Page 80 of Ruthless God

My hand trembles as I send out the message. A call for help, so to speak. The reply is instant. They’ll be here in the morning. Relief should come.

It doesn’t.

I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair, closing my eyes. For a moment, just a brief one, I let myself pause. I should speak with Cecely. Should reassure her I’m not a monster. That no matter how things look, she isn’t trapped with me. She’s trapped with something worse. But instead I push myself up, my movements sluggish.

And I climb the stairs.

Not to Cecely. Not to fix anything. But to my wing of the house, where the shadows are deeper, colder.

A deep, soul-crushing tiredness settles into my bones. Not just from the night. From everything.

Because tomorrow?

Tomorrow, when they arrive… there will be no turning back.

My night is tormented. Sleep doesn’t come easily. And when it does, it’s not rest. It’s a battle. Twisted dreams pull me under, dragging me through shadows and memories that refuse to stay buried.

Flashes of Gabriel’s face. Of his scream as he fell from the cliff, the dark water swallowing him whole. In one nightmare, Cecely appears next to me, wide eyed, as she cries out his name as he falls. When she looks at me, I feel the judgement. The hatred.

I toss and turn, fighting it, but the dreams won’t let go. When I finally wake, I feel like I haven’t slept at all. Sweat clings to my skin, my heart hammering in my chest. The room is too quiet. Too still. And as I sit up, rubbing a hand over my face, one thought settles in my chest like a stone. I don’t know if I’m ready for what’s going to happen today.

Moving on autopilot, I pad naked to the bathroom, my body still heavy with exhaustion. A wry smile tugs at my lips. Cecely isn’t the only one who likes to sleep in the nude. Not that she knows that.

Yet.

I step under the hot spray of water, bracing my hands against the tiles, letting the heat chase away the chill of my nightmares. I exhale slowly, forcing my mind to clear. Forcing myself to focus. There’s too much to do. Too much riding on the next twenty-four hours.

Once Gabriel’s body is exhumed, I’ll need to inform the Elite Members of the results. Then I need to reach out to Blanc. He isn’t safe in Dallas. Which means he needs to be moved. He’s not going to like it. But he’ll have to get over it. Because whether or not he realizes it, he’s a piece in this game. And I intend to keep him alive long enough to see the final move.

I dress in black slacks, the fabric crisp and tailored to perfection. A black button-up follows, the smooth material sliding over my skin, covering the scars, the weight of the past. Italian loafers complete the look—polished, effortless, lethal.

I glance in the mirror.

A man prepared. A man in control. At least, that’s what I need them to see. Because today? Today isn’t about appearances. It’s about power. Precision. Strategy. It’s about taking back control before it’s ripped from my hands.

I make my way downstairs, the air thick with silence, tension curling in the corners of the house like shadows that refuse to lift.

Agnes is waiting for me in the dining room.

She stands poised, a newspaper neatly folded beside a fresh cup of coffee and two pills.

“Good morning, sir.”

I pull out a chair, settling in with a slow exhale.

“Updates?”

Her posture doesn’t shift. Her tone stays neutral.

“The latest batch is settling in good.”

Latest batch.The words feel cold, clinical, like she’s talking about inventory. Not people. I’m the one who did this. I’m the one who made her this way.

I lift the pills, tossing them in my mouth, and chase them with coffee, taking a measured sip as I wait for Agnes to continue.

“I believe one of them may have had an encounter with Ms. Blight.”

My fingers still around the cup. A fraction of a second. That’s all. But Agnes sees everything. Her lips thin.

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