Page 17 of Ruthless God

We ride to a fancy restaurant on the west side of town. I hate being in his presence because I don’t know if he’s going to fly off the handle.

Once we make it to the restaurant, we’re quickly seated and the waiter collects our orders.

His eyes narrow. “Have you picked out an engagement ring for Lyrical?”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

This is how our relationship has been. He asks me questions and I answer them. He doesn’t ask me how school is going. He doesn’t ask me about my social life. Hell, I almost ended Irvin’s life and he still didn’t ask me about it. My father never cared for me and he never will.

The waiter brings our drinks and I sip my beer slowly, drowning out the noise of the restaurant.

My father sips his scotch and sets the crystal glass onto the cloth covering the table. “Your sister would have been excited about your wedding, planning everything right down to the flowers, and if you had been watching her and protecting her, she would still be living right now.”

The guilt I feel eats at me every day, and I try not to blame myself. Ever since Bailey passed away, my father has always been on my case, reminding me how much of a fuckup I am. I don’t respond, I never do, because sometimes I do believe it’s my fault.

“Have you checked on your mother?”

I shake my head and watch the waiter wearing a suit and tie set our food in front of me, but I’m not hungry, though I know if I don’t eat, my father will find another way to pick on me about something. I pick up my fork and dig into my sweet peas, but it tastes like dry wood.

“Your mother’s depression has gotten worse since Bailey has died, and yet you didn’t check on her?”

It’s not that I don’t love my mother, I do. I can’t handle seeing her so sad. I’m the one who made her depressed.

I continue listening to him tell me how I should be a man and stop acting like a boy. It’s why I kept to myself because I’d rather be alone than deal with people. My father cares about me as long as I’m making him look good. I killed people for him, just for him to give me a pat on the back, but it’s never enough.

By the time lunch is over with, I’m not in the mood to attend my evening class for my master’s degree and I don’t want to go back to the mansion, so I walk the trail and end up at the back of Lyrical’s apartment complex.

Of course I would end up coming here, because whenever I used to have a shitty day, I’d show up at her place and she wouldcomfort me. Lyrical had been my go-to person when I felt like my back was against the wall.

I climb an oak tree that’s close by her bedroom and sit on a thick branch, watching her concentrate as she draws something.

She scrunches up her cute button nose and sticks her tongue out.

This is my favorite part about her, how she has a passion for the things she loves. Sometimes, I miss her. Other days, I don’t want to have anything to do her, but the one thing that hasn’t change is my obsession with her. I miss her stealing all my hoodies, I miss her showing up at my place unannounced with a bag of popcorn and liquor so we can have movie nights. I miss her spending the night at my place even though it took me every ounce of self-control to not fuck her.

I watch her get up from the desk. She removes her shirt, then her bra, both items hitting the floor. Her tits are on display, though I’ve seen her naked before, accidently walking in on her in the shower, but I only got a glimpse. Her small breasts are the size of apples and her nipples are a dark pink. My dick hardens and aches in my pants.

I don’t bother to readjust myself.

She removes her leggings and panties, tossing them to the floor, then she bends over. Her ass is on display, and I want to shove my dick inside of her. I can feel the tip of my dick leaking with pre-cum. I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone like I want to fuck her.

I watch her as she moves to the bathroom and I take that as my cue to climb inside.

Loud music blasts from the bathroom, but she leaves the door open, so I watch her step into the shower. She has always been an artsy person, while I have always been into reading nonfiction, history, and business. But somehow, we meshed—until the accident, of course. But now I don’t want to marry herand I don’t want to be tied down to her for the rest of my life. Looking at the girl I hate, whose smile used to light up my day, I want to hurt her.

The room fills up with her apple soap scent, so I sneak into the bathroom cabinet, grab an extra bottle, then slip it into my back pocket while she’s unaware. I go back to her room, glance around, noticing nothing has changed. Lyrical still has the comic books I bought her for her birthday last year. She’s still a messy person, leaving her clothes everywhere.

I search through her drawers, trying to find something I can use against her to keep her ass in check, to get her to do what the fuck I want her to do. I find a small clit stimulator and I tuck it in my pocket because her pussy is mine, and I don’t want her getting herself off either.

Not without my permission.

When I search through her drawer, I find a leather sketchbook which I’ve never seen before. I know she has another one which she uses for inspiration to paint, but this one looks old, the edges worn and torn a little bit.

I open the book and scan the pages, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

She has a picture of herself and my hand around her throat as I’m fucking her.

This shit is hot as fuck.

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