Page 28 of Martyr (Sterling Falls Rogues #3)

Saint is coming with me.

Saint willingly got in my car.

Well, not my car, but the car that I am borrowing without permission from Vittoria. Stealing, in other words. But I’m going to return it, so whatever we classify my usage as is just semantics.

It’s not snowing anymore, and the roads are clearer than I expected. Still, as soon as I turn out of the driveway, I have a hard time not hunching forward and attempting to appear smaller.

“There’s a gun in the glovebox,” I say.

He flinches, then nods and leans forward. He pulls the handgun out and checks that it’s loaded. He doesn’t ask whose it is—at this point, I don’t know that it really matters. Apollo took the opportunity to stash weapons everywhere. There’s probably another one under the driver’s seat, actually.

The real question is: where am I going to find Gabriel?

I drive north toward Olympus. Saint seems to get more restless the closer we get, until we crest the final hill and it comes into view. There’s a wall along the road, with a gate at the entrance. The whole property isn’t fenced—never was—so the gate was more of a stylish thing than anything else.

The gates hang open, one of them at an angle, hanging on by a single hinge, and bent like it was struck by a heavy vehicle.

Olympus itself appears okay—it’s not on fire anyway.

“Are you…”

I turn into the driveway. The car squeezes through the gap between the gates. I drive past the building’s grand main entrance, to the hidden door that will allow us in the back way. Besides, if anyone is patrolling, it would be better for them to not see a random car outside.

Once it’s out of sight, we hop out. I fumble for the hidden handgun under my seat and check it, then tuck it into the waistband of my jeans.

Saint points at the clear tire tracks left in the snow. “Not conspicuous at all.”

I shrug. “Best I could do.”

He sighs. “Let me go first.”

“Oh, since when did you become a gentleman?”

Saint scowls. It almost brings me a sense of comfort. He moves past me, gun held close to his body and aimed at the ground, one hand on the doorknob. Before opening it, he freezes. His attention moves to the cliffs.

“What?” I whisper.

He makes a face. “We jump off that together?”

“A few times.” I roll my eyes. “You tackled me off it once.”

To my utter shock, he smiles.

Smiles .

My breath stalls. I forgot what it’s like when Saint Hart smiles.

Okay, I didn’t forget—I purposefully blocked it out once I realized he had amnesia. And yes, he’s smiled at others since then. He’s let his whole face light up for other people. But this one is directed at me , and now my lungs aren’t working.

“You must’ve really pissed me off.” His tone is light.

I’m having an aneurism. Right? That would explain it.

“Okay,” Saint says. “Let’s go.”

Freaking whiplash. He opens the door in a smooth movement and enters fast, gun up and at the ready.

He clears the room, and I follow close behind him.

He doesn’t have military experience, which makes me wonder if Reese or Kade has been giving him tips.

Or maybe he always had this knowledge and I just never asked.

We reach the hallway. It has open arches that allow a view into the main room. It’s all dark, minus thin streams of light that come in through the upper windows. Our eyes adjust to the gloom, and we move forward together. Our footsteps are near-silent.

He holds up his hand, and we pause. He taps his ear.

I hear it, too.

A voice. I strain to listen, but I can only catch snatches of it.

“…can’t do it, but he doesn’t know what I can do. So just tell me…”

Saint glances back at me. I meet his gaze, eyes wide. It sounds like Gabriel, that’s for sure. But it also sounds like he’s not alone, which is worrisome.

There’s nowhere to go but forward. Back isn’t an option, not if we want to end this sooner rather than later.

“Go,” I mouth.

Saint makes a face, but he listens and continues. We creep down the hall, passing each arch in a crouch. Gabriel finally comes into view at the third opening. He’s on the platform where the fights take place, sitting on the edge. His feet swing. There’s a glint of a knife in his hand.

There’s someone else on the floor in front of him.

“Please,” the someone else sobs. They’re facedown, hands behind their back. When Gabriel doesn’t reply, they try to shuffle away.

“That’s not very nice.” Gabriel hops down and grabs their foot. He drags them backward, closer to the platform. To their original spot.

“Lights,” I whisper to Saint, my voice barely audible. I gesture back the way we came.

He scowls.

Of course he does.

But he seems to know that he’s only here for backup, and this is my plan, because after a beat, he moves away.

I take his position and peer around the column into the gloom.

I can’t tell who Gabriel has. Malik, perhaps?

The shadowed figure appears male. Large, too, even though Gabriel moved him with ease.

I ball my fists, then force myself to relax. I need to focus on the task at hand and not anything else. Like, for example, Saint mentioning my addiction. Being concerned about me falling off the wagon—or being hauled off it, more like.

