Page 94 of Ruthless God

The men stop, albeit reluctantly, their bodies tense, as if they’re already half a step from bolting.

I gulp in a shaky breath, words tumbling out. “That woman—Agnes—she just stabbed Claudius in the neck with something. I—I don’t know if he’s okay.”

The taller man exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were warned about him, you know.” His tone is grim. “Told he was difficult. That if he didn’t like what he found today that we might not walk away.”

Their words hit me like a cold slap.

“What?” I demand, my stomach twisting. “Who said that?”

The shorter man shakes his head quickly, glancing back toward the gravesite as if expecting to Claudius to coming after them.

“If he’s knocked out, I say we run while we can.”

Panic spikes through me.

“You can’t.” My voice is urgent, my heart hammering. “There’s no way we can carry him by ourselves.”

The taller one mutters a curse, his hands balling into fists before finally throwing them up in surrender. “Fine. We’ll help.” Then his eyes darken. “But after that? We’re getting the hell off this island.”

“That’s fine. Hurry! I don’t want her doing anything else to him.”

The men exchange a few low, uneasy murmurs between themselves, but they follow me back toward Agnes and Claudius.

Agnes greets them as if she isn’t the reason Claudius is lying unconscious in the dirt. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she says smoothly.

The taller one nods. “No problem, ma’am.”

No hesitation. No challenge. Like they know better than to question her.

They crouch down, gripping Claudius by his arms and legs, groaning under his solid weight. He doesn’t stir. Not when they lift him. Not even when they start moving.

My stomach knots.

“What did you give him?” I ask, my voice low, sharp.

Agnes doesn’t even look at me. “Something to help him rest. Mr. Irons never rests enough.”

I grab her arm, yanking her to a stop. “Why did you do it?”

She exhales, as if I’m trying her patience. “You saw him. He wasn’t going to stop until he hurt himself. Or worse.”

I hold her gaze, my fingers tightening on her arm. “You knew Gabriel wasn’t in that casket.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation.

Something flickers across her face. A crack in the unshakable mask.

Then, in a quiet voice, she admits, “I knew that what Mr. Irons would find would destroy him.”

She shakes off my grip, stepping away with a sense of finality, then quickens her pace to catch up to the men.

I stand there, pulse pounding, watching her. Because the worst part is that I think she might be right.

My mind races as I follow them back to the house.

Does this mean Gabriel is alive? That’s the only thing that makes sense, right? But Claudius was so sure there would be a body in the casket. And yet… there was nothing.

A shudder works through me.

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