12. Artemis
12 ARTEMIS
I show up at Antonio’s house bright and early.
The man barely sleeps, so the dawn arrival isn’t off-putting.
Even if I normally call first.
But I couldn’t stomach going back to my condo.
Saint would ask questions, or he’d simply look at me like he wants to peel apart my skin.
Or , even worse, he’d be waiting for me to bring up the tattoo.
Maybe he’d even goad it out of me.
Antonio sets a cup of espresso in front of me in his warm, sunshiny kitchen.
Vittoria, his wife, repainted it after…
Well. After .
“My youngest has officially moved out,” he informs me.
“And I put your cake on hold, seeing as the excitement of the day got away from us.”
He joins me at the table with his own little cup, although he knowingly slides me the crystal jar of sugar and a pitcher of cream.
I fix up my espresso and sip it, considering his words.
They’re officially empty nesters, yes.
But also the fact that he is still acknowledging the birthday.
The one that started with cliff jumping, reliving trauma from Terror, a fake tattoo, and ended with a bomb threat.
“Is the house too quiet?” I ask.
He makes a noncommittal noise and watches me closely.
His keen eyes pick up too much.
He clocks the blood on my elbow, the tenseness in my face and shoulders.
Maybe even the dark circles under my eyes.
“No more quiet than usual,” he says.
“Is it too quiet for you?”
Antonio is the father figure I wish I had growing up.
I guess I did get him for half of my teen years, technically.
He is an authority figure, a source of comfort and knowledge, and he does his best to keep me safe.
Along with the rest of his family.
All that to say—I’m not going to drag him into it this time.
“Nope,” I deny. “Everything is fine.”
He grunts, muttering about bomb threats.
Vittoria comes downstairs, and she doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.
She kisses the top of my head, her warm hand on my shoulder.
“Good to see you, Tem. Happy birthday. Belated.”
My face heats.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stop by.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. We’ll find a calmer time to celebrate.” Her fingers squeeze my shoulder gently.
“How are you?”
Antonio hops up to fix his wife an espresso.
They have a fancy machine that hisses and groans, but his movements are practiced and steady.
In no time, she’s joining us with her own little cup.
In classic Antonio style, he seems comfortable in a dark-blue quarter-zip sweatshirt, Bow & Arrow’s logo stitched on the breast, and a white dress shirt under it.
His jeans are clean and free of rips, although he’s currently wearing moccasins instead of his signature leather loafers.
Vittoria, by contrast, has her long dark hair loose around her shoulders, the knit sweater she has draped over a long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants giving her a warm and cozy appearance.
“I’m okay,” I tell her.
“You’re bleeding,” she comments.
I’d been trying to ignore my elbow, but it isn’t so easy when it’s dripping blood.
Sighing, I peel off my jacket and examine my skin.
I must’ve landed on a rock or something, because the cut is jagged and deep.
Antonio hands me a damp cloth, which I press to the wound.
Vittoria goes for the first-aid kit.
“Are you going to tell us what happened?” he questions.
“Fell off my bike.”
“Your bike isn’t here…” Vittoria narrows her eyes.
“What happened to it?”
“Collateral damage.” I wave away her concern.
“It’s fine, I’m going to handle it.”
She pulls my arm toward her and removes the cloth.
She takes her time laying out supplies—bandages, antiseptic ointment, witch hazel—on the table.
“Did Saint crash your bike?” Antonio demands.
“Or this Reese guy? I knew he was bad news?—”
“No, you didn’t.” I roll my eyes, wincing when Vittoria dabs at the cut.
“And it wasn’t either of them. You sent the sheriff out on a goose chase for Reese, but he’s not dangerous.”
He glares at me.
“Wasn’t he found with a bomb below Bow & Arrow, Artemis?”
Ugh.
“He disarmed it,” I point out.
“He saved Bow & Arrow.” And everything under it .
“He could’ve planted it for all you know. Disarmed it because he knew how he made it.” He points at me.
“Dangerous. After all you went through…”
His phone rings.
I look away, my face heating.
Vittoria reaches forward and squeezes my arm.
She’s going to say something about how he is protective of me like a fourth child, one who hasn’t left Sterling Falls.
One who he rescued so long ago…
“What?” he chokes out.
