seventeen
-Brynn-
I don’t usually wear gowns, but this feels like a second skin. Mainly, because you can see everything through it.
I study my reflection in the mirror, observing how the designer has incorporated flesh-colored mesh in strategic places, creating an illusion of exposed skin while concealing the scars I got at the asylum.
The black material catches the light as I turn, revealing hints of gold thread woven throughout the fabric. Not what I would usually wear, but I don’t mind having all eyes on me tonight, especially since this is a game that can be played in many ways.
The three weeks of forced recovery have made me restless, hungry for action, for blood. Tonight, I finally get my share.
The door opens without a knock, and Ares’ large figure fills the frame, changing the air pressure in the room in an instant.
"You'll do," he says, trying to look uninterested, but his eyes betray him.
I grab a pillow from an armchair and throw it at him.
Of course, he catches it before it gets to do any damage. His lips curl into a devious smile as his gaze travels the length of my body, lingering on the places where the dress is bound in see-through fabric.
I must admit, he doesn’t look half-bad himself.
He wears a tuxedo that looks painted onto his frame, the black fabric emphasizing his wide shoulders.
His hair is pulled back into a tight braid, exposing the sharp angles of his face.
He’s both dangerous and beautiful, like something feral dressing up just for civilization, but without any real chance to tame the beast within.
Okay, I was lying earlier. He looks fucking amazing.
"Will I?" I lift my chin, smiling as if I’m trying to taunt him back, refusing to show how his scrutiny affects me.
"More than do," he murmurs against my ear. "You're exquisite. A perfect distraction."
My body responds like I’m not in control of it. My pulse is quickening, my skin is heating, but I try my best to look neutral. "Am I just a distraction to you?” I ask, well aware of what he’s actually saying. I just want to toy with him.
It’s working. Heat rises as he drops a hand to the small of my back, pulling me toward him.
“I wouldn’t have risked everything just for a distraction, little curse,” he says, burying his nose against my neckline, where he leaves a trail of kisses that make my knees melt.
“But you do need to be a distraction for everyone at the party.”
“I’m not the distraction. I'm the blade."
His laugh vibrates against my neck. "Tonight, you're both."
*****
Ares drives us to a mansion perched on a cliff, overlooking the sea. The place is amazing. Definitely has money written all over it. That, and the security personnel dressed in discreet black suits who cover the whole perimeter.
I try to remember their positions, counting exits and assessing threats, just like he taught me.
He also has an army of his own, waiting a few miles back, but we prefer taking things quietly—if that’s an option.
Not something you’d expect from the God of War, but I guess he’s right in saying the myths are often distorted.
He’s a good strategist as much as he is a warrior, even if his temper sometimes gets in the way.
Ares’ hand settles at the small of my back as we ascend the wide marble stairs leading to the entry.
I’m still looking all around me, assessing everything before each step. And even though I’m not trying to be that obvious about it, he notices. “Smile,” he whispers. “You’re about to meet the elite of Seattle, not go onto a battlefield.”
He’s right, I should look more thrilled to be here, so I bare my teeth, into the only smile I own right now, and enter the lion’s den.
Crystal chandeliers cast light across a sea of designer gowns and suits. Expensive perfume fills the air. But nothing can hide that particular staleness of too many powerful people sharing the same oxygen.
I’ve never liked crowds. I get claustrophobic when too many bodies are next to me. Still, I make my way through, joining Ares in the grand room.
Voices are all around us talking about stocks, portfolios, vacation homes, and their polite false laughter masking whatever goals or ambitions they might really have.
Everybody wants something from the people they’re talking with.
Either to show off or gain something; information, privileges, maybe access to private resorts.
But I have no doubt there’s not a single person in this room running their mouth without some sort of ulterior motive.
Ares leads me through the crowd like he knows what he’s doing, his hand never leaving my back.
Despite his slightly barbaric appearance, he knows his way around these people and these kinds of parties.
Because deep down, he’s the same. I am too.
We’re here to get information. Maybe even catch ourselves a killer.
When they’re not at my back, his fingers encircle my wrist or brush the nape of my neck. It’s his statement of ownership to anyone watching.
I know this isn’t something planned. He just does it out of instinct. Always protecting his property.
I love his instincts.
“Whitlock at two o’clock,” he whispers against my temple, his lips brushing my skin like he’s planning to kiss me. “He’s speaking with a woman in blue. She’s the Attorney General’s wife.”
I nod, letting my eyes drift casually in the direction while accepting a flute of champagne from a passing server.
Whitlock looks like a distinguished member of the upper class. Perfectly styled gray hair, ridiculously expensive suit, and an even more expensive wrist watch.
I try to search my memory for him during Kharon, but the face I find there has nothing to do with the man in front of me.
I remember him. He was the one standing in the hallway right before I ended up in the smoking area.
I remember his gaze, focused on every corpse, on every kill, studying everything around him like he was going to run home and write it all in his own secret little dark book.
More similar to a weasel than a man with actual power.
But then again, all politicians are creeps, so I don’t even know why this surprises me.
I can see his smile is practiced despite the charade he’s trying to put on. But that’s not what interests me. It’s the security guy standing three paces behind him, wearing a suit way too cheap to blend into this crowd. Loser wants protection, but couldn’t get his guard a proper outfit.
