the door shut. I yank on the handle but it’s no use; he has me locked from the inside. Once he enters the car, he taps the Start button and the engine hums to life.

“Why do you have to force me to move in with you now?”

He doesn’t respond as he turns up the radio and “Bad and Boujee” by Migos blasts through the speakers. Sighing, I lean against the seat, my arms folded across my chest.

I’m trying to think of ways to get out of this situation and from under him, but my mind is foggy. Snow drives for a while, away from North Haven.

Are we in the middle of nowhere?

He stops at a black iron gate, then hits a button on his phone. The gate slowly opens and we drive down a long path and pull up in front of a farmhouse. A farmhouse I wanted so badly to build one time. Though I don’t remember telling Snow about my dream home.

I stare at the white wraparound porch with two rocking chairs by the red front door. In the back, I can make out the barn and stables. The house is made out of painted white wood. Flowers and trees surround the property.

My breath hitches and I look at Snow. “When did you have this built?”

“Last year. It was supposed to be a wedding gift.” He kills the engine and turns toward me. “This is your new home now.”

“You can’t do this. You can’t keep me locked up here.”

“Do you want to test that theory?”

“Snow.”

“Lyrical.”

He gets out of the car, opens my door, and I sit there for several seconds before he gets impatient and yanks me by the arm, ushering me to the porch. He pushes me into the front door, and I stand in the foyer, trying not to gawk but I can’t help myself. There is a staircase to the right side and in the middle sits a dark round table with a fresh boutique of white lilies. The house is everything I wanted in my dream home. Pictures from our childhood hang on the wall throughout the hallway, and I walk into the living room to find it is filled with furniture that I pinned on my Pinterest boards. My heart flutters in my chest, and I can’t believe he did all of this for me. Snow can be sothoughtful when he wants to be. I don’t know if I should jump in joy or beat his ass.

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