I don’t hear his response because my wife steps out onto the landing. I’m at least eighteen feet away, a full story below her, but I feel like she whacked me with a two by four. A silver dress hugs her baby bump. When she takes a step down the stairs, a high slit shows off her gorgeous legs.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I mutter.
“What does that mean?” Helen asks behind me.
Harper answers, “It means your father respect your mother’s mind above all else, that he considers her an equal, and he doesn’t only look at her as a symbol of sex and fertility.”
“Cool,” Helen says.
I’m halfway up the stairs to greet her so I can growl against her neck. “What the fuck are you wearing? Do you want me to rip your dress off in front of everyone?”
Avery lets out a giggle. She doesn’t always giggle. Only when she’s pregnant, I’ve found. She pats me on the chest and she passes me on the stairs. “Come on. We’ll be late.”
My growl of frustration makes Christopher snort. “Have fun, kids.”
When we get into the back of the limo, Avery snuggles up against me, her wool winter coat exterior a contrast to her warm, pliable body. I press my face into her curls and breathe deep. Snowflakes and cold air and the sweet scent of her.
I shift in the warm leather seats, trying to ease the ache. But there’s no way this club is going to fit into my slacks comfortably. “This is going to be the longest drive in eternity.”
“We could do something to pass the time,” she says, her voice hopeful.
“Not if you want that dress to be in one piece during dinner.”
She does that giggle again, a sweet, breathless sound. It’s almost childlike in its wonder, but that doesn’t stop me from holding her body close—all woman—and panting after her on our way into the city. Snow pelts the darkened window and creates a blanket around us. We exist in our own universe for the space of forty three minutes, safe from the cold.
Tanglewood is flush with restaurants appropriate to a high-end business double date, from the established steakhouses to the sleek farm-to-table upstarts. Tonight we’re at Nigiri, an upscale Japanese restaurant with fresh sushi, incredible hot pots, and some of the best Wagyu beef in the country. Avery’s cravings range from milk tea ice cream to warm sesame buns. When I told her we were going here this morning, she started moaning over the umami in their brown butter mushroom nigiri. Our second child definitely has a preference for Asian food.
Luther Hades and his young wife are already seated when we arrive. They stand as the waitress shows us to the table.
She gives us a shy smile and holds out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Avery embraces her in a warm hug. “Sorry,” she says, laughing, breathless. “Sorry. It’s a pregnant woman’s prerogative. I have to hug everyone now.”
Persephone doesn’t seem to mind. “I love it. When are you due?”
Normally I’m happy to listen to Avery gush about Helen and our yet-to-be-named second child, but I notice something interesting. There’s a bruise on the side of Hades’ face that wasn’t there yesterday afternoon. We pull out chairs for the women, but before we sit down I take him aside.
A raise of my eyebrows is the only question required.
“Business,” he says, clearly reluctant to say more.
I cock my head. Everything I’ve heard about Luther Hades says he’s fierce but fair. I haven’t heard any whispers about him being a crime lord, but I won’t have my wife’s chess board tainted with blood diamonds. I also won’t have her sitting down with a man who’s dangerous to her. “You have anything more to share?”
He sighs. “There were children, being put to work. Abused. Now they’re not.”
My eyes narrow. “In Tanglewood?”
He gives me a cold smile. “Things like that happen in every large city. Abuse. Neglect. Exploitation. Did you think yours was exempt?”
“No, but I’m surprised you handled it yourself. You could have told me.”
“They were passing off the diamonds as coming from my mine.”
“Ah.”
“And....” He glances toward his wife. “She convinced me to care.”
I give a curt nod. “Wives have a way of doing that.”
We take our seats beside the women as a waitress comes around to take drink orders. Avery orders a sparkling water, and the rest of us choose non-alcoholic out of respect for her. We choose avocado sushi and grilled edamame as the appetizers.
There’s a pleasant hum of conversation in the restaurant. Low drum-like panels hang from the ceiling create a cozy atmosphere. There’s more action near the bar where chefs create elaborate sushi displays, but we’re nestled toward the back, with a screen separating us from most of the diners. The women chatter about the sights that Persephone wants to see while she’s in Tanglewood. The Tanglewood Library, for one thing. The Grand Theater.
She glances at Hades. “I’ve heard about this incredible mural artist who has work on the sides of buildings throughout the west side. There’s a walking tour tomorrow, but Hades says it’s not a safe area of town.”
“He’s right, unfortunately,” Avery says with a sympathetic smile. “That’s partly why Harper focuses her work there. So that the children who grow up in those city blocks will see her work and know that someone cared about them.”
“Wait, do you know her?”
Avery’s cheeks turn pink. “She’s my best friend. Oh my god, how long are you going to be in town? There’s a private showing of her new work at the Den on Saturday night.”
The crash of a wine glass comes first. It might have meant nothing—a drunk customer or a tired waitress. Every hair on the back of my neck rises. It might mean nothing, but it doesn’t. Something is happening. My instincts go on high alert.
