It Ain't Me, Babe (Hades Hangmen 1)

Mae lifted her hand and ran her fingers across Persephone’s pale face. “We were not allowed pictures or paintings in commune. They were regarded to be false idols, yet I have never seen anything more beautiful than this portrait of her. Persephone is beautiful.” Mae looked back at me and smiled a wide smile showcasing perfect teeth. She turned back to trace the outline of the goddess’s long black hair.

Fuck. I was pu**y-whipped.

Mae turned once more, looking at me from under the shade of her lashes. She had a confused expression on her face. “The goddess looks like me. She has my color eyes.”

I stepped forward to stand beside Mae. “That day, wh-when I saw you, you re-reminded me of her. St-stuck with me all th-these years.”

Mae’s silence spoke volumes. I shuffled my feet, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “You kn-know who the r-rest of the p-people are on this p-painting?”

She pointed at the central figure, all soulless eyes and dark robes, a slight tremor to her voice. “Hades. I know him to be Satan.” Her lips pursed and that adorable scowl of hers was back. “He looks just like how the devil is described in scripture.”

I signaled in the direction of the brown bench across the yard.

“Sit.”

Mae followed my instruction and we headed to my favorite spot—opposite the mural, a place I liked to sit, smoke, and think. ’Course it used to be to think of her. Didn’t tell her that, though, or how f**kin’ weird it was that she was now sitting beside me.

Tiredly, Mae sat down, checking her robe was in place, her legs primly bent, and her hands on her knees before leaning into me.

“You h-heard of the Gr-Greeks?”

“Yes, a small amount. I imagine now that it is not much. I have realized of late that what little we were taught in commune about life outside the fence was false.”

Smirking, I answered, “Th-the ancient Greeks d-didn’t just believe in one g-god. They b-believed in m-many.”

She gasped and placed her hand on her heart. “Blasphemy! There is only one true God.”

I shrugged and pulled out a smoke from the back pocket of my jeans and lit it. Religion didn’t play any part in my life, and I couldn’t give a shit who I offended. Bikers weren’t exactly the kind to conform to what society wants. In fact, it’s the f**kin’ polar opposite.

Mae coughed. “Why do you inhale those things?”

“It… it…” I paused and cleared my throat. “Calms me,” I answered tensely.

Seeing her wrinkled nose, I couldn’t help but smile.

“They smell,” Mae exclaimed.

I laughed. “You th-think so, b-babe?”

She nodded with certainty, her beautiful face comical. I threw the stogie to the ground and turned back and tapped the end of her nose. “And that’s why you’ll n-never start smoking this shit. R-right?”

I was being nice… playful. Shit! Ky would rip me a new ass**le for this.

“Right.” Mae agreed and watched me for several seconds before inching back along the bench, shifting closer to my outstretched arm. “You were talking about the Greeks, Styx.”

Taking a deep breath again, I began. “Ac-according to the ancient G-Greeks, there were th-three god brothers: Zeus, P-Poseidon, and H-Hades. They overthrew their f-father, the ruling g-god Cr-Cronus, in a battle. They d-drew lots to decide what domains th-they would each take ch-charge of, now that Cronus’d b-been ex-exiled.”

Mae nestled closer. “What happened next?”

“Z-Zeus got the p-power of the sky, P-Poseidon of the water, and H-Hades of the underworld—not the j-job any of them r-really w-wanted.” I pointed to the picture of the underworld: dark rivers, fire-ridden levels, morbid as f**k pictures of demons.

“So the underworld is like Hell? Hades was given Hell? How unfortunate.”

I huffed a silent laugh at the way she spoke, like some old-world novel shit with a slight edge of good ol’ Texan twang. “Yes and n-no.”

“How is it different?”

“Underworld h-holds the entrance to ev-everything, all the r-routes that the soul can take at d-death. When a p-person dies, they g-go to the underworld where they’ll b-be judged on their lives and s-s-sent to either the Elysian F-Fields, which is like h-heaven, I sup-suppose. The river of for-forgetfulness, Lethe, where a soul d-drinks to forget their l-life, enabling them to be re-reborn. Or if a soul has l-lived a b-bad life, they’d be sent to T-Tartarus, which is like what y-you think of as Hell, the worst p-place p-possible. Hades r-rules over the whole thing, m-making sure it all g-goes r-right.”

Mae was quiet. I wondered if it was all too much for her to understand again, when she said, “That river on the picture is called the River Styx, yes? It is your club name.”

“That’s right.”

She sat up, studied the large river, then her wolf eyes bored into mine. “If Lethe is the river of forgetfulness, what is the river Styx for?”

I blew out a pent-up breath. “Hate.”

Mae ran her finger over my injured cheek, sorrow in her expression. “They represent such sad things.”

I placed my hand on top of hers, stilling them on my cheeks. “Yeah, b-babe, they d-do. Life’s h-hard. D-Death’s even harder. No use su-sugar coatin’ that sh-shit.”

“Why would your club want to be named after the sorrowful part of the story, the misfortunate—why not after the sky god or water god?”