“And there,” Ares continues, “by the eastern doorway, Senator Harrison’s Chief of Staff. Interesting that they’re both here, given last month's public disagreement.”
I sip my champagne, using the glass to hide my lips. “The security is heavier than I expected. At least twenty visible. Probably even more concealed.”
“Hmmm,” his fingers trail straight up my arm, across my shoulder, to toy with a loose strand of my hair. “This only makes things more fun. Have you spotted the ones on the balcony?”
“And the three posing as waitstaff. The exits to the east wing are being watched more carefully.”
“They’re not all here for Whitlock. It’s more of a case of general security with all these important people here.”
We continue pretending to be casually chatting as I try to remember faces, catalogue relationships, anything that could come in handy. Ares introduces me to various guests with a fabricated backstory. I’m his consultant/latest acquisition, recently returned from overseas work.
He lies with ease, and I play my part, offering pleasantries that don’t really suit me, but I’m scanning for weaknesses, openings, even opportunities to look around.
The minutes stretch into an hour, then two. The loud crowd, constant vigilance, and false performance all eventually wear on my nerves. I feel like a bow drawn too tight and ready to snap.
Ares notices, of course. “You need to relax,” he brings his lips to my ear. “You’re too rigid. They’ll notice.”
“I’m fine,” I hiss through a fake smile, but his hands spread across my lower back, fingers finding that exact spot where tension has knotted my muscles.
“Relax,” he commands, his voice dropping to that register that makes my body scream danger, and a few other things I refuse to name right now.
“Or maybe you want me to help you relax?” he asks in a tone that could ruin our mission.
The threat or promise sends an unwanted shiver down my spine, but I change the subject quickly so he won’t get any ideas. I know how easily he gets worked up.
In a few minutes, a string quartet’s performance draws the attention of everyone attending.
Not my cup of tea. Apparently, it isn’t Ares’ either as he grabs my hand and leads me down a narrow corridor.
My hand is tucked into the crook of his arm, smiles plastered wide across our faces as if we’re stepping away for a private moment, trying to find some intimacy.
The security camera at the junction swivels away from us. 404’s work, right on schedule.
Whitlock’s study is guarded by a heavy oak door that isn’t locked, but we do lock it behind us. If anyone asks, Ares was taking me to cloud nine.
It’s a pretty typical office for someone with this kind of wealth. Bookshelves rise to the ceiling, gathering leather-bound volumes, alphabetically arranged like they’re in a real library.
I go to the desk and start working through the drawers, opening each one of them to look for anything that could help us. I do have practice from breaking into Ares’ office. But I prefer keeping my skills to myself to avoid him blowing through the roof.
We find nothing of use. There’s only standard correspondence and some business documents that aren’t related to anything with Kharon or Ares.
But behind the computer monitor, a small silver frame catches my god’s attention.
Whitlock is standing with the Valiant I attacked in the smoking area.
The one I almost killed before he managed to tap out.
Their arms are around each other’s shoulders; their glasses raised in toast.
“I didn’t know these two got along so well, at least not enough for Whitlock to keep a picture of them on his desk,” Ares mutters, like he’s onto something.
“I know this guy. I nearly got him in Kharon, but the loser tapped out.”
“He’s John Ashford, he holds enough political power to move people up the ranks, but keeps a low profile, working mostly behind the scenes. He’s probably just helping him become Senator.” Ares takes a short break as if to assess things. “I don’t like how this adds up.”
“Well, Whitlock was outside the smoking area where I jumped on Ashford’s back.”
“They might throw each other glances during the game, but they’re definitely not communicating. I’ve got eyes on them all the time,” Ares says, trying to hide the doubt in his voice. “This picture is a start, but doesn’t tell us the whole story. We need to keep digging.”
We start searching the room, but nothing useful comes up.
“Let’s check the adjoining rooms,” Ares suggests after we exhaust pretty much every corner of the office.We head back into the main hallway to explore other rooms. We find bedrooms and guest rooms and even a small cinema room, though still large enough to host a football team.
Ares opens one of the doors and stops without entering.
I follow and realize the space resembles a private museum, similar to what Ares has in his basement. Except these aren’t antiques.
Glass cases cover the walls, displaying weapons of all kinds.
They’re not just firearms, but blades, dozens of them, arranged by size and type.
Machetes, hunting knives, I even recognize several designs similar to the ones used in the game a few weeks ago.
But this doesn’t make sense because none of the weapons are old.
They’re not antiques. They're more like something you’d gather to start a war. Or at least, a decent rebellion.
“These weapons,” Ares says, like he’s measuring his words. “All of these weapons were used in different editions of Kharon.” The veins at his temples begin to stand out, a sign of the change, threatening to overtake him.
Maybe he had hopes that we were on a false lead again and that he couldn’t miss Whitlock right in front of him.
That he wasn’t played by someone for a second time in a decade.
I don’t think getting played is in Ares’ nature.
But this display isn’t just an overly enthusiastic collection. It’s much more.
He turns to me, and for a moment, I think he won’t be able to hold back the darkness. His hand closes around my wrist, gripping tight enough to bruise.
“I’ll fucking burn this house if I need to, with everyone inside. Let’s go get him.”