Page 37 of Ruthless God

But she doesn’t turn to me.

Instead, she pivots to face the other roommate, Mr. Ashwood, and says, “There’s a book on my bed. Look inside. It should be enough to get you by for a few months until you can go back to work…”

For a moment, silence stretches between them. Then Mr. Ashwood’s eyes widen, shock flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Cecely is already moving again, leaving whatever words he might have had unsaid.

I glance at her, at the tension in her shoulders, the unreadable look in her eyes.

She’s not just leaving. She’s making peace with what she’s leaving behind, as if she knows there’s a chance she won’t becoming back. And for some reason, that thought unsettles me more than anything else.

We reach the ground level of the apartment complex. I notice Cecely is struggling with her bag, but since she hasn’t asked for help, I don’t offer.

“Which vehicle are we going to?”

I point to the black car. She comes to a stop next to it, leaning against the door.

“Sit in the back,” I tell her, grabbing the handle of her bag.

She doesn’t move.

“Why the back?”

“It’s safer.”

“Right.”

She opens the door and climbs in. I toss her bag in the trunk and then round the car, going to the driver’s seat. She’s sitting right behind me, looking out of the window, like she’s a million miles away.

Starting the engine, I pull away from the apartment, onto the main road. I drive for a bit, my gaze darting to her now and then. She’s still looking out the window, a forlorn expression on her face.

“Would you like to listen to some music while we drive?”

Cecely exhales sharply. “Where are we going?”

I ignore the question and ask, “Pop? Rock? Rap?”

She crosses her arms, staring out the window. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

Her sigh is soft, resigned. “Then I don’t want to listen to anything.”

Fine by me.

I leave the radio off, letting silence settle between us like a thick fog. The hum of the tires against the pavement is the onlysound. But the longer we drive, the more my gaze keeps flicking to the mirror. To her.

She’s staring out the window, her expression vacant, her shoulders slumped. Like she’s just lost everything.

A strange tightness pulls in my chest, something I refuse to acknowledge. Instead, I clear my throat and break the silence.

“You said you met my brother at a club?” I ask. “Is this the same club you work at?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Crap. I need to let them know I won’t be in.”

I don’t take my eyes off the road. “It’s already taken care of.”

“You were so sure I’d go with you?”

I dip my head slightly, keeping my focus forward.

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