Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
APHRODITE
I t was late afternoon, and Ares had been absent the entire day. I couldn't question his whereabouts without raising suspicion. Hephaestus was missing too. I had a shift at the Odyssey tonight, and I intended to gather all the information I could.
For three days, I’d been working at the Odyssey, soaking up every detail and scrap of information that came my way. Dressed in my most revealing shirts, I leaned in close, listening intently to every word those drunk idiots let slip.
As I entered the back door of the club, I passed through a hallway and noticed one of the doors was slightly ajar. Peering inside, I saw Apollo deep in conversation with Prometheus. Instinctively, I jumped back out of sight but lingered close enough to catch their words.
Apollo glanced around, unaware of my presence, “The shipment’s arriving at the harbor tonight. Zeus requested we be there for twelve sharp.”
“Any word on the size?” Prometheus asked, his expression serious.
Apollo crossed his arm, his tone tense, “Hephaestus said it’s bigger than usual—high grade stuff. We can’t afford any slip-ups.”
Prometheus patted Apollo’s arm, but his eyes suddenly caught sight of me. Both fell silent, exchanging a glance before they turned and walked away.
Since I’d arrived at the compound, the Syndicate had kept me in the dark about their activities. I wasn’t naive—I had a good idea of what they were involved in. It was clear they didn’t trust me enough to share the details, and I couldn’t blame them for that. But I needed to show them I wasn’t like Ouranos.
I needed to prove I could be trusted.
Curiosity gnawed at me, pushing me to uncover the origins of the Olympus Syndicate members. From the moment I started working at the bar, I made it my mission to engage with the regulars, subtly steering conversations toward the club whenever I could. If no one was willing to openly share what I needed to know, I was determined to find out on my own.
As I quietly observed and eavesdropped, it became clear that every member played a vital role in the MC’s operations. Each one moved with purpose; their actions woven into the intricate fabric of the club’s inner workings.
Athena commanded unwavering authority over every aspect of the compound’s operations. Her sharp mind ensured that business was handled discreetly, with no rumors slipping through the cracks. Her approach to security was strict and unyielding.
Apollo had earned a reputation as the Syndicate's peacekeeper, known for his calm demeanor and steady hand. With a surprising amount of medical knowledge, he was the first person people turned to for help with a bullet wound.
Ares was war personified—a relentless force that commanded both fear and respect. The mere thought of how many men quaked in his presence sent a shiver of dark excitement through me. He was a warrior you didn’t dare cross, a living weapon honed by Zeus himself into something far beyond human. To many, Ares was no longer just a man; he was a demon in flesh, an enigma only Hades could truly understand. Together, Ares and Hades were Olympus Syndicate’s harbingers of death, hellish angels who dragged their enemies straight into the inferno. To face them was to face inevitable destruction.
Prometheus, recently released from prison after serving time for orchestrating a high-profile heist that shook the underworld, was the eldest amongst them, yet still a newcomer to the MC. Despite his age and time away, he wasted no time integrating into the Syndicate's ranks. He often shadowed Apollo, the two of them inseparable, like a formidable force of nature. Their combined reputation was ironclad—no one who dared to cross them ever lived to tell the tale.
The blaring music in the bar drowned out the chatter of the guests as I wiped down the countertop. It was a surprisingly busy Monday, and the bar was packed. Regulars moved at a relaxed pace, while Artie was deep in conversation with an old man about his problems.
Suddenly, the flash of motorcycle headlights cut through the windows. I tossed the towel aside and stepped closer to get a better look. Just outside, I caught sight of Hades and Apollo hurrying toward Ares.
“Artie!” I called out, still staring through the window. “Something’s up!”
Without waiting for her response, I dropped everything and rushed outside, bolting toward the men.
Unease gripped me as I watched Apollo and Hades struggle to help Ares off his bike. My heart sank with each labored step they took, and I knew I couldn’t just stand by. Driven by concern, I rushed to Hades's side as they maneuvered Ares into the clubhouse. They laid him out on the pool table, and it hit me like a cold wave—the table, likely serving as a makeshift operating station, was stained with the blood of previous injuries, the green velvet marred with grim evidence of past battles.
“What happened?” I cried out as Ares unleashed a string of curses and groans while Apollo helped Ares out of his vest with careful precision. Ares’s white shirt, drenched in blood, clung to his frame. Without hesitation, Apollo ripped the fabric open, his hands working with practiced urgency, revealing the gruesome, bloodied wound beneath.
Countless scars covered Ares’s chest, telling a story of previous battles fought. His tattoos adorned most of his skin, but I could still make out the raised texture of the scars underneath.
“Grab the bandages from the closet next to the mini fridge,” Apollo barked, his hands pressing down on Ares’s abdomen to staunch the bleeding. I darted to the closet, rummaging through the shelves until I found the bandages, along with some gauze and anything else that might help.
Hades was already at work, wiping the blood from Ares’s chest, revealing the ugly wound with a bullet lodged inside.
“Get me some fucking liquor!” Ares growled, his voice tight with urgency.
