Page 68 of God of War

My stomach churns. Not with the guilt, I realize, but with dread. What’s going to happen when Dad finds out that I’ve killed his deputy? Any upper-hand I had is now gone. It’s laying in the dirt beneath a dead rapist.

“You good?”

Ares’ shadow falls across me and I blink up at him. He tucks his phone into his pocket, then reaches around to adjust the gun in his waistband.

“Delaney?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I lie. I nod furiously, my blood-crusted hair flicking into my face. I need a shower. Probably several.

“What’s the plan?” I ask, adjusting myself on the log and hugging my knees to my chest. I try to hide my wince, soreness radiating from my core. Ares frowns, cool eyes scanning me for a moment.

“We sit tight,” he says tightly, his jaw clenched. “Reinforcements are an hour or so out.”

“What about…” I wave at the car. At Aaron.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

I snort. “I’ll remember you said that when I’m sitting on death row.”

Ares settles himself down beside me. “You’re not going anywhere, Delaney.”

“How do you know? You going to take the fall?” I ask, my eyes rolling.

Ares grabs my chin. My breath stills, my chest aching with the sudden need to lean forward and kiss him. Instead, I just let him look at me.

“Yes. If I have to.”

My heart clenches painfully and I decide something in that moment, something I hope he can’t read on my face. There is no way in hell I’m letting Ares go down for this. Not if I can do something about it.

I clear my throat. “How’s your hand?” I ask, awkwardly diverting his attention. He found a first aid kit in the trunk, along with our stuff, and he’s wrapped a haphazard bandage around his wound. Ares drops my chin and follows my gaze. He shrugs.

“Lucky I’m not a lefty.”

It’s his grin that breaks me. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m shuddering with sobs. Ares makes some pained noise and then his arm is around me and he’s tugging me to his chest. He presses his lips against the crown of my head.

And that’s how we sit until we hear the roar of motorcycles in the distance.

***

“Hold on tight,” Ares warns. “And lean into the turn, don’t try to fight it.”

He attempts to adjust the strap on my helmet, thick blunt fingers of his good hand fumbling with it. I shrug away and adjust it myself.

“Stop fussing. But if you’re really worried about me, I could always ride with you.”

The strap tightens under my chin and I let the feeling soothe the nervous butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before. Maybe if it were with Ares I’d feel safe. Maybe it would even feel good, having my legs wrapped around him. Instead I’m straddling his friend, a black-haired, heavily tattooed biker I remember from the Wastelander compound. Rev, Ares called him.

Ares looks back around the clearing. There are a few more bikes parked off to the side, the Wastelander owners standing around and talking quietly. There’s also a blue van, some generic plumbing logo on the side, and a tow-truck. I know Ares needs to stay here and sort out the mess I made — and who knows if he can even ride with only one working hand.

Ares makes a low growling noise and Rev’s laughter vibrates through his leather jacket.

“He’s not worried about you, kitten,” Rev says over his shoulder. “He thinks I’ll steal you away. Ride off into the sunset with you. Never come back.”

Ares jaw tics. I can’t help but grin. Cheekily, I shimmy closer to Rev and wind my arms around his middle. Ares clocks it, his eyes flashing with anger.

“I’m in,” I say. “I say we hit up Vegas, maybe swing by the Grand Canyon—”

Ares yanks my head around by the strap of my helmet. Leaning in close, his breath whispering over my cheek, he speaks in a low, pussy-tightening rumble.

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