by Katee Robert
The man standing before me is a far sight from the skinny guy who used to look like a rough touch would shatter his bones. He looks good. His medium brown skin practically glows from health, and he’s let his black hair grow out over the years. It’s not tied back for once, falling to his shoulders in waves that gleam. He’s filled out over the years, growing into his body in a way I intrinsically recognize.
I’ve done the same thing, after all, albeit in a different way. I love my curves, love the fact that I get to choose my beautiful. If anyone has a problem with that, they can fuck right off. Hook has gone in a different direction. His body looks like a sculptor spent a decade lovingly carving out the definition of his muscles. I can’t see them now, not with him fully dressed in street clothes, but a person doesn’t spend much time in the Underworld without getting pretty comfortable with public nudity. Especially if they have an exhibitionist streak.
Hook sure as fuck does.
Not that I’ve noticed. I’ve spent too much time determined not to notice.
I plant my hands on my hips and glare. Anger is the only thing I have left, but fortunately for me, the depths of my rage remain unplumbed when it comes to the man watching me with that glint in his dark eyes. I have to do something, say something, because standing here staring at him sends waves after waves of feelings through me that I am not prepared to deal with. Not today. Not ever.
My soul hates Hook. My body hasn’t gotten the memo. But then, my desires always did get me into trouble. The difference is that now I know enough to tell the difference between lust and something as ill-advised as falling in love with the wrong person.
I shove the thought away. The past may lie in this room, thick enough to choke on, but I won’t be the one to bring it up. “You know, normal people can take a hint. If not a hint, then my explicitly telling you to fuck off more times than I can count in the last five years.”
“You wound me.” He presses both hands to his chest.
Against my better judgement, I follow the movement to where his white T-shirt hugs his defined pectoral muscles. I jerk my gaze back to his face. “Not as thoroughly as I’d like to.”
His grin is quick, a flash of white teeth against his neatly trimmed beard. It’s gone before I can fully register its impact, leaving him serious. “There’s trouble, Tink. Big trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do. If not about me, then about this.” He hesitates, a pause barely long enough to allow me to brace for what I know is coming. Sure enough, Hook pulls my deepest fears forth and puts them into words. “He’s making moves to take the territory back.”
I desperately don’t want to talk about this, to admit I know exactly who he’s talking about, but denial has never been my strong suit. If there’s one thing Hook and I share, and one thing only, it’s the boogeyman stuffed into our respective closets. The man who’s left scars on both our body and souls.
It’s still no excuse for Hook’s sins.
It’s no excuse for mine, either.
I look away. I have to. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“Really?” His dry tone cuts me directly to the bone. “You don’t think it’s the strangest coincidence that your contract with Hades is coming to a close and now is the time he’s stirring up a coup? You’re smarter than that.”
The urge to flop onto the bed between us and bury my head in the pillows almost takes me to my knees. I don’t want this. I don’t want the responsibility Hook seems determined to lay at my feet. I don’t want to be dragged kicking and screaming into the past I fought so hard to leave behind.
Apparently I didn’t fight hard enough. Or run far enough.
It’s cowardly to turn away, but I don’t care. “It’s not my problem.”
“I see,” he says slowly. “Are you saying that black eye you had not too long ago had nothing to do with Peter?”
I spin to face him. I didn’t mean to react, but no one was supposed to know about that. Either Meg had talked—unlikely—or Hook had been watching me more closely than I realized. “Stalker much?”
“Don’t do that.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” No one does. Not anymore. Yes, Hades technically owns my contract, and I may not like him even the smallest bit, but no one in the Underworld expects me to bow and flinch and keep my head down like the nearly-broken creature I was when I threw myself on Hades’s dubious mercy.
The people here let me find my feet. They gave me the space to figure out who I was and learn to make no apologies for it. The thought of what Hook is asking me …
Wait. What is he asking me?
I can’t do this. Reacting emotionally won’t accomplish anything. Easy enough to realize that. Much harder to stuff all my messy feelings deep down until I’m able to face him again. I’ve never mastered the icy thing the way some people have, but I still try. “You’re here for a reason.”
His dark gaze flicks over my face before he nods slowly. “I’m here for a reason.”
I wait. As difficult as it is to hold my questions, I force myself to do it. He came to me. He can be the one to break this stifling silence that stretches between us like taffy. Sticky and binding and horrible.
Finally, Hook curses. “There’s no easy way to say this.”
“Then say it the hard way.”
“I can give you what you need.”
I blink. If I’d allowed myself to anticipate his next words, those wouldn’t even have made the list. “What are you talking about?”
“Revenge. His head on a platter, literal or otherwise.” He doesn’t smile, doesn’t do anything to lessen the offer. “If you want him chained in a basement for four years while I personally deliver every single injury that he dealt out to you, I can do that, too.”
I can’t think. Can’t do anything but stare. “You’re drunk. That’s the only explanation for you spitting this madness at me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m simply offering you something that even Hades won’t.”
