Michail laughed. “An old friend to be certain,” he said. “But catching up is not within your interests. You’ve come for something as you always do. Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
“Perhaps you can,” Dionysus said. Ariadne had ceased to suck on his ear, which was somehow both disappointing and a relief, but now she toyed with his braids as she leaned against him, and all he could really think was how soft her breasts felt against his chest. He considered that he should probably touch her more, but he could not embrace this role as easily as she could, because despite her consent, it still felt wrong without her interest.
“Why don’t you entertain us from afar, darling?” Michail asked.
Dionysus was not sure why the mortal made the request. Perhaps he found that Dionysus was too distracted, or he’d incorrectly inferred that the god did not wish for her to hear.
Perhaps he wished to see her.
“No,” Dionysus said quickly, his hands tightening on her hips to hold her in place as if he had the right to possess her. “I like her here just fine.”
“I’ve got this, baby,” she said, her lips caressing his as she spoke.
He could not help the low growl that escaped his mouth. She’d fully committed to this role, and he was not sure how to feel about it.
Actually, he was sure he hated it, but that was also ridiculous given they’d agreed on the part she would play.
She pushed off him and straightened.
“You got any music, honey?” she asked Michail.
“I’ve got anything you need, darling,” he said.
Ariadne smiled at the man as he reached for a remote. With the push of a button, their box was suddenly vibrating with a steady beat.
“Will that work, sweetheart?” he asked.
Her smile widened. “Perfect.”
Dionysus glared at her, but she did not seem to notice as she walked to the space in front of them where a silver pole glimmered in the firelight. He couldn’t take her eyes off her as she shrugged out of her jacket. He hated his curiosity. He wondered what she would do. How thoroughly had she played this game as a detective?
But then she took hold of the pole and swung all the way around it, and he knew by the one smooth move she had done this before. She moved beautifully, naturally, almost as if she considered it an art and not a form of entertainment. He couldn’t look away as she arched and swayed. He wanted to be that gods-damned pole, and the only thing that kept him rooted in reality and not slipping off into a fantasy was the thought of Michail sitting beside him and watching Ariadne dance while getting hard; it pissed him off to an extent that surprised even him. His fists were clenched in his lap.
This was a mistake.
“Well, Dionysus?” the mortal inquired.
The god cleared his throat and barely managed to look away from Ariadne.
“I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Gorgo,” Dionysus said, giving the name Medusa was thought to be using. “I believe she worked for you for a time?”
“Ah,” Michail said. “Yes, beautiful creature.”
“Do you know where she’s gone?”
“Why are you looking?”
From the corner of his eye, Dionysus could still see Ariadne dancing. He wanted so badly to look. He wanted so badly to tell her to stop. He wanted her so badly.
Fuck him.
He cleared his throat. “She owes me money,” he said.
“As if you need more,” Michail commented.
“It is the principle,” Dionysus said. “As you well know.”
“As I well know,” Michail said, though somewhat distantly. Dionysus noticed his eyes had wandered to Ariadne again, and he could not help looking either.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Come now, darling,” said Michail. “Don’t be shy. Show us some skin.”
“She’s showing enough,” Dionysus snapped.
The corners of Michail’s lips turned up. “Don’t tell me, Dionysus, you’ve fallen for this hetaira. You of all people know they are paid for their companionship.”
It was lucky that Dionysus had such a reaction, because Michail hadn’t seen the way Ariadne froze or paled at the man’s suggestion.
They had to get out of here.
“As she informed you earlier,” Dionysus said, “I don’t pay.”
Michail looked at him for a moment as he took another drag from his cigar. He blew out the smoke and offered the same amused chuckle he’d been giving all night.
“Fine, fine,” he said. “Far be it from me to disagree. I’ve fallen for a whore or two in my life.”
Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and the young man from earlier entered.
“Mr. Calimeris,” he said. “A moment?”
“You’ll excuse me,” Michail said and rose from his seat.
