Page 51 of God of War

I recognize him now: the creep from the front desk at the motel. Something dark and vengeful slithers around my heart. I could just kill him. He deserves it. For touching Delaney, for putting his filthy hands on her. Then she’d be safe from him.

I lean closer, flashing my teeth in a snarl. “Can’t call the pigs if you’re dead.”

Beside me, Delaney stills. “Ares…,” she says warningly.

“Okay, okay,” the motel clerk stutters. “I won’t call the cops, okay? I won’t. Just leave and I won’t call ‘em. I swear!”

I move in, close enough that I can smell fresh blood and cheap beer on his breath. He shudders, terrified.

“Liar.”

“Ares, come on,” Delaney hisses. She touches my arm, her nails digging in. My skin twitches under that little spark of pain and I tilt my head to look at her.

“He’s not worth it,” she says quietly.

But you are, a voice in my head replies.

I untangle myself from the guy’s shirt and push off him. A flash of silver catches my eye — the switchblade dangles limply in Delaney’s hand. I growl under my breath and snatch her wrist, prying the blade from her.

“Give me that,” I snap, as she squeaks an indignant, “Hey!”

I fold down the blade with a smooth movement and tuck it in my back pocket.

“Let’s go,” I bark at her. With my fingers wrapped tight around her wrist, I drag her to the stairs. The motel creep staggers forward and hocks a glob of congealing blood onto the floor.

“Don’t want no frigid pussy anyway! Little bitch!”

I move too fast for him to react. One moment, I’m walking away from him, the next I have the switchblade flicked open and I’m slashing a line across his face.

He howls, blood cascading from the slice through his bottom lip.

“Next time it’ll be your fucking tongue.”

***

The gravel of the bar’s parking lot bites into my bare feet. I barely flinch. All I feel is Delaney’s wrist in my hand and the swishing of her dress against my jeans as she tries to keep up with me.

“Wait! Just— Ares, wait!”

“For what?” I bark, ignoring her attempts to slow us down. “You want to wait around? Because that asshole’s definitely calling the cops now.”

“No, I just… For God’s sake, will you stop!” She puts on the brakes, her sneakers skidding on the gravel.

I stop, because the next stage of her protest is probably throwing herself on the ground and the last thing we need is somebody calling the police because they see an angry, shirtless man dragging a struggling girl in a pretty dress along the ground in the middle of the night.

She makes everything worse.

I feel sick that I could even think that, but it’s partly true. She’s the reason my hometown looks at me like a pervert and a creep.

My grip loosens and she slips free, absentmindedly rubbing at her wrist.

I hurt her.

Despair floods me and I drop my chin to my chest, pulling a long breath in through my nose. All I do is hurt people. It’s the only thing I’m good at.

“Thank you for saving me. He just grabbed me and I froze and then you appeared and it was… Just, thanks, okay?”

I take another breath and lift my head. Her eyes are big, lashes fluttering like she’s trying not to cry. God, he really scared her. Or maybe I did?

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