Page 29 of Vengeance of the Gods

After his shower, Bridger returned to the room and waited for Vega to come back, but the longer she was gone, the more tense he became.

He was at Vega’s mercy. She had every right to abandon him, letting him rot away in a realm where he didn’t belong.

Just like I did to her…

Bridger distracted himself by pushing the buttons to a controller he found on the bedside table. It turned on a small wall monitor. The screen changed when he pressed the Up and Down arrows.

Nothing could stop him from spiraling about the deal he’d made with Marlena. At one point, when he was lost in the deepest part of his mind, when years passed in the blink of an eye, he would have made that deal without a second thought.

He wouldn’t have felt the guilt he did right now—the turmoil he’d been trying to keep at bay since Marlena had agreed to his demands.

Bridger should want this all to end. He did want this all to end.

He just wasn’t so sure he wanted it badly enough to trade Vega’s life for it.

The brand on his wrist started to burn, quickly becoming too hard to ignore. A jolt of pain shot through his arm, traveling down his leg. “What the…?” he gasped, the shock returning with more power on the other side this time.

Bridger jumped to his feet, tossing the controller on the bed.

Something’s not right.

The too familiar tug in his chest told him he was right. Bridger raced out of the room and down the stairwell at the end of the hall, following the distant hum of voices through an open door.

Heads turned as Bridger barreled in, panting not because he was out of breath, but because the pain in his arm had intensified the closer he’d gotten to the ground floor.

A bald man holding a long stick at a green table with colored balls spread around nodded at him.

A guy with a book in the corner looked over its edge.

Vega wasn’t in here, but Bridger scanned the faces staring at him to make sure he hadn’t somehow overlooked her.

I didn’t miss her. I’d never miss her.

The tug in his chest sent Bridger sprinting for the front door, ignoring the people who approached to ask if he was okay. He expected to find Vega on the other side of the door with how hard the invisible string yanked, but instead, a man puffed on a narrow cylinder, releasing a plume of foul-smelling smoke in Bridger’s direction.

That cannot be good for you.

Bridger closed his eyes and took a quick breath, focusing on the feeling he knew would take him to Vega. His feet moved before he opened his eyes.

A voice he recognized echoed down the alley beside the hostel, followed by one he knew like his own heart beat.

“You’re not fucking cursed! You have a traumatic brain injury!”

“If you take another step towards me, I’ll⁠—!”

He hadn’t realized he was sprinting until he skidded to a stop behind Chase, cornering Vega at the alley’s dead end. Bridger pulled out the dagger hidden in his waistband and pressed it against Chase’s jugular. “I’d listen to her if I were you,” he uttered in his ear.

Chase threw his hands up, tensing under Bridger’s touch. “Holy shit, holy shit,” he stammered.

“Bridger, don’t do anything stupid.” The warning was there, but he saw a gleam of pleasure in Vega watching this man fear for his life.

Bridger could feel the rapid beat of Chase’s pulse vibrating through his dagger’s hilt.

“If you can promise to keep your hands to yourself and be an adult about this, I’ll have him lower the knife,” Vega told Chase.

Chase managed to scoff with a dagger digging into his neck. “Be adults? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

The tone he used towards Vega had Bridger digging the blade in deeper, breaking the skin. “Wrong answer, pal.” He couldn’t see it from his angle, but Bridger knew blood dripped down Chase’s neck by the way he whimpered.