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He could have been a Salvatore.
Years ago, he had painted his face to look like a black mamba. The scales were dark brown, and when he opened his mouth, I screamed at the sight of his black tongue. That was the last thing I remembered before waking up in the psychiatric ward at Beacon Bay Memorial Hospital. One of the many times my grandfather had to commit me because of my bullies.
I sat in between Bastian and Luca, both of which kept their hands on my thighs as if they were afraid I would vanish in an instant.
“Hello, Alexandrea,” Hades said in a cool, deep tone that sent a chill down my arm. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Yeah. Fucking. Right.
I cleared my throat, narrowing my eyes at him. “Wish I could say the same.”
Bastian grabbed my inner thigh with possession. “That’s my girl.”
Hades laughed. “Still got that fire.” A grin tipped up the corners of his mouth. “You will need it when you become our queen.”
The bastard acted as if he hadn’t chased me. Like he didn’t almost give me a fucking heart attack. I woke up screaming for years, convinced snakes were trying to kill me in my sleep. Aiden was my only saving grace. He held me in his arms and coaxed me back to sleep.
I rolled my eyes at Hades and turned away to glance out the window. Luca etched his fingers into my thigh, piercing my skin. He was so rough. But it’s not like I would want him to be sweet. I liked when it hurt, when he was mean and nasty and made me beg him for more.
“Be nice to my cousin.” Luca whispered the words in my ear. “He’ll be your family someday.”
Morpheus drove the SUV out of the field and onto the dirt road. We were in the middle of nowhere. He floored the gas, and my heart fluttered like it was about to break through my chest. I held my hand over my heart to still the rapid beating.
“Who said I want to be your family?” I smiled, and he gave me a nasty scowl. “Chill, Luca. I’m going to marry one of you. Eventually.”
“No, baby girl.” He tightened his grip on my thigh and pulled my leg on top of his. “You’re marrying me.”
I pressed my lips together, smiling at him with my eyes. “Then you better step up your game.”
Luca’s blue eyes filled with the usual rage, which brewed at the surface. “Challenge accepted.” His hand slowly inched toward my aching core. “Your pussy is mine.” He cupped me over top of the boxer briefs I borrowed from Sonny. I had to bite my bottom lip to stifle the moan ready to escape past my lips. “This king needs his Queen D.”
I loved when he called me that. Over the past few weeks, I signed my paintings with that name.
“Luca,” I whispered as his fingers slipped beneath the briefs. “No, not like this. Wait until we get home.”
Bastian groaned as he stared down at Luca’s hand between my legs, his left hand on my other thigh. He licked his lips. “Goddamn, Cherry. You make my cock so fucking hard.”
Marcello and Damian grunted their agreement from the back seat. My men were dangerous in and out of the bedroom. If we weren’t with The Serpents, and on the run from Russian Bratva, I would have made them pull over the car and have their way with me.
Brushing his lips on my earlobe, Bastian whispered, “I’m so fucking lucky. They don’t know how good your pussy feels. It’s our little secret for now, baby.”
Morpheus checked the rearview mirror, a concerned expression crossing his face. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, then placed his hand back on the steering wheel. Then he glanced in the mirror again.
Named after the Greek God of Sleep, Morpheus killed his victims using hypnotics. When I’d first heard his nickname, I thought ofThe Matrix. I could see him giving his victims the option between the blue pill and the red pill. A painful death or a quick death.
In some ways, he reminded me of Aiden. Dark tattoos, the same wavy blond hair gelled into place.
The Serpents were also artists.
Like my brother, they specialized in street art. They turned their crimes into murals of the Greek underworld. It was all about the big splash with The Serpents. To make a statement. My brother once told me if my grandfather forced him to join a secret society, he would want to work with them.
I angled my body to follow Morpheus’s line of sight out the back window. Marcello and Damian sat in the row behind me, next to Charon and Lethe. No one knew their real names. That was the best kept secret in Devil’s Creek.
Charon was stocky and built like a professional boxer. His arms were even thicker than Marcello’s, corded with muscle and dark tattoos. He had dark reddish-brown hair styled into a faux hawk. Named after the ferryman of the Greek underworld, he was the undertaker of the group.
The fixer.
Body disposer.
