“Need help with that?”Ares whispers so our parents can’t hear him.
The bastard winks at me, his laughter infectious to his siblings, who join the chorus.
Ares stares at my shirt like he has X-ray vision.“I have a few ideas for welcoming Ophelia to the family.”
Atlas keeps his mouth shut.He’s quiet, and I know from firsthand experience that the quiet ones are often the worst.They’re the people you never see coming.
“If you don’t shut up,” I tell Ares, “I’ll reintroduce my Glock to your kidneys.See how much you laugh then, Greek god.”
“Your tough-girl act doesn’t faze me.”He shoves his suit jacket to the side to reveal his weapon.“Two can play this game.”
See, the thing is, I have always had to act like a bitch.Kids in school ridiculed me for my weight, especially the girls.Gym class sucked ass.And don’t even get me started on having to shower in front of a bunch of skinny-ass bitches who called me Fattie Phelia.
Stupid nickname.
Stupid girls.
Kids didn’t want me on their sports team.No one ever thought the chunky girl could run, catch a ball, or do anything but stuff her face with food.
So I grew a thick skin.
I learned how to defend myself and give the bullies a taste of their own medicine.
I’m a Drakos.
We were born to lead.
And as the asshole god of a man beside me gives me a shit-eating grin, I’m thankful for those bullies.Because now I know how to handle men like Ares.
They are all the same.
I’d never have a shot with a sex god like Ares, but he acts like it with how his gaze keeps dropping to my cleavage.He can look all he wants, but I will never touch him.I don’t care if his hands would feel good spreading me open.Or if that sexy-as-fuck mouth would give me world-class orgasms.
Nope, I don’t care.
Ares watches me like a predator while his younger brothers resume eating.I spread the meat sauce around my plate to make it look like I’m enjoying the food.It’s an old habit.I hate eating in front of people I don’t know well.
Our parents laugh, drink wine, chat with Atlas, and ask about his art.He creates marketing materials for their family’s businesses, never without his sketchbook.
I glance at Ares and Atlas’s tattoos, wondering if Atlas drew them.They’re good, from what I can see, and artistic.Not shitty tattoos you choose out of a book at the tattoo studio.
If Apollo has ink, I can’t see any.
“Belen, let my sons help Ophelia with the clubs,” Athena says.“They can keep the handsy men away from her.”
“That’s okay, Athena.I can handle myself.The guys at the club never mess with me.They know I’ll cut off their balls and shove them down their throats if they even think about touching me.”
Ares grins like a villain.
Apollo looks intrigued.
Atlas raises an eyebrow.
“Ophelia,” Dad gasps.“What is with the attitude tonight?”
I shrug.“Don’t you think your new family should know what they’re getting into?I’m not a sweet girl.You made sure of it.So let’s cut the shit and stop acting like this dinner doesn’t suck.”
Apollo grunts in agreement.
