Page 29 of Ruthless God

A scar runs just beneath his eye, slicing all the way to the corner of his mouth. The skin is puckered, as though someone had tried—and failed—to kill him.

His lips part, but before he can speak, before I can second-guess my own reckless need, I lift my head and capture his mouth in a searing kiss. His hesitation lasts only a beat before he claims me back, a clash of heat and desperation, of something dark and undeniable.

We lie there on the cold, wet ground, tangled together, our bodies still connected, neither of us willing to break away just yet. The chill seeps into my skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat between us, but I barely notice. His weight is a delicious pressure, grounding me, keeping me pressed beneath him as his lips claim mine again and again.

The kiss is slow at first, unhurried, as if he’s memorizing every inch of my mouth, every shaky breath I take. Then, it deepens into something hot, desperate, consuming. His hands roam, fingers tracing over damp skin, mapping me like he’s trying to make sure I’m real.

I cling to him, lost in the taste of him, in the way his body still pulses inside me, in the way the world seems to shrink until there’s only us. The dizzy warmth swirls through me, a heady mix of exhaustion and pleasure, until I feel like I’m floating.

But he doesn’t stop. He kisses me like he owns me. Like he’s not done with me yet. And maybe I don’t want him to be.

Finally, he pulls away in every way. The loss is instant, sharp, like the cold finally sinking into my bones now that his warmth is gone.

The distance between us hurts and I’m left with a mess between my legs and a heart that feels like it’s breaking.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, raking a hand over his bald head.

His voice is rough, laced with something I can’t quite name. Regret, maybe. Frustration? Either way, it hurts.

“I’m not complaining,” I say, my breath still uneven, my body still humming from him.

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I am.” His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there. “I had a plan.” His voice drops, more to himself than to me. “But that went to hell, didn’t it?”

Before I can respond, before I can make sense of the conflict flickering in his stormy gaze, he suddenly stands. His movements are quick as he tucks himself away, fixing his clothes like he’s erasing every trace of what just happened between us.

I sit up, watching him, feeling something slip through my fingers, something I don’t even understand yet.

He turns to me one last time, his expression unreadable, his voice cool and final.

“It’s been fun, mama. But if you ever see me again… run.”

And then he’s gone.

6

PRESENT DAY

Claudius

I’m led to the room where the Elite Members of the Defiant God Brotherhood meet deep beneath a mansion just outside of Dallas, Texas. I just may be the first non-Elite Member to ever step foot in the room outside of the normal meeting space. It should be momentous. Instead, I’m annoyed. It should have never come to this. They should have handled their business without involving me. But, here we are.

The others wait for me, grim expressions on their faces.

I ask, “Has he reached out?”

Grant Carter answers, “No.”

“Did you bring the card?”

He reaches into his bag, pulling out a clear baggie with the card inside. I take it from him, letting the card drop into my hand. The cardstock is thick, with embossed wording. There’s only one thing printed on it. October 31.

Alessandro Moretti asks, “You’re sure the date is related to a trafficking ring?”

“I am.”

“How can you be sure?” Dimitri Santos questions.

Out of all the men in the room, Santos is the one I respect the most.

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