Now, naturally, it’s in the back of my head. Not just that Gabriel is the dangerous connection to that part of me, but the drug itself. The rush of it hitting my vein, followed by the blistering after-burn.

Snap out of it .

“I don’t know anything,” the man groans. “I told you?—”

The lights come on, all suddenly blazing.

Gabriel squints, lifting his hand.

That’s my cue . I step out from my hiding spot and into the room.

He spots me immediately, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all. He claps .

“Artemis! You’re back.” He moves away from the man and toward me.

I raise my gun automatically.

“Oh, wow.” He sighs and stops. “Okay, fine. I suppose I deserve that. You seem good. Clear and sober, then?”

“Yes,” I bite out. “But?—”

“No, no, I know that’s not why you’re here. I don’t even have any of that filthy drug on me. No syringes for my little pet.” He grins. “You’ve kicked the habit. I’m proud of you.”

I clench my teeth. I should stash my gun, get closer. Tell him what I really came for. But now that the lights are on, I can clearly make out his hostage.

Sheriff Bradshaw.

“Damn it, Gabriel.” Now I do put away my gun. “What are you doing with him?”

Nate looks rough . Two black eyes, his nose swollen and crooked—definitely broken. He has a split lip, and there’s blood pooling under his body that wasn’t visible in the dark. I’d guess he has some sort of wound in his gut—a stab or gunshot?

“I’m practicing the proper interrogation technique.” Gabriel circles him and crouches on the far side. He grips the sheriff’s hair and forces his head up. He tilts his face in my direction. “She’s come to save you, isn’t that sweet?”

I frown.

“Oh? Lookie.” Gabriel’s voice is gleeful. “She didn’t come here for you. She came for… Olympus? Stumbled upon us? My mistake, putting you somewhere so discoverable.”

“I came to talk to you,” I say as evenly as I can.

“About?”

“About your master.”

Gabriel physically recoils.

I nod slowly. “That’s right—Ouranos. The one pulling all your strings.”

“He doesn’t pull my strings.”

I scoff. “Yeah, he does.”

He jumps to his feet and points at me. “No, he doesn’t!”

“You and I both know that you’d already be on Isle of Paradise if he didn’t.” I plant my hands on my hips. “The boy I knew would never let someone tear him away from her. And you know something happened—yet, here you are. Taking out your frustrations on Bradshaw.”

For a moment, I just stare at Gabriel. His dark hair is longer than I last remember. Pieces fall across his forehead and into his eyes. He drags his fingers through it intermittently, almost like a tic. He wears black pants, black boots, and an army-green long-sleeve shirt. No visible weapons.

That doesn’t lend me any comfort.

There’s no gun holstered at his hip, no knife—unless it’s tucked in his boot, under his pant leg. That’s where I would keep one.

His skin is still so pale. There are dark circles under his eyes. And there’s a smattering of bruises across his cheek, as well as fresh cuts.

“What happened to you?” I ask.

He laughs. His dark eyes glitter. “You’ll have to be more specific, Artemis. A lot has happened to me.”

“Recently. To your face.”

“Oh.” He sighs. His whole body seems to cave in. “A little disagreement.”

“And you were put in your place,” I fill in. “With your face under his boot.”

He perks, like my reason for being here suddenly makes sense. “What a nice play! You want to pit me against him.”

I sigh. “I just want you to be free .”

He locks up again.

Why?

Tension rolls through him, and he bursts into motion.

He paces, his head bent. His gaze stays on his fingers, picking at his nails.

“Freedom. Do you know what freedom means as a concept? It’s just a bigger cage.

More room to move around. The bars are a different color.

But they’re still there. It’s all a trap.

You can’t believe in freedom because it’s a myth. As impossible to reach as Heaven.”

“No.”

He jerks. “ Yes , Artemis. You freed me, and now I am on a leash. I can roam, but I cannot do as I please. You free Lyssa, and she is trapped in her head. You freed Reese—well, I suppose Kade freed Reese Avery from a cage of my making—but he won’t leave because he loves you.

That’s a cage all on its own, isn’t it? Sooner or later, he’ll gnaw off his own leg just to be free of you. ”

“Enough.” Saint’s voice cracks across the room like a whip.

Gabriel jumps and whirls. He spots Saint on the opposite side of the platform. His gun, unlike mine, is in his grip. It’s up, pointed at Gabriel, and he doesn’t seem at all conflicted about pulling the trigger.

“You know about love, don’t you, Gabriel? Do you want to chew off your leg, to use your metaphor, to be free of Lyssa?” Saint skirts the platform and comes to a stop beside me.

