Page 39 of Ruthless God

Cecely doesn’t react.

She keeps her gaze on the window, her posture rigid, lost in whatever storm is brewing inside her head. The glow of the passing streetlights flickers across her face, highlighting the set of her jaw, the way her lips press together just a little too tightly.

She’s thinking about something.

Something she doesn’t want to say.

The music hums in the background, filling the emptiness neither of us seems willing to break. I steal another glance at her in the mirror, watching for any sign, any tell that might give me a clue what’s running through her mind.

Nothing.

Just silence, thick and unmoving, even with the music trying to drown it out.

I grip the wheel tighter, forcing my attention back to the road.

Maybe it’s better this way.

We finally reach the private airstrip, the dark pavement stretching wide under the glow of floodlights. The jet is already waiting, sleek and ready, engines humming low like a beast ready to be unleashed. The crew stands outside, their postures sharp and expectant, the chill in the air doing nothing to dull their efficiency.

I pull up to a stop beside the jet, killing the engine of the car.

Cecely shifts in her seat, her gaze flickering out the window. “We’re flying somewhere?” Her voice is tight, uncertain.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and push open the door. “Come.”

She doesn’t move.

I exhale slowly, patience thinning. I knew this moment was coming. The hesitation. The last flicker of control she’s trying to cling to. But we don’t have time for this.

“Cecely.” I turn my head, my voice edged with warning. “We need to leave.”

Still, she lingers, fingers gripping the fabric of her jeans like she’s weighing her options. Like she’s actually considering running.

Sighing, I get out and round the car, opening her door. Her gaze meets mine in surprise. I step closer, leaning down slightly so she has no choice but to really see me.

“You don’t want me to carry you up those steps, do you?”

Her jaw tightens. A second passes. Then another.

Finally, with a sharp inhale, she unbuckles and gets out of the car. Good choice. Because one way or another, she’s getting on that jet.

Cecely all but stomps toward the jet, her movements stiff with frustration. Her boots hit the metal stairs harder than necessary, a silent protest in every step. If she thinks her attitude is going to change anything, she’s wrong.

She disappears inside, and I take a moment to breathe in the cool night air before turning my attention to the pilot waiting for me at the base of the stairs.

“We’ve been cleared for takeoff,” he says.

“Excellent.”

I take one last look around the airstrip, the emptiness stretching under the glow of distant floodlights, before following Cecely up.

The journey ahead will take nearly eight hours, flying straight into a past I’ve spent years avoiding. To a place I haven’t been to since the night my brother died.

Something tightens in my chest, but I push it down.

I don’t have the luxury of hesitation. Not anymore.

I step onto the jet, the familiar scent of leather and polished wood greeting me as I move inside. The cabin is dimly lit, the soft overhead lights casting a warm glow over the plush interior.

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