Chapter 11 Hera #2
But I know better, don’t I? It’s written there on Ixion’s, Nephele’s, and Imbros’s faces when I approach the car.
They’ve all seen it, and even though they stood outside the building while it was happening, it still clearly affects the way they view me.
It’s going to affect the way the entire city views me.
Nephele opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand before she can get a single word out. “I don’t want to talk about it. I would like to go home.”
Home. The very idea is laughable. That penthouse I share with my husband is no home to me.
It’s a prison to be endured until this sham of a marriage is at its end, preferably with his death.
And yet the closer we drive to the city, the more my heart rate can’t decide whether it wants to ease or pick up.
The more the memories of what happened earlier today—and now writ large in grainy video for all the city to see—echo through my body.
It’s disastrous to still want him after everything. It’s horrific to crave his lips forming my true name, even when I hate him with every fiber of my being. It’s absolutely unforgivable to want his cold steadiness to calm the inferno inside me.
No doubt he’ll come to me with accusations instead of comfort.
And what use do I have for comfort? If that’s what I craved, I should have stayed in the gentle embrace of my sister and mother.
Or at least Psyche. My mother may play gentle for the public, but there are thorns beneath the facade. There always have been.
“Fuck,” Ixion breathes. “We have a problem.”
That’s absolutely not what I want to hear right now. I lean forward and press my fingers to my temples, hard. “What problem?”
I see what he means the moment I ask the question. The road ahead of us was empty, but now there is a single nondescript black SUV blocking the way. Circe? But why would she bother to move so publicly when her threats are best made in the shadows?
I get my answer as we coast to a stop a short distance from the blockade. A familiar Black woman steps out of the SUV and stretches, her warrior’s form on full display. Atalanta. What the fuck is she doing here?
She strolls to my window as if completely unaware of the fact that every single person in this car, barring me, is reaching for their gun. I motion for Nephele to roll down the window and barely manage to get my expression locked down before she obeys. “Is there a problem?”
Atalanta smiles tightly. “You could say that. Athena would like a word.”
I make a show of looking around, of motioning to the empty fields on either side of the road. “She’s in the city, and I’m heading to the city. Why bother with all the theatrics?”
“Cute.” She jerks her thumb to indicate the car. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. It’s your choice, Hera.” It’s hard to tell because she’s so naturally charming, but I swear there’s a hint of derision in the way she says my title.
I glance at my team, each doing their damnedest to convey the fact that they are willing to fight their way out of this.
But what’s the point? Fight our way out of this and…
go back to the city where we’re still surrounded by enemies?
Not to mention that Athena’s people are all, to a person, trained assassins.
Atalanta may have started with Artemis, but that makes her no less fearsome.
There’s only a single car, but…Athena is not to be underestimated. If she’s determined to talk to me here, out in the middle of nowhere, then she’s not going to let me go without having that conversation. It will mean a fight, which might end in my people being hurt.
I must care more than I previously thought, because the possibility leaves me cold. “Fine. Let’s have this conversation.” I glance at Ixion. “If they move, follow them, and we’ll reconvene back in the city.”
No one looks happy with this—at least no one except Atalanta. I step out of the car and walk side by side with her across the short distance to the SUV. Even as I tell myself not to show weakness, I can’t help but sneer. “What? No cute little quip about my newfound fame?”
She rolls her eyes. “No matter what you might think of me, I’m not a fucking monster.
So no, I’m not going to ridicule you about a video that was obviously taken without your permission.
Shove off with that nonsense.” We reach the SUV and she holds open the door, waiting for me to slide in the back seat.
There’s no going back after this. Athena could shoot me in the head and dump my body in the middle of the countryside, and no matter how hard my team fights, they’ll end up joining me in some unmarked grave.
With all the chaos, it might be ages before someone finds our remains.
I wonder if my husband would feel relief at being rid of me.
No. That’s defeatist thinking. If Athena wanted to kill me, she’d do it in the dead of night when it couldn’t possibly be traced back to her. This is a conversation, plain and simple. I will not show weakness. That doesn’t stop me from palming my switchblade as I slide into the back seat.
Except it’s not Athena waiting for me. It’s Hermes.