“Enough. I can’t watch you get even more hurt,” he mutters, extending a knife. “Chop him up if you want to, but no more physical effort,” he says as I realize blood is dripping all over me from my hand, from my leg, and now my fist. “But little curse… we need information first.”
“I’ll get this bastard talking,” I reply, getting off from on top of him, trying to figure out where I should cut first. I don’t know if I should even bother to tie him up because Ares will catch him if he tries the slightest thing.
Though I never considered that the second I’m up, his hands slowly go to his throat like he doesn’t have enough air, but instead of trying to recover, he snaps a locket he has around his neck and bites down on something hidden inside. It all goes down in a second. But the change is horrific. His body goes rigid, his spine twisting at an impossible angle, and foam bubbles at his lips, white at first, then pink as he bites his own tongue.
Cyanide.
His eyes bulge, blood vessels burst, and muscles convulse once. Ares rushes toward him, ready to check his mouth, but the poison is already in his stomach.
“We all know,” McAllister whispers the words, almost unintelligible, as his body jerks a couple of more times, his eyes roll back, as he’s living through his last moments.
I hiss while Ares roars with rage, shaking the leaves off nearby trees. But right after he plunges his hand into McAllister’s chest, his fingers punching through his skin, muscle, and bones as he tears out his still-beating heart and shoves it in his mouth, stuffing the organ there. “I always keep my promises,” he growls, then lets go of the corpse to fall on the wet leaves.
He turns toward me, sadness lingering in his gaze. “Maybe not just all of them…” he whispers, knowing I wasn’t the one who killed McAllister, like he promised me.
But it wasn’t his fault. McCallister had already chosen his own fate before Ares delivered the final blow. A few seconds more and he would’ve missed it completely.
I should feel satisfaction, Elias is avenged. But I don’t, I feel hollow, and the victory is bitter. Not because of McAllister, hedeserved worse, but because of what he said. They know about Ares. People like him. The true monsters who walk this earth.
Ares turns to me, and I know the words linger in his mind, but he ignores them, coming to my side, moving my hand away from my shoulder to examine the wound again. “You overextended yourself. We need to get you to a doctor,” he says. His voice filled with concern.
“I’ll live,” I smile, resting against his chest as he scoops me up and starts walking back to the mansion—or at least what’s left of it—then to our car. This time, carrying me like the real damsel in distress…
thirty-one
-Brynn-
Almost a month later
I’m in the middle of the living room, perched on a sofa and scrolling through my phone as I watch Ares go through some reports. This time, he’s made no exception and won’t let me lift a finger until he's certain I’m fully healed. It has been a version of my worst nightmare. Especially now that my shoulder is better, my leg as well. Still, he insists that after my two whole weeks in bed, I should only make minimal effort… Not thathecan keep his promise every night.
At least, we made progress. Four days ago, he started taking me along with him to Elysium, keeping me on a couch and only allowing me to stand when I have to use the bathroom.
I don’t blame him, though. Last time I didn’t rest my leg, it nearly got me killed.So, despite my slow descent into insanity, I can’t do anything but wait until I’m better. He promised he’d let me run a few of his businesses, maybe even start a little project of my own. I had no real ambitions before I met him, except to avenge Elias and just... survive. But now I want to do things. Tocreate something of my own. I’m seriously considering starting an agency where people can come when just going to the police isn’t an option anymore. People whose cases have been sitting on desks for months without any answers.
I’ve talked to Ares about it, and he’ll give me the help of the men 404 is still training under one condition: it won’t affect the time I spend with him. Because he wants me all to himself.
Suddenly, the main door opens, and a couple of guys start carrying cardboard boxes into the house, guided by one of Ares men, Ian.
“Careful with that one,” Ian gives the order as one of the workers almost drops a box.
“What the fuck?” I hear Ares roar, though before he gets a chance to send them away, I’m already behind him, catching a glimpse of a leather jacket I bought with my first paycheck.
I walk to the box, ignoring the men, including Ares, and look inside. Three mismatched coffee mugs—mine. I look at Ares, who, at this point, curses between his teeth. He knows now it’s useless to try to stop me. It would have only made me more curious.
And as I look outside, I see a few more men carrying boxes.
“You idiots, I saidthe fucking warehouse,” Ares growls, punctuating the words, ready to tear the men apart. I look behind me, and his massive frame is backlit by the afternoon sun falling from a window, his warrior braids warmer in this light, framed by a ring of fire, which shows off his true nature. I love it when he’s mad. Makes my core tighten, and my panties dampen in anticipation.
“I’m sorry, sir. Vince told Andrew, who told me to have things delivered here,” Ian apologizes, probably praying by now he’ll make it out alive after this mistake.
Ares looks at me with disappointment in his gaze, like he knows there’s no sense in sending the boxes away now.
“What’s all this?” I ask, looking at the mountain of boxes waiting outside.
Ares comes close to me, almost hesitant, like he's figuring out what to say to me. “Your things... and Elias’. What’s left of them, anyway.”
Truth is, I haven’t even bothered with my rent. I told Ares a couple of times I should go pay it, but he said he had things handled.
