Page 54

"He drugged me," I continued, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

My skin prickled, goosebumps rising as phantom hands traced old paths across my body.

Acid climbed my throat, and I dug my nails deeper into my palms, focusing on the sharp pain to keep from scratching my skin raw right there in the VIP room.

"Expensive champagne with something mixed in.

Something that made everything hazy but didn't knock me out completely. That would have been too... merciful."

A tremor started in my hands, spreading up my forearms. I clenched my fists to stop it, nails digging crescents into my palms. The pain anchored me, keeping me from sliding back into those hotel sheets, into that helplessness.

"He told me I wanted it. That I'd been asking for it with the way I looked at him, the way I always tried to please him.

And part of me believed him, because he'd been my whole fucking world since I was six years old. "

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to say the words I'd been avoiding for eighteen years. "He raped me, Lo. Six nights in a row, he sexually assaulted me. And for years, I couldn't even call it that. Couldn't admit what it actually was."

"That manipulative fucking piece of shit," Lo whispered, rage burning in his eyes.

I nodded, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "Yeah. Took me years to understand what he'd actually done. Even longer to say it out loud."

Lo reached across the table, his hand covering my clenched fist. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture from him—genuine compassion without deflection or humor—that it nearly broke me. The warmth of his hand against my ice-cold fingers made me realize how deeply I'd sunk into the memory.

"Does Vincent know?" he asked.

I nodded, something uncurling in my chest at the thought of Vincent. "First person who saw it for what it was, who didn't tell me to just get over it or that I should be flattered."

"And that's why you have to go after Prometheus yourself," Lo said, not a question but a statement.

"He doesn't just want Vincent dead," I explained. "He wants me back. Under his control. He can't stand that I broke away, that I chose Vincent over him. It's not about the contract anymore. It's personal."

"In that case, I understand.”

"Really?" I asked, studying him closely. “You’re not going to stop me?”

"And deprive my ride-or-die bestie from his well-earned revenge? I'm a cold bastard with a heart made of ice, but even I'm not that heartless."

The door to the VIP room swung open without warning. Both of us reached for weapons instinctively before recognizing the figure who sauntered in.

Rhadamanthys leaned against the doorframe, dark eyes gleaming beneath the brim of his Stetson. The pearl-handled revolver at his hip caught the crimson light like a bloodstain. My muscles coiled tight, the vulnerable moment with Lo instantly buried under combat-ready tension.

"Ah, what a charming tableau," he drawled, Calabrian accent thick as honey laced with poison. "Conspirators plotting in the shadows, whispers of rebellion and revenge. How magnificently operatic, no?"

I tensed, fingers itching for my weapon, the weight of my Glock a comforting promise against my ribs. "This is a private conversation. "

Rhadamanthys pushed off from the doorframe, boots clicking against the marble as he strode into the room. He settled into a chair uninvited. "Privacy is an illusion within these walls, piccolo. Especially when one plots the assassination of a Pantheon director. Such delicious treachery."

Ice settled in my gut. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Per favore." He waved one manicured hand dismissively, gold rings flashing. "Let us not play the fools in this little drama. You seek Prometheus's blood. A noble quest, truly, but one that violates our most sacred codes."

"Codes?" I repeated, bitterness flooding my mouth. "What about the code against grooming children? Against using them as weapons? Against taking my sister and turning her into his fucking wife?"

Rhadamanthys's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes, like a shark circling closer. "Personal vendettas, regardless of how justified, cannot supersede the Pantheon's order. You understand what fate awaits you should you succeed, si?"

"Tartarus," I said flatly.

He tipped his hat slightly. "The Tribunal must maintain the balance, even in extraordinary circumstances. Such is the burden of justice."

"I don't care," I said. "He dies tonight."

Rhadamanthys studied me, head tilted like a bird of prey considering whether to strike.

"Your conviction is admirable, if foolish.

The passion of vengeance makes for such beautiful tragedy.

" He stood, adjusting his bolo tie with theatrical precision.

"One cannot stop you, nor would one wish to, if truth be told.

But remember—when Prometheus falls, there will be consequences. The Tribunal will have no choice."

"I'll deal with it then," I replied .

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a tone I'd never heard from him before—almost gentle. "And what of your therapist, hmm? This man for whom you've risked everything? What becomes of him when you are gone?"

My jaw tightened. "I've made arrangements."

"Arrangements." He rolled the word on his tongue like fine wine.

"The Pantheon has a long memory and a longer reach.

" His eyes caught mine, holding them with surprising intensity.

"Once, I stood where you stand now. Vengeance burning in my veins.

I chose that path, and what I destroyed was not only my enemy. "

"This isn't about me," I said, but my voice lacked conviction even to my own ears.

"Consider this—the greatest revenge against Prometheus would not be his death, but your life. Your happiness." He glanced at the door, as if he could see through it to the Acropolis beyond. "That therapist of yours looks at you the way most of us can only dream of being seen."