Hades is already half out of his seat when the blast happens. I throw myself on top of Avery, crushing her against the concrete floor, trying to shield every inch of her body. The shots come through too fast to count. A glass splinters into pieces on the table. A plate falls to the floor. The paper screen rips down the middle.
Silence falls over the restaurant. There’s a beat of stillness before everything erupts into frenzy. People scramble toward the door, screaming. Waitresses are crying. Cooks are shouting. There’s a distant wail of a police siren.
Hades’ dark gaze meets mine. There is no blue left in his eyes. His expression is furious.
I’m still covering Avery, not letting her up in case the shooters come back around. “Were they after you? Who the fuck did you piss off?”
“Maybe,” he says with a hard shake of his head. “I thought I finished them, but maybe someone got away. I need Persephone somewhere safe. The hotel won’t be enough.”
“My house. It’s got the best alarm system that money can’t buy.” As if to prove my point, my driver comes running through the melee. He’s more than a driver. He’s a bodyguard. I don’t take any chances with my family. “We can escort the women home.”
“Good,” he says with a curt nod. His nostrils flare. “And then we hunt.”
* * *
Hades
“It was the Russians.” Gabriel Miller slips his phone back into his pocket and returns his hand to the steering wheel. He swings a hard right turn, then a left.
“And you have that on good authority?” I don’t like relying on other people for anything, but this isn’t my city. I don’t have the best information.
“I have it on Damon Scott’s authority.”
“A friend of yours?”
“You could call him that. If something happens in the dark side of Tanglewood, he knows about it. And he found out who shot up the restaurant within minutes of it happening.”
Fine. I’ll take his word for it. It’s completely unsurprising that agents from Russia would have been involved. My brother Zeus, who usually works the hardest to fuck with me, has finally been usurped by foreign operatives. He won’t be pleased about losing
his title.
“Do you always bring your dog on hunting expeditions?” Gabriel’s tone is light but his hands are tense on the wheel. He didn’t protest when we stopped to pick up Conor from the hotel. Just as well for him.
“All of them.” Of course I do.
Conor goes with me everywhere, unless he’s guarding Persephone. The pain in my head is still dull, but insistent enough that convincing Conor to stay behind would be a near-impossible task.
I won’t be telling any of this to Gabriel.
“We’re here,” he says.
Here turns out to be a warehouse on the edge of the city. A single lightbulb casts a yellow glow down the side of the building. “Are they desperate for cash?”
“They must be, if they came after you.”
Now I’m the one coming after them. What an incredible twist of fate.
We find a side entrance to the warehouse. The lock is flimsy enough to break with my hands, so I do. My teeth are on edge. All of me is on edge. Conor knows it, too.
He swallows growl after growl and hangs close.
There could be any number of people inside. They’ll all pay. My anger has cooled to a frozen thirst for revenge. They endangered Persephone.
Inside the building it’s dark. Gloomy.
Empty.
Conor tenses by my side. Empty except for the back office. Light leaks around the doorframe. Gabriel looks at me, a question in his eyes.
The answer is to finish this. That’s the only answer.
I expect them to be ready.
They’re not ready.
The back room explodes in shouts and panic and the trained Russians aren’t so very trained after all. They don’t know what to do when faced with someone like me, and someone like Gabriel. They haven’t left themselves with an exit. They haven’t left themselves with anything except guns, and they’re not fast enough for those.
One goes down with the butt of his pistol imprinted on his forehead.
Another crumples under a broken arm. I can’t see what Gabriel is doing until he’s finished, two men in a heap in the corner. He rubs his hands together, the movement as perfunctory as a head chef finishing dinner service.
There’s only one left.
He’s the ringleader—that much is clear from his glare. He sent the rest of his buddies out to meet us and backed up into a corner. Conor has him trapped, hackles raised, teeth bared. One word from me and the man’s throat will be a memory.
“Conor,” I say.
My dog backs up, eyes still tracking our prey. A wary relief skates across the creature’s gaze. I haven’t spared him. He doesn’t know that yet.
Gabriel and I do not have to speak to finalize our plan.
He goes in first. The last Russian waits as long as he can, then tries to bolt. It’s useless. Gabriel has his arms pinned. The man is larger than Gabriel, but clearly less skilled. His thick legs flail uselessly. He howls in Russian, but he’s pinned by Gabriel’s knee.
And I have a waiting fist.
The blow snaps his head back and he drops.
“Nice,” says Gabriel.
“Yes, well.” I straighten my jacket. “It’s fucking rude to interrupt dinner.”
Chapter 4
Hades
I can feel Persephone waiting for me.
The house is quiet.
Gabriel points me toward a guest room and starts to head toward another wing of the house.
“Those diamonds,” I say, halting his step. “I’m going to charge you an arm and a leg.”
He turns back with a small smile. “Perfect.”
