Page 17 of God of War

7

Delaney

My heart feels like a sledgehammer against my ribs. Sweat beads on my forehead. I’m terrified, but the absolute last thing I can do is give that away. I’m pretty sure Wastelanders won’t just kill an eighteen-year-old girl for kicks, but for breaking into their clubhouse? For dumping stolen police evidence in front of them?

Yeah, maybe they’d kill me for that.

Someone yells at the other bikers, all silently watching, to mind their own business and the bar jumps to life again, the noise slamming over me like a tidal wave. The biker I was talking to — Rev, it says on his vest — stands up and looks over my head.

I don’t have to check to know who he’s looking at. I spotted him as soon as I stepped inside.

Ares.

“Get her in the back, don’t let her out of your sight,” says Rev.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. Instinctively, I jerk away.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap.

Heavy boots stomp around me and then he’s there — tall and muscular, new ink from the past seven years painting the exposed parts of his skin. His blond hair is sun-bleached, shorter than it used to be, and pushed back off his face so that I can see his eyes.

After all this time, I still feel the burn of them, like hot pokers digging under my skin. Searing judgement and anger into me. His eyes are gray. I never knew it was possible for somebody to have gray eyes, as if the blue had been siphoned right out of them.

“Two options,” he growls. “You come quietly, or I drag you by the fucking hair.”

My knees quake. He wouldn’t… Would he? Honestly, I can’t be sure. At one point in my life, I thought Ares might be a safe harbor, somebody I could trust, but that was something concocted in the mind of a stupid kid.

I huff in resignation and Ares wraps his hand around my upper arm. He yanks me hard and I stumble alongside him. The sea of dangerous-looking men part for us, all avoiding eye contact, as Ares drags me deeper into the Wastelander compound.

Ares practically shoves me through a set of big double doors. This room feels important, despite not being very big. Bare bulbs hang from the ceiling, making the corners of the dark, wooden walls even darker. There’s a long table that looks like it’s carved from one thick piece of wood, and several chairs are placed around it. A flag hangs on the wall at the head of the table. It’s the emblem for the Wastelanders, the same image I saw patched on every vest out there in the bar — a decaying skull and the criss-crossed lines of the symbol for toxic waste.

What have I gotten myself into?

Ares kicks the door closed with his boot, then rounds on me. Somehow he seems bigger and broader than he did the last time we were this close. How that’s possible, considering he was already huge to my puny little frame back then, I have no fucking idea.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spits the words from between clenched teeth.

“Returning your property. I thought you guys would be grateful.”

Ares’ eyes flash. His body eats up the floor between us with a single step. My hip hits the edge of the table and the sudden pain makes me yelp. Ares falters. Something strange flickers across his face, just for a second, and then that anger is back, vibrating the air around him.

God of War.

A memory flashes into my head. That stupid book I took out of the library. I stared at those pages for hours, re-reading every word long after the book was due back. There was an artist’s rendering too — Ares, Greek God of War, standing tall and proud, a spear in his massive hand, his face carved from fury as he looked down on the bodies of his enemies. The name is perfect for him.

“They’ll kill you,” he says finally. His voice is low and his warm breath ghosts over my face. Tequila. He’s been drinking tequila. He doesn’t seem drunk, but I know some men can hide it well.

A shiver rolls down my spine and I start to feel clammy in the hoodie I wore in the hopes that the extra layer would keep from me from being oogled by skeevy bikers.

Maybe I’ve misjudged everything. Maybe these men are the same as Dad. Worse, even.

I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I… I’m hoping they’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

“Then you’re dumber than I remember.”

Anger fizzes in my chest, pushing past the fear. Bitter words are about to fall off my tongue — And you’re a bigger asshole than I remember — But then the door crashes open and a troop of men file in. The little bubble we’ve been standing in bursts.

Ares steps away from me and takes a place against the wall, silently watchful. The other men take seats around the table, each moving to a particular chair as if it were assigned to them. I realize that they’re all wearing officer patches.

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