Page 10 of Ruthless God

My shoulders go rigid.

“I’m sorry about your loss,” she says, giving me a fake, sad face. “You haven’t made much time for me this summer.”

It pisses me off that she’s lying, because she and my sister never got along.

“I’ve been busy.” My tone is flat.

“You ever in the mood to suck my dick,” Irvin suggests, “I’m a text away. I heard you gave Jameson head.”

I’ve never liked Irvin because he’s egotistic and thinks the world revolves around him, but I have to get along with him because we’re going to be business partners soon.

I glance over to Jameson, and he shrugs. “It was bland, and you use too much teeth.”

When my eyes veer to Lyrical, our eyes lock, but she glances away. My dick grows hard at the thought of her, and I want my mouth on her pussy as she comes on my tongue with tears in her eyes. I used to have these fantasies of chasing her in the woods, hunting her down, fucking her, or me choking her while my dick is inside of her. I never dared speak those words to her, in fear ofscaring her off, but now I plan to use her as my sex blow-up doll. She doesn’t want to listen to my warning to leave this school, so I’m going to get back at her for killing my sister—for destroying my family. I feel the need to control her, own her in every way possible.

Lyrical’s eyes roam back to us, and there is sorrow in her bright blue eyes. She holds her head high as if she’s not fazed about Savannah sitting on my lap, but tears gather in the corners of her eyes. I stroke Savannah’s back, making it seem like I’m into her, and Lyrical balls up her fists, placing them on the table.

Leaning down, I whisper in Savannah’s ear, “Come over tonight.”

I don’t have any plans on fucking Fish Lips, but everyone is going to be there, and this is a ploy to get back at Lyrical just in case she shows up.

A smile spreads across her face as if she won the lottery. “Sure. What are we doing tonight?”

“We’re having a party.”

Savannah giggles like a schoolgirl, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

Lyrical looks so beautiful with tears in her eyes, and I want to come all over her face. When she grabs her backpack, she takes one last look at me, then leaves the café. I shove Savannah off me, and she hits her ass on the tile floor, her legs wide open, giving us all a view of her shaved pussy, and I glance away, not giving a fuck if she’s hurt. Irvin takes out his phone to snap a picture of it.

“What was that for? Why did you push me?” she whines.

I can’t get rid of her yet, so I lie, “I didn’t push you off, babe. I was trying to get up, and you slipped.”

She smiles. “It’s okay.”

I can’t believe she fell for the lie; she’s more dense than I thought.

“You should wear panties,” Keanu says. “Your pussy looks gross.”

She gets up, yanking down the skirt of her dress, flipping Keanu off. “I’ll see you at the party.” She bats her eyes at me and walks to the table with her group of friends.

I grab my phone from my pocket, then shoot Lyrical a message.

Me: Savannah will be my mistress once we’re married. I’m going to enjoy you watching me fuck her.

She reads my message and sends me a middle finger emoji.

Me: You’re going to be wearing my ring. Down on your knees, crawling and kneeling before me, worshipping my dick like I’m your god.

Lyrical

Iattend two of my classes this morning, and by noon, I’m a little exhausted.

My first day of senior year has been the worst, but at least I’m getting back into the groove of a schedule and still trying to figure out what exactly is my new norm. A few months ago, I was looking forward to graduating, but now, I’m dreading it. I’m not looking forward to marriage and with the way my relationship with Snow is now, I wouldn’t be surprised if he locks me up in his home and never lets me out. This past summer, after rehab, I sat in my room, drew, and did not interact with anyone unless I had to. I isolated myself from my old friends—and my family. I held myself in my room because I couldn’t face society.

Trauma has a way of making you lose yourself in ways you never thought.

I sit at the gazebo by the oak trees as I remove my college algebra book from my book bag—I failed it for the third time in a row. But no one knows, other than my parents, that I suffer from dyscalculia. I have a hard time reading numbers andunderstanding math problems. If I don’t pass this course this year, I can’t graduate, and my dreams will go up in smoke. It’s embarrassing because I struggle to count money or do simple math. It was so much easier to hide it because my parents hired tutors to help me and they donated millions of dollars to the schools I attended so they would overlook my disability.

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