He stands in the kitchen, swaying, half-naked. His dark hair, normally so well presented, is a disheveled mess. Just as I pause there on the bottom stair, about to slink back into the shadows, he lifts his gaze to mine. A dark chuckle escapes him. Ice slides down my spine. The last time I saw him he was unconscious on the floor of the terrace they kept me in, blood pouring from the gash in his forehead. A gash I created when I slammed the vase over his head.
I want to run, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing him my fear. Instead, I swallow down the dread burning in my throat and stomach and step into the kitchen as if I’m going to get a glass of water.
“So Ares’ little Pet returns.” He finishes his liquor and slams the glass down on the counter beside the near-empty bottle. “I assume because you’re no longer cuffed and on a leash, it means you came of your own accord.”
“I did.”
“So fucking stupid. You think my brother falls in love? He doesn’t. He’s not capable of it.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? You’ve known him . . . what? A few months? Most of those, you were his captive.” He unscrews the cap on the tequila. “Forgive me, but I don’t see this ending in a happily-ever-after.”
“Is it me specifically you have a problem with, or is it just the idea of him being happy with anyone other than you that makes you hate me so?”
“You were supposed to be sold.”
“And he set me free.”
His eyes widen from their narrow slits. The fury in them is terrifying. “What?”
Oh god. He didn’t know. Ares must have told him that I escaped on my own. Hermes picks up the bottle and smashes it against the sink. I take several steps back. I might be cornered by the rest of the kitchen and unable to make it to the stairs before he can, but there’s a butcher’s block of knives on the counter behind me, and I won’t let this asshole end my life by going down easy.
I slide one from the block. It’s not a knife at all, but a sharpening steel. I grip the handle in my sweaty palm as he edges toward me.
“You were to be sold. You were the last chance we had to bring down Vladik, and he set you free?” He bites out each word as if it was a curse. “I should kill you for that.”
“Why? Because your brother didn’t go along with your plans?”
“Because now we’ll never get her out!” He knocks the weapon from my hands. It clatters to the floor, and Hermes grabs my throat and shoves me up against the wall. The broken bottle digs into my neck. My breath saws in and out of my lungs, as his gaze razes me.
“Who?” I pant, sucking in what little breath his tight grip affords me. “Get who out?”
“Let her go.” Ares’ cool tone comes from the stairs. He’s naked as he walks to stand near his brother, seemingly unfazed by his nudity.
“Like you let her go? Secrets out, Brother,” he spits the last word as if it were venom. “Your little Pet here didn’t break out; you let her out.”
“I did. I set her free because I couldn’t stand the thought of Vladik ruining her, breaking her.” The moonlight eking in through the large windows glints off the gun in Ares’ hand. A gun that’s pointed right at his brother, and incidentally, also at me.
I gasp, and Hermes turns his head to stare at Ares. “You’re going to shoot me, Brother? Over a fucking slave?”
“Drop the glass and get the fuck away from her. Brother or not, you harm a fucking hair on her head and it will be the last thing you ever do.”
My eyes widen and I stare slack-jawed at my Sir.
He grins. “Don’t look so surprised, Pet. It makes me think you doubt my fondness for you.”
“You let her go, and now any chance we had of getting Athena back is gone.”
“Athena?” I glance between them, wondering who she is, but my thoughts are cut short by the glass digging harder into my flesh. Blood, hot and thick, trickles down my neck. I stop breathing.
“You don’t get to speak her name, whore.” Hermes’ breath on my face is hot and rancid, reeking of alcohol. The glass cuts deeper. I cry out.
A shot rings out, and I squeeze my eyes tightly closed. The noise is too much, too terrifying in the small space. When I open them, Hermes is lying on the floor groaning as he clutches his arm. Blood pours from the wound, running down his forearm and hands, dripping off his fingers and onto the tiles.
“You fucking shot me!”
“I fucking warned you. You made my Pet bleed; it’s only fair I return the favor.” Ares steps over his brother’s writhing body and stands in front of me. He cups my cheek with one hand and inspects the cut, pressing his fingertips to the wound to stem the blood. It isn’t flowing fast, and though it stings like a bitch, I doubt it’s deep enough to scar.