4. Artemis
4 ARTEMIS
Sterling Falls, to the locals, is divided into four main quadrants.
North Falls for the tourists, the beaches, and mansions.
South Falls for the industrial district, the harbor, and marina.
West Falls is mostly residential, with the reservoir supplying water to homes up in the hills just outside city limits.
The Titans covered those neighborhoods, although most have gone underground since the gang was…
beheaded.
East Falls used to be ruled by the Hell Hounds.
There’s a compound on the southeast side of the city, abutting the industrial district, where the Hell Hounds ruled their roost. They were primarily a motorcycle club, although over the years they evolved into something else.
Much to the sheriff’s dismay, the gang didn’t dissolve with their leader’s death last year.
Instead, a new leader stepped into Cerberus’s shoes.
He’s been shifting the club toward the right side of the law, although I think they still get up to their mischief.
Wolfe, Cerberus’s son, makes sure the new leader doesn’t drift the club back to where it once was.
For the record, I avoid them when I can…
But now, as I bump down the gravel driveway toward the Hell Hounds’ compound, I can’t help but imagine it the way it used to be.
The Hell Hounds were feared.
Cerberus caused his fair share of damage while he was alive.
And yet, he managed to shape three teenage boys into something normal.
Wolfe, as Cerberus’s only son, should’ve taken over.
But he wanted nothing to do with it.
Jace King was brought into the club as a young teen, and Apollo…
My brother was sold into it.
So that’s where the trio was formed, and they’ve been together ever since.
Finally, I round the corner and come up on the clubhouse.
It’s a massive, sprawling building that’s been remodeled in recent years.
There’s a long row of bikes out front, and one of the Hell Hounds sits on the porch, smoking a cigarette.
I park on the end and climb out of my car.
“Club meeting,” the Hell Hound informs me.
“You can’t go in until they’re finished.”
I blow out a breath.
The kid looks young.
I’d be surprised if he had tipped over into his twenties yet.
The scruff above his lip strikes me as the first hair he’s been able to grow on his face.
And because of it, he’s unwilling to fucking shave.
He stares at me.
I stare back.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s waiting.
“Tell Malik to find me when he’s done.” I hop off the porch, ignoring his protest, and go around the far side of the building.
There’s a gravel pathway that leads to the residencies.
At one point, they all used to be in the same building.
And the only way in was through that front door they have the puppy guarding.
This is better. Both in my interest—for breaking in—and just simple privacy reasons.
Take Saint, for example.
He hears everything, which has made nighttime activities a thing of the distant past. Even solo activities.
Separate is better.
I find Malik’s unit with ease.
He’s the leader, therefore he has the largest and nicest accommodations.
His window isn’t even locked, which makes my break-in job that much easier.
I’ve scaled buildings before, but climbing through a window into his apartment is nothing.
Once in, my boots solidly on his laminate flooring and the window left only a crack open, I take a breath.
It smells faintly of wood shavings in here, a remnant of the reconstruction.
But overwhelmingly, it smells like Malik.
And that is an unexpected comfort.
The place is neat, but not un-lived-in.
He’s got a kitchen, which I’d bet everyone else doesn’t have, and there’s a plate and cup in the sink.
A collection of framed photos hung on the wall in the hallway leading to the bedroom.
The three-cushion couch faces a television, and a crumpled blanket has been haphazardly thrown over one of the arms.
I let my fingers trail along the back of the couch, debating if it’s safe to take a seat.
Who knows what Malik brings home nowadays.
When I was younger, I was obsessed.
He killed that crush relatively fast, but the shame of it still simmers low in my gut.
I threw myself at him, and all he had to say was that I couldn’t.
Shouldn’t. Blah, blah, blah.
To a sixteen-year-old girl, it was devastating.
The front door opens, and Malik strides in.
His gaze finds me immediately, and his severe expression softens.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Kid didn’t tell me it was you.”
“Your pup should learn the important faces.”
“Kind of hard when you’re never around,” he counters.
“Come to the club, old man. Bring your gang. Spend some of your money.”
He eyes me, then slowly shakes his head.
“You don’t need them scaring away your North Falls rich tourists.”
I crack a smile.
“I think a little danger would intrigue them.”
His hair is long enough to need to be tied back.
He keeps it contained at the nape of his neck, although right now he tears the leather strip out and rakes his fingers through his hair.
A sign of agitation?
Wolfe does the same thing sometimes, although his hair is managed.
Probably Kora’s doing.
But as far as tells go…
“Is this about you passing out?” he finally asks.
“Do you need to sit down?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I groan.
“How did you hear? Antonio?—?”
“Mel,” he says, smirking.
I don’t like his smirk.
I also don’t particularly like that my host is associated with the Hell Hounds.
Something I should’ve known but missed.
I’ll figure that out later—who she’s fucked, how deep in she is, if she’s been hanging around the Hell Hounds recently or if I made a bigger mess with her by not uncovering it sooner.
“She ran here after her shift,” he supplies.
“Couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“And what did she say?” My voice is tight.
She’s freaking fired.
“Just that the big, bad Artemis swooned so hard she passed out.” His gaze sharpens.
“And her hero carried her back to her apartment in the club.”
I scoff.
“I swooned, huh?”
“Are you capable of such a thing?”
No .
I’m criminally broken when it comes to romance.
I turn away from him and investigate his fridge.
If he was polite, he would’ve offered me a drink.
But he’s just standing in the middle of his apartment like he’s the guest, and he watches me make myself at home.
The fridge is mostly stocked with beer.
Typical.
I grab two cans and toss one to him, then jump up to sit on the counter.
He comes forward and cracks his, leaning across from me.
We drink for a long moment in relative quiet, and I try to forget that the whole reason I’m here is because I need help.
I do not like asking for help.
I set the beer aside and shift my weight to one hip, pulling the paper from my back pocket.
It’s still folded, and I hold it out to him.
He takes it from me.
“I need to find him.”
He scans the page.
“You look unconscious, Artemis.”
“I was doing a realistic swoon, remember?”
He scowls.
“Right. Who is he?”
Ugh.
I bite my lip. “Do I have to tell you?”
“You want me to find him? I need his fucking name.” He refolds the paper and tucks it in his pocket, glaring openly at me.
“I think you know it. And, if sources are correct, Antonio and the sheriff know it, too.”
Fuck.
They scan IDs at the door.
Of course Antonio uncovered it— and told Bradshaw.
The asshole sheriff didn’t bother revealing that much.
Bradshaw lied to me.
Our security office would’ve been the first place Antonio went, both to get that photo and his name.
He wouldn’t go to the sheriff with half-cooked information.
“Reese Avery,” I finally say.
“And you’re on a fucking clock, Malik.”
He smirks again.
“What will you give me when I find him?”
“A favor.”
“You’re not your brother.”
Because Apollo, with his friends, gift favors to those who win at Olympus.
Anything within their long-reaching power.
“No,” I allow. I hop off the counter and saunter closer, until he’s stiffening up in front of me.
“I’m not Apollo. I’m better. So find Reese before the sheriff and Antonio. And my brother.”
“You’re asking a lot.” His voice is low.
“One favor might not cut it.”
“Either you find him,” I murmur.
“Or I do, and you get nothing.”
I step back.
“My phone’s on.” And then I head out the way I came, slipping through the window.
My boots hit the gravel, and I stride away from Malik Barlow with a smile etched in place.
Even if I feel a bit like throwing up.