Page 52 of Ruthless God

I don’t even know where we’re going. I don’t know how far we have to walk, how long it’ll take, or if I’ll drop dead from heat exhaustion before we even get there.

What I do know is that I willnotlet him see me struggle.

I willnotcomplain.

I willnotgive him the satisfaction of seeing me break down because of a stupid hike.

But God help me, if he makes one more smug comment, I’m throwing him into the ocean.

Minutes stretch into hours, the thick, humid air growing heavier and hotter, bordering on suffocating. Each step feels like I’m wading through syrup. My legs scream at me to stop, to sit, to beg for mercy.

I refuse.

Even as my stomach churns, threatening to upchuck my overpriced jet dinner, even as my hair clings to my face in a sticky mess, and sweat gathers in places I don’t even want to think about, I keep moving. And through it all, I keep my damn mouth shut.

Okay, that’s a lie.

My mouth is definitely open, because I’m huffing and puffing so hard I probably sound like I’m about to blow down the house of the three little pigs. I snort, unable to stop myself, which immediately earns me a glance from Claudius. His expression is unreadable, but I can feel the curiosity simmering beneath it.

If I wasn’t so out of breath, I’d tell him about the last time I went on a hike. If you could even call it that…

Lili and Harvey dragged me on a bus tour that stopped at Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon when we went to Vegas for spring break. I was more than happy to stay at the hotel, lounging by the pool, sipping overpriced drinks, and living my best life. But they begged. And begged. Until finally, I caved, because I’m a good friend. And also because they promised me an unlimited buffet afterward.

What they conveniently forgot to mention? Each stop of the tour was timed. As in, you had a set number of minutes to get off the bus, run like hell, take your pictures, and then get back on before they left your ass behind.

So there I was, standing in the blazing heat, getting ready for what I assumed would be a casual stroll up to Hoover Dam. Wrong. What I got was a five-million-step death march, all condensed into a twenty-minute window.

Twenty. Minutes.

For someone who doesn’t even glance at a Stairmaster in the gym!

And to make matters worse, there was a group of senior citizens on the same tour. Not just any seniors. Power-walking, camera-wielding, absolutely thriving seniors, dressed in matching windbreakers, moving like they had trained for this their whole lives.

I refused to be outdone by them. So I hiked. Step after agonizing step, legs burning, lungs betraying me, sweat drippinginto my eyeballs, but I hiked. By the time we reached the top, I was so out of breath that I wheeled off to the side, bent at the waist, silently questioning all my life choices.

Lili and Harvey? Completely unbothered. They raced ahead, all excited, pointing at whatever engineering miracle they were there to see. The seniors? Laughed and chatted as they passed me. One even jogged back down just to take a photo and then hurried back to the top. Me? I waved them off, sucking in what little oxygen I could find, feeling my soul actively trying to leave my body.

God, I was woefully unprepared.

And now, here I am. Another hike. Another hellscape. Only this time there’s no tour guide to drag me back onto an air-conditioned bus. Just Claudius, a never-ending jungle, and a sweaty, hellish sense of déjà vu.

I glare at the back of his head.

If I die out here, I’m haunting his ass.

“Pick up the pace,” Claudius calls over his shoulder, his voice irritatingly steady. “We don’t want to be out here when the sun is overhead.”

I blink. Isn’t it already overhead? I tilt my head back, instantly regretting it as the blinding sun sears my retinas. The sky is a brilliant, merciless blue, and the humidity wraps around me like a wet, suffocating blanket. I sway on my feet, feeling every inch of exhaustion settle into my bones.

This is it. This is how I die.

Not in some grand, dramatic fashion or even by being chased by a masked man through a forest. No. I’m going to keel over in the middle of the jungle. Some godforsaken island animal is going to find my overheated, sweaty remains and gobble me up. I bet Claudius would just step over my corpse and keep walking.

I huff, moving forward. Because if I do die out here, I at least want to haunt him properly. In a freaking house!

The trail steepens, forcing me to adjust my footing, my legs burning with each step. I stumble as the trail suddenly dips into a decline. The air shifts, too. It’s subtle at first and then impossible to ignore. It’s cooler. Darker. The relentless heat that had been beating down on my skin is suddenly gone, replaced by a strange, damp chill that seeps into my sweaty clothes. The sunlight barely filters through the dense canopy above, casting long, shifting shadows along the forest floor.

I slow my steps, my breathing uneven. It’s not just from exertion, but from something else. Something primal. The hairs on the back of my neck lift, and a heavy sensation settles in my chest. I don’t like this. The air feels thicker here, charged, like something unseen is moving just beyond my line of sight. Like something is watching me. Or someone.

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