Page 147 of Ruthless

I began to move, establishing a rhythm that had his knuckles whitening against the edge of the workbench. The humid air carried the scent of earth and green things, of sex and sweat, creating an intoxicating blend unique to this moment, this place.

"Never thought," Vincent gasped between thrusts, "I'd associate my plants with this."

I laughed against his neck, biting gently at the tender skin there. "Consider it fertilization."

His answering laugh transformed into a moan as I shifted angles, finding that perfect spot inside him. His body tightened around me, the sensation of my piercings dragging against his sensitive nerves making him shake beneath me.

"Luka," he warned, voice breaking.

"I've got you," I promised, wrapping my hand around him, stroking in time with my thrusts. "Let go."

He came with a cry that would have embarrassed his professional self, his body pulsing around me, carrying me over the edge after him. I buried myself deep as my own release crashed through me, my forehead pressed against his shoulder, our bodies locked together in the most ancient dance.

Afterward, we cleaned up with a garden hose sprayer and paper towels, laughing at the absurdity. Vincent surveyed his disturbed plants with mock severity.

"You're repotting all of these tomorrow," he declared, straightening a tilted aloe.

"Small price to pay," I replied, pulling him into another kiss. "Let's go to bed."

Upstairs, security monitors disguised as ambient lighting displayed all-clear signals from the property perimeter. The weapons safe tuckeddiscreetly into the wall remained secure. The balcony doors stood open, letting in the summer night breeze.

As Vincent disappeared into the bathroom, I pulled the Judas Coin from my pants pocket, turning it over in my fingers. The ancient silver caught the moonlight, the worn face of the profile seeming to watch me. Just metal, just a coin, but weighted with centuries of tradition and reverence.

According to Pantheon lore, these thirty pieces of silver represented the ultimate contract. A ferryman who accepted a Judas Coin became bound by honor and tradition to fulfill its demands. No resources, no support, no interference. Not even the Tribunal could step in once a Judas Coin changed hands.

I'd kept it locked in a specially designed case for the first month after receiving it, treating it with the reverence tradition demanded. Then curiosity had overtaken caution. I'd begun carrying it, studying it, trying to understand the weight it carried in our world. Not magic, but something perhaps more powerful—an unbreakable code that had survived centuries.

Vincent emerged from the bathroom and froze, his eyes locking onto the coin in my hand. "You're still carrying it."

I nodded, closing my fingers around it. "Rhadamanthys said I should keep it close."

Vincent approached slowly, sitting beside me on the bed. "What is it exactly? You've never really explained."

"A Judas Coin," I said, opening my palm to reveal it again. "One of thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas Iscariot. Or so the tradition claims."

His finger hovered over it but didn't touch. "And its purpose?"

"Obligation beyond obligation," I replied simply. "When presented to a ferryman, it creates a contract that cannot be refused. One that exists outside the Pantheon's authority."

"Has it ever been used?" Vincent asked, studying the worn silver.

"Not in living memory," I echoed Rhadamanthys's words. "But violating its terms would bring consequences worse than death. Break your word on a Judas Coin contract, and you'd have every Judge hunting you until the end of your days."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "You should lock it up again."

"Probably," I agreed, but returned it to my pocket instead. Some things needed to be kept close, not out of superstition but respect for what they represented. "Tomorrow."

I slid under the sheets, pulling Vincent with me. His body curled against mine perfectly, his head finding its familiar place on my shoulder. "What were you really thinking about earlier? When Lo left?"

I hesitated, weighing how much to share. "His contract came directly from Dionysus."

Vincent's hand stilled. "Like yours came from Prometheus."

"Exactly." I stared at the ceiling. "It's probably nothing. Dionysus raised Lo, trained him. The parallel might be coincidental."

"But you're worried."

I nodded. "The timing. The personal connection. It feels like..."

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