Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection

by Stone, Measha

  Megara stood from the chair and faced him. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. You always do what’s best for the family, I know that. I just don’t understand is all. Why let Hercules intervene?”

  Christian waved her into his office, kissing his wife’s cheek as she passed him.

  “Jackson Olympus is not a force to be trifled with, you all know this.” Christian closed his office door and waited for his wife to be settled on the settee off to the right of his desk before continuing.

  Megara glanced at her two cousins, Henrietta’s older brothers. They stood against the wall, their hands folded in front of them, fierce frowns frozen on their lips. Anger still burned in their eyes. Christian may have gotten them to back down with their questions, but they remained just as furious.

  “This was done without Jackson Olympus’s knowledge,” Tristan, the older cousin, said, his tone firm.

  “Maybe so. But it was carried out by his son, and if Henrik Hercules takes action, you can bet all of our asses his father will back him up!”

  “She was our sister. Your niece. How can you let this go unanswered?” Marco’s tone held more of a plea for justice.

  Christian looked to his nephews, then to Megara. “It hasn’t gone unanswered,” he said, keeping his gaze locked with Megara. He sighed and rounded his oversized, hand-carved mahogany desk, taking refuge behind it. He eased himself into his leather chair and motioned for Megara to sit with him.

  Glancing once more at her cousins, she did as her father bade her. He seemed tired, beaten—not a look she was accustomed to seeing on him.

  “What does that mean?” Her stomach dropped at the sight of her mother’s consoling smile. Disappointment loomed.

  “I met with Jackson Olympus this morning.” Her father glanced quickly at his nephews. “As I said, he backs his son fully in this. I approached Henrik for help in settling the matter with the McKinnlys, and in doing so, I gave him authority to deal with the entire situation.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Marco announced.

  Christian held up his hand. “That is the way Jackson sees it. To create issue over this could mean consequences we don’t wish to face. He can bring us down with a snap of his fingers.” Christian snapped his own fingers to emphasize his point.

  “He also recognized Henrietta should have been dealt with by her family. His son was…” he screwed up his lips, “overzealous.”

  Megara kept her focus on her mother, waiting for that damn smile to slip, to give her more of an idea as to what was happening. Her father didn’t need her to know any of this. None of it had anything to do with her.

  “So, he has offered a reparation of sorts,” Christian said. “Megara.”

  She refocused her attention to her father, who gave her a weak smile. “You’ve finished your final year at school. You’re a grown woman now.” Pride filled his voice. She’d busted her ass to finish her degree in culinary arts while working with the most well-known chef in the area.

  Maria moved from her seat to stand behind her husband. She rested her hands on his shoulders. Christian reached up and took one hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her wrist.

  “It is my and Jackson’s wish that you marry Henrik.”

  Megara blinked, sure she’d misheard him. She looked up at her mother, a somber frown on her lips.

  “I’m sorry.” Megara inched up in her seat. “Did you say marry Henrik?”

  “Yes. It’s no small thing to be married into that family. It’s an honor—”

  “Henrik Hercules? The man who killed my cousin? You want me to marry him?” Megara bolted from her chair.

  “Megara.” Her name was spoken by her mother as a warning. Keep your temper in check and behave as a lady.

  “He has already taken one of our women, and now he wants another.” Tristan’s sour tone carried through the room.

  Megara shot him a glare. She was not one of their women to be sold or given. She was a person with goals and dreams—none of which included being involved with Henrik Hercules. He was a man nightmares were based on. Too strong for any mere man to beat in a fight. She heard Tristan talking about Henrietta’s death. He’d fucked her to death!

  “I won’t do it.” Megara straightened her back. “You can tell him thank you, but no thank you.” Naive maybe, but Megara had to try. She couldn’t just walk into such an agreement.

  “You don’t have a choice.” Christian leaned back in his chair. “It’s already done. The ceremony is to be completed before he and Hera leave for their summer abroad.”

  “He means in two weeks,” Marco filled in for her.