I swallowed hard, his words hitting closer to home than I wanted to admit. "And my sister? What about Ana?"

"Perhaps there are ways to free her that don't end with your death." His fingers tapped the pearl handle of his revolver thoughtfully. "The Tribunal has been watching Prometheus for some time."

"There isn't time," I insisted, but the conviction in my voice wavered slightly.

As he headed for the door, spurs singing their metallic melody with each step, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "For what it's worth, one hopes you succeed if you insist on this path. Prometheus has played god for too long."

When he was gone, I turned back to Lo, who looked uncharacteristically serious .

"Well," he said, attempting to lighten the mood, "that was dramatic. Very spy movie. I half expected someone to offer you a martini, shaken not stirred."

I ignored his attempt at humor. "I need one more thing from you."

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a sealed envelope, sliding it across the table. Lo picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

"If I don't come back," I said, keeping my voice steady, "give this to Vincent. And make sure he gets out of the Acropolis safely. Even if Prometheus is gone, without me to protect him here, he's vulnerable. The Pantheon doesn't forget."

"Are these your touching last words?" Lo asked, but there was no bite in his usual sarcasm. "Love letters and heartfelt confessions?"

I shook my head. "Instructions. Accounts he can access.

Safe houses where he can go. The names of people who owe me enough to keep him safe.

" I ran a hand through my hair, the inadequacy of my preparations suddenly hitting me hard.

"It's not enough. Nothing will be enough. The Pantheon has eyes everywhere."

"What's your biggest worry?" Lo asked.

"That no matter how many contingency plans I make, no matter how much money I put aside, no matter how many safe houses I arrange.

.. someone will still find him." I swallowed hard.

"The organization has resources I can't match.

Contacts I don't even know about. And Vincent.

.. he's not built for a life in hiding."

"So don't go," Lo said simply. "Or let us help."

"I can't risk anyone else," I replied, the words scraping my throat raw. "Not after what happened to Michael."

"Always the romantic," Lo muttered, but he tucked the envelope into his jacket. "I'll personally make sure he gets out safely if things go sideways. "

Then, to my surprise, he stood and came around the table, throwing his arms around me in a fierce hug.

"Don't die, asshole," he muttered against my shoulder. "Vincent makes you almost tolerable, and I've gotten used to your brooding presence in my life."

I froze momentarily, startled by the display of genuine affection. Then, awkwardly, I returned the hug, patting his back. "I'll do my best."

Lo pulled back, his expression serious. "I'm giving you until dawn. If you haven't checked in by then, I'm coming after you, and I'm bringing the cavalry."

"No, Lo—"

"This isn't negotiable," he cut me off, using my own words against me. "You get until dawn to be the lone hero. After that, we do it my way."

I sighed, recognizing the stubbornness in his eyes. "Fine. But stay with Vincent. Don't leave him alone."

"Promise," Lo said solemnly. Then, with a swift return to his usual demeanor, he added, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an extremely built weapons dealer waiting for me on the dance floor, and these pants took twenty minutes to get into."

I watched him sashay to the door, his dramatic exit a perfect mask for the deadly seriousness of our conversation. Just before leaving, he paused, hand on the doorframe.

"Luka," he said, not turning around. "Make it hurt."

I nodded once, even though he couldn't see me. "I plan to."

When he was gone, I sat alone in the crimson light, staring at the smear of ash that had once been my most cherished possession. The wrapper was gone. All that remained was what Prometheus had made me: a weapon with a single purpose .

My thoughts drifted to Vincent, still asleep in our bed.

Vincent, who saw past the killer to the man beneath.

Vincent, who'd held me through nightmares, who'd traced my scars with gentle fingers, who'd made me believe—if only for moments—that I might be worthy of something more than violence and death.

A cold knot formed in my stomach as I imagined Vincent waking to find me gone after our dinner tonight.

Would he understand why I had to do this alone?

Would he forgive me for not saying a proper goodbye?

My chest tightened at the thought of him waiting for me to return, hope gradually fading to realization, then grief.

If I died tonight what would become of Vincent? The Pantheon never left loose ends. Without my protection, how long before some other ferryman decided to complete the contract Prometheus had originally assigned to me? How many more Michaels would die before they finally got to him?

The thought of never seeing him again made something twist painfully in my chest. Never hearing his laugh, never feeling his hands on my skin, never watching him sleep in that completely unguarded way that made my heart ache.

For a moment, the weight of what I might lose threatened to crush me entirely.

But the alternative was worse. If I did nothing, we'd spend our lives running. Vincent would always be a target, always one step away from a bullet with his name on it. And Ana would remain trapped in her gilded cage, a prisoner who didn't even know she was captive.

No, one way or another, I'd end this tonight. Blood would spill. Either his or mine.

But first, I needed to get back to Vincent before he woke and found me missing. I needed one more taste of him, one more moment when his eyes darkened at my touch, one more chance to feel something other than the coldness that had lived inside me for twenty-six years .

The clock was ticking. By this time tomorrow, I'd be either victorious or dead.