Dionysus waited in tense silence until the man had gone. Before Ariadne could speak, he cut her off.
“Phaedra,” he snapped so quickly, Ariadne flinched.
He hoped she understood why he was speaking to her in such a manner, but he knew what Michail was doing. He’d been called away for no reason other than he wished to observe them alone. They were being filmed and their voices recorded.
“Come.”
She seemed to understand something was wrong, because despite her hesitation, she finally approached.
Dionysus sat forward and spread his legs apart. He wanted her between them because he wanted her close.
“Kneel,” he commanded.
She held his gaze and placed her hands on his knees as she lowered before him. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed—likely because he’d never imagined this woman obeying him so easily.
He twined his hand into her hair and pulled her head back, then bent forward, his mouth near her ear. She gasped, and her hands tightened on his legs.
“Watch your mouth,” he said. It was the best warning he could give, fearing if he said too much, Michail would become suspicious of his actions.
Dionysus pulled back to look into her eyes again.
Ariadne took a breath. Despite how good she was at this act, it was a challenge for her to remain in this role.
“Have I not pleased you?”
“Hardly,” Dionysus barked, though he did not mean to say it aloud.
She rubbed the palms of her hands along his thighs slowly, deliberately. “What can I do?”
Dionysus just stared at her, his mind completely void of thought—and that, he decided, was why he kissed her, but fuck did he need it. He braced his hand against the back of her head, holding her in place as his mouth collided with hers. There was nothing soft or sweet about how they came together either, both fueled by a desperation that seemed to live within their bones. But as quick as it had started, Ariadne pulled away.
She glared up at him from between his legs, her lips wet from his kiss, her eyes gleaming with a storm of hate and lust.
He started to speak, to say he was sorry, but she pushed off the floor and kissed him again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her knees settled on either side of his legs as she straddled him in the black chair. His hands moved to her bare ass, and he squeezed her soft skin before slapping his palms against each cheek. He gripped her again and helped her grind against his length, groaning at the feel of her against him.
“Fuck,” he breathed as he kissed up her neck and jaw. “Has anyone ever told you you’re perfect?”
“You would be the first,” she whispered.
“What a shame,” he said, and their mouths clashed again.
Dionysus had never felt so frenzied with anyone before, but Ariadne was a match, and he wanted to burn beneath her.
He moved one hand from her ass to one of her breasts, kneading and rubbing until her nipple was hard and each swipe of his thumb made her moan.
Fuck, he wanted it in his mouth, but just as he went to pull her dress down, someone cleared their throat and the two froze.
“I really hate to interrupt,” said Michail, who had returned undetected with two large men. They flanked the mortal, dressed all in black. “But I’ve learned some very unfortunate news.”
“What the fuck is this, Michail?”
“Nothing to do with you, Dionysus,” said the mortal. “This is between me and your girl, isn’t it, Phaedra? Or perhaps you respond better to Detective Alexiou.”
“What?” Dionysus looked from Ariadne to Michail.
“Detective Alexiou works for the Hellenic Police Department,” Michail said, clearly under the impression that Dionysus was not aware of Ariadne’s background. “She’s been roaming our streets undercover for months. We’d been onto her for a few weeks when she vanished. I assumed she ended up at the bottom of the Aegean, but it seems she just found another way to get what she wanted.”
“And what’s that?” Dionysus asked. He was looking at her now. His hands were on her thighs, right beneath her gun.
She held his gaze.
“I was doing my job,” she said. “Looking for missing women.”
His chest tightened.
So she’d roamed these streets in search of the women she’d ended up finding at his club. Of course she’d started here. She’d assumed they’d been sold into the sex trade.
“Sorry, darling,” said Michail. “You’re not as sly as you thought. Now why don’t you give my esteemed guest some room?”
Dionysus held Ariadne’s gaze. He didn’t want to let her go.
“Ariadne.” He could not help saying her name.
“I’m sorry,” she said and rose.
“Ariadne!”
