Page 44 of Ruthless God

“The myth that strippers make good money.” He gestures toward my empty plate, the slightest tilt of his head giving away that he’s been paying more attention than I thought. “You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a long time.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Have you seen my body? I eat, thank you very much.”

His expression remains unreadable, but I don’t give him time to dissect me further.

“As for the money I made stripping,” I continue, my tone turning smug, “I was good at my job, babe.Realgood.” I lean in slightly, tilting my head as if letting him in on a secret. “But I wasn’t doing it for me.”

“No?”

“Nope.” I sit back again, voice steady and unbothered. “I was doing it for Harvey.”

Something flickers in his expression before he smooths it over. The thing about men like Claudius? They’re always trying to figure out what makes people tick. Well, good luck to him. I’ve spent my whole life making sure no one ever really sees me.

“Does your mother know you’re a stripper?”

“Does your mother know you kidnap women from their homes?”

Claudius barely reacts. Big surprise. It’s like trying to get a read on a damn statue.

“My mother is dead, and I didn’t kidnap you. You came willingly, if you recall.”

I tilt my head, considering.

“Touché.” I give him that one. But I’m not done. “No, my mother doesn’t know I strip. My mother also doesn’t know that I’m in college. Nor does she know anything about me that’s happened since I left her house when I was sixteen. Nothing of substance, at least.”

I say it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter. But the way Claudius watches me? Yeah, he’s not buying it. He’s picking apart every word, looking for weak spots.

Too bad for him that I’ve had years to build my armor.

Still, I don’t miss the way his fingers tap once against the armrest, like he’s filing this new piece of information away.

Bored with the topic of my mother, and with the way Claudius keeps dissecting me with his eyes, I let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Are we almost there?”

His eyebrows lift slightly, like he’s amused by my impatience. “No.”

“Ugh.” I shift in my seat, rocking my hips from side to side, stretching my arms over my head. “Is there somewhere I can spread out?” My body aches, stiff from too much sitting, and I roll my shoulders dramatically. “My back is killing me.”

His gaze flicks to me, slow and deliberate, taking in the movement. Assessing. Calculating.

“There’s a bedroom in the back,” he says finally.

I perk up. “A bedroom? With actual space?”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s biting back a smirk. “Yes, Cecely. A bedroom. With actual space. There’s even a bed.”

“Good.” I push up from my seat, already making my way toward the back. “Wake me when we land.”

I don’t wait for a response.

Let him watch. Let him analyze.

At least I’ll be comfortable while he does it.

As I walk down the narrow aisle of the jet, a memory creeps up on me, uninvited.

The woods.

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