I tune in to his conversation, twisting in my chair.
His hand is over his mouth, and his gaze flies back to me.
“Okay. We’ll be there.”
“What?” I demand as soon as he hangs up.
“There are…” He winces.
“There’s a dead body outside of Bow & Arrow.”
Well.
That’s not good.
“You can’t be here.”
I duck under the crime scene tape, rolling my eyes at the sheriff.
“Pretty sure you can’t give orders like that when just a few hours ago you were telling Jace this guy left town of his own free will.”
He has a better poker face than to look surprised—but he doesn’t have a reply either.
I put my hands on my hips, staring up at the body.
Only one, notably, even though there were two who went missing.
I tuck away that piece of information.
One shoe dropped—but there will be another.
Antonio downplayed the situation.
It’s not just outside of Bow & Arrow—it’s been pinned to the wall over our heads.
It being a bloody, bloated corpse.
One of Wolfe’s informants, I’d imagine.
What they need to be informed of, I have no idea.
Why the murderer chose here , also no idea.
Or how they got it up so high.
My head hurts.
Also, most importantly, he’s missing an eye.
In all the gore and blood coating his skin, it’s almost easy to miss.
The sheriff steps in front of me, blocking my view.
“Go home, Artemis.”
“I’m not squeamish,” I counter.
“I know that.”
“I’m not sentimental.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m not stupid enough to dirty your crime scene.”
“Naturally.”
“And I’m not fragile.”
He frowns.
“I’m not ,” I snap. “Whoever did this was sending a message to me. So… let me take a look, and then you can send in your goon squad.”
He grunts.
Considers. He’s very official in his uniform, complete with the rather outlandish, round-topped hat.
It’s everything he hides behind when he does questionable things for other people that make me not trust him completely.
Sheriff Bradshaw has been known to follow the money when it suits him.
So perhaps I’m not as forgiving as some other people when it comes to him.
Why should I? He was in the Hell Hounds’ pocket, and then the Titans’.
Then, when it suited him, he double-crossed both.
I step around him while he’s still deciding.
The sun is up. The waves crashing as the tide comes in sits in my ears like background music.
Rather that than the hum of police chatter, the attention it’s drawing.
I focus back in on the missing eye.
The left one. There’s a trickle of blood running down his cheek, dripping off his chin and onto his shirt.
I don’t know how he died, but he’s spread-eagle on the wall.
Nails through his hands and feet.
A stake through his stomach.
My stomach turns, but I swallow sharply and force my attention to keep moving.
The man is barefoot.
Blood droplets fall off his downturned toes, creating a pool on the concrete beneath him.
Whether or not he was alive when they put him up will be left to the professionals.
It’s got to be a message of some kind—I just don’t know for whom.
It’s no secret that Apollo, one owner of Olympus, is my twin brother.
While Olympus might’ve been a good staging area for a dead body, it doesn’t get nearly the foot traffic Bow & Arrow does.
Even now, midday in the middle of the week, there’s a crowd collecting at the edges of the yellow crime scene tape.
“When is he coming down?” I ask Bradshaw.
He wrinkles his nose.
“As soon as you leave and my goon squad can do their work.”
“Fine.” I head for the door.
It’s a good thing the body is centered on the building, and the door is off-kilter.
Otherwise, I’d need a damn umbrella—and nerves of steel—to get inside.
The sheriff catches my arm.
“You can’t go in there.”
“That’s not a crime scene—the outside is.”
He scowls.
“A planted bomb one day, someone murdered the next? You think you should stay open?”
“Luckily, that’s not your call.”
I jerk out of his hold.
I fumble with the lock and wrench the door open.
The heavy doors are meant to block the light, especially if patrons enter before sunset.
It doesn’t ruin the illusion of darkness for everyone else.
But it also blocks most of the noise from traveling out onto the street.
I shoulder inside and lock the door behind me.
This club is my home.
I love everything about it, and I’d do anything to protect it.
But right now, I’m exhausted .
I make a beeline for my apartment and lock myself in.
After a quick shower, in which I’m careful not to get my elbow bandage wet, I towel off and head to bed.
I draw the shades, pull the blankets up to my ears, and fall asleep faster than I could’ve imagined.
The mystery of bombs and one-eyed dead bodies can wait.