Page 55 of Ruthless God

“You don’t understand. I have a sister. If I say anything, he will kill her.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your sister. You should have thought about her the moment you tried to kill my fiancée.”

Tears run down his face. “We meet in Gogh Hall. Please stop the blood. Please get rid of the pain.”

That is the art hall on campus, where the college’s art professors hold their classes.

“Can you trust this scum for anything?” Jameson asks.

“What choice do I have?” I grab the gas can and a lighter from the shelf. “Is he a student on campus?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does he go by?”

He opens his mouth and says, “J-Ju—”

The life leaves his eyes then, and his mouth hangs open, like the Ghostface mask.

“Do you remember Samuel Jacobs from our senior year?” Jameson says, sliding his fingers through his hair.

I nod. He was a famous football player on campus. Unlike other dumb jocks, he graduated at the top of the class and was going to take over his father’s tech company that’s known throughout the United States. His father is a member of the Billionaire Club.

I look him up and down. I knew he looked familiar since he only graduated last year. What happened to him? How did he end up as a drug dealer?

“Where is his phone?” I ask.

“I already got it, Snow,” Jameson says.

I drench gasoline all over Samuel’s dead body and then hit the button on the lighter, setting him on fire. I watch his flesh burn, the smell making my head hurt.

I’ve got to keep Lyrical safe, no matter what happens. Whoever the masked man is, I’m going to find and kill him slowly.

“What do we do next?” Keanu asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“Get rid of his body,” I state.

“I’m going to hack into his phone and find the person who hired him to kill Lyrical.” Jameson says. “In the meantime, keepan eye out on Lyrical and tell her to change up her routine. I’m assuming he’s going to send someone else to finish the job.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and a notification pops up showing me she’s at her parents’ house. She can’t sit still to save her life—I told her to stay at the farmhouse.

“We can set him up, pretend to be the guy, and tell him that job is done, and when he’s ready to give the cash, we’ll torture him until we get answers,” I state before heading upstairs. “I have to take care of Lyrical,” I mutter just as I’m leaving the basement.

Lyrical

Iopen the door of my childhood home and walk to the living room, spotting my mother reading aBetter Homes and Gardensmagazine. I haven’t stepped foot in here in several months, but I note that my mother has kept the smell of lavender in the air. I eye the new furniture my parents now have: leather brown couches and matching end tables.

I clear my throat. “Hi, Mother.”

I haven’t heard from her since our phone call, and I have to admit, I’ve been avoiding her because she wants to speak about planning the wedding.

“Lyrical. Did you get my text messages about the wedding?”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been busy,” I lie. “I’m here to see Dad. Where is he? He’s not answering his phone.”

“Clemon is in his study, dear. Next week, I need your approval on what type of cake you would like.”

“You can pick it ou—”

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