by Katie May
“It’s fine,” I dismiss immediately. The last thing I want to do is discuss what had transpired those many weeks earlier with first the car bomb and then the shooter.
I’m safe, and that’s all that matters.
“Em…”
“I actually have a shift scheduled in… Shit! I have to be there in thirty minutes.” Cursing, I race around Avery, pause, and then turn back and kiss him once more on the cheek. “Thanks for being such an amazing friend.”
A delicate blush erupts on his cheeks, darkening the already tan skin.
Once in my bedroom, I grab my work clothes—a skimpy black skirt and skin-tight tank top—before hurrying towards the bathroom. I take a quick shower before dressing and brushing my black hair into a ponytail. The owner, Georgie, demands that all of his staff wear less clothing than most strippers. It’s demeaning and sexist, but it does provide us significantly better tips.
I made a choice late last night when I was huddled beneath my mound of blankets, cursing the world and everyone in it. I won’t let fear dictate my life anymore. I refuse to bow down to its oppressive whims. It made me a prisoner, and I can’t have that. You can either let fear control you, or you can let it strengthen you. I choose the latter. This isn’t to say that I’m not afraid anymore—I most definitely am—but I’m not going to stop living because of what happened. An innate voice inside of me, a voice I can’t place, demands that I keep my chin up and head held high.
You can do this, Emily. You can do this.
I’m fortunate that Georgie’s Bar is only a few blocks away from my apartment. Most days, I love walking to work, feeling the blistering rays of the sun warming my face and the wind rustling my hair. Today, however, I’m thrumming with unrestrained energy. I can’t help but glance anxiously at every person who passes me.
Are they here to hurt me?
Kill me?
My paranoia reaches towering heights as I finally make out the silhouette of the sleazy dive bar. I quicken my pace, heart thundering, as I once again feel a familiar pair of eyes caress my back. Still, I don’t slow down until I’m in the kitchen, shoving my bag in one of the many lockers lining the wall.
At this early hour, the bar isn’t open yet, so we serve the breakfast crowd. Though the tips are better when I’m dealing with a bunch of drunk, horny, rowdy males, I love the men and women who come in the morning. Most of them are old enough to be my grandparents and actually treat me with respect.
With a sigh of relief, I tie my apron on and prepare myself for a long, seven-hour shift.
I LEAVE JUST when the bar begins to get busy, each table crowded with raucous, loud college students and nine-to-five workers. Waving goodbye to the cook, Tommy, and the waitress replacing me, Hanna, I hurry outside.
The sky is just turning a shade of metallic violet, ribbons of pink and green dotting the canvas overhead. Fortunately, the morning shift doesn’t end in the middle of the night, forcing me to walk home with only the moonlight as guidance. Thank fuck. My already frayed nerves might explode if that was the case.
I’ve only taken one step—one fucking step—when rough hands grab my shoulders and wrench me backwards. With a startled scream, my arms windmill forward in a desperate attempt to stay upright. When an arm clasps around my waist, pulling me firmly against a muscled body, I do the only thing I can think of—headbutt the fucker as hard as I can.
He roars with pain, but he does what I expect, instantly loosening his grip. With him distracted, I’m able to wiggle free of his embrace, spinning on my heel with my arms raised protectively.
I have just a moment to see a scarily tall man with broad shoulders and a ski mask obscuring his features from view. Before he can lunge for me again, I throw my leg back and kick him as hard as I can in the crowned jewels. Well, now the crushed jewels.
He immediately cups himself, a low growl emitting from his chest, and drops to his knees. I don’t give him the chance to get back up; instead, I knee him as hard as I can in the face, smirking in satisfaction when his nose cracks. At least, I’m assuming it's his nose. I wouldn’t complain if it happened to be his eyeball exploding or whatever.
“Fuck you!” I hiss, stomping on his leg. “Fuck you all!”
Not wanting to prolong this moment, I race down the alley, my heart juddering in my chest.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.
Maybe it’s finally time to get the cops involved.
Someone’s after me. And I don’t think they’ll stop until I’m dead.
CHAPTER 7
My feet pound against the asphalt as I race home. A few people cast me annoyed looks as I shove them out of my way, but I pay them no mind. I need to get home. Now.
I feel sick to my stomach, the contents percolating and threatening to come up at any fucking second. My skin is clammy as I squeeze my eyelids shut to ward off the haunting images.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
Why is that macabre sentence beginning to sound normal? Is that the direction my life is heading?
My breaths saw in and out as I hurry across the road.
Someone tried to kill me
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
A-fucking-gain.
I hope that asshole is still lying on the ground in agony. I hope he’s never able to procreate ever again. Besides, what lady would ever love a stone-cold killer like him? He’s probably not able to get laid to save his fucking life.
That internal rant makes me feel slightly better.
Up ahead, the sky continues to darken as a beautiful moon illuminates the sky. It appears to be…red, almost as if the sky is weeping blood. Darker splotches of garnet are intermixed with the lighter shade.
It’s beautiful. Eerie, almost. Malevolent. Something about the moon makes me pause, tilting my head towards the sky and squeezing my eyelids shut. I can almost physically feel the moonbeams on my face, as pronounced as sunrays. It’s an intoxicating sensation, power seeping through my skin and setting me aflame.
And then, pain.
It explodes throughout my body like errant fireworks. When one stops, another begins, until I’m practically drowning in it. It feels as if someone has twisted my insides into dozens of intricate knots. My skin is dancing like fire ants are racing to and fro. I scratch at my arms desperately, attempting to dispel the pain radiating down the sensitive limbs. My skin feels too hot, too heated, as if someone has doused me in gasoline and then lit a match. Am I on fire? Did the mysterious bomber come back and finally kill me?
Pain.
So. Much. Pain.
Darkness closes in on me, and I don’t even bother trying to resist it. Instead, I accept it graciously as I surrender, losing myself to wave after wave of endless night.
“ARE you assholes going to give me an orgasm, or just sit there measuring dicks all night?” I drawl sarcastically as I lean back in my high-backed chair. Or as I like to call it, my throne.
Desmond lifts a dark brow as he runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair.
“The only person who’s allowed near my dick with a measuring tape is you, Em,” he says immediately, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“You just wish my hands would touch your cock,” Avery counters immediately. His blond hair is brushed away from his forehead this morning, and his golden chest is on display. As well as his golden cock, already hard and dripping with pre-cum.
“Fuck all of you,” Tate quips, flashing them his middle finger. “We all know my cock is bigger.” The last words are said in a grumble. Tate tries to act like the moodiest bastard around, but that’s just a front. He’s actually a pretty big sweetheart…when he’s not trying to kill you.
Though he tries to kill me a lot, actually. It’s our kink.
Helio snorts a laugh from where he stands in the corner of my throne room. He only wears a pair of gray sweatpants, currently
riding low on his hips. He’s the biggest of my men, with pitch-black hair and a scruffy beard. Tattoos line his arms and upper chest, somehow emphasizing his bad boy appearance.
“Someone please put their dick in me,” I beg, extending my legs so they can see how wet I already am. How needy. “Or two. Or three. I’m not picky.”
Desmond chuckles, and Avery rolls his eyes indulgently. Helio just stares at me with eyes so dark, they could be portals to hell themselves.
“Where the fuck is Arsin?” I ask at last, unable to find the God of Flames and my fifth lover.
As one, the rest of the men turn towards the ceiling where, lo and behold, my eccentric lover perches on a sex swing twenty feet above the ground. He cackles when he meets my eyes, lowering himself onto his stomach so his cock is clearly visible. When he begins to rock his body in an attempt to swing, his cock bobs, and I can’t help but lick my lips with the intense, uncontrollable desire to taste him.
“Fucking crazy asshole,” Tate murmurs under his breath, rolling his eyes to the heavens. Which is ironic, considering we’re currently residing in it.
“Hurry up and make love to me. Before Rebecca returns,” I plead, flicking my gaze towards the door to the throne room. My best friend—and the Goddess of Organization, no joke—is attempting to find a color-coordinated planner. And no, I’m not making that up. At this point, I just let her go crazy, knowing that the hour she’s away is precious time I can spend with my mates.
If, of course, they stop being dicks and give me dicks. I have three holes and two hands; they’re more than welcome to choose any of them.
With a chuckle, Desmond grabs me first and begins to kiss me passionately before pulling away. Avery doesn’t waste any time before sticking his tongue in my aching slit. Helio moves to one side of me to play with my breasts while Tate—greedy bastard—dangles his cock just above my parted lips. I have no idea where Arsin went—probably lurking in the corner, jacking off—but I don’t care.
I have my men by my side, loving me and cherishing me, and nothing can ruin the bliss surging through me. Absolutely nothing.
I’m the Goddess of Pain, and I’m the happiest bitch alive.
CHAPTER 8
I wake with my head pounding and my eyes swollen from tears.
Groaning, I blink drowsily until I’m able to orient myself with my surroundings. Where am I?
Wait.
Awareness rushes through me, causing me to bolt upright.
I’m the Goddess of Pain.
That declaration sits heavily in my stomach, tangling with the already tight knots present. The onslaught of memories leave me shaky and dizzy. When I squeeze my eyelids shut, memories assault me, pounding against my defenses.
I MEET DESMOND FIRST.
My eyes are automatically drawn to the tall, arresting man currently sparring in the field behind my palace. Every god and goddess has a castle that rivals those on Earth. Mine happens to perch on a magnificent mountainside, overlooking the manicured fields in every direction.
I’ve heard rumors that the God of Combat has come to visit me, but I haven’t seen the man myself.
Now, I can’t help but watch, utterly enthralled as he fights off ten of my best warriors. He’s grace personified, each movement like liquid as he swipes and ducks and kicks. He moves like a dancer, a sexy, elegant dancer.
Would he be as agile in the bedroom?
As if he can feel my eyes on him, he tilts his head up, slanting a beatific smile in my direction. The two suns illuminate the sweat coating his bare chest and his wildly tangled hair.
“It’s rude to stare, princess,” he calls, cupping his mouth with his hands. I smirk as I lean indolently on the railing, five stories above the clearing. I have to admit, I look damn good.
The cream-colored dress conforms to my body, cascading around my legs like silk. Golden bands adorn both my wrists, clamoring up to my inner elbows. It’s loose enough to allow me easy movement in case of an attack. My thick black hair is braided over my shoulder, coming to my waist.
I look… Well, I look like a fucking goddess.
Humans? They have it wrong. There are thousands of variations of gods and goddesses scattered throughout the universe. Some are well-known, like the Greek and Egyptian gods. Others are known only to a select few.
We don’t have an official name. We just…exist.
The God of Combat smiles up at me, eyes wicked and slightly devilish. I can’t help but notice how sexy he looks, with his shaggy dark hair, light scruff on his chin, and molten brown eyes.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we might have a problem,” Desmond continues. When one of my soldiers lunges at him, Desmond easily sidesteps him before punching the man directly in the nose. Through it all, he doesn’t take his eyes off of mine.
“And that’ll be a problem, why?” I question. How much more obvious can I be? At this point, I should just place a big arrow in front of me that points directly to my vagina.
“I’m pretty rough, princess. Sure you can handle me?” He ducks easily as two more men charge at him, one from either side. Honesty, it’s getting embarrassing. These are the men I trained to be in my army?
“I’m the Goddess of Pain,” I reply lazily, flashing him a smile that embodies pure sin. “I think it’s you who won’t be able to handle me.”
HELIO IS MY SECOND LOVER.
As the God of Karma, I employed him early on to be my judge, jury, and executioner. Rumor has it that he can see into someone’s soul, see the darkness that a person wishes to remain hidden. Everyone is tainted, though some more so than others. It’s a stain on your heart that you can never wash clean, no matter how hard you try.
Helio enacts vengeance when that darkness surpasses the light.
He’s significantly larger than Desmond, and that’s saying something. Muscle upon muscle line his arms and chest, which are usually bare. Dark, tribal tattoos climb up his arms and spread across his chest. His black hair is currently styled into a faux-hawk, and his beard is in desperate need of a shave. Everything about him screams rugged sexiness, and I am so here for it.
I wrench my gaze away from my trusted warrior and focus on our prisoner.
The man on the ground begins to whimper, fat tears cascading down his chubby cheeks, as I glare at him from my throne.
“You dare to steal from me?” I whisper harshly, body thrumming with rage. I can be a lenient goddess…or I can be a complete and utter bitch. There is no in between. My hands itch to inflict unspeakable pain on the man who dared try to take what is mine.
I ignore the man’s pleas, turning instead to face Helio.
“Verdict?” I query, lifting a brow. His face, shadowed in darkness, pinches as he concentrates. His lashes flutter close, and his lips part. My eyes automatically flicker to them—the plush lower lip and thin top one.
Desmond, perched on the throne beside me, waggles his eyebrows suggestively as he nudges my stomach. We’ve been together for over two centuries, and every day, I fall more desperately in love with him. It feels wrong to look at another man the way I’m looking at Helio. I know I would stab Desmond if he dared to be with a woman other than me.
But something in my soul tells me that Helio is meant to be with me, with us. He’s meant to join this makeshift family we have created. The silent man was made to be mine.
“Guilty.” Helio’s gruff voice reverberates through me as he reopens his eyes, spearing me in place. I can’t help the manic smile that curls up my lips.
A guilty verdict means I get to play. And fuck, I love playing.
More than that, I love having sex with Desmond in the blood of my enemies.
But this time? It’s not just Desmond I make love with.
It’s Helio too.
AVERY IS the third god I fall in love with.
God of Death.
Even the name itself causes goosebumps to ripple up and down my arms.
I eagerly await his arrival in the extravagant dining
hall, the table set with plate after plate of his favorite dishes.
Helio sits on one side of me, as silent as always, while Desmond sits on the other, practically thrumming with energy.
Rebecca sits opposite me, poring over her pink journal.
“The chicken? Check. The live band? Check.” She taps her feathered pen to her lips in contemplation. Our world is a strange mix of new and old, modernistic and ancient. In the human world, we would be dressed as if we were from the fourteen hundreds, and there is no technology. Yet, we have pens and journals and modern literature. I’ve always been fascinated with Earth and the people on it, but I’d be the first to admit that I much prefer the simplicity of our home. There’s something beautiful in the mundane, something humans fail to replicate.
“Rebecca, I think we’re fine,” I say soothingly, and she flashes me a narrow-eyed glare.
“If we want this alliance to flourish, we need to impress him,” she states simply, huffing. Before I can even roll my eyes, she adds, “Unless you want Athena to scoop him up.”
My annoyance quickly transitions into anger. Athena is the bane of my existence. Not to be confused with the Greek goddess. This one couldn’t hold a sword if it would save her life, and she’s definitely not the Goddess of Wisdom.
No, our Athena? She’s the Goddess of Purity.
Real fucking ironic, considering she’s been with more guys in the last year than I have in the centuries I’ve been alive. Frankly, Athena is a bitch.
“So, we need to impress some fucking death god,” Desmond snorts, leaning languidly back in his chair. “Who the fuck cares? He’s probably a major prick.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” a charming voice says from the doorway. Instantly, we all freeze, turning towards the newcomer with bated breath.
The first word I can think of is golden. This man seems to be physically hewn from gold—gold hair, gold skin, and golden eyes that emphasize the harsh planes of his face. He flashes a boyish smile in my direction, and heat instantly flares in my stomach.
