30. Artemis
30 ARTEMIS
I’m a liar.
I can’t go into Terror.
I barely make it all the way down the stairs, and a creaking noise has me running .
I get to my office and slam the door shut behind me.
I lean against it, my chest aching.
I frantically try to catch my breath.
What is wrong with me?
A knock reverberates through my back.
I shift to the side and crack the door, peeking over my shoulder to see who it is.
Antonio.
He takes in my expression, whatever it holds, and the sternness fades from his eyes.
Understanding replaces it.
How can he understand?
“Come,” he says, stepping back.
I turn and open the door the rest of the way.
He goes into his office, and I drop into the seat across from him.
I’ve done this many times, but this feels different.
“You went downstairs.”
My breath hitches.
“I had cameras installed after the bomb incident,” he says.
“My notifications go off if they detect movement…”
“I went down there already. I was fine.”
He snorts.
He pulls an electric kettle from a drawer in his desk and quickly sets it up.
He pours water in, and while it boils he retrieves mugs.
Tea bags. Honey. Miniature spoons.
He sets everything up with calm efficiency, giving me the space to sit with those words.
The ones where I insist I was fine .
“You’ve been living above Terror,” he says.
“And for a decade, you’ve avoided it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Isn’t it time to face those demons?”
“Maybe,” he allows.
“Maybe not. It depends on if you’re ready for the fight.”
Am I?
I don’t think I have a choice.
“Reese is…” I cannot tell him I kissed Reese.
I still feel his lips against mine, and heat surges to my face.
And between my legs.
God, not now .
I shove the memory away and focus on the mugs.
He fixes my tea the way I like it, and I grip it with both hands.
I don’t know what to do.
Not with Terror, or Reese, or Saint, or Kade, or the Cyclopes, or?—
“Reese is what?”
“He’s not strictly the enemy.” I look away.
Antonio knows quite a bit of my history, but I didn’t ever have to get into the nitty gritty.
He was there, in a way.
He saw what Terror did to people.
“I don’t know what I want to do.”
“Okay.” He leans back.
His chair creaks a little, and he crosses his ankles.
“Okay, so what do you not want to do?”
I smile.
I think he used to do that with his kids, too, when they were struggling.
Can’t think of chores you want to do?
Cross the least favorite off the list. Go from there.
“Did you find out anything from the sheriff about that body?”
He frowns.
“No. Nothing new. There were no defensive wounds, no DNA that could tie it back to someone specific. He’s labeling it a gang member death.”
I bristle.
“It was an informant, and he knew that before they even discovered it.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that…”
Something catches his attention on his computer.
It’s at an angle that I can’t quite see, and I’m tempted to get up and circle around to satisfy my own curiosity.
Before I can, he swivels it to show me.
The sheriff has just arrived in front of the club.
On a Saturday night, at our peak hour.
It’s not just him, though.
It seems like most of the force is behind him, the whole screen filled with blue-and-red flashing lights, cruisers, deputies.
He holds up a paper to the bouncer, then moves past.
Everyone moves past.
“Warrant,” I breathe.
“I need to get down there.”
Antonio grabs my wrist. “No. You should leave while you still can.”
I reach over and click to a separate view.
One that shows all the cameras.
They’re already in the stairwell that leads up here.
“Do we have anything to hide?”
He makes a face.
“Everything is above board.”
“Okay, then…” I take a deep breath.
“We let them search. We don’t have a choice.”
“We’ll have to shut down for the night.”
I scowl.
The club is packed. Saturday nights are always high-adrenaline as we catch the run-off from Olympus.
Those who aren’t ready to call it a night come here, and a lot are still wearing their masks.
But even as we watch the security footage, our guests slowly stop dancing.
More and more flood out.
And then the sheriff is in the doorway, watching us watch his people fuck up my club.
I look over my shoulder at him and sip my tea.
It’s piping hot, but it’s a comfort nonetheless.
He’s dressed like the dickhead he is, hat firmly in place, uniform perfect.
It’s annoying how put together he seems compared to how not I feel.
Would it kill him to have a stain somewhere?
“Antonio,” he greets my business partner.
