Page 16 of Ruthless God

Even though he has a mask on, I swear his gaze goes to my chest.

“What a lovely sight that would be. Your big tits bouncing as you run from me.” He leans in. “Almost as lovely as what they would look like if I fucked you from behind.”

Holy. Shit.

“So, Ruby. Want to tell me your real name?”

I’m not one of those girls who doesn’t want people to know my name. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to run into him outside of this club.

“It’s Cecely.”

The DJ speaks, cutting off my words.

“Cecily?”

“Not Sis-uh-lee.” I lean in. “Ses-lee.”

“Cecely,” he says it the correct way, making goosebumps lift on my skin.

“That’s it. Cecely with an e and not an i.”

“Tell me Cecely with an e and not an i, how much to go to the champagne room with you?”

“You can’t afford me.”

“Try me, mama.”

Holy cow.

“Five hundred.”

His head dips. “Done.”

There’s always a moment when you give a client a number where you wished you’d gone higher. Would he have paid more? Six? Seven? Eight hundred? The funny thing is I would have gone lower if he had said no.

It’s why I should tell him I’ve changed my mind.

I’m in too deep. I?—

His hand goes to my hip, pulling me from my thought. “Are you ready, Cecely?”

“Sure am.” I hold out my hand. “This way.”

When his large hand closes around mine, I feel a jolt that goes right to my core. This man is a walking red flag and yet I’m not sure I could stop this even if I wanted.

I lead him from the main floor, weaving through the crowd, the pulse of the music fading slightly as we step into the dimly lit hallway. I stop in front of one of the so-called champagne rooms and push the door open.

Room. Ha! That’s a generous term.

It’s barely more than a glorified closet with just enough space for a single chair, the client, and me. The owner is too cheap to invest in anything more extravagant. No plush seating, no bottle service, no sultry lighting to set the mood. Just four walls, a chair, and the promise of privacy. All three “champagne rooms” look exactly the same.

If Jade were running this place, she’d turn it around in a heartbeat, giving it the ambiance, the luxury, the exclusivity it’ssupposed to have. But unless a miracle happens, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

He sits. His legs spread wide, that signature way men take up as much space as possible. He leans back into the chair, settling in like a king on his throne. Even though I can’t see his face behind the mask, I can feel it. The smirk.

He’s waiting. Watching. Testing me.

I don’t hesitate.

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