Chapter 4
Chapter Four
OPHELIA
I suddenly hate moussaka, even though it’s my favorite meal. My mother would make it for me every Sunday until she got sick. Then, we started ordering from Mykonos.
We had our tradition.
Mom felt like shit toward the end, but didn’t want us to stop making memories. She said I would remember those days long after she was gone.
Mom was right.
I lived for Sundays.
They were my favorite.
Until today.
How could my dad break the news of his engagement today? Of all days. It’s not just a Sunday but the six-month anniversary of her death. I was upstairs sleeping because I was too depressed and whacked out on sleeping pills to leave my bedroom.
Before my father left the house, he promised to eat dinner with me so we could spend some quality time together. Little did I know that meant dinner with my new family.
Fuck.
Ares and his smirks.
I hate him most of all.
I’m stuck between Ares and Apollo, with Atlas on his twin’s right. Fuck Apollo and his pretty-boy good looks. And fuck Atlas and that adorable baby face.
Fuck all of them.
I stuff a forkful of moussaka, the Greek version of lasagna, into my mouth. A drop of sauce falls onto my chest, right between my cleavage.
I lick my thumb and wipe away the sauce, but not without three sets of eyes on me.
“Need help with that?” Ares whispers so our parents can’t hear him.
The bastard winks at me, his laughter infectious to his siblings, who join the chorus.
Ares stares at my shirt like he has X-ray vision. “I have a few ideas for welcoming Ophelia to the family.”
Atlas keeps his mouth shut. He’s quiet, and I know from firsthand experience that the quiet ones are often the worst. They’re the people you never see coming.
“If you don’t shut up,” I tell Ares, “I’ll reintroduce my Glock to your kidneys. See how much you laugh then, Greek god.”
“Your tough-girl act doesn’t faze me.” He shoves his suit jacket to the side to reveal his weapon. “Two can play this game.”
See, the thing is, I have always had to act like a bitch. Kids in school ridiculed me for my weight, especially the girls. Gym class sucked ass. And don’t even get me started on having to shower in front of a bunch of skinny-ass bitches who called me Fattie Phelia.
Stupid nickname.
Stupid girls.
Kids didn’t want me on their sports team. No one ever thought the chunky girl could run, catch a ball, or do anything but stuff her face with food.
So I grew a thick skin.
I learned how to defend myself and give the bullies a taste of their own medicine.
I’m a Drakos.
We were born to lead.
And as the asshole god of a man beside me gives me a shit-eating grin, I’m thankful for those bullies. Because now I know how to handle men like Ares.
They are all the same.
I’d never have a shot with a sex god like Ares, but he acts like it with how his gaze keeps dropping to my cleavage. He can look all he wants, but I will never touch him. I don’t care if his hands would feel good spreading me open. Or if that sexy-as-fuck mouth would give me world-class orgasms.
Nope, I don’t care.
Ares watches me like a predator while his younger brothers resume eating. I spread the meat sauce around my plate to make it look like I’m enjoying the food. It’s an old habit. I hate eating in front of people I don’t know well.
Our parents laugh, drink wine, chat with Atlas, and ask about his art. He creates marketing materials for their family’s businesses, never without his sketchbook.
I glance at Ares and Atlas’s tattoos, wondering if Atlas drew them. They’re good, from what I can see, and artistic. Not shitty tattoos you choose out of a book at the tattoo studio.
If Apollo has ink, I can’t see any.
“Belen, let my sons help Ophelia with the clubs,” Athena says. “They can keep the handsy men away from her.”
“That’s okay, Athena. I can handle myself. The guys at the club never mess with me. They know I’ll cut off their balls and shove them down their throats if they even think about touching me.”
Ares grins like a villain.
Apollo looks intrigued.
Atlas raises an eyebrow.
“Ophelia,” Dad gasps. “What is with the attitude tonight?”
I shrug. “Don’t you think your new family should know what they’re getting into? I’m not a sweet girl. You made sure of it. So let’s cut the shit and stop acting like this dinner doesn’t suck.”
Apollo grunts in agreement.
Atlas laughs, his voice barely a whisper. “God, she has balls. I fucking love it.”
“What did you say, sweetie?” Athena asks her son.
“Nothing, Ma.” He shakes his head, eyes on me. “Just saying that Ophelia is a badass.”
“I wouldn’t let my daughter run Olympus alone if she weren’t up to the task,” Dad says with a smile. “However, I wish I had taught her better manners.”
“You taught me all the ones that count,” I say in my defense. “Don’t shit where you eat. Never forget to turn off the safety before you point the gun at a man’s head. And my favorite… Always give a man the courtesy of choosing his death if he’s earned it.”
Dad curses in Greek under his breath. “Maybe reserve your true self for another day, Ophelia. You’ll scare them away before we even walk down the aisle.”
Duh, silly.
That’s the point.
“Don’t worry about us, Belen,” Ares says as if speaking for the entire family. “We can handle Ophelia.”
I’m sure you can, you arrogant dick.
I snort at his comment. “I’d like to see you try, Greek god.”
He doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s accepted my challenge.
Game on.