Surely he can’t know I asked Hades for more than sanctuary five years ago. I begged and pleaded and wept at his feet, desperate for him to remove the threat of Peter permanently. I know better now. Hades doesn’t act directly against any of the territory leaders. It’s the only way he’s able to keep his precious neutral ground. I can respect that now, but I still can’t forgive him for denying me the very thing Hook is offering now. There’s only one question that remains; the most important one. “Why?”
“Because it’s what we both want.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t even appear to breathe. “But I require your cooperation to make it happen.”
Here it is, the trap I sensed but couldn’t see. He offers me the one outcome I want more than anything in the world as bait and slips a shackle around my ankle at the same time. “No.”
“You may not have a choice.”
“Wrong. I always have a choice.”
Hook shrugs. He’s not as big as Gaeton, but his frame is roped with muscle. “He might hesitate to cross Hades, but you’re about to lose Hades’s protection. He’ll come for you. You know he will.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right. Peter will come for me, if not because I’m a toy that was taken from him before he finished with it, then because I tried to take away his new toy. That, he’ll never forgive, and he certainly won’t forget.
It wasn’t something I was thinking about when I heard about the new girl. All I could focus on was that I knew exactly what she was going through, exactly how scared she must be to realize her Prince Charming was far more terrifying than anything she left behind. In those dark years, I hadn’t allowed myself to pray, but if I had, I would have prayed for someone to get me out. So I tried to do that, to save her, to be the person my younger self needed.
I should have known better. She’s not me. Or, more accurately, she’s not me now. She’s me five, six, eight years ago, when I attacked everyone who came close, because to do anything else w
as to welcome his suspicion and jealousy. To invite more pain.
Still, I can’t quite stop blaming myself for her presence in his life. If I hadn’t left, Peter wouldn’t have needed to fill my place. She’d still be free.
I shake my head as Hook’s words penetrate. “You can’t honestly think he’s going to come after me.”
He doesn’t blink. “I know he will.”
A shiver of fear works its way down my spine. I haven’t felt true terror in so long, but I recognize it intimately. “You show up here and offer me his head on a platter … Why?”
“Putting Peter six feet under benefits both of us.”
I flinch at his name. Foolish to let something as simple as a name, five little letters, take on this kind of importance, but I can’t shake the feeling that speaking his name will summon the man himself. It’s everything I can do not to look over my shoulder.
Jameson—Hook—might be here under the guise of offering me help, but I know better than to expect it to come without strings attached. No one in our world offers something for nothing. Power, submission, sex; tit for tat. The form of repayment doesn’t matter, only that repayment is expected.
I try very hard to keep the belligerent tilt to my head, to not let him see how spooked I am by the topic of our conversation, by the threat hanging over my head. “You know, if you want to fuck me this bad, there are easier ways to go about it.”
He booms out a laugh and, despite myself, the joyful sound chases away some of the chill in my bones. He’s always been able to do that, to turn on the charm and exude joy like it’s Christmas morning or some shit, rather than whatever bleak reality we currently occupy. It’s one of the reasons I distrusted him so intensely before—why I distrust him now; no one can survive Peter’s court with that kind of joy in their heart. It’s impossible.
He lets his laugh trail off and grins at me. “I don’t want to fuck you, Tink.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Yes, I do,” he agrees easily. His grin never wavers. “Let me clarify; I don’t just want to fuck you.”
It’s a fight to stay on my feet, to stand strong against the sheer force of him. I make myself hold his gaze despite every instinct demanding I fall to my knees. “Stop playing coy and spit it out. What the hell do you want, Hook?”
Now he moves, stalking slowly around the bed toward me. His shadow grows behind him with every step closer to the light at my back until it threatens to swallow my world whole. When he finally stops, he’s so close, I could lift my hand and touch him if I want.
I really don’t want to want to touch him.
“You.” He reaches out and runs his fingers through my long blond hair, his many rings glinting between the strands. “On your knees. In my bed.” He catches my left hand, and I watch dazedly as he lifts it and strokes my knuckles. “My ring on your finger.” He gives a slow grin that has my stomach tying itself in knots. “I want everything, Tatiana. Absolutely fucking everything.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or knee him in the balls. For saying all this shit I definitely don’t want to hear. For calling me by a name I buried five long years ago. For all of it. “You’re joking.”
“Life would be easier if that were true.”
Yeah, it really would. But Hook’s similar to Gaeton in the way he moves through our world. His charm and devil-may-care personality makes people underestimate him. It always has. There’s no amusement in his dark eyes now. No, he’s serious as death.
I draw myself up. I have to. Standing this close to him is like standing in the eye of a hurricane. Scary. Powerful. Filled with promise of pain to come. I shiver. “You talk a good game, but it doesn’t mean anything. It never did.”