But as she stood, she drew her gun and shot it twice—one bullet for each man on either side of Michail.
Dionysus rose to his feet.
“What the fuck are you waiting for, Dionysus? Fucking kill her!”
That was the last thing he wanted to do.
Dionysus called on his magic, and thick vines exploded from the floor, curling around Michail’s wrists and jerking him to the ground. He landed flat on his face, his arms outstretched.
Dionysus crossed to the man and dragged his head back. His face was red and his nose bled. He gave a pained cry.
“If you lay a hand on her, you will die, Michail,” he said. “Now, I asked you a question earlier.”
“Fuck you!” Michail groaned, blood and spit flying from his mouth.
Dionysus shoved his head against the floor again. This time when he pulled his head back, it was by what remained of his hair.
“Let’s try this again,” he said. “The girl, where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Michail said, seething.
Dionysus prepared to bash his face into the floor again, but the mortal had enough.
“Wait, wait!” he said, breathing ragged. “I…I warned her not to go to the shore.”
“You expect me to believe you were some kind of savior?”
“You do not understand her beauty. It’s like a siren’s call.”
Disgust twisted through him at what Michail was implying—that Medusa was too beautiful to exist in this world without worrying about a predator.
“She went to the shore?” Dionysus asked. “And then what, Michail?”
“I don’t know! She never came back!” Michail yelled, and then his voice quieted. “But the ocean is Poseidon’s realm, and we all know what he does to beautiful things.”
Yeah, Dionysus did know.
He broke them.
“Fuck!”
Dionysus slammed Michail’s face into the floor again, and this time the mortal did not move.
When Dionysus rose to his feet, he faced Ariadne, who stood still and quiet.
“Put the gun away,” he said and then crossed to where she’d discarded her jacket. He snatched it off the floor and placed it around her shoulders, drawing her close. “Let’s go,” he said.
This time, he didn’t care to race through New Athens.
He teleported them both home.
CHAPTER IX
HADES
Hades did not particularly enjoy the pleasure district.
He usually only visited to check in on Madelia Rella, who had come to him in search of coin to establish her first brothel. Madelia was different from others who had reigned in the district, as she’d always been vocal about the rights of sex workers. She promised Hades that if he offered up his power, she would use it for good, and she had, though it had come at a great cost, and that cost was trafficking.
The more rules brothel owners had to follow, the more ways many sought to undermine them. Undocumented sex workers could not be held to the same standards, which meant unsuspecting people were disappearing off the streets and forced into this labor.
It was a vicious cycle, as was all life in the Upperworld.
But Hades had not come for Madelia; he’d come for Apollo, suspecting he would be at Erotas, after having visited the god’s apartment in the Crysos District and finding it empty. He wondered why Apollo kept a residence there at all; he was hardly ever there.
Hades appeared in the foyer of Erotas in a plume of dark smoke. As he manifested, a few people screamed, but the madam, Selene, hushed them all. She was an older woman, beautiful and refined. Hades did not know her, but he was aware that she had run this brothel for a long time, and by all accounts, she took care of her workers.
The madam took a step forward and curtsied deep, her hands locked in front of her.
“Lord Hades,” she said as she rose. “What can I do for you?”
He admired the fact that the woman could hold his gaze. None of the people gathered behind her did.
“I’m here to see Apollo.”
A few giggles broke out behind her.
“Silence!” Madam Selene ordered, glaring at everyone in disfavor. “Imbeciles! Do not mock the God of the Dead.”
The room went quiet, and a thick tension grew. Hades could feel the anxiety and fear permeating the air, though he wasn’t certain if it was his presence or Madam Selene’s disdain that perpetuated it. He had a feeling that part of the reason the madam was able to run this multistoried brothel so effectively was because no one wished to earn her disappointment.
The madam met Hades’s gaze.
“Of course. Allow me to escort you to his quarters.”
