Chapter 10
CORDELIA
After eight hours of driving, I ended up in the arse-end of nowhere—a dusty little town about a hundred miles away from a private airport.
I’d managed to charter a private flight, but it couldn’t get me home until late tomorrow. It was now seven in the morning, and I needed a motel and some sleep.
Passing the “Vacancies” sign, I pulled into the parking lot and eyed the exterior of my temporary lodgings.
It looked exactly like every old-school roadside motel, two levels, peeling paint, and a balcony-style walkway on the second floor, fenced in by a waist-high metal railing.
Going to a motel was like choosing junk food: you knew it’d be underwhelming, maybe even a little bit toxic—but it was cheap, and more importantly, low-profile.
‘Hey,’ I said, stepping into the reception area with a smile for the manager—a twitchy guy, with greasy black hair and a gappy smile.
‘Room?’ he drawled.
‘One night, please, my good man.’
‘Sure thing, beautiful.’ I gave him a tight smile and clenched my jaw.
‘Anywhere to get food around here?’
‘Sure. There’s a mini mart just down the street,’ he said, pointing, then handed me an envelope with 220 scrawled across the front. ‘First staircase, halfway down the veranda.’
‘Veranda?’
‘Yeah, it’s fronted by the decorative green rail.’
‘The exterior walkway, right?’
‘No… veranda.’
‘But a veranda is like an open porch on ground level?’ I muttered, realising I was actually arguing with a man about architectural terms. Tired and grumpy—not my best self.
He looked conflicted for a moment. ‘Never mind,’ I said, waving it off.
‘Let’s call it open air access.’ I winked and left the reception.
I grabbed my suitcase and small backpack from the car, along with my business and private phones.
The burner from the client I destroyed back at my last stop.
As I climbed the steps, I eyed the iron hand railing of the motel balcony—painted a sad dingy green to match the room doors.
I trusted the crooked handrail along the edge of the second-story walkway about as much as I trusted the methed-out front desk manager not to steal my credit card number.
Luckily, the one I gave him wasn’t mine; it belonged to Drakos.
The room was low-ceilinged, dim, and sparsely furnished—the basics—and so old they would have been antiques if they hadn’t been so cheaply made.
There was a musty funk, too, with a hint of dust and mildew.
The bed was probably questionable, but after eight hundred miles of running for my life, it’d do.
‘Food later,’ I mumbled, collapsing onto the bed fully clothed.
* * *
I was rudely yanked from sleep by the shrill, incessant ring of my business phone.
‘Shit,’ I grumbled, rolling over and grabbing it from the nightstand.
‘You failed, little flower.’ Drakos’s furious voice thundered in my ear.
No shit, Sherlock. I sat up abruptly. ‘Is Guinn safe?’
‘Yes, we are going to my stronghold in Greece for a while. You need to sort this out.’
‘He was a god, Drakos. A fucking god!’ Anger simmered, prickling under my skin, hot and sharp.
I heard an intake of breath. ‘Shit,’ he whispered. The phone line went quiet for several beats—our link thick with tangy worry and uncertainty.
‘Yeah. And now he’s after me. If he catches me…’ My voice hitched. At the thought, the venom of panic gave me a sharp bite.
‘Come to Greece,’ Drakos said gently. ‘We can fix this, little flower. I promise.’ But his voice sounded hollow. He knew we were up shit creek, and a paddle wouldn’t cut it—we needed a freaking outboard motor.
‘I’ll be there tomorrow.’ I hung up and dropped my head in my hands.
Everyone feared the gods—and rightly so. They might’ve made the world better, but they ruled it with an iron fist. If you displeased them or broke the rules, you were dealt with, swiftly and viciously. And I thought I could outmanoeuvre a demigod. That alone would’ve been a feat.… But a god!
Poseidon… one of the power three.
And me? A twenty-four-year-old nitwit with a knack for killing mortals. Great with badassery on a human level—but against a god? Holy macaroons. They erased people like me for sport, and I was about to join that list of dead.
Fuck my life.
This wasn’t just a train wreck. It was the flaming derailment of my whole damn life.
And yet… thinking about the gods brought him to mind. Si. That imperious, dangerous, sexy-as-sin asshole who wore his arrogance like a mantle… a freaking god. A god I’d really liked. My heart tugged with remorse.
‘I’m sorry I betrayed you, Si,’ I whispered. ‘I had no choice.’ Regret swelled, threatening to suffocate me, but I pushed the thought away and buried it deep within my subconscious. ‘Shower,’ I muttered, slipping from the bed.
Five minutes later, I was clean, packed, and starving.
