Page 14 of God of War

Cindy opens the door and leans against the doorframe, one hip popped like she’s a femme fatale and Dad’s the hero in some black-and-white detective movie.

“What’s up?”

Only a trained eye could see the subtle working of his hand beneath the desk, rearranging his disgusting hard-on and doing up his belt again.

“They need you up front. Prosecutor will be here soon for the evidence in the Wastelander bust.”

“Right, right. Thanks, Cin.”

He gives her a wink and she giggles, cheeks going red. She doesn’t even acknowledge me as she leaves. To her, I’m nothing.

Ruined.

Cindy leaves the door gaping open — thank God. Dad stands and eyes me carefully as he rounds his desk. I back up to the far wall, ready to make my escape.

“Why don’t you go home, Del? You’re looking a little flushed. I’ll be home later. We can finish up our conversation.”

Before can flinch away, Dad gives my shoulder a squeeze and then he’s gone.

I can breathe again.

I sag back against the wall and suck in a deep lungful of stale office air. My money is gone — everything except my last payment from Rodney, and there’s no way in hell that’s going to be enough to get me and Lilly away from him.

Desperation claws at my insides.

I look around Dad’s office, my eyes falling on his desk. He’s too smart to have left the money here. But I spot something else and a tiny kernel of an idea pops into my head.

A very bad idea.

A very, very bad idea… that just might work.

Before I can second guess myself, I dart to the desk and snatch up the ring of keys that Dad left behind. I know exactly which one I need so I slip it off the loop and tuck it into my pocket.

I hear distant voices but there’s nobody around to see me as I slip out of his office and hurry down the hallway.

No need to check for cameras (I already know they’re all for show), I stop at the right door and hesitate, my hand poised to turn the key in the lock.

This is a bad idea.

But it has to fucking work. It just has to.

6

Ares

The regular Saturday night party is raging in the clubhouse bar. I can hear the noise from upstairs where I’m tucked away in my cramped little room.

“You okay, baby?”

The girl blinks up at me from between my knees. Her hand keeps working my cock and it feels good — really fucking good — but I’m still on edge. Distracted.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

She rolls her eyes and ducks her head again, taking my dick deep in her warm, wet mouth. I grope for the bottle of tequila and a growl rises in me when I realize it’s empty. The girl whose name I can’t remember (Addie? Annie?) thinks my groan over my empty bottle is for her and she eagerly sucks me harder, her cheeks hollowing out.

Fuck, I’m gonna have to go downstairs now, something I don’t want to do. Wastelander parties are a good time, but Griff is pissed about our two prospects in lock-up, along with the simmering pot of shit brewing between the Wastelanders and our rivals, the Rolling Jackals, and I don’t want to deal with him.

Or anyone, for that matter.

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