It’s definitely the most unconventional deal I’ve ever made. I never planned to sell the diamonds in my private collection. They’re too perfect, but at least I know Gabriel Miller will appreciate them. And he helped protect Persephone. That’s worth its weight in diamonds.
I give him a nod and head toward the room where my wife waits. My heart is still beating fast from the confrontation. I’m surprised she doesn’t follow the sound out into the hall. Conor pads along beside me until I pat his head and tell him to wait. Not all night. Just for now.
This time, I’m the one who opens the door.
Persephone is sitting on the side of the bed.
She lifts her head. How many times does she watch me enter a room every day? It still stops my heart dead to see it. Her eyebrows rise, lips parting, color rushing to her cheeks. She is possibly the only person on earth who has never tired of me.
I stop her before she can scramble off the bed, lay her back, and kiss her. She tastes fresh and clean, like springtime.
And Persephone, my little queen, is distracted.
I take her chin in my hand and tip her face toward mine. She doesn’t stop moving her hands. Over the buttons of my jacket, my shirt collar—everywhere. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to take your clothes off.”
Her voice is edged in fear. Not the delicious kind. I catch both of her wrists in one hand and pin them over her head. “No need to beg.”
“There is a need.” She twists and fights in my grasp, which only makes me want her more. It only makes my entire body bend toward the arc of fucking her. “I was worried. I was so worried. You could have been hurt. You could have been stabbed. You’ve been stabbed before. I saw it. And, you know, knives can kill people. They—”
I close and kiss her cheek. It’s the matching place to my own bruised face. “Why are you still worried about me? You of all people know I’m practically a god.”
The worry melts from her eyes. A small nod. “I know.”
Now we’re both equally motivated to get rid of my clothes, and hers. Hers come first, then mine, and Persephone stops me at the side of the bed, her fingertips on my chest.
She looks at me for a long time.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
Her huge, silver eyes meet mine. “I just wanted to be sure.”
A hand on her throat silences her. No pressure. Just a reminder of the consequences of falling for a man like me. Persephone shivers, her pink nipples peaking. She lifts two hands to circle my wrist while I work us both onto the bed. Her hips have already started rocking when she tips her face up to mine for a kiss that burns us both.
A more patient man would take his time with her.
I’m on fire with impatience. With the closeness of her. The heat of her. Even that silver fear in her eyes. I want to fuck it right out of her, and then some.
I don’t feel fear, as a rule. Persephone is one of a very few exceptions.
But not right now.
Now she spreads her legs for me and welcomes me in, every thick, vicious inch of me. She makes a noise in the back of her throat that makes me brace one hand against the headboard and take her harder. The flutters and clenches of her muscles tell me this is a struggle, at least at first, and there’s nothing Persephone likes so much a struggle.
She likes it with such intensity that it borders on obsession, my filthy queen. Persephone moves my hand over her own mouth to quiet her whimpers and moans, but I don’t give it to her right away. No, no. I give myself room to put my fingers between her legs—all sweet and wet—then gag her with those same fingers. The slick heat of her tongue alternates with pressure from sharp teeth.
“It must be hard to be such a good girl,” I say, low into her ear. “You love when other people listen in.”
She shakes her head to deny it, but the rest of her body exposes her for the liar she is. One of her favorite games.
I slow my pace enough to play one of mine.
It’s nothing to move her into the perfect position for more contact on her clit. She’ll have to focus if she wants to come this way, because I can’t stop. I can’t slow down again. She’s too tight, too wet, too made for me. There’s no resisting the pull of her.
She squeezes her eyes shut tight and I feel it starting—the rhythmic grip and release of her imminent orgasm. At the very last second she wrestles my hand away fr
om her mouth and bucks her body against mine, fighting it even while she goes down.
All the way down.
And then all the way up, sucking in a breath and coming so hard that it takes me over with her.
She shudders out the last of her release, hands still pushing at me so that I’ll push back. It’s as if she can only be convinced through pleasure and pain that I’ve lived to see another day.
Persephone curls against me when it’s finished, one hand reaching blindly for the light.
It’s only when we’re in darkness that the last of the pain ebbs away from my head. I let out a long breath without meaning to.
Her fingertips on my forehead trace the outline of where it hurt before. Now there’s nothing but pleasure.
Persephone’s voice in the darkness is already heavy with sleep. “You’re okay?”
“Now I am.”
An indignant little noise. I think she might argue with me, but instead she inches closer, body languid.
Quiet comes in. My mind wanders. I prefer to sleep only in places I own, as a rule. But I would stay anywhere for Persephone.
Wives will do that to you.
I get up to let Conor in. He’ll sleep next to the bed, the way he usually does. Alert for anything.
Persephone catches my wrist before I can take a step. “Are you coming back?” she murmurs, half-awake.
“Always,” I tell her. It’s the rule.
* * *
Thank you for reading! 100% of the profits from this anthology will be given to the Live A Thousand Lives charity.
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