Page 295 of Bonds of Hercules
Augustus shifted in his sleep, draping his powerful thigh across both of us, pinning us to the mattress.
“Go to sleep,” I whispered as I ran my fingers through Kharon’s short, silky hair.
“Yougo to sleep,” he grumbled under his breath.
Augustus shifted, his arm joining his leg as he squeezed us tightly.
They were obsessive, villainous men.
I’ve never felt so safe.
They were my husbands, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
51
THE SINS OF THE FATHER
ALEXIS: THENEXTDAY
Morning rays sparkled across masculine black silk sheets. I was lying draped across Kharon like a blanket; he was snoring beneath me.
Augustus stretched under the covers, his eyes meeting mine.
“Morning, love.”
He crawled on top of me, and Nyx hissed sleepily from somewhere under the pillows—she said something about smothering all of us and “killing the ugly cow with wings.”
As if summoned, Fluffy Jr. rolled across the floor in his sleep, his hooves kicking out wildly—a dresser crashed to the floor—he snored with pieces of wood covering him (he wasn’t the brightest).
Kharon yawned sleepily, looking adorably disheveled as he sat up. He shook his head as he took in my sleeping (passed out?) protector, then he turned with a devilish smirk, and shifted so I was pressed between him and Augustus.
In unison, they kissed down the sides of my neck.
A few hours later, the three of us stumbled into the bathroom, drunk on each other and satiated. Kharon and Augustus had shared lessons on debauchery all morning. They wereveryhands-on teachers, and I was a quick study.
Now Kharon whispered sinful things while bathing me in a gold tub; Augustus washed my hair tenderly, his voice echoing words of praise straight into my mind.
I lounged deeper into the bubbles. Both Nyx and Fluffy Jr. were still sleeping, and I’d discovered over the last weeks that when our lives were not actively threatened, they wereextremelylazy (relatable).
“Alexis.” Kharon’s voice had a strange tenor. His thumb brushed gently under my left eye, and there was a long pause like he was gathering his courage. Finally, he asked, “How did it happen with your eye … and ear?”
Augustus’s fingers stilled against my scalp.
They both waited.
Sighing, I sank deeper into the suds.
The warmth of the present was a comforting blanket that muffled the cold pain of the past.
There’s nothing they can do now anyway. It’s just a story. It has no power over me.
“There was a storm … and my foster parents threatened to kill Charlie,” I whispered into the quiet bathroom. “I threw a toaster at them.” I chuckled to myself at the idiotic bravery of my childhood self.
I told a tale of fists, starvation, a dead body, the police, secret poisonous blood, staring at my face in the mirror, and the trailer being towed away while we watched.
When I finished my story, a cathartic peace washed over me. It sounded fictional and it felt that way too. It happened to a different version of me, so many years ago.
That scared young girl was gone.
