Page 6 of Ruthless God

Everyone is asleep by the time I slip through the front door. The apartment is cloaked in silence, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath my feet. I move carefully, avoiding the spots I know will groan under my weight, and push my bedroom door shut behind me with a quiet click.

With a tired sigh, I drop my work bag onto the bed and upend it, letting the crumpled bills spill out like fallen leaves. Slowly, I smooth each one out, stacking them into neat piles before counting. Holy shit. Over six hundred dollars. A good chunk of that comes from regulars who were just happy to see me again, but still, it's a start. A tangible step toward Harvey’s medical treatment.

I cross the room to my bookshelf, fingers skimming over worn spines until I land onThe Art of War. Fitting. Tugging it free, I flip it open to the center, revealing the hollowed-out space inside. Carefully, I tuck the cash into its hidden compartment, pressing the pages closed as if sealing away a secret.

The tension eases from my shoulders as I head to the bathroom for a quick shower. The hot water washes away the night’s exhaustion, and by the time I sink into bed, sleep pulls me under almost instantly.

Morning comes too fast, and a presence looms over me.

I blink, groggy, only to find Harvey standing there, watching me.

My heart slams against my ribs. A scream claws its way up my throat, raw and desperate, as I lash out, swinging at him with pure instinct. Sheets twist around my legs as I try to scramble away, my pulse a wild drumbeat in my ears.

“What in the hell, Harvey!”

“Where were you last night?”

I put a hand over my pounding chest. “Jesus. Give a girl a chance to wake up before you scare her.”

“Where were you last night?” he repeats. “And don’t try to make me feel bad for waiting for you to wake up. I know you, Cecely. You’ll try to come up with a lie unless I catch you right when you wake up.”

Well, shit. I mean, he’s not wrong. Because at this very moment, I’m frantically trying to come up with a location.

I settle on, “What do you mean?”

“Stop playing dumb. You didn’t get home until nearly three in the morning, which means you were at a club.” His gaze narrows. “Was it the strip club?”

“You caught me. I was at Bangers.”

Bangers is an all-male dance revue in Dallas, ironically near Purple Panther Hideaway. I dated one guy there a long time ago and occasionally pop in to hang out with some of my friends.

“Bull crap.”

I frown. “Well, that’s rude.”

“Want to know how I know you weren’t there?” He pauses. “I was there, Cecely.”

“Why were you there?”

His shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Tad wanted me to stop by for a drink.”

“Tad? You’re talking toTadagain?”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me. Yes, I’m talking to my ex. And you’re stripping again. There. We’re both dirty liars.” He holds up his hand. “And before you insult me again, just know that I swung by Purple Panther Hideaway and saw your car out back.”

“If you knew where I was, then why did you scare the shit out of me?”

He sighs, sitting on my bed. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Then don’t.”

“But I also don’t want you to do this, Cecely.” His gaze searches mine. “Why can’t you accept that?”

“Why can’t you accept that I can’t just sit by and watch you die?”

The words leave my lips in a rush, and leaves both of us in silence.

“Cecely—”

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