Page 163 of Ruthless God

“What do you think, mama?”

I let the silence stretch. Let her sit in it.

Then, because she deserves something, I add, “Agnes is alive.”

She dips her head. “Fine.”

Blanc yells, but I don’t have time for his shit. Grabbing the roll of tape next to the chair, I tear off a piece and slap it over his mouth. Blanc’s muffled protests are nothing more than background noise. I press my fingers against his chin, just enough pressure to remind him who’s in control.

“Are you going to be a good boy and walk, or do I need to make a point before I let you go?”

He glares. The pride of a dying man. I chuckle, low and slow, letting the moment stretch.

Then I raise my hand, shaping my fingers into a gun, and mime pulling the trigger. His expression shifts instantly. The defiance wavers. I see the flicker of fear.

And there it is. The moment he realizes there is no power left for him to hold on to.

He nods once. I grab his arm and yank him up. His body wobbles, stiff from being bound for so long. His breaths come hard and fast through his nose. He’s trying to compose himself, to steady his balance. Too bad I don’t care. I shove him forward.

“Move.”

His footsteps drag, heavy with the weight of what’s coming. Good. Let him feel it. Let him choke on it.

The hallway stretches long and dark, the air thickening with every step. Each step echoes. A death march. Blanc knows it. I know it.

I glance over my shoulder. Cecely is following, her gaze burning into my back. Millie, however, is hurrying in the opposite direction. Good. Everything is going according to plan. She’ll get the others out. Make sure they’re safe before the stormhits. Before this house metaphorically burns to the ground. Before the Brotherhood crumbles into dust.

I turn back.

At the basement door, Agnes is waiting. Her gaze flicks to me, then to Cecely. She hesitates.

“It’s okay, Agnes.” My voice is calm. Steady. “She knows.”

Agnes' gaze sharpens. “Everything?”

I dip my head. A lie. But a necessary one.

Cecely doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know the last pieces. The things I’ll take to my grave. The things that will die with me.

Agnes’ lips press together. She doesn’t believe me. But she doesn’t have to.

Pushing Blanc’s shoulder, I force him to descend the stairs, into the darkness, the basement swallowing us whole. I shove him forward, hard. His body stumbles, unsteady, before he crashes into the cold, unforgiving walls of the first cell. The sound is satisfying.

The weight of this moment settles deep in my bones. The click of the iron door slamming shut reverberates through the basement. Final. Absolute. Unforgiving. Blanc turns, slow and seething, his eyes burning with a fury I no longer fear.

I grip the bars, leaning in just enough to meet his gaze.

“It’s ironic. Gabriel was kept in here. I was, too, at one time.” I tap a finger against the cold steel. “And here you are. Where you will await your sentencing.”

Blanc lets out a breath, sharp and ragged. He knows. This is the end. The power, the control, the manipulation—all gone. Stripped away, leaving him nothing but a caged animal.

I feel it. The raw, electric pulse of victory surging through me. The moment I’ve been waiting for. The moment I’ve bled for. And, god, it feels good. For so long, he was untouchable. Butnow? Now, he is mine. And I will make damn sure he feels every second.

Turning, I face Agnes.

“I need you to go help Millie.”

Her brows pull together, hesitation flickering across her face.

---