Page 41 of Ruthless God

“Did Bailey ever mention to Mother that she had a boyfriend?”

My father stops in his tracks to cast me a bewildered look. “Not that I know of. I thought she was dating Tim.”

I shake my head. “Lyrical believes her boyfriend—whoever he was—had something to do with the accident.”

He slides his hands back into his pockets. “What evidence do you have of this?”

He doesn’t believe me, just as I suspected he wouldn’t.

I run my fingers through my hair. “Bailey’s sketch journals. She had a picture of her and a man, but his face was hidden.”

He crinkles his nose. “Your sister was delusional about a lot of things and made up shit in her head. Bailey often lied about a lot of things. The picture was probably someone she met randomly.”

Now I see what Lyrical was talking about. We, as a family, wrote her off as some kind of cuckoo and my parents went to great lengths to hide her illness. Even when she had to stay in the mental hospital, they lied to their friends and family members about her whereabouts. I understand how she felt like no one took her seriously. That’s why Bailey always did wild shit to get my parents’ attention, and when they didn’t show her theattention she wanted, it got worse until my father threatened to put her back into the hospital. My father didn’t treat her right.

Guilt eats at me like a disease. “What if someone was after Bailey, Father?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to deal with it. Stop trying to not take fault for what happened at your party. Bailey and Lyrical consumed a substance that destroyed both of their lives, not to mention you allowed them to get in a car in that state. If it wasn’t for you, Bailey would still be here. You need to learn how to control Lyrical.”

Anger burns in my chest like lava, but I don’t say anything. I couldn’t, and maybe he’s right. Maybe it was my fault that Bailey died. I want the rage to go away. I want to make Lyrical pay; she got behind the wheel—not me. It was her fault, but I don’t want to take my anger out on her. Not until I figure out what is really going on. If she’s right, then I don’t know if I can forgive myself for how I treated her since the accident. I’m so confused about everything.

Lyrical is convinced they were both drugged. What are the odds of her not remembering that she took a Molly before getting behind the wheel?

We arrive at the library, where Lyrical sits at her usual spot. She doesn’t look up at me, too focused on her drawing.

“Three weeks from now, Lyrical and you have a photo shoot withVoguemagazine and an interview. If they ask about Bailey, avoid the questions. Just focus on your love story with Lyrical. When you see your mother, don’t speak to her about Bailey’s death. Don’t mention your ludicrous idea that she was drugged. She’s already depressed as it is, so you don’t need to make it worse for her.”

Sometimes, I want to punch my father in the face, gut him like a fish.

Lyrical looks up, then she waves at my father and he waves back. I toss the study guide onto the table.

I need Lyrical; she was always my go-to person when I felt like my back was against the proverbial wall.

“I’m going out of town.”

“To where?” she asks, grabbing the study guide and placing it in her folder.

I’m not allowed to tell her what I’m up to. If my father knows I told her about the people we killed in the club, he’ll be pissed.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be home when I’m ready to come home.”

Her eyes venture to my father. She knows our relationship is rocky, but she doesn’t know the extent of it.

“Um. Okay.”

She goes to say something, but I turn my back to her, leaving her alone in the library.

This past week has been a shit show. My father had me in meetings, listening to every complaint about American Billionaire Club. Someone shoved a huge-ass dildo in their ass and couldn’t remove it, so we had to call the ambulance. My father had Keanu and I kill a few more people. Lucky for Keanu, he got to leave a few days ago, while I’m still stuck in a meeting with my father. His secretary is sitting on his lap as he goes over the stock for the business. My mother is depressed, meanwhile he cheats on her. Yet, he is mad at me because I don’t visit her often. I have flowers sent to her every week, and I often check on her through Zella, our maid.

I shake my head and my gaze drifts off to New York City’s skyscrapers. Seven months from now, I’m going to step into the position as a CEO of this company and be married to Lyrical, and I don’t know how I feel about it all. Before the car accident, I was looking forward it, but I don’t know anymore. My future wife suspects she was drugged but listening to my dad, her story does sound silly. Speaking of Lyrical, she has sent me a message every day asking me if I am okay, but I never respond. Though I could have responded, I choose not to because I need the space. Plus, my father has this stupid-ass rule about us texting during meetings.

My phone lights up with a message from Savannah. It’s a picture of Lyrical sitting on a man’s lap, the caption reading,I know you told me to stay away from you, but this is what your fiancée is up to.

Rage burns through my veins as I ball my fists, digging my nails into my palms. Seeing red, I get up from the table, slide my jacket on, and head to the door. Whoever he is, it’s going to be the last time he touches my fiancée.

“Where are you going?” my father asks.

“Something happened with Lyrical, I have to go.”

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