Ares’s command roared through the massive building, bouncing off the ceilings and walls. I quickly grabbed the tequila, hoping it would ease his suffering. Panic consumed my soul. With trembling hands, I rushed to Ares’s side, desperate to give him the bottle. He devoured the golden liquid in seconds.
“This is going to hurt.” Apollo readied his medical tools while utilizing a pair of pliers. I pressed my hand against Ares’s face, causing him to turn toward me. His dark brown eyes were filled with agony, reflecting the pain he was trying so hard to hide.
Hades pinned Ares to the pool table, his weight pressing down as Ares's body writhed in agony beneath him. Each spasm was a testament to the excruciating pain he was enduring. Apollo, his face a mask of grim determination, started the grueling operation, his hands moving with precise, practiced motions as he fought against the bleeding and chaos.
The tension in the room was suffocating, a cacophony of grunts and commands blending into a harsh symphony of suffering. In the midst of this frantic, clinical turmoil, I felt a rising sense of helplessness.
Without fully understanding why or how, I found myself breaking the oppressive silence. My voice, trembling at first, began to cut through the clamor. I started to sing, the notes emerging softly at first, but growing stronger as the melody took hold. The sudden, unexpected sound filled the room, a haunting contrast to the brutal reality unfolding before me.
I leaned in close to his ear, the warmth of my breath mingling with the coolness of his skin. My voice dropped to a whisper as I began to sing a song that had been a source of solace in my own darkest moments. It was a lullaby, one that my nanny used to sing softly to me whenever my father inflicted his physical pain upon me. I could almost feel her gentle arms around me again.
I sang with a trembling voice, hoping to divert his attention from the excruciating moment when Apollo extracted the bullet. I attempted to ignore his pale complexion as I caressed his cheek. Ares let out a gut-wrenching roar that shattered the air, a raw, primal cry of agony. The sound of the extracted bullet clinking into a stainless-steel tray followed.
“We need to cauterize the bullet wound. Hades, grab the knife and heat it up, quickly!” Apollo shouted at Hades as he applied pressure to the wound with his hands.
“Keep looking at me,” Ares begged. He trembled, his face glistening with sweat as adrenaline seized his body. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. I climbed onto the pool table.
“What are you doing?” Apollo snapped, blood seeping through his fingers as he struggled to contain Ares’ wound.
“I am trying to keep him calm,” I snarled, my attention fixed on Ares. I grasped his face. “You focus on me, you hear me?” Ares’s lips quivered while he attempted to avert his gaze. “Look at me. Just me.” I kept repeating as Ares tried to focus.
Hades burst back into the room, wielding a fiery red knife in one hand and clutching a towel in the other. “Here, put this in his mouth. We need to do this now.” Hades threw me the towel, and I placed it into Ares’s mouth.
“Look at me,” I demanded. “I’ve got you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, and the smell of burning flesh hit me, making my stomach churn. But I remained composed, focusing on distracting him. His arms tightened around me, muscles going stiff with pain. I could feel his heart racing beneath my touch as I held his face, desperate to ease his suffering. His grip on my waist tightened, grounding us both in the moment, as if we were clinging to each other for strength. All I wanted was to take his pain away.
His body went limp.
He had passed out.
The noise and chaos diminished, leaving behind an eerie silence.
I let out a sharp cry, panic rising as I glanced urgently at Apollo. “What happened out there?” My heart pounded as I struggled to comprehend what had just transpired.
Ares lay motionless on the pool table, and the sight of him so vulnerable sent my mind spiraling. His normally strong muscles were slack and bloodied, revealing an intimate vulnerability that tore at me. The faint trail of hair on his chest led down to his abs, each rise and fall of his chest now a fragile hope. The tattoos marking the scars he had endured only deepened my fear.
I fought to steady my breath, each one a struggle against the crushing dread. The thought of him in pain gnawed at me, making it nearly impossible to focus.
“He'll be fine—this isn’t his first rodeo.” Apollo wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Hades looked at me with unexpected admiration, which threw me off guard. “I’ve never seen him so calm,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.
“That was calm?” I shot a glance at Ares, then back at him, trying to process his words.
“Yeah,” Hades said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s usually a fucking psycho. We usually have to wrestle him down just to keep him in check. He is our God of War, afterall”
The tension in the room was palpable, but I forced myself to maintain a neutral expression, hiding the chaos brewing inside me. “I’ve got a knack for handling tense situations,” I said, attempting to keep my tone light despite the heavy atmosphere.
“Alright,” Apollo replied, grabbing his belongings. “I need to go sterilize these.”
Hades sighed, then added, “I’ll get the stuff to clean him up.” With that, he followed Apollo, leaving me to grapple with the storm of emotions crashing inside me.
With just the two of us alone, I couldn’t resist reaching out to Ares. My fingers traced the intricate wing tattoo on his left rib, where an armor crest and shield were seamlessly woven into the design. Each detail of the tattoo seemed to embody his strength and resilience. As I lingered over the design, the warmth of his skin beneath my touch stirred a deep, unspoken connection within me, igniting a mix of awe and yearning.
