Neon Gods (Dark Olympus 1)
They don’t bother to see the value in the history written over every surface in the lower city. Why would they when they’ve systematically purged it from the area around Dodona Tower?
Fools, every single one of them.
I leave the ballroom and walk down the hall. It’s double the width it needs to be, the entire space practically flashing a neon sign announcing Zeus’s net worth. I poke my head in the next door and find a room full of statues. Like the paintings in the ballroom, they’re larger than life, each depicting the sculptor’s version of human perfection. These must be the same ones Persephone mentioned right after she arrived in the lower city. The temptation to walk to mine and pull the sheet from it is almost too much to resist, but it doesn’t matter what this Hades looks like. He sure as hell won’t have my scars, won’t have any of the traits that make me the man I am.
Persephone’s voice echoes through my mind, soft and sure. You’re beautiful to me, Hades. The scars are part of that, part of you. They’re a mark of everything you’ve survived, of how strong you are.
I release a pent-up breath and close the door softly. There’s nothing for me here.
The final door at the end of the hall is a massive thing, designed to intimidate. It stretches nearly floor to ceiling and appears to be coated with actual gold. Holy fuck, Zeus really is unbearable on every level, isn’t he?
Like everything else in this place, it speaks to the ego of this man that he keeps his private office on the same floor where the upper tiers of Olympus come and go with regularity. Yeah, he has security, but anyone with a little skill can bypass it. For someone like Hermes? Laughably simple.
After how easy this has been, I half expect to walk through the doors and find the room full of security, ready to shoot me full of bullets. Surely Zeus wouldn’t leave himself this open?
I slip through the door and pause to get my bearings. The office is about what I expect—heavy in glass and steel and dark wood, with gold accents everywhere. It’s undoubtedly expensive, but it feels just as soulless as the rest of the building.
A grunt comes from the partially open door in the back corner, and I draw the gun Hermes gave me. It takes a few seconds for me to recognize the source of the sound when paired with the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh.
My heart stops in my chest. He’s fucking someone in that bathroom. I can’t tell if the sounds are sex sounds or pained sounds, and the thought that it might be Persephone in there…
Thoughts cease. All strategy goes out the window. A numb fury steals over me as I move to the door and edge it open. I’m so busy preparing to save the woman I love that it takes several long moments to understand that it’s not Persephone bent over the sink. I don’t recognize the woman, but she at least seems to be enjoying herself. Neither of them notice me as I step back into shadows.
I can’t quite get my racing heart under control as I take up a position in the corner near the door, tucked back into the shadows where neither will see me when they exit the bathroom.
It wasn’t Persephone.
But if I play this wrong, next time it might be.
If she chose him, it would stick in my throat like broken glass, but I’d respect her choice. But she won’t choose him. Not willingly. He’ll take pleasure in breaking her, and that I cannot allow.
It takes them only a few minutes to finish. I don’t know why I’m shocked when they barely exchange a word before leaving the bathroom. The woman comes out first and scurries across the office to the door. Zeus takes longer. I’m bristling with impatience by the time he walks out and drops into the chair behind his desk.
That’s when I step out of my hiding spot and level the gun at him. “Good morning, Zeus.”
Chapter 30
Hades
Zeus turns slowly to face me. I’ve seen his picture plastered all over the newspaper and gossip sites more times than I can count, but in person, he seems faded. There is no carefully placed light to maximize his masculine features. His suit is rumpled and he missed a button when he redid his shirt. He’s…human. Fit and attractive enough, but not a god or a king or even a monster. Just an old man.
He stares at me, shock sliding over his features. “You look even more like your father in person.”
That snaps me out of my shock. “You don’t get to speak about my father.” I move away from the corner, gun held carefully in front of me. “Get up.”