Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
OPHELIA
On Friday night, we leave the house as a family. Ares is fighting at Akropolis for the first time since he lost. I promised to be his lucky charm after that delicious fuckfest with him and his brothers.
As Constantine drives us in the limo, I unscrew the top from the vodka bottle and take a swig.
The liquor burns on the way down, and it feels good.
Ares sits on the opposite side of the car, headphones in his ears to block out any sound.
He says it’s part of his pre-fight ritual and he can’t break it.
So I don’t even bother talking. As usual, Atlas is sketching me. He’s drawing my mouth wrapped around him, staring up at him with my eyes wide.
“Is that how I looked?” I ask him.
His eyes trace my mouth for a moment. He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip, and I catch the usual hint of charcoal on his skin. “You suck cock like a good little slut.”
I think he means that as a compliment. Ares says similar things to me all the time, and then when I scowl, he tells me to learn how to take a compliment.
Our moment fades in an instant, and Atlas returns to his sketch. He’s shading my lips as we pull up in front of a rundown building on the South Side of Beacon Bay.
The sign over the door reads Akropolis in blue and white lettering. I can tell Atlas drew the club’s logo because of the detail in his work. The K comes down to a sharp point, like a lightning bolt.
A sea of cars crowds the parking lot and takes up almost every spot on the street. Groups of people are smoking outside of the entrance, and from the smell of it, someone is smoking weed.
Constantine parks out front and opens the door. I hop out, and Atlas doesn’t miss an opportunity to touch my ass.
“Get your hands off of Miss Drakos,” Constantine tells him.
“It’s okay, Connie. Atlas won’t hurt me.”
He seems confused. Even though we’re friends, I don’t know how to tell him about my unconventional relationship. He would disapprove. And given his feelings for me, it would only make things awkward.
With his hand on my back, Ares guides me toward the building. “C’mon, Little Dragon. This way.” At the door, Ares tips his head at a bouncer. “Hey, Frankie. This is Ophelia Drakos. Don’t let anyone get close to her while I’m in the ring. You got it?”
He says my last name because everyone in town knows it.
Frankie nods, a look of pure terror in his eyes. “Sure thing, boss.” Then he looks at me. “Welcome to Akropolis, Miss Drakos.”
I smile in response.
His brothers greet the bouncer, and then we enter the building as a group. I flick my long hair over my shoulder, feeling overdressed once we’re inside. There are more men than women, which I expect for a fight club.
Since I’m with Ares and his brothers, all eyes are on me. Women give me disgusted looks as we pass them. I know what they’re thinking.
What is Ares doing with her?
I grip Ares’s arm, staying close to his side so these bitches know to back off.
He’s mine.
There are two boxing rings, four bars, and three concession stands. People are waving money in the air, taking bets. Almost-naked girls are shaking their asses.
We weave through the crowd toward the VIP row before the ring. The air stinks of sweat, bleach, blood, beer, and smoke. Bright overhead lights sear my skin.
I wish I had taken Ares’s advice and worn less clothing. I look too prim and proper in this blouse, out of place in this group of deviants. Mistress O would fit in perfectly with these girls.
Next to the Demetriou brothers, I look frumpy wearing boyfriend jeans and a loose blouse. But when Ares looks at me like he’s stripping me bare, I suck in a breath.
I love being wanted by him.
“Well, if it isn’t the God of War,” a man with massive arms says to Ares. He’s shirtless and wearing black-and-red boxing trunks that hang low on his hips. “Who do we have here? Is this your girl?”
I can already see the judgment in his eyes, the same look I have gotten hundreds of times.
“I didn’t know you were into fat chicks,” he says to Ares, laughing. “Oh, how the mighty god has fallen.”
Ares’s nostrils flare. “What did you fucking say?”
My sexy man doesn’t wait for him to respond, fists crashing into his face. Atlas wraps his arms around me and drags me backward as Apollo moves in front of us, throwing out his arms to shield me.
A crowd gathers around us, cheering on Ares as if this is the main event. Ares knocks the man to the ground, raises his foot, and kicks him in the face. Blood spews from his mouth and nose.
“You’re fucking done at Akropolis, you piece of shit.” Ares hits the guy, who clutches his ribs. He kicks him once more in the face and flags over two bouncers. “Get him the fuck out of my club. If I see him in here again, he’s dead.”
I’m shaking in Atlas’s arms, on the verge of tears. Ares has never acted this way around me, and I’m terrified of how much damage he can do with his fists. But I’m also thrilled that he beat that man up for me. No one has ever defended me before.
After the bouncers lead the bruised man out of the building, a blond man approaches Ares, also wearing boxing trunks. I assume he’s another person fighting tonight.