A voice interrupted my daze, “That one is from the time he got into a fight with this chick named Medusa. She’s got a few snakes loose in the head. She attacked him with a knife and stabbed him,” I didn’t notice that Hades had been standing behind me, watching me touch him. I pulled my hand away, and he gave me a playful smirk.
“You don’t need to hide your feelings around me,” he said quietly. “It’s clear there’s something going on between the two of you.”
“There’s nothing,” I shot back, but even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. There was something between us, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
“Here,” he handed me a wet cloth. “I think he would prefer if you’d wipe him down instead of his uncle.”
Ares remained unconscious, and I placed the cool cloth on his chest, attempting to clean off the dried blood. Hades went to fetch more bandages, and my hands continued to trace their way from his abs to his chest. Even beaten and bruised, he was still a sight to behold.
Ares’s chiseled body was a masterpiece of raw, sensual power. His abs were a tight expanse of muscle, leading to a tapered waist that exuded strength. His broad shoulders and strong arms were veined and powerful, each tattoo a dark mark of his battles.
Ares’s eyes fluttered open, and with a sudden, fierce intensity, his hand shot up to cup my cheek. Our eyes locked. He pulled me closer in an instant. Our bodies pressed together, our breaths mingling in the space between us. A blush warmed my cheeks as a thrill ran down my spine, sending goosebumps scattering across my skin.
Ares’s lips crashed against mine, a kiss charged with raw, unspoken anguish. The contact was electrifying, a jolt that obliterated every previous memory of intimacy. His tongue, bold and insistent, tangled with mine, igniting a shivering ecstasy that coursed through me. A soft, desperate moan slipped from my lips as his rough hand slid down to caress my lower back, igniting a fierce longing deep within me.
I longed to be intoxicated by him, consumed by his touch, and to be the only woman he desired. Our lips separated, and I rested my forehead against his, wanting more but aware of all the risks involved in this dangerous game we were playing.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” The words slipped from his lips, leaving me breathless and yearning for more. I reached for him again.
“Ares.” I gasped, my heart pounding as panic set in. The situation was dangerous, and the intensity of the moment left me feeling charged, every touch and glance brimming with electric tension. It was as if my senses were heightened by fear, amplifying every flicker of arousal that coursed through me.
Every brush of his skin against mine felt like a spark, igniting a fire that I was both desperate to fan and terrified to fully embrace. I was lost in a whirlwind of desire and fear, the uncertainty inside me like a storm I couldn’t control. Each heartbeat was a reminder of the risk we were taking, leaving me tangled in the perilous allure of our forbidden connection.
Hades cleared his throat, and I sat up, scrambling to distance myself from Ares.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Hades interjected, “but you need to be more discreet.”
I hopped off the pool table, but Ares's hand gripped my shirt with a desperate urgency. It wasn't aggressive, but a plea, a need that spoke volumes. I glanced at him, the intensity of his gaze reflecting the deep, unspoken connection we shared.
“Hades won't say anything,” Ares whispered. “He’s always had my back. I know my uncle, and he would never turn on us. He’s on our side, through and through.” He gently caressed my hand, and I felt a heavy pull, drawing me closer to him.
We were playing with fire, I thought.
Hades approached Ares and helped him to sit up. Ares groaned in response but managed to sit after some difficulty. I didn’t know how he was handling the pain. Clearly, he had been through much worse encounters than this.
“Here you go,” Hades said, delivering the extra bandages and setting them on the table. He turned to face me, “Wrap it up with lover boy. I’ll keep a lookout.” He winked before heading toward the front door.
I stared at Ares for a moment, my breath hitching as his hands grazed my hips and he pulled me close. His thick thighs trapped me in between them, and I felt the warmth of his breath before his lips brushed against my neck. Temptation flooded my senses, and though I fought to resist the urge to give in.
“Who shot you?” I asked, desperate to know how he got injured but also clearly trying to divert the conversation. I picked up the bandages and started carefully wrapping his wound. As I worked, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my shoulder.
Ares fixed his hooded eyes on me, and muttered, “Someone ambushed me.” He was alarmingly calm for someone who had just narrowly escaped death.
I held his rough hand. “What do you mean ambushed? Who’s after you, Ares?”
He took my hand and lifted it to his lips, planting a firm kiss on the inside of my palm. “You don’t have to worry. They can’t kill me, no matter how hard they try.” He tried to laugh but his throat hitched, and he coughed, wincing from the pain.
“We need to be cautious with everything that we do. From digging into Titan’s past to navigating this”—I gestured between us— “They could be watching our every move.”
“Take a breath, Aphrodite,” he paused as he squeezed my hand reassuringly, “We will not get caught, and I will do everything in my power to make damn sure you don’t end up marrying Hephaestus.”
My heart sank, weighed down by the false hope that seemed to linger between us. I knew this fragile optimism was nothing more than an illusion, a fleeting comfort before the storm. It would guide us straight toward our inevitable demise, the thought settling like a stone in my chest. The air between us was thick with tension, and I could almost feel the darkness closing in, threatening to engulf us both.