I needed food and water… and maybe a bottle of whisky.
Then I’d hole up in my room until it was time to leave for the airport.
After changing my flight destination, I put on a pair of yoga pants, popped my dagger, secured in the sheath, into the pocket of my cropped hoodie, and slipped on a baseball cap.
Time to find sustenance and stay invisible.
It was late afternoon, and the weather was strange—a fine mist hung in the air, the cold moisture clinging to my cheeks and caressing my skin. The streets were eerily quiet, maybe due to the chilly weather. After about ten minutes of walking, I found the mini mart.
‘Food,’ I grunted as my belly growled like an angry troll.
The mini mart was deserted, too. Odd, but I didn’t think much of it. I wandered inside, grabbed a basket, and started scouring the shelves. I stocked up on snacks and water—enough to survive the next twenty-four hours. All I needed now was that bottle of whisky.
I stiffened when a strange feeling washed over me, like eyes digging into the back of my head. My hardwired danger sensors roared to life. My danger sensors were sensitive and deadly accurate; if they weren’t, I’d have been a corpse at least twenty times by now.
Bands of steel squeezed my chest, but I swallowed the fear. ‘Crap,’ I hissed through clenched teeth.
The first tremor of panic shook my limbs, but I licked my lips and forced it away.
I kept moving. Kept pretending. I picked up more snacks to place in the basket, all the while scanning the space for a back exit.
There… the storeroom. Perfect. Casually, I nudged my basket onto a shelf, freeing my hands, and my fingers found the hilt in my hoodie pocket.
I slid the blade free from its scabbard.
Turning slightly, I glanced over my shoulder, unease trickling down my spine. Dark, savage eyes stared straight at me from the entrance… Ajax.
Batshit and tiaras. I bolted.
My lungs seized as adrenaline hit like a freight train. I tore through the store, bursting into a back warehouse space, legs pumping, heart slamming against my ribs. I spotted the fire door, barrelled towards it, and slammed it open. The alarm shrieked behind me, but I ran like hell.
I sprinted like an Olympian athlete—I was super-fast, especially when a stacked beefcake with lots of working muscle was chasing me.
A huge, grinning guy stepped out from behind a wall, right into my path, and I slammed into him at full speed, almost breaking my damn face.
The upside? My momentum knocked him flat.
He hit the ground with a grunt, but like lightning, he sprang to his feet—still grinning.
The deep breath I took didn’t calm my raging heart, and adrenaline surged within me, ready to fight.
He lunged to grab me, but I ducked under his arm, twisted, and leapt onto his back, plunging the blade into his shoulder.
He cursed and shook me off hard. I hit the ground, rolled, and dove through his spread legs.
As I passed underneath, I stabbed upwards into his thigh, just missing his junk.
He bellowed as I emerged to see Ajax closing in fast, but Mr. Smiley dropped to one knee, cursing and clutching his manhood.
I took off again like a bat out of hell.
I got to the street corner about two minutes away from the motel, and Ajax launched and grabbed me.
He was fast and strong, but I was faster, graceful…
and deadly. Not to mention hangry. Boy, had these two cocksuckers picked the wrong girl to mess with.
I twisted, jerking an arm free, and crashed my elbow into his stomach. Solid muscle. Shit.
Plan B: I kneed him in the balls—hard—he folded forward and cursed, wallowing in his bruised manhood.
I dropped into a backbend, avoiding his grabby hands, turning my arch into a slide as I scraped the ground and punched upwards as I moved between his open legs.
My fist connected with his nutsack with the force of a sledgehammer.
‘Yeeeeeaaargh.’ The high-pitched squeal that escaped him? Glorious! The man was an absolute ass-wipe.
I popped up behind him, vaulted onto his back, wrapped my legs around his ribs and drove my elbow into the base of his skull—sharp, short, and brutal.
He went slack, fingers loosening, a stunned groan escaping him before he slumped to his knees.
I didn’t stick around to admire the effect. I rolled off, hit my feet, and ran.
Reaching my motel room, I unlocked the door and dashed inside, slamming it shut behind me. I twisted the lock, then collapsed back against the wood, eyes closed, panting.
Crap. I need to get out of here. Now.
‘Hello, Cordelia.’ His deep voice was almost excited and rolled through the room like thunder.… The predator had found its prey.
At the sound of my real name on his lips, my knife fell from my hand and clattered to the floor. Fear washed through me, and my eyes snapped open. There he was, leaning casually against the wall, and tingles of dread radiated through my chest.
Poseidon.
I’m so dead. I grieved for Guinn—I wasn’t getting out of here alive, and I knew it.