“Artemis.”
I scowl.
He presents us with the warrant, but I don’t move.
Antonio is the one who reaches out and takes it, scanning the pages.
I keep my gaze on the sheriff—which is how I miss our security feeds going out one by one.
Antonio makes a noise, and I whirl around to catch the last one darkening.
I shoot out of my chair and face the sheriff.
“Kora would be disappointed in you.”
He doesn’t even flinch.
“She couldn’t stop this any more than you could. Just let us do our jobs.”
“Fine.” Antonio beats me to the punch.
“Let’s step out.” Nathan Bradshaw has the good grace to look a little sorry, shifting out of the way and motioning for us to leave the office.
“This isn’t fair,” I hiss to Antonio.
My steadfast friend takes my hand.
We go into the hall, and I jolt at the realization that there are more officers with Bradshaw.
They file into the office and begin to take apart Antonio’s computer system.
There are already people in mine.
“The computers, Nathan?” Antonio questions.
“Really?”
I let out a sigh and shake my head.
“It’s not worth it. We need to find our staff.”
“They’re downstairs,” the sheriff says.
Antonio and I find them all gathered in the middle of the now-empty dance floor.
The DJ cut the music, although even they still linger.
There’s a dozen of us, and most of the staff seem dejected, confused, or just stressed.
Not on my watch.
I put on my brightest smile and clap my hands.
“Anyone hungry?”
That’s how we end up at Antonio’s.
Not to be confused with Antonio’s house, or Bow & Arrow, which Antonio runs with me.
No, this is a restaurant owned by Jace that Antonio helped him build up, and he still pops in to manage the quality.
It’s quite the fancy place, with even a baby grand piano in the center of the room to serenade guests.
Antonio used to live above the restaurant before he and his wife outgrew the small apartment, and then they converted it into a sort of safe house.
But at this hour, the restaurant is closed, and everyone gathers around the tables in the commercial kitchen.
Antonio pulls out supplies, and before I can even process what’s happening, he has everyone making personal pizzas.
His low voice, carrying instructions on how to stretch out the dough, the best way to spread sauce, buzzes in my ears.
It’s soothing. Maybe not to me in this moment, but for everyone else.
I know everyone here.
Helped everyone here in some way.
I pause on my manager, Sam.
She’s been with us the longest, having come from…
well, from the same sort of situation I did.
She meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow.
I tip my head. She breaks away and follows me out into the dining room, and I fiddle with a lock of my hair.
“Not like you to look nervous,” she comments.
“You okay?”
I shake my head slowly.
“I think something bad is coming.”
Her expression blanks.
“Like…” I can’t say it.
She says it for me. “Like Terror.”
“I don’t know, it’s just a hunch, but if it does? I want you to get everyone well away from here. Take them to Emerald Cove?—”
“We don’t have the kind of money to relocate everyone,” she interjects gently.
“I do.” I stare at her.
“I do, Sam. When you’re ready, you take it and them and you run.”
She hugs me.
I’m not expecting it, but being swallowed up in her grip is actually nice.
Comforting.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“I know you try to do so much for us, but you go above and beyond.”
My throat closes.
It isn’t just Sam. It’s everyone who works for me.
Which is why Mel frustrates me.
I haven’t forgotten that she shared information with Malik.
That she hangs out with the Hell Hounds, trying to be someone’s old lady.
Trust me, I went through that phase, too.
Luckily my brother didn’t let anyone get that close.
And I haven’t fired her yet, either.
Even though I said I would, I haven’t managed to pull the trigger.
Sam and I separate, and we return to make pizzas.
Sam, Jackie, Ginger, Mel, Cassandra, Lisa, Tess, Mitch, Paul, and Barry.
Antonio. Me. Bartenders and managers and security and waitresses.
It doesn’t really matter what title they hold at the end of the day.
Antonio directs Tess to the beers, and she passes them out to all of us.
I raise mine. “To the best crew I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”
Antonio smiles softly.
“Hear, hear,” he says.
“Hear, hear,” they echo.
Glasses clink.
My heart doesn’t feel quite so lost at the moment.