by Tate James
ANARCHY
HADES #2
Tate James
Contents
Stalk Tate
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
CASS’S LETTER
COMING SOON
A Note From Tate
Also By Tate James
Tate James
Anarchy: Hades #2
Copyright © Tate James 2020
All rights reserved
First published in 2020
James, Tate
Anarchy: Hades #2
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Tamara Kokic
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Models: Evan Keys and Lucas Loyola
Editing: Heather Long (content) and Jax Garren (line).
To the kid in primary school who threw a moldy lemon at me and laughed at my imaginary friends.
Look who’s laughing now, asshole! Me and my imaginary friends are making lemonade.
De-fucking-licious.
Stalk Tate
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1
Lucas
Blood fell onto the floor at my feet, a soft splat with each heavy drop rolling from my face. I hung loose in my chains, long since given up wasting my energy trying to get free. The manacles around my wrists were metal, and for all my gymnastic skill, I was no Houdini.
At this stage of the game, my best and only option was to endure—grit my teeth, suffer through the pain, and maintain my bone deep belief that it was only a matter of time before I was found. After all, I'd put my body through plenty of pain while training for a shot at the Olympics. I could handle this... right?
It was only a matter of time. She was too smart for this fucker. Too strong, too stubborn, too ruthless. He wouldn’t be able to keep me here for much longer, and he knew it.
But that was part of the problem. He knew his time was limited, so he wasn’t fucking around with long-winded villain soliloquies.
More's the shame. I badly could have done with a break, even if it meant listening to the complete bullshit of a raving madman. Years of dance and gymnastics had given me a small advantage over my pain, but nothing could have prepared me for this literal torture.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” I told my captor with a groan of agony as I tried to lift my head. I’d taken several hard blows, and who knew how long the split in my forehead had been bleeding. Everything hurt. Every damn inch of me. But I desperately pushed the pain aside in an attempt to keep my wits. I couldn't lose myself to fear and desperation, because that was undoubtedly what he wanted. He wanted to break me.
The hooded man in the corner of the room, his back to me as he heated a tool with a blowtorch, just gave a low, cruel chuckle. “What are you planning to do, stripper boy? Seduce me? Seems like that's your only talent.”
I coughed a genuine laugh that hurt my bruised chest. “Not me, moron. Hades. She’s gonna come for you. You’re a fucking dead man.”
He turned back to face me, shrugging his hood back to reveal a scarred face, partly covered with a leather eyepatch, and a deranged smile. "You have no idea how right you are, pretty boy."
The metal brand in his hand glowed a hot orange, and he placed the blowtorch down on the counter. Apparently, it was hot enough to do the damage he was planning.
This was going to hurt so much. Tremors already shook my body as I eyed his weapon and swallowed heavily.
"Whatever you want to know, I'll never tell you." I forced the words from behind gritted teeth, the bravado weak even to my ears. It was a pointless statement. The asshole who'd initially taken me from Hayden's apartment—one of the security guards from 7th Circle who I'd stupidly opened the door for—hadn't been even slightly interested in information. Just violence.
Up close, I found eye-patch dude roughly the same height as me, but a whole lot broader in the shoulders, where I was slim and toned. But that gave me no insight about what the hell was going on. Who the fuck was he? Who was he to Hayden?
He barked a slightly unhinged laugh. "You don't know anything useful anyway. No, pretty boy. I don't want you to tell me anything... you're the message to her. My Darling." With that, he pressed the brand tight against my chest, searing the flesh over my heart with blinding pain.
The scream that tore from my throat echoed through the small room, and I jerked against my bonds, frantically trying to pull away from the agony. But my torturer gave zero fucks, totally ignoring my cries. His one good eye remained impassive as he branded me.
It probably only took a second, but it felt like an eternity before he pulled the brand away and inspected his handiwork with a critical tilt to his mouth.
"You shouldn't have moved," he told me with an annoyed click of his tongue. "Now the lines won't be clean." He narrowed that one eye at his brand, then gave a sigh. "It'll have to do."
I was incapable of any snappy replies. I was incapable of anything but hanging from my bonds and groaning as the whole room swam. Cold sweat dripped down my bare back and I had a sickening feeling I was about to pass out.
My tormentor's watch beeped an alarm, and he grunted an irritated sound. "Apparently our time is up already." He pulled a shimmery green butterfly knife from his pocket and flipped it open. Using the blade tip, he tilted my chin up so I was forced to meet his gaze. "That was quicker than expected. Then again, if anyone could do it, it's her." He looked... proud. Like this had all been some kind of game.
"Fuck you," I spat.
He tilted his head to the side, like he was really considering that as a suggestion, then flashed me a grin and shook his head. "Nah, you're not my type, pretty boy." His watch beeped again, and his scarred eyebrow hitched. "That's my cue. Let my
girl know I'm coming for her." He removed the knife from under my chin and trailed it in a line down my sternum, carefully, stopping just below the bone. Then he smirked again. "This is gonna hurt."
Then he stabbed me. As if branding me wasn't enough.
I must have passed out from the pain, it was the only way to explain how the eye-patched man disappeared from the room so damn fast. The deafening sound of gunfire had forced my eyes open, and the first thing I saw was the green butterfly blade still protruding from my chest.
Agony racked my body, and it took every single ounce of control I possessed over my muscles to keep from moving. Any move, no matter how small, would only do more damage with that knife sticking out of me.
That thought immediately became irrelevant when the locked door and half the wall surrounding it exploded into the room like someone had thrown a grenade at it. The force of the blast made me jerk and twist in my chains, and I screamed again. My voice was already hoarse, but the intense pain in my chest still drew a sound out.
Blood ran down my stomach and soaked my trousers. My vision was hazy and dark, the room in front of me coming in and out of focus fast enough to make me motion sick. Yet somehow when she came into sight, she was crystal clear in my eyes.
"Hayden," I mumbled, relief washing over me in a dizzying wave. Not because she'd rescued me, simply that she was okay. When I'd first been taken, all I could think about was how they'd probably been targeting her. That someone wanted to hurt her. And I'd been glad it’d been me in her apartment instead. Call me a lovesick fool, but I'd happily take all the torture in the world to keep her safe.
My mama always said one day I'd meet someone and I'd know. She always believed in love at first sight, my ma, but not me. Nope. I was a cynic... or I had been until I laid eyes on Hayden and my whole world tilted upside down.
She strode into view outside the ruined mess of the doorway, pausing briefly over someone to fire three times into the fallen body. Then her laser sharp gaze jerked up to meet my eyes.
A million emotions crashed through me all at once, and the fierce determination and cold fury painted across her face was like the most soothing balm for my injuries.
Zed was at her side, as always, and for once I was actually happy to see him. Even if he was head over heels in love with my girl. But there was no way in hell I was walking away from this mess. I'd be lucky if I even survived long enough to get medical attention...
Who will look after my mom if I die?
Hayden stepped through the blown-out doorway, but my vision was blacking out already. The pain was too much, the blood loss making me too weak.
Zed shouted something and there was a flurry of motion, but I'd lost the strength to hold my head up any longer.
"Lucas." Her rich, velvet voice reached my ears, and her soft hand cupped my cheek. She was so short I didn't even really need to lift my head to see her. "I've got you; you're going to be okay."
I wanted to agree, but no words would come out. I could do nothing but watch as her eyes darted to the knife protruding from my chest. Her jaw tightened as her whole body radiated tension, fury, but she didn't let it out. Instead, she just whispered reassurances while someone picked the locks on my wrist irons.
When the bonds clicked open, I dropped like a lead weight. But two sets of strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.
"Hang in there, kid," my boss, Zayden De Rosa, muttered from one side of me. "Don't fucking die on us now."
Whoever was on my other side just grunted a sound of agreement, and I wanted to laugh. I’d never imagined myself as the damsel in distress, but it seemed strangely right that Hayden had come to my rescue. She was flipping gender roles like nobody's business, and I was here for it.
"Ambulance is almost here," she barked to Zed. "Get him up to the south exit, and whatever you do, do not let him die. Clear?" Her tone brokered no arguments, no matter how impossible her request.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Zed snapped as Hayden started down the corridor away from us. "Dare!"
She hesitated, spinning around just long enough to shoot him a hard glare. "Zed, I'm trusting you. Get Lucas to the hospital and don't take your fucking eyes off him."
Oh man. I really wanted to laugh at him for that, but for one thing, I was barely conscious. For another, I also wanted to know where the fuck she was going.
She didn't hang around to debate it, though, and took off again, completely ignoring the way Zed shouted after her.
"I've got this," the dude supporting my other side rumbled. He smoothly transferred my weight entirely onto Zed, then loped off after Hayden.
"Motherfucking shit fuck cunt-licker," Zed cursed, but he didn't drop me to the floor to die like I half expected him to. Instead, he adjusted his grip on me, then started toward the exit. "If you fucking die now, kid, I'll personally take a trip to hell, resurrect your ass, and kill you all over again."
With that comforting statement, I passed right the fuck out.
2
Hades
Heavy footsteps sounded down the corridor behind me, and I simmered with anger, knowing I'd been disobeyed but not altogether shocked by that fact.
"Fuck off, Cassiel," I snarled, not turning to look at him. "I gave you an order."
"No, you gave Zed an order," he replied, falling into step beside me. "If you thought either of us would let you run off after a goddamn ghost without backup, you're wrong."
His disobedience should have pissed me off, but I couldn't even muster the slightest irritation. In fact, I was almost glad for his company as I chased my dark past along a corridor beneath Anarchy that I’d never even known existed.
Neither one of us spoke again until we reached the end. There was only one way out, a narrow ladder up to an open hatch, and I took point. Both Cass and I had our guns at the ready, but we were met with nothing but disappointment.
The hatch opened into a grass-covered clearing in the woods behind Anarchy, with no immediate hints presenting themselves as to where Chase—if it had really been him—had gone.
A scream of frustration burned in my chest, and I clenched my jaw tight enough to hurt in order to hold it in. Nothing could be gained from throwing a temper tantrum now. Nothing except possibly showing my hand to anyone within earshot—if there was anyone. So I ground my teeth together and swallowed the scream, the curses, the rage, then turned back to Cass, who'd followed me out of the hatch.
"There's nothing here," I said in a cold, detached voice and tucked my gun away to free my hands for the ladder. "Let's go."
"Hold up," he growled, grabbing my arm as I tried to brush past him.
I glared up at him but couldn't muster the energy to jerk my arm free. Partly because I was exhausted—it'd been over twenty-four hours since Lucas was taken and I hadn't slept a single minute as we’d tracked him down. Partly because I liked the warm strength of Cass’s fingers circling my arm.
"What now?" I snapped.
His expression darkened as he peered down at me. It was close to midnight, and the faint sounds of partying in Anarchy was the only sign of life around us. Otherwise, we were totally alone... or seemed to be, at any rate. I knew better than to assume.
"Cass, if you have nothing helpful to say right now, get the fuck out of my way." I had zero patience left. None. I needed to get some of my guys up here to thoroughly canvas the area and figure out how someone could disappear so easily.
An unreadable expression crossed his face, and he let out a frustrated sigh. He let go of my arm to scrub a hand over his face, but by no means did he move out of my way or even give me any indication that he intended to.
"None of this is your fault, Red," he rumbled after a moment's pause.
I cocked a brow and folded my arms under my breasts. "Of course it's fucking not," I replied caustically. "Last I checked, I didn't ask for my supposedly dead ex-fiancé to rise from his grave, blow up my club, then kidnap and torture the guy I've been sleeping with."
Cass
wasn't buying my bullshit, though. He just stared down at me, seeing right through my poker face to the bottomless depths of guilt washing through me. It was my fault that Lucas had been hurt. It was a direct attack on me, and he was collateral damage. There was no two ways about it. Had he never met me, he wouldn't currently be on his way to a hospital with a knife sticking out of his chest.
I didn't think for a second that he might die. It simply wasn't an option.
When Cass still said nothing more, I swallowed heavily and broke eye contact first. "He was holding him in the basement of my own property, Cass." The words were whispered so softly he might not even have heard me. "He was right under my fucking nose for twenty-seven hours. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can start to work out how in the fuck I never knew about these underground tunnels."
His dark brows dipped low. "You aren't going to the hospital to make sure he's alive?"
I scowled. "He's alive."
Yeah, stubborn denial was one of my favorite coping mechanisms. So what?
Cass just let out another long exhale, shaking his head. "Sometimes, Red, I don't know if you're the most stubborn, hardheaded woman I've ever met or—"