“What the fuck, Ares?” He shakes his head. “I was supposed to fight him in twenty minutes.”
“Walk away, Mercer,” Ares growls. “Or we can start the fight sooner. This is none of your business.”
“What did he do?” Mercer folds his arms over his thick chest, staring at Ares.
“He talked shit to my girl.” Ares angles his body to point at me. “See that beautiful woman over there? If you or any of your asshole friends say anything to or about her, I’ll kill you. And I won’t give you a chance to run away like a scared little bitch like I did last time.”
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Whatever. Fucking chill.”
He hurries away, and within seconds, Ares closes the distance between us, stealing me from his brother’s arms. His lips crash into mine with a wild passion I’ve never felt from him before. This kiss means something, and since he’s doing it in front of a large crowd, he wants people to know I’m his.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He flicks his tongue over my bottom lip. “That guy is an asshole. He won’t be coming here anymore.”
“I’m used to people calling me fat.” I shrug. “I can handle it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have to.” His arm curls around me, and he presses another kiss to my lips. “You’re a goddess. And I’ll destroy anyone who makes you think otherwise.”
My heart flutters.
Ares has his moments.
“I have to get ready for my fight.” My gorgeous god of a man leans closer, lips parted. “I need one more kiss for good luck, Little Dragon.”
This kiss is quicker than the last one but equally intense.
“I’m winning this fight for you.” He squeezes my ass, lifting my feet off the ground. “Sit with Apollo in the front row.” Ares tips his head at the reserved seating, separate from the rest of the crowd. “Atlas is coming with me.”
Apollo moves behind me. “C’mon, Mistress. We’ll meet up with my brothers after the fight.”
I stare at Ares as he walks away. It’s hard not to when he’s the epitome of perfection. His back has more muscles than I can count, and his ass… holy hell, he has a nice ass. Don’t even get me started on his abs or those thick arms. And that big cock beneath his black-and-gold boxing trunks.
Apollo hands me a silk pocket square. Of course, he’s wearing a suit. The man never dresses down, except the night he watched me with his brothers. I saw a lot more of Apollo and loved every second.
I narrow my eyes at him, confused by the gesture. “What’s this for?”
“So you can wipe the drool from your mouth.”
I swat at the silk square and roll my eyes. “I’m not drooling.”
He tucks it into his pocket and laughs. “Yes, you are.”
“What can I say?” I follow him to our chairs and sit beside him. “Your brother looks good without a shirt. And he just kicked that guy’s ass for me. I’m a little worked up over it.”
After two more fights, it’s time for Ares to enter the ring for the main event. The announcer steps into the center of the ring with a microphone in hand.
He raises it to his mouth and says, “Bets are closed. So, put your money away, motherfuckers. If you didn’t get here in time, oh, fucking well. I don’t want to hear it. Next time, do what you’re told.”
He announces Ares’s opponent first. His nickname is Sugar Shane, and the crowd boos him. But Ares, who fights under the name God of War, gets applause. The place goes wild, fists punching the air and people screaming his name.
They love him.
And why wouldn’t they?
Both fighters step into the center of the ring, and the referee gets between them. Ares rolls his shoulders to loosen up, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
With a crooked grin, Ares leans forward to speak to his opponent. The other man scowls—an insult, I assume, since I can’t hear him from this distance.
The fight begins with the bell sounding, and the other guy goes straight for Ares. But Ares is faster than him, light on his feet, dodging his advances with little effort.
Shane raises his right hand in front of his face. He ducks a punch and then jabs at Ares. But Ares is there one minute and gone the next.
He does something that reminds me of a dance, goading Shane into chasing after him. His theatrics send me into fits of laughter. The more he teases Shane, the harder I chuckle.
This is hilarious.
He’s making a mockery of the entire event. Despite his best attempts, Shane can’t land a single punch to save his life. Beaten down by his efforts, I can see the life slowly drain from his body. This must have been Ares’s plan.
A switch eventually flips inside Ares, his eyes lighting up as he attacks his opponent. Ares looks more focused than ever, landing a punch that knocks Shane to the floor. He rolls over on the blue canvas, blood spilling from his mouth. Ares hovers over him.
The referee pushes out his arms to keep Ares at a distance, counting down from ten. A bell sounds, and the crowd goes wild.
They chant, “God of War.”
Ares seems unaffected by the attention. He’s used to having people screaming his name. His opponent is unconscious, whereas Ares looks like he just stepped into the ring. And when the referee raises his hand in victory, Ares winks at me, staring like I’m the only person in the room.
He won for me.