Gabriel waves his hand. “She’s different.”

“Why? Because she’s been gone the last ten years?” Saint glowers at him. “She’s still alive, man. She’s still here, and instead of being your best self for her, you’ve lost your damn marbles.”

“Terror twists minds,” Gabriel replies softly. “And wouldn’t you know it? Terror is rising from the dead. I can already feel it. Do you think we expand to fit the cage we’re in? How would it feel to be shoved back into the tiny box where fear began?”

A shiver sweeps down my spine. “Terror isn’t coming back.”

“Oh, yes, it is. That’s his plan. Take the city, reignite Terror. He was an investor.” Gabriel’s eyes are wide, and he faces us. His hands come up, palms facing the ceiling. Like an open call for prayer. “And who are we? Entertainment. Bodies. Flesh to bleed and bruise and brutalize.”

I glance at Saint. Ouranos wants to bring back Terror? That wasn’t on my radar, but it would explain why he targeted Bow & Arrow so early on. My heart squeezes at the thought of my beloved club.

Did I build it on a literal shitstorm of trauma? Yes. But at the end of the day, that only made the work I was doing feel sweeter. I was able to employ a lot of people who were affected by human trafficking, and paying fair wages gave them a jumping-off point to a better life.

That means something.

It wasn’t all for nothing. It was a frivolous decision.

“You’d help bring Terror back?” Saint asks.

Gabriel makes a vague choking noise. He waves off the question and focuses back on the sheriff. The pool of blood under Bradshaw is getting bigger, but he passed out at some point during our conversation. He’s limp now, his cheek on the floor and his eyes shut.

“Doing nothing is just as bad as helping,” I say. “You’ve already single-handedly taken every opposing player off the board for him. Who else is going to stop him? There’s no one left.”

He glares at me. “There’s you.”

I laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yes. The mighty Artemis. You stop him.” He crouches and pokes Bradshaw in the side. Then again. “You go up against him and see how you fare.”

I exhale. “Gabriel. Focus.”

“What?” His gaze snaps to mine. “I am focusing on what I can control. Which, right now, is if the pretty sheriff lives or dies. He refuses to sing for me, so I’m leaning toward the latter. The amount of blood on the floor is staggering, isn’t it? So much red for such a little cut.”

“Help us,” Saint says.

Gabriel’s attention shifts again. He takes in Saint’s face, the visible tattoos.

He seems to analyze every part of him, then pushes up to his full height.

He steps right over Nathan Bradshaw, his heel sliding in the blood, and approaches.

They’re pretty much the same height. While they’re eye to eye, I marvel at the similarities between them.

Minus the tattoos, and a bit of Saint’s muscled frame, they may as well be brothers.

“Where’d you come from, Saint Hart?” Gabriel asks.

“East Falls? A good family? Mommy and Daddy loved you, put you through the Sterling Falls school system. Did they watch with despair when you found this place? When you deviated from whatever their plan was? Or maybe they just turned away, moved far from this wretched place, and left you to your own devices. And you think that’s so ugly of them, hmm?

Poor, forgotten Saint. The prickly, scowly man who creates art for a living.

Wasted talent, they probably said. You could’ve been an engineer!

Or an astronaut! You could’ve flown so fucking far away from Sterling Falls.

“But you didn’t . You stayed here and you rot because of it. You sat in classes in high school while I learned how to swallow rich semen. I washed filth off my skin every night, but it never really comes off. Does it, Artemis?”

I flinch.

Gabriel smiles at Saint. “Were you rough the first time you touched her? Did she convince you it doesn’t matter that the bruises you left behind give her flashbacks of the men who paid to steal tastes of her skin? Shame.”

“He’s trying to get a rise out of you,” I say to Saint. “And it doesn’t matter either, because you can’t remember it.”

Saint cocks his head. He hasn’t stopped staring at Gabriel, although his jaw works. The muscle there leaps with every clench of his jaw.

“ Can’t remember?” Gabriel inches closer, mirroring Saint’s head tilt. “Fascinating. I always wondered what it would be like to smash my brains in hard enough to forget my life.”

“I used to, too,” Saint murmurs.

I give him a look. He would’ve had no reason to think that way before Nyx died, right? Which means…

“We could do it again,” Gabriel offers. “See if any of it comes back.”

“It has been coming back.” Saint scowls. “Gold dress. Whiskey. I was so fucking angry at her?—”

“Oh, anger. Exciting. Keep going.”

“I was cruel. Simple as that.”

Gabriel pouts when Saint doesn’t elaborate.

But then Saint narrows his eyes. “Do you regret meeting Lyssa?”