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“Make it good, my little whore,” he snarls. “No teeth, or I’ll cut your throat and fuck that in—”
The door to my office slams open so hard it almost breaks off the hinges. I can’t see properly through the tears blurring my vision. All I see is a dark shapeflyacross the room, roaring, and slam into Pascha like a truck.
It’s only then, as I watch them both go crashing over my desk chair, that I realize it’s Hades.
There’s no long, drawn-out fight. They don’t trade blows. Hades just kneels astride Pascha’s heaving chest—arms bulging, teeth bared, and eyes demonic—as his hands wrap tight around Pascha’s throat.
And squeeze.
And squeeze.
Andsqueeze, ignoring the flapping, flailing motions of the Russian’s arms. Ignoring the knife as Pascha makes one weak, futile attempt to stab him. Ignoring even the way I’m staring at this grisly scene unfolding right in front of me, as if I’m in a nightmare from which I can’t wake up.
Suddenly, it’s all over.
Pascha’s arms drop and go limp. His body stops jerking and writhing. His chest stops rising and falling, and his head lolls to the side, eyes wide and staring at nothing.
Lips blue and lifeless.
I blink, and slowly, my eyes lift. They find Hades’, blazing right back into me with a look of pure, lethal power.
Pure snarling rage.
Purepossessiveness.
I can’t look away.
I don’t ever want to look away.
16
HADES
She’s sowhite that for a moment, I worry that the piece of shit cut her. That the paleness in her face and the blue of the veins across her neck are because she’s bleeding out from a wound I can’t see.
But that’s not it, thank God.
It’s just that she’s more terrified than I’m guessing she’s ever been in her life.
It’s “just” that.
I have no words for that.
She’s immobile, barely even flinching as I close her blouse and pull her to her feet. Her eyes have a lost, faraway look in them as she stares past me at Pascha’s body.
Wordlessly, I drag her into the bathroom and away from the grisly scene spread across her rug. That seems to help, because suddenly, she’s focusing again—blinking, looking confused, unsure how she got from there to here as I sit her down on the closed toilet seat.
Then her eyes lock onto mine.
“Hades…”
“Stay here.”
Her hand grabs my wrist in a death grip as I turn to walk out of the bathroom.
“I’ll be right back,” I growl quietly, lowering to look her in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Elsa has a bar cart in her office, like any self-respecting high-powered lawyer who never sleeps and runs on pure ambition and drive. Ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder from where the fucker sliced me, I pour averyheavy splash into a tumbler and then bring it back to the bathroom.
