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“I understand you,” I whispered.
The seconds the words were out of my mouth, Hades let me go, stepping back two paces. It might as well have been two football fields.
Rejection washed over me like acid, burning away whatever confidence I’d been wearing two minutes ago. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t address the sexual tension between us. It was as if it didn’t exist.
And I didn’t storm into my house, swinging my hips in a way that told him I did not need him when I had a perfectly good vibrator in my bedside table. That’s what a strong, sexually stable woman would’ve done. And that’s what I thought I was up until two minutes ago.
Hades didn’t so much as say goodbye to me when the man on the bike pulled up. He just gave me one lingering look before walking toward the Harley running in my driveway.
I watched them speak a handful of sentences before Hades got on his bike and drove off, not looking back once.
As promised, I gave the prospect a little wave but didn’t exchange pleasantries. Instead, I went inside, poured myself a big drink, then another. Then I baked cookies, ate half the batter, eating the rest once they were cooked—except for the three I set on the doorstep along with a mug of cocoa—cried a little, used my vibrator then went to sleep.
HADES
“Please,” the man whined.
I stared at him, covered in blood, tears and his own waste. He’d pissed himself before I’d even started on him.
Fucking coward.
If you lived this lifestyle, you had to be at peace with the knowledge that there was a very real chance that you were going to get tortured and murdered. Fuck, all I hoped for was a quick death. But if that wasn’t going to be the case, then I would take it like a man.
Unlike this pussy.
“Please?” I echoed, my knife dripping with his blood. I didn’t usually like to get this messy, but this man had had his hands on Freya. This fucker was the reason her eyes were full of fear, why her voice shook while she recounted what had happened, why her skin was so pale it was almost translucent.
I enjoyed every fucking moment of cutting this asshole to shreds. My body had been taut, wired, ready to fucking explode. I either needed to come or kill. Especially since Freya had emerged from backstage wearing that fucking dress and an expression that made it clear she’d taken care of herself somewhere.
I was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, barely look at her, I’d been so afraid I’d throw her over my shoulder and fuck her against the brick wall in the alley. Then I’d gone straight from her place to this fucking basement. So killing it was.
“You don’t get to make demands now,” I snarled. “In fact, you never fucking make demands to the Sons of Templar.”
Then I sliced off his finger.
Swiss grinned from where he leaned against a bench, where he’d been watching this happen. He was always down here whenever we had a guest. Fucker had a thirst for blood, he got off on pain. Usually, he was more than happy to do it himself, usually with Claw. Until we lost Claw in the war. Swiss hadn’t been the same since. None of us had. That pain hadn’t made us weak, it had only made us—those of us who still stayed firmly on the wrong side of the law—hungry for more. For more territory. More money. More power.
The Amber club had gone legit, at least when it came to business. But when it came to revenge, they were out for blood.
And yes, I wanted fucking revenge. For dragging Freya into the cesspit that was this world. For putting fear in her eyes. For putting his hands on her.
Finally, the asshole stopped screaming. “Worse than fucking with us, you fucked with my woman. That’s why you die slowly, painfully, and why you’ll bleed out like the pig you are.”
And that’s when I slit his throat.
I stepped back to avoid the spray of blood. Swiss and I both watched the asshole die slowly and noisily. It was damn satisfying to watch.
“So,” Swiss said, his eyes moving from the now dead man, illuminated with a sick excitement. “Your woman? That sounds mighty serious. I mean, you killed the guy for this broad.”
I glared at Swiss, wiping my knife on my jeans before shoving it back into the holster on my belt.
“Fuck you,” I spat.
Swiss just grinned in response.
“You know we can’t let any fuckers, let alone ones as insignificant as the Segadores Sombríos, threaten us,” I continued, looking from Swiss back to the dead guy. “Or threaten our women.”
The Segadores Sombríos were a street gang trying to make themselves into something else, trying to cut into our business. We’d sent a few subtle messages that they obviously hadn’t got. Thought that we were weak. Now they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t come for us after this.