She turned without hesitation, and as she did, her workers parted, pressing themselves against the wall as she and Hades walked past. Once in the hallway, they entered a mirrored elevator. The madam pulled a key ring from the pocket of her long skirt, using it to access Apollo’s floor. Hades noticed how tightly she held it in her hands. For all her composure, he made her anxious, and she was right to be.
Hades watched her in the mirror. Her jaw was set, her chin lifted, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Do I make you nervous, Madam Selene?”
“Anyone would be nervous in the presence of such a god,” she said.
Hades chuckled, and he looked at his feet as he spoke. “Could it be that you are nervous because you once allowed my fiancée to go to auction?”
Madam Selene jerked her head toward Hades. “She said she wouldn’t tell.”
“Are you suggesting my future wife, the Queen of the Underworld, is a liar, Madam?”
“No, of course not. I—”
“She didn’t tell me,” he said. “Apollo did.”
The madam took a deep, shuddering breath. “Have you come to kill me, then?”
Hades laughed, but she looked stricken.
“No,” he said. “Though I will ask for your penance.”
She swallowed. “And what might that be?”
“A favor,” he said. “To be collected at a future date.”
“I hardly have anything of value to offer, my lord,” she said.
“You have your soul,” Hades said and met her gaze.
She stared, still and silent, likely waiting for him to steal her soul.
“But I can take that at will,” he said. “I’ll determine what is valuable, Madam, and trust me when I say, I will collect.”
When he met her eyes again, she nodded once.
The elevator doors opened then, and Hades stepped out into Apollo’s suite. Unlike his Crysos apartment, this was extravagantly decorated. Everything was patterned, none of it the same—a floral couch, striped pillows, curtains stitched with small diamonds—and all of it was trimmed in gold and dripped with jewels.
This should be a torture chamber, Hades thought. It definitely made him feel mad.
Hades moved into the adjacent room where a spotless tub sat on clawed feet. Beyond that was a massive bed upon which Apollo lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread wide. He wore a robe, but it was open, exposing a very obvious erection, and he was snoring.
Loud.
Hades watched the god for a moment, and then his eyes shifted to an empty bottle of vodka that sat on the table beside the bed. Another lay on the ground.
Fuck.
Apollo was difficult to deal with when he was sober, but drunk?
Hades gave a frustrated sigh, swiped one of the empty bottles off the floor, filled it with water from the tub, and then poured it over Apollo’s face.
The god flailed beneath the stream.
“What the fuck!” Apollo sputtered.
Though he was awake, Hades did not stop until the bottle was empty. He let his arm drop to his side as Apollo glared back at him.
“You snore,” Hades said.
“I do not snore!” Apollo snapped.
“Yes, you do,” Hades said. “I just heard you.”
Apollo ignored him and pulled on the hem of his robe with two fingers. “You’ve ruined my kimono.” He pushed off the bed and discarded the robe as he walked bare-ass naked to a wardrobe across the room. He threw open the doors to reveal several kimonos of the same color and pattern.
Hades shook his head. “What the fuck?”
“What, Hades?” the god snapped, taking a robe from one of the hangers and slipping it on as he raged. “It’s fashion, something you would know little about since the only color in your wardrobe is black, but I suppose that is fitting since it’s the color of your soul.”
Hades raised a brow. He wasn’t so certain this was about fashion as much as it was about what Apollo found comforting, but he did not say that aloud.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Apollo took a deep breath. “Yes, actually,” he said, slamming the wardrobe doors. “No thanks to you. What are you doing here anyway?”
“You were supposed to conduct the autopsy on Adonis,” said Hades.
“I did,” said Apollo. “And he was full of holes.”
That was no surprise given they’d found a knife handle near Adonis’s body.
“Any idea what he was stabbed with?” Hades asked.
“Something curved,” Apollo answered, running a hand through his wet hair.
“How do you know?” Hades asked.
“Because when I stuck my finger in the wound, it curved, Hades. For fuck’s sake. You asked me to do an autopsy. I fucking did it.”