Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(143)

Augustus grabbed my wrist and turned it over, he unhooked the golden cuff I always wore, and it clattered to the marble floor.

“And … this?” Augustus asked aloud as he traced his thumb gently over the layers of old scars. They crisscrossed with new ones.

I stared at the ruined skin, feeling numb.

“My foster father tied me up with a rope as a child.” My voice was neutral. I shrugged casually. “I was young and desperate, and I fractured my wrists against a rock pulling myself free.”

Augustus released my arm.

“I should have just dislocated my thumbs, but I was so young and hungry, it …”

I trailed off as Augustus and Kharon both stood, stepped out of the tub, and left the bathroom. Buckles clicked as they dressed quickly.

“Uh—what are you doing?” I stumbled out of the tub and picked up a robe, pulling it on.

A safety clicked.

Kharon palmed two guns.

Augustus sheathed a wickedly sharp hunting knife into a holster in his sweatpants.

They nodded at each other and left the room.

For a second, I blinked in disbelief, then I sprinted after them.

“Wait!”

A few minutes later I stumbled to the bottom of the stairs and gasped with my hands on my knees; cardio had never been my strong suit, and they moved ridiculously fast. “What are we doing in this stupid dungeon?”

“Vengeance.” Kharon’s voice warped with rage.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dark light.

Chains clanked.

Augustus and Kharon were standing in front of a dirt-covered prisoner.

Déjà vu.

I had to stop coming down here; nothing good ever came of it.

Instead of explaining why they’d lost their minds, Augustus calmly cracked his knuckles and threw a punch at the prisoner’s face.

Bones cracked.

Blood splattered.

A man moaned.

Lunging, I grabbed Augustus’s arm as he pulled it back.

“Seriously what the hell is wrong with …”

I trailed off as I took in the prisoner’s features.

“Alex.” Foster Father coughed violently, showing off a familiar row of rotting teeth. “Tell these … men to … let me go.”

The world stopped spinning.

“It’s y-y-you.”

He nodded his head eagerly.

A cold Montana wind slammed against me as I crouched in the corner of a trailer.

Foster Mother screamed.

Charlie whimpered.

I’d lied to myself; I was still a child, hiding from the man who wouldn’t stop hurting me.

I turned to my husbands.

“We did some digging.” Kharon’s eyes glittered with wrath. “We were waiting for the right time to tell you. We figured we’d decide what to do with him when—”

“He’s not yours to handle,” I cut him off.

“We know.” Augustus ground his teeth together. “That’s why we haven’t touched him. He’s a gift.”

“For you,” Kharon said, guns creaking in his hands as he squeezed them tightly. “It’s your vengeance to take.” His eye twitched. “Or not.”

Augustus took a step back, and yanked Kharon with him. “He’s all yours—it’s your decision—we support you, no matter what.”

Kharon made a sound of disagreement.

“Either way,” Augustus said, but his expression didn’t match his words.

“Please, Alex,” Foster Father begged.

I flinched before I could stop myself.

“Please,” he repeated. “You were never violent. You were always a good, God-fearing kid. Father John loved you. You always wanted to help people. You don’t want to harm me. You don’t want to—”

I dug my nails into my hand, blood pooling.

The Rod of Asclepius formed in my hand.

Foster Father gasped with awe as it glowed brightly. “You were always such a gentle soul,” he said. “So pious. So good.”

“Haven’t you heard?” I asked softly.

He smiled at me like we were old friends. “Heard … what?”

I turned the staff.

Brightness filled the space between us.

I shoved the sharp edge into his sternum—the light went out.

The dungeon was dark.

“It was me. I killed her,” I said coldly. “I murdered your wife on that winter’s day.”

He screamed, foam dripping from his lips, eyes widening with abject terror.

I yanked the rod from his chest and dropped it.

Blood sizzled in a steaming puddle.

He choked and twitched; chains clinked as he struggled, his face contorting with betrayal.

I turned my back to him, because he was no threat to me.

Kharon slung his arm around my shoulders, and Augustus draped his arm around us both.

We walked away.

Foster Father gasped loudly. “Alex … you’ll … regret … this.”

“No,” I said, not looking back. “I really won’t.”





52


THE LOVER




PATRO: ONE DAY LATER

“Is something going on in there?” Augustus shouted from the hall as he knocked. “What’s that noise?”