Page 161 of Ruthless God

“He killed his brother, Cecely. And then, in some kind of—what? Fit of rage? Mental breakdown?” He shakes his head. “He took over his life. He targeted the Elite Members, picking them off one by one. He also made threats to the new Elite Members, ensuring they stayed on his side.”

I shrug. “I don’t really see what the problem is.”

Blanc's nostrils flare.

“The problem is,” he snaps, “that it wasn’t his call to make.”

I let out a slow, bitter laugh.

“Oh. I see.” I tilt my head, my gaze narrowing. “You’re pissed because he’s better at this than you are.”

Claudius lets out a low, deep chuckle.

“Damn, mama. You may be onto something.”

“He’s not better than me!” Blanc snarls. “If he were, he would have killed me!”

Claudius tilts his head, studying him. “That’s why you’re here, Blanc. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out.”

Blanc freezes. Something passes over his face. And then he understands. His face drains of color.

“No…”

Claudius’ smirk widens. “Oh, yes.”

A pause.

A slow, deliberate pause.

Then Claudius pulls a gun from the back of his waistband and presses it to Blanc’s forehead.

“I’ve just been letting you enjoy the last few hours of your life.”

33

Claudius

I watch as the realization dawns on Blanc’s face. It starts in his eyes. That flicker of understanding. Of fear. Then it spreads. His breath stutters. I tilt my head, watching him. Savoring this. Letting him feel it. The inevitability of it.

This is for me. For Gabriel. For every person hurt by the hand of Blanc.

His throat bobs. I see it now. The moment he accepts it. The moment he knows this is the end.

And then Blanc moves. His head jerks sideways, knocking the barrel just enough—BANG!The bullet shreds past his ear. The chair tilts, toppling over with a violent crash.

I lunge. Blanc’s wrists are still bound, but that doesn’t stop him from twisting, kicking. I grunt, as his boot slams into my shin. Desperation fuels him. He knows he’s about to die. He’s fighting like hell to change that.

I slam my foot onto his chest, pinning him to the ground. His mouth twists into a bloody sneer.

“Killing me won’t fix you, Irons. You’ll still be fucked up in the head, unable to separate your two lives.”

I press the gun under his chin. “No, but it sure as hell will make me feel better.”

He lets out a low, shaky laugh. Blood trickles from his split lip, staining his teeth. His breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with something dangerous.

And then, in a hoarse voice, he says, “Then do it.”

My finger tightens on the trigger. I should. I want to.

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