My knuckles ache, but my inner wildcat is purring. Iwelcome the adrenaline surge. This is who I am. And why Fallon has to stay away from me.
The guy’s breathing is ragged, wheezing through his teeth.
I grab his jaw and tilt his face toward the flickering light overhead. “You done now, or do you want me to drag this out?”
He pulls out of my grasp and spits blood on my boot for an answer.
I sigh. “Guess not.”
But he moves. Fast. Before I can blink, he launches off the chair, legs twisting around mine like steel cables, knocking my own out from under me. I hit the ground hard, my spine slamming into the concrete.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging in a hot metallic breath.
The guy is up before I can recover, body moving with precision that doesn’t belong to some random asshole selling coke or H.
I draw my gun, but the guy throws a metal chair at me. I block it with a crash that echoes in the tight space.
Ares withdraws, letting me do what I came here to do. This guy is on me again, driving an elbow into my throat. Pain flares white-hot, and my vision tunnels.
I drop my gun.
What the fuck?
I grab his wrist so he can’t pick it up. I twist and hear the sharp pop of a joint giving. He grunts but doesn’t stop. He moves like he’s trained to ignore pain. Every strike is measured and clean. Not wild. Not desperate. Just calculated.
This is no low-life drug dealer.
This slimy bloke uses the wall as leverage, kicks off it, and shoulder-checks me. With Ares in the hallway calling to his most vicious guard Greed, the guy jumps out a fucking window, shattering it, and leavingonly the drone of the heater and the echo of my own ragged breathing.
I push off the floor, swipe blood from my mouth, and look at Ares. “He was supposed to be just a drug dealer.”
Ares straightens his suit jacket like the entire thing was mildly inconvenient. “Well, he’s not,” he says quietly.
“Who the fuck was that?” I grab the God of War by the jacket, but immediately feel the barrel of a gun against my temple.
“?χι,” Ares hisses something in Greek to his guard. “Wrong person to shoot.”
Greed holsters his weapon and steps back. “He climbed the chain link fence. He’s gone, boss.”
I stare at the blood on my hands, shaking my head. That guy got a good look at me.
Whoever that bastard is, he’s not done with Ares Zervas. And something tells me, I just earned myself a new enemy.
Chapter 13
Rhys
Istalk home, jaw aching and a shoulder possibly out of alignment. My flat is dim, lit only by the orange wash from city lights through the windows.
I head right into my kitchen and stare at the plants in their blue and white pots. Their leaves are vibrant, the soil is moist, and the containers are glossy and dust-free, because Fallon probably wiped them down the last time she broke in here.
I drag a chair over and drop into it. Elbows on my knees, I catch my breath from the hit gone wrong.
“Anyone up for a conversation?” I mutter to the greenery, my voice wrecked and hollow.
They stare back, all silent and judgmental. I wait. Some part of me actually expects them to say something.
Nothing.
