Page 1 of Gilded Gods

ChapterOne

OPHELIA

Male voices wakeme from a pleasant dream. And notthatkind of dream. Though, a girl can wish. I glance at the clock with one eye open, the sleeping pills making it harder to raