Anarchy (Hades Book 2)

by Tate James

  He glared harder. "I said hell no. You two are not shutting me out again now." He slid off his stool and carried his empty plate to the sink like the politest houseguest. "Come on, Red. We'll go swap my ride on the way."

  Without waiting for me to agree—or decline—he sauntered his fine ass out of the kitchen. I assumed he’d gone to find the rest of his clothes, but with Cass, nothing was certain.

  "Stubborn fucker," I muttered, not shifting from my seat but letting my eyes drift in the direction he'd just disappeared like I could see through the walls and eye fuck him as he dressed.

  Zed huffed a sound of agreement, or irritation, then dropped a hot slice of bread onto my plate. It was covered in melting butter, and my mouth watered at the sight of it. Not to mention the smell. Nothing smelled as good as freshly baked bread.

  "You're the best, Zed," I groaned before taking a bite of the buttery bread.

  He shot me a smirk and a wink. "I know how you like your bread buttered, boss."

  What the fuck?

  He was lucky I'd already swallowed that mouthful or I would have choked on it. Prick. Was he just messing with me for fun? When had we slipped back into this teasing shit? Not that I was complaining... I was enjoying it.

  "Perv," I muttered, then took another bite, trying not to think too hard about the vaguely flirty comment. "I bet you don't." I sent him a wink of my own, and he didn't laugh like I expected.

  Instead, he just held my gaze as he rubbed his palm over his shadowed jaw. "Sounds like a challenge."

  My brows shot up. But before I could dig myself into a deeper hole with pseudo-flirty Zed, Cass yelled from somewhere vaguely in the direction of the foyer, "Red, move your fine ass. Let's roll!"

  "Screw you, Saint!" I shouted back. "No one orders me around." Still, I was entertained enough that I hopped off my seat and went in search of my gun and shoes. Fuck riding bitch on the back of his bike again, though.

  "I'm borrowing a car," I told Zed when I returned to the kitchen to snag the rest of my bread.

  He didn't argue, just pulled open a drawer and tossed me a set of keys. "Take the Audi, but don't scratch it."

  I snorted a laugh. "Coming from you, who scratched my McLaren? Cute. Real cute. I'll be quick on this. Can you arrange a meeting with Dallas? I'm ready to go hunting."

  Zed jerked a nod, folding his arms over his apron. "You got it, boss."

  "Come on, Saint!" I yelled out to Cass. "I'm driving."

  11

  Close proximity to Cassiel Saint after reading his version of a love letter? Terrible, awful idea. We’d barely made it out of Zed's garage before my skin was prickling with the sexual tension in the car.

  To my relief, though, he got a call from his newly minted second, Roach, just a few moments after we turned out of Zed's gates, and I was spared the awkward silence. Not that I had any intention of pulling over to jump his bones on the side of the road; I had shit to do and a not-so-dead ex to hunt down. No matter how badly my cunt was begging for a bit of Cass's dick, it could wait.

  When we reached my apartment building, there was a space directly across the road from the front door, so I didn't bother parking in the underground garage.

  "What day is it?" I muttered mostly to myself as I climbed out of the car. Everything since the explosion at 7th Circle had turned into a whole big blur in my mind, and I'd totally lost track of time.

  Cass tilted his head to the side, giving me a curious look. "Monday. You okay?"

  "I'm fine," I replied with a small sigh. I was physically fine, but my mental health was in shreds—no doubt exactly what Chase wanted, that sick fuck. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten off on my fear and mental deterioration.

  I suppressed a shudder as dark memories tried to worm their way out of the iron box I kept them locked in. Hell no. Nope. Not on my watch, not ever.

  And yet, instead of entering my building, I took a detour to the newspaper stand a little farther down the street. It hadn't even been a conscious thought; I just needed to check the obituaries. Either there would be another creepy fucking message or reading strangers’ death notices would calm me down, help me feel grounded once more after such a chaotic few days.

  "Sudden desire for the daily news?" Cass asked as I flipped through the stacks, hunting for the weekend paper. It always had the best obits.

  "Something like that," I muttered, still searching.

  "Good morning, Daria!" Someone called out, and I looked up from the stack of papers I'd been sorting through.

  I carefully shifted my expression from cold-hearted bitch to pleasant Daria Wolff and tugged my jacket closed to cover my rather obvious handgun.

  "Good morning, Jeanette," I responded to one of my downstairs neighbors. She was out walking her dog, a little yappy thing that liked to pee when it was excited, and paused when she got closer.

  Her smile was genuine, but the way her eyes trailed over Cass made me want to punch her in her cute nose. In her midforties, Jeanette was still a total babe with a body to die for. She'd regret it if she tried flaunting that body in front of Saint, though.

  "I heard about the break-in on Friday night," she told me, wisely shifting her gaze back to my face. "Oh gosh, were you home?" She reached out to touch the side of my face where I still had a fading bruise, and I flinched away before her finger reached me.

  "No," I responded quickly, giving a tight smile to cover my flinch. "No, this was just a clumsy boxing accident at the gym last week."

  She looked instantly relieved at my excuse. "Oh, phew. I'm glad. Anyway, I hope you get everything sorted on insurance." With another smile, she carried on her way with her yappy dog trotting happily along beside her, totally carefree. Lucky bastard.

  When I turned my attention to Cass, he was watching me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement that instantly made me suspicious.

  "What?" I snapped.

  He shrugged. "You have neighbors."

  I frowned. "So do you." He lived in a Reaper-owned block on the west side of town, but it was still an apartment building.

  "My whole building is Reaper occupied," he informed me with a small headshake. "Your neighbors are normal people who think your name is actually Daria Wolff. It's..." He trailed off, and my mood soured. If he was about to have another mood swing like when he’d seen me transform from Hayden to Hades... we were about to have issues.

  "It's what?" I growled with a clear edge of warning.

  "Fascinating," he replied in an equally dark growl. Then he leaned forward, brushing past me to snag the paper I'd been looking for. "Here. Saturday's, right?"

  "Right," I murmured, taking it from his hand, then paying the vendor before tucking it under my arm. Ignoring Cass's questioning look, I started back toward my apartment building, then paused when a car I didn't recognize exited the parking garage. Given how many of the building's parking spots I owned, there weren't many other cars that parked down there. And that... that wasn't one belonging to any of the residents.

  That wasn’t totally unheard of, I supposed. Maybe someone had gotten a new car or it was a visitor they'd given access to. But in light of everything else going on, it made me hesitate.

  "What's wrong?" Cass asked, pausing with me.

  I scowled at the car as it waited for traffic to break so it could turn into the street. The windows were tinted dark enough that I couldn't make out the driver—beyond what I'd think was a legal tint—which made my paranoia prickle.

  "Something..." I murmured, still frowning at the car when it turned, entering traffic. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. Just—"

  I cut my sentence short at the muffled sound of an explosion, accompanied by the ground trembling. Then another. And another.

  I counted them even as Cass threw his considerable weight at me, wrapping me in a human shield and dragging me behind a car. Seven. Seven explosions, then silence.

  "What the—" Cass started to say through the ringing in my ears. I shrugged free of his hold and pushed to my fe
et, needing to see my building. That's where the bombs had gone off, I was certain of it. That mysterious car... seven explosions... I had left seven vehicles on my parking level, six cars and my motorcycle. That motherfucker had blown up my cars.

  "Get in!" I shouted at Cass, already sprinting toward Zed's car. Fuck the damages, I was catching that bombing fucknut before he escaped this time.

  Cass didn't question me, just dove into the passenger seat as I pulled out of the parking space. Another explosion saw me slam my foot on the brake, though. This one was louder than the others. Bigger.

  My heart shuddered and my breath caught as I swung my gaze back to the building. Almost as if in slow motion, the walls began to crack and fall, the entire structure collapsing in on itself.

  I didn't stick around to watch the rest. There was nothing I could do to fix it now, but I could chase down the most likely suspect. So, steeling my aching chest against the loss of life that'd just happened, I pressed my foot down on the accelerator and sped after the disappearing black sedan in the distance.

  For a second I lost sight of the car, and my stomach sank. But then I spotted it between a break in the traffic ahead and increased my speed to narrow the gap.

  Cass didn't speak, just reached over and buckled my seat belt for me, then did his own before he pulled out his phone to text someone.

  Moments later, I needed to swerve sharply to avoid colliding with fire engines and ambulances screaming down the street, no doubt headed for the remains of my apartment building. They were too late to do anything, though. Whoever had been home when the bombs had gone off was dead.

  "He's going to take the freeway," Cass told me as I wove between cars. The darkly tinted car knew I was on his ass now and had sped up accordingly. If that didn't confirm my suspicion...

  "I know," I replied, my eyes glued to my target. He was sticking to the outside lane, furthest from the on-ramp, but I'd put money on it that he'd make a last-minute switch. Sure enough, a second later he darted across three lanes, clipping the back of a minivan and mounting the curb to make it onto the on-ramp.

  "Idiot," Cass grunted as I followed with ease, having already positioned myself in the correct lane in anticipation.

  "How good of a shot are you, Saint?" I asked with grim determination as I matched pace with the black car. Luckily, traffic was light on this road and no chance of crashing into innocent bystanders.

  Cass huffed a sound. "Don't insult me, Red."

  I mentally rolled my eyes, a touch of amusement breaking through my cold determination. "Well then, what the fuck are you waiting for? Shoot out his tires."

  "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, and I flicked him a quick look. Was he...? No. Surely not. This was not the time for flirting. Must have been my imagination.

  Shaking it off, I switched lanes and accelerated harder to bring us as close to our target vehicle as I could get without endangering us when he spun out. Cass rolled his window down and pulled his gun.

  Before he could shoot, though, I spat a curse and pressed my foot on the brakes, letting the black car pull away.

  "Red, what—" Cass started to protest, then saw what I saw. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

  I seethed but maintained a safer speed as we passed three school buses full of elementary-aged children. Must have been a field trip, and I sure as fuck wasn't tempting karma any more by deliberately shooting at a speeding vehicle right behind them.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck it all to fucking hell," I whispered as I glanced in my mirror to make sure all three buses were safely behind me before hitting the gas again. "Where is he?"

  Cass took a second to reply, his dark eyes searching the road ahead of us before shaking his head. "Take this exit," he told me.

  "You sure?" I glanced at him, needing to make the decision in less than a second.

  "No." He looked back at me, his brow furrowed.

  Fuck it. I jerked the steering wheel sharply, flying down the off-ramp at about four times the legal speed. The sharp turn at the base of the ramp saw our car skid out slightly, but I was able to regain control easily while frantically searching the road ahead for any sign of that blacked-out car.

  "There!" Cass barked, pointing to the grass shoulder. I slowed down to see what he'd found, and sure enough, right where the grass met the road, there were tire tracks.

  A surge of satisfaction ran through me, and I gave a grim smile. "Found you, sneaky fuck."

  We followed the tracks into the forest by the side of the road but didn't need to go far to find what we were looking for. Only about fifty yards in, there was the black car with its front end crumpled against a tree and the engine smoking.

  I barely even remembered to put the car in park before leaping out. Cass beat me over to the smoking vehicle, though, his gun out and ready as he approached the driver's side. My own gun was already in my hand, and I had no recollection of even pulling it. Muscle memory.

  "Shit," Cass spat as he peered inside. A second later he lowered his weapon and reached for the door handle. I didn't question him as he yanked it open, because he immediately stepped aside to let me see.

  Our driver was still inside, but he was very much dead. Blood and chunks of brain decorated the interior of the car, and when I nudged his lolling head back, a bullet wound decorated his forehead. The front windscreen of his car was totally smashed in and the hood totally crumpled.

  "You'd got to be fucking kidding me," I hissed. A cursory glance around didn't reveal a gun that he might have used, which either meant it'd fallen between the seats... or that someone else had shot him and gotten away.

  I let out a string of creative curses, then spotted a folded piece of paper in the dead man's hand. "For the love of fuck," I breathed, eyeing the paper with distaste. I had to see what was on it, though. Had to.

  Cringing, I put my gun away, then tugged the paper free of the driver's dead fingers and unfolded it.

  I scanned the message scrawled there, already half-anticipating what it might say and unsurprised when I was right.

  "What is it?" Cass rumbled, his gun still drawn and his shoulders bunched with tension.

  I gave a small sigh, then read it aloud. "Sorry I scratched your car, Darling. Still love me?" I folded the paper again and tucked it into my back pocket. "Let's go. This was a setup; he's just playing with me."

  Cass blinked at me like he was trying to understand that note. "Chase Lockhart?"

  I jerked a nod, already stalking back over to Zed's car. He followed, sliding back into the passenger seat and buckling his seat belt as I backed out of the trees once more and headed back toward town.

  "Are you going to tell me the whole story, or are we still playing this secret-keeping game?" Cass demanded after a few minutes of tense silence.

  My first instinct was to tell him to shut the fuck up and kick his ass out of the car. But then a heartbeat later, I desperately wanted to tell him everything. Would it really be so bad to let him in? So far, only Zed knew what had really happened the night I took over the Timberwolves. Only Zed... and Chase.

  Fucking hell. Chase had just destroyed my entire apartment building with dozens of innocent lives inside. He'd just killed... all those people and laid the weight of guilt squarely across my shoulders.

  I tried to speak to answer Cass, but all that came out was a panicked sort of gasp. Shit. Shit. My grip on the steering wheel tightened to try and hide the tremors in my hands, but I wasn't fooling Cass for even a second.

  "Pull over," he ordered, and I did. That, in itself, spoke to my level of shock.

  Cass climbed out of the car, circled around the hood, then popped my door open. He even reached over and unbuckled my seat belt, then jerked his head to the seat he'd just vacated. "Shift over, I'm driving."

  The desire to kick back rose up on instinct, but I had to admit how stupid I would be to continue driving in my state. My heart was racing so hard it physically hurt, and my entire body felt like a live wire. So I bit back my stubborn refusal and climbed o
ver into the passenger seat.

  Cass didn't comment on my easy acceptance, either, which helped. He just got in and buckled my seat belt—which apparently I'd forgotten to do again—and his own.

  "Where are we going?" I asked in a hollow voice as he turned us back onto the road.

  He glanced over at me, those dark eyes of his all kinds of intense and thoughtful. "My place," he rumbled and didn't elaborate any more than that.

  12

  "What are we doing here?" I finally asked after Cass closed and locked the door to his apartment behind us. His place was exactly what I'd pictured it might be: a small, one-bedroom, minimalist-style unit with exactly zero personality anywhere in sight. Like he’d never really moved in.

  Cass didn't answer, just tossed his jacket over a chair, then went to his fridge. He pulled out two bottles of beer and tossed one to me.

  "Sit down, Red," he told me, nodding to the couch, which looked brand new. Did he never spend any time here? Or just never have company?

  With a sigh, I crossed over to the couch and twisted the top off my beer to take a sip. It wasn't even noon, but who gave a fuck? I needed something to settle my nerves and regain my calm.

  Cass dropped down on the sofa beside me and lounged in that typical tall-guy sort of way, all sprawling legs and arms. Hot as hell when Cass did it, not so much with it was some random dude in a public space.

  Ignoring him, I set my beer down on the table, then shrugged out of my leather jacket. It was cute with my outfit and functional, as it stored spare clips for my gun and a couple of knives, but not amazingly comfortable.

  The garment thudded heavily when I tossed it onto the coffee table, and Cass quirked a brow at me in question.

  "Like you don't carry spare weapons in yours," I muttered, picking my beer up once more. I still had my Desert Eagle strapped under my arm, but I wasn't exactly here for a pool party. It could stay put.

  Cass just scoffed and tipped his beer back. Damn, he made that look sexy.

  "Why are we here, Saint?" I asked again. "Because this is probably not the best time to hang out and get stoned."