  “Two weeks?” Megara stumbled back a step. “I-I haven’t even met him, Father.” She hadn’t met the man face to face, but she’d heard enough rumors. The man was cursed with brutal strength but an empty chest. He killed without feeling. How was she to spend the rest of her life with someone without a heart?

  “We are to have dinner with them this evening,” Maria piped up, keeping her usual distance and firm voice. “We will be hosting.”

  “Hosting?” Megara grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself. Married.

  “There has to be something else. Less payment to the Network for a period of time?” Megara offered. Christian’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t supposed to know about the details of his business. She was just a woman—and business dealings were meant for men.

  “Henrietta’s death should be avenged, not profited from,” Tristan barked.

  “Your sister betrayed us. How do you not see that?” Maria asked with a hard tone. Tristan’s eyes lowered.

  “She did betray us, Aunt Maria. I don’t deny that. But she should have been dealt with by her own family.”

  “Henrietta was not martyred,” Christian said.

  “No. That job has fallen to me apparently,” Megara snapped.

  “Megara.” Her mother rounded the desk, stopping short of being able to touch her. “There isn’t anything to be done about it. Mr. Olympus has decided a marriage between the two families would mend any wounds caused by the overzealous actions of his son. To go against his wishes, to deny him, could bring ruin to our family.”

  There was the truth of the matter. Keep the family high on the chain, don’t let them fall down even one link. Henrietta didn’t hold her family close enough to her heart, and she ended up dead. Megara was smarter than that.

  “Megara,” her father urged, “meet him. It’s not a bad match. His father has more power than I could dream of. His fortune and properties will keep you living like a princess.”

  Pressing her nails deeper into her palms, Megara took a calming breath. There was more to life than riches and houses, but as a woman, she wasn’t expected to believe that. Raising her gaze to her mother’s, she recalled the lessons she’d been taught. Straight back, raised chin, never cause ripples in a smooth lake.

  “I’ll meet him,” she said, not promising more, though she harbored no hope of getting out of the dreaded arrangement. When Jackson Olympus made up his mind about how the pawns were to be played, there were no options other than jumping to his command.

  “Dinner will be at seven. I’ve already had several dresses brought up to your suite so you can choose. Let’s go try them on.” Maria linked her arm through Megara’s and led her from the room. “We’ll have to figure out what to do with your hair as well. I think maybe we can curl it.”

  Her mother continued making plans on Megara’s appearance while Megara looked back over her shoulder. Her father stood in the doorway of his office, his hand on the knob, a frown on his lips.

  She’d dreamed of owning a restaurant in the city. She’d dreamed of finding her own path in life. Her father had rooted for her every step of the way. He’d tasted more of her kitchen concoctions since she was a child than any father should have to endure. And he did it all because he wanted her to have everything she dreamed of—at least that was what he’d told her. He’d never promised she would have an independent future, but he let
her believe it was possible. And she’d been foolish enough to lose herself in the fantasy.

  With a shake of his head, he stepped back inside his office and closed the door.

  On his promises and her future.

  3

  Henrik downed the last of his whisky and handed the empty glass to the serving girl walking by with an empty tray. She smiled up at him through lowered lashes, a sweet blush tinting her cheeks.

  “Sir.” She dipped her knees and shifted his glass to the center of her tray.

  He watched her hips sway as she left the room. The standard black uniform skirt hugged her ass, accentuating every movement of her body as she left the living room.

  “A little less obvious leering, son,” Jackson, his father, said, hiding his chuckle in his own glass as he sipped his drink.

  “Of course. I don’t want to be rude to our hosts.” Henrik slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

  “You mean your future in-laws.” His father tipped his glass toward Henrik, a rueful smile playing on his lips. Light gray streaks ran through the usually thick dark beard his father sported. A silver ribbon ran through his hair at his temples as well.