“You think I’m trying to … What? Seduce you?” He tugs on my hair. Not to hurt. Simply to let me know he could. It should scare me. I’ve lived through a relationship gone off the rails, the home I thought I’d claimed morphing through a funhouse mirror into a nightmare prison that took everything I had to escape.
I still haven’t escaped. I simply gave myself a five-year hiatus.
Hook tugs on my hair again, his dark brows lowering. “Fine. Let’s be explicit. I will give you everything I said and more, on the single condition that you marry me.”
Shock has a laugh bursting from my lips. “Marry you? You really are drunk.”
“You know better.”
I hate that he’s right. Hook might have the appearance of a hard-partying asshole, but despite always having a drink close by, he’s never once been drunk enough to so much as change his speech patterns, let alone get sloppy. I could chalk that up to the Underworld’s strict two-drink policy for those who want to participate in scenes, but plenty of the others show up to drink in the lounge from time to time. Not Hook.
He releases me and takes a slow step back, every move telegraphing that he’s choosing this, not me. “That’s the bargain. Take it or leave it.”
“I’m leaving it.” Bad enough that Hades is essentially kicking me out. But to voluntarily go back to the role as the little woman to the man who runs a territory? Been there, done that, bought a T-shirt, burned it to ash. I will not go back. Hook isn’t Peter, but that doesn’t mean a single damn thing. I’ve seen what it takes to hold on to power. It kills off a part of the person who wields it. If there was anything good in Hook—and that’s highly debatable—then four years running his territory are enough to have cut it out of him.
He watches me for a long moment and finally shrugs. “The offer remains on the table.” A plain black card appears in his hand as if by magic. I make no move to take it, but he catches my hand and presses it to my palm. “My personal number. Call it anytime, day or night, and I’ll come for you.”
I can’t tell if he means the words like a threat, but that must be what they are. I don’t believe in knights on white horses. Maybe I did once, but the only people out there searching for damsels in distress are more dangerous than anything said damsel leaves behind. Hook is just like the rest of them, always playing a deeper game.
I start to drop the card, but he catches my hand in his larger one and presses the card hard against my skin. “We both know you can’t afford to ignore a helping hand, Tatiana. No matter how distasteful you find me.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
I reluctantly curl my fingers around the card, and he releases me. I can’t tell what I’m feeling. Everything is all jumbled in my chest, and the confusion makes it hard to wrap myself in my normal snark. “I’m not going to say yes.”
“Yes, you are.” He gives me a slow grin. “I’m feeling generous, so when you come crawling to beg for my help, I won’t even make you do it publicly.”
I can picture it all too easily. Hook sitting in that casually dominant way he does, sprawled in a chair with his big legs spread and arms outstretched. The hard floor biting my knees and palms with each movement. My body heating under the intensity of his gaze. And when I reach him …
It’s everything I can do to fight down a blush and keep my tone cool. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Hold your breath while you wait for that. At least if you pass out, the rest of us get a break from your startling wit.”
His grin doesn’t dim. If anything, it widens. “We’re going to have so much fun together, Tatiana. Just you wait.”
Chapter 3
Tink
There are times when forty-eight hours can stretch for what feels like weeks. Glorious nights spent playing the bratty submissive to my favorite Dominants followed by days working with Meg in the office and handling the various other duties that fall under my nebulous position as an assistant manager.
Not this time.
It feels like I blink and I’m in Hades’s office again, though this time we aren’t alone. Meg and Hercules stand at either side of him, a perfect little triangle of polyamorous love. It might make me sick if I didn’t like Meg and Hercules so much, mostly despite myself. Impossible not to resent the place th
ey’ve carved out for themselves, for each other. I dislike Hades intensely, but no one can argue that he runs his territory like the others in Carver City. He doesn’t. I benefited from living under his rule.
He watches me with those cold dark eyes. “Our deal is now complete. Your price has been paid in full.”
My throat burns, but I muscle down the physical reaction just like I have countless times in the past. There are submissives who don’t mind crying in public. Or crying in general. I’m not one of them. I’ll give up control of so much during a scene, but not that. Outside of a scene? Forget about it. “I’d say thank you, but you’re kicking me out. Hard not to take it personally. I’m sure you understand.”
Hercules opens his mouth like he might jump in, but Hades anticipates him and holds up a hand. “As token of my appreciation for the time you’ve spent here, you’ll always maintain a membership here in the Underworld.”
A membership. Not a job.
People would kill to have a membership here. They have in the past. It’s outstandingly expensive, and Hades curates who he allows in, picking only the most powerful, and those who fit the tastes of the most powerful. Having this invitation extended to me is a big deal.
I still want to throw something.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Meg is watching me with her heart in her eyes, all sympathy and understanding, but again Hades is the one who speaks. “You’ve saved a significant amount of money in the last five years. You’ve started your own clothing business. The fact that you’re asking me this question proves I’m making the right decision.”
His tone is almost paternal. That is, if by paternal, I mean patronizing as shit. I glare. “If I wanted life advice, I would have asked for it.”
