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“Like fuck. You’re not done for the day.”
She whirls, her lips thin and her eyes lethal. “Yeah, Deimos,” she hisses quietly. “I am.”
I let her storm off, but only because shedoesactually have class now. Then I send a quick note to Christian, my head of security, to make sure Raquel doesn’t get within three blocks of this fucking place again.
Which just leaves me with one last problem: why it is I give a shit that Dahlia looked so fucking pissed when she stormed off after Raquel.
Why I care at all if her meeting a woman I was once briefly involved with makes her angry, or jealous, or fuck knows what else.
But mostly, why I look at Dahlia as anything but anger, or why I want anything at all to do with her aside from revenge.
18
DEIMOS
She moans,arching her back as he pounds into her from behind. His hands grip her hips, his bare dick glistening and slick as he fucks into her. Another set of hands tangles in her black hair, gripping it tight and chuckling as she gags on his cock.
Flinching, I rip myself from the flashback, stopping myself just before my fist goes through the wall.
Breathe, goddamnit.
There is no room in my head for nostalgia or dwelling on the past. Partly because I find it burdensome and illogical to linger on things that have already happened, because it’s not like you can change them. And partly because the past, for the most part, is filled with nothing but ghosts and pain for me.
I mean, I’m not a monster. Not entirely. I can look back fondly on a few choice happy moments with my siblings when we were younger. But even those are somewhat tainted by the shadow of our father. Aeneas Drakos was a terror to all of us, even Atlas, my oldest brother ahead of Ares, who’s now as dead as our father. But we all experienced his wrath in different ways.
He poured all his malice and hatred for the world into Atlas, trying to mold him into the future leader of our family he was born to be. Except my oldest brother was a bully, a sadist, and, most importantly, an idiot. After he killed our father to seize the throne early, he lasted all of about five seconds before he picked a fight with a man he shouldn’t have, and got himself killed as well.
Honestly? Good riddance.
To Ares and Hades, Aeneas was a bully and a bastard. Kratos had it a little worse than them, since he refused to leverage his massive size and be the soulless monster our father wanted to mold him into. Ares and Hades took a lot of shit and a lot of beatings from our father. But Kratos did too, with a heaping dollop of disappointment on top of it.
Callie was nothing more than a bargaining chip. A girl, when he thought himself only capable of fathering sons. He largely ignored her. She may have gotten the best of it because of that.
And then there’s me.
His weapon. His attack dog.
And also his sacrificial lamb.
He left me there to die.
Although I don’t dwell on the past, there are two events that haunt me, no matter how I try and cauterize them from my mind. One is all the time I spent locked in that basement as child. Where I was shown true pain and torture. Where I was wronged. Where part of my soul was cut from me in the darkness, even as I screamed in vain for salvation.
The other event is killing those two fuckers the night they showed me that fucking video that tore out whatever was left of my soul and my faith in humanity, and any emotions other than hate and revenge.
I breathe again. And instead of punching clear through the wall of the room that was once my bedroom here in Ya-ya’s mansion, I rest my forehead tiredly against it.
Coming back to this city was a bad enough mistake. Staying was a worse one.
Bringing Dahlia back into my world was like ingesting poison, and I have no fucking idea what I was thinking. She’s a toxin to me. She always has been.
And now I’m feeling the effects of her slowly poisoning every drop of blood in my body.
“Ekeí eínai o engonós mou.”
There’s my grandson.
I smile, turning at the sound of Ya-ya’s fond voice from the doorway.
