Page 3 of Hades

My father went quiet on the other end of the line. Lucas Cooper and my dad, Nelson Davis, were best friends. Together with three other friends, they founded the Gods of Mayhem back in 1981. Five friends who had nothing but each other, building their names on blood, booze, and bitches.

But empires built on blood had a way of drowning in it.

“How?” my father asked, his voice tight. Controlled in a way that made my instincts scream.

“Throat cut,” I said bluntly. “Ear to ear.”

The silence stretched so long I thought the call had dropped. When he finally spoke, his voice was different. Colder, like something had shifted inside him. “You’re bringing him home, right?”

“Yeah, the body’s being prepared. We should be home in a few days.”

“What about Rhea?”

I kicked at the rocks under my feet and looked at the clubhouse, at the hole in the wall that let in too much light for the darkness we lived in. “She doesn’t know yet. King sent the women and kids somewhere safe. We don’t know where.”

“Don’t tell her how he died.” It was an order, not a request. Sharp and final. “He was a casualty of war. They both knew the risks of staying.”

“Dad—”

“No, son. Trust me. Do not tell her how he died.”

Lying to Rhea never sat right with me. She’d always been there, offering the kind of care and support that made her feel like a second mother. My own mother left when I was still a child, walked out the door one morning and never came back, like we meant nothing to her. Like I meant nothing. Rhea stepped in to fill that void. She bandaged my scraped knees, fed me when my dad was too drunk to cook, held me when I cried over the mother who’d abandoned me and my little brother, Malcolm.

“Brock!” my father shouted, snapping me back to the present. “Promise me.”

“Fine. We won’t tell her.”

The call disconnected without a goodbye, leaving me standing there in the oppressive heat with more questions than answers. Why was my dad so fucking adamant about keeping the details from Rhea? She’d see the body when she viewed it. No way in hell would Rhea Cooper put her husband in the ground without seeing him one more time.

Without saying goodbye.

And when she saw that gaping wound across his throat, she’d know.

She’d fucking know.

I shoved my suspicions aside and walked back into the clubhouse to find pure chaos.

CHAPTER TWO

Hades

“What the fuck?” I muttered, reaching for my gun. Then I froze. Cold metal pressed hard against my spine. Hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” a rough voice warned. I froze, my hand hovering over my piece, as I stared at Zeus sitting at the bar next to my brother, Iapetus. King, the president of the Silver Shadows, stood behind Zeus with a gun pressed to the back of his head.

“Give me one fucking reason I shouldn’t blow your head off and paint this bar with your blood,” King snarled.

Zeus raised his hands slowly but didn’t turn. “How about you tell me what the fuck you’re pissed about, and maybe I can come up with a reason that satisfies you.”

Zeus’ voice was even and controlled, but I knew him well enough to understand how quickly he could flip the situation. He was a coiled spring wound tight and ready to snap. Ready to paint these walls with King’s brains if given half a chance.

King stepped forward as his officers stood protectively around him, guns aimed at the Gods of Mayhem. My brothers aimed back, fingers on triggers, safeties off. The air hung thick with tension and the promise of violence, blood, and death.

I quickly scanned the room. The Golden Skulls stood with the Silver Shadows against the Gods of Mayhem. We were outnumbered, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Thank God Reaper had followed Montana to the hospital.

King was controlled; he didn’t let his emotions rule his decisions. He didn’t kill first and ask questions later the way Reaper was notorious for.

“You told me you didn’t know who Nemesis was,” King hissed, his voice dripping with venom.