Page 4

He’s gone.

Chapter 2

Hercules

My feet drag as I clock out of a long shift in a month of long shifts. I need the money, so I can’t afford to say no when my coworkers call in, but damn… I am so tired. I duck into the break room to change my shirt before I head home. It started raining sometime after I got here, and this uniform costs too much to risk ruining with something as mundane as rain water.

I snort at the thought.

A couple of months ago, I could have bought enough of these shirts to wear every single day of the year without doubling up. I wouldn’t have done it, of course, because while they’re top end, they aren’t the kind of clothing I was used to when I lived in my parents’ house. Considering how tight the budget has become in such a short time, I should have brought more clothing I could pawn. In another month, I’ll be on a strict diet of ramen.

I check my phone, and though I’m not surprised that I have no notifications, my stomach sinks all the same. Leda hasn’t responded to my texts in weeks, and it’s not like she’s going to suddenly do it tonight. She washed her hands of me and I can’t even blame her. I tried to help her, and all I did was make it worse.

It doesn’t stop me from wanting to check on her, to make sure she’s okay. To offer her the protection I have no business offering. I might have fancied myself strong enough to play that role, but my father outmaneuvered me. Again.

And Leda got hurt in the process.

I carefully fold my shirt and stick it into my backpack. Thinking dark thoughts seems to be all I’m good for now. It doesn’t help that I’m exhausted from the sheer energy it requires to smile and be polite no matter how shitty the restaurant customers act—or the fact I haven’t slept through the night in longer than I care to remember. I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands to them. I’ll get through this. What little suffering I’m experiencing now is nothing compared to what Leda went through, and though she would never say I deserve this, I can’t help thinking that maybe I do. Compounding her hurt, even unintentionally, doesn’t mean it’s okay.

I sigh and let my hands drop. Plenty of time to play whipping boy to myself once I get home. The last thing I need is one of my coworkers wondering what the hell I’m doing hanging out in the break room instead of booking it for the door the second I clock out. No one else is in the room, so I allow myself to stretch, something in my back popping as I reach my fingertips toward the ceiling.

“Sounds painful.” A woman’s voice, low and throaty and full of promise.

I jump. “Sorry, I thought I was alone.”

“No need to apologize. I was enjoying the show.”

I face the woman and go still. She’s easily the most captivating person I’ve ever seen. Not beautiful, exactly, but the sharp lines and equally sharp smile root my feet in place. Her dark brown hair is pulled back from her face, as if she knows how starkly beautiful her perfection is and plays it up for all it’s worth. I can’t look away from her blue eyes, and I have the most insane desire to go to my knees before her. To run my hands up her lean legs. To… Get a hold of yourself. “Ma’am, is there something I can help you with? You’re in the employee break room.”

“Ma’am?” She looks a little horrified. “I cannot believe you just ma’am-ed me.”

It’s the only appropriate response when greeting a woman. And this stranger is all woman in a way that has me fighting my body’s attempt to respond. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be. Very sorry.” Her tone drops, and she takes a step into the room.

She’s nearly my height in her heels, but significantly smaller than I am. It doesn’t seem to matter, because she takes up all the space in the room simply by breathing. Her smile widens. “Would you like to make it up to me?”

Surely I’m reading this wrong? No way did this woman come back here to find me. I glance around the room. The understated luxury in the main floor of the restaurant doesn’t extend to the employee break room. There’s a secondhand couch that’s probably older than me up against one wall and a folding table with a stained microwave perched precariously on top of it. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have fit into this place, but I don’t have a choice now. This woman? She definitely doesn’t fit in. “It’s against the rules.” I mean for the sentence to come out strong, but I sound more like I’m requesting confirmation.