  Henrik grunted, not taking the bait. They’d said all they were going to say on the subject of his nuptials to Creon’s daughter. It wasn’t as if he’d been drawn into a discussion on the matter to begin with. A simple dictate handed down from father to son.

  “It’s a solid match,” his father said again.

  Henrik rolled his shoulders. The jacket he wore gripped him too tightly. He needed to have a tailor come over to alter his clothing again.

  “I’m sure it is,” Henrik drawled. It made little matter to him. A wife held no meaning. He’d marry her, bed her, eventually breed her for heirs, but other than that, he would be free to do as he pleased. Having a wife would not affect his life.

  “It will make your mother happy,” Jackson said with a wave of his hand toward his own wife standing near the fireplace with Mrs. Creon.

  “Stepmother,” Henrik corrected out of habit. Hera’s gaze caught Henrik’s, and her smile slipped. Having to raise her husband’s lovechild had not left her with a warm heart toward Henrik.

  “She’s your mother, and she cares deeply about your future,” Jackson said firmly.

  Hera cared deeply about some things—Henrik was not one of them. But his father had spent too much energy making Hera content to see the distaste she held for Henrik.

  “Megara should be down directly,” Mrs. Creon announced in a sweet voice. Hera brought her gaze back to the woman she had been talking with.

  “It’s hard to believe how quickly they grow up, isn’t it?” Hera smiled, looking in the direction of Henrik, but not actually seeing him. “I only remember Megara as a little girl, playing with her dolls while we had tea.”

  Mrs. Creon’s brow wrinkled, but she quickly righted them. “Oh, yes. She loved playing with those dolls.”

  Henrik held his laugh to himself. If Megara ever sat on the floor of Hera’s tea room playing dolls, Henrik himself was to be crowned king of the sea.

  Henrik’s phone rang in his pocket, saving him from another moment of awkwardness. Jackson turned an annoyed glare on him.

  “Sorry. I’ll take this outside.” Henrik waved his phone between them and stepped out into the hallway.

  “Henrik, where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you!” Castor’s deep voice boomed through the cellphone.

  “I’ve been busy,” Henrik muttered, walking farther away from the drawing room toward the main staircase of the first floor.

  Lights twinkled from the chandelier in the grand entrance. He preferred less crystals than the house was decorated with. Mrs. Creon’s gracefulness showed through the decor with elegant artwork and statues taking up minimal space.

  “Doing what?” Castor asked. Every time he spoke, it sounded as though hell itself were burning a fire under his ass. Always in a hurry; always urgency in his tone.

  “Work,” Henrik snapped. “What do you want? Father is going to get on my ass if I’m not back in the other room soon.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re having dinner with the Creon family.”

  Castor’s laugh clawed at Henrik’s growing irritation. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You’re meeting your bride-to-be.”

  “You spoke to father?”

  “No. News travels fast, you know that. Especially when it’s about the great Jackson Olympus.”

  Castor hadn’t been north in over a year. He preferred the heat and seclusion his southern territory gave him.

  “Will you be coming home to celebrate my nuptials?” Henrik asked. A red rose petal had fallen from the flower. Henrik picked it up from the table, feeling the smooth petal between his fingers.

  “Will Hera be there?” Castor asked, his contempt for their stepmother unhidden.

  “Of course. Where father is, she is.”

  “Then nope.” Castor was lucky in that Hera hated the heat of the southern territory. He rarely had to endure her presence.

  “Thanks for the support, brother.” Henrik chuckled. “Did you actually need something?”

  “Yeah. I have a shipment that needs a place to dock for a few weeks. Under the radar,” Castor explained without explaining much at all. It was his way.

  “One of Father’s shipments, or Haden’s?” Castor worked more closely with their uncle than their father these days.

  “No. My own. I’ll have a man coming to collect in a few days, but until he can get there, I need to store it on your docks.”

  A quiet click sounded behind Henrik. The heel of a shoe touching the wooden stairs.

  “Good. It’ll dock in two days. Your men will protect the ship?” Castor continued while Henrik turned toward the sound.

  Silver heels attached to shapely legs, which brought him to the shapely body. His gaze continued upward, until he met the woman’s glare. Long, dark hair was swept up away from her face, only to cascade in thick curls down her back.

  “Henrik,” Castor snapped over the phone.

  “Yeah. That’s fine.” Henrik moved to the foot of the stairs. “Two days. I will take care of it.” Henrik clicked off the call as she stepped off the last step. “Megara, I assume?”

  She raised her chin. “Yes.” Her tongue touched her top lip. “Henrik, then?” Her voice didn’t match the darkness of her eyes. It was too soft, too giving, whereas her stare hardened the longer they stood looking at each other.

  The silver dress she wore hugged her hips before falling into a loose skirt that swayed around her legs. A long slit in the front gave him a peek at her shapely thighs. The low scoop of the neckline hinted at the generous swell of her breasts, accented perfectly by the shimmer of a diamond choker.

  “Everyone is in the drawing room,” Henrik said, letting his gaze travel over her once more. Surely, over the years, they had to have been in the same room, the same party or dinner— how had he not noticed her?

  “Dinner is ready. We should probably eat.” She started to walk around him, but he touched her arm, stilling her.

  “You just met your husband, and that’s all you have to say?” Henrik asked, trailing his fingertips down her arm before falling away from her silky-smooth skin.

  She turned a hot stare on him. “Was there something you wanted me to say? Perhaps bow? Cower before you?” She turned fully, straightening her spine. “That’s how you prefer women maybe? Scared and weak? Unable to defend themselves against your strength?”

  No doubt, she referred to her very dead cousin. Her treacherous cousin. Henrik squared off with her. It wouldn’t do to have his wife boldly question him in the future. But first, they would have to be married. His father would be more than displeased if Henrik didn’t fulfill his wishes.

  He stepped closer to her, inhaling the sweet scent of her subtle perfume. A single strand of hair clung to her cheek. With a single finger, he brushed it across her face and tucked i
t behind her ear. She stiffened beneath his touch.

  “Naughty girls are always punished, Megara,” he said quietly.

  Her lips twitched as thoughts no doubt filled her mind.

  “Megara.” Mrs. Creon invaded their conversation, a worried glance toward Henrik. “We’ve been waiting for you. I see you’ve met Henrik Hercules already.” Her voice was steady and firm, but Henrik could make out the warning in her tone.

  “Yes.” Megara took a step back, putting space between herself and Henrik. “Dinner is ready. We should go to the dining room.”

  Henrik watched her lips as she spoke. No lipstick, just a thin layer of gloss over her naturally pink lips. He still wanted it gone. All the makeup women painted their faces with covered up so much natural beauty. Although, he relished watching it run down their cheeks with their tears either from his belt or his cock.

  Mrs. Creon’s jaw tensed for a brief tick of time. “Your cousins haven’t arrived yet. I will check with the kitchen. As soon as they are here, we will be seated.” Mrs. Creon turned her attention to Henrik. “Maybe the two of you would like to take a stroll through the gardens before dinner? It’s a warm night.”

  Before Henrik could answer, the front door swung open, and in walked Tristan and Marco, Henrietta’s brothers, Megara’s cousins.

  Collectively, they stilled as their gazes landed on Henrik. Tension locked Henrik’s jaw. He’d killed their sister. There would be a reaction.

  “Tristan, Marco. Finally,” Mrs. Creon severed the growing tension and rushed to her nephews. “We’re just about to sit down for dinner. Come say hello to your Uncle and Mr. and Mrs. Olympus before we head to the dining room.” She swept them from the hallway and into the drawing room. Henrik kept his gaze on them until they disappeared.

  “They don’t like me,” Henrik remarked with a grin.

  Megara’s eyes narrowed. “You killed their sister,” she accused him, her tone hot.

  “I did.” He rolled his shoulders back. He wouldn’t deny it or pour honey over the fact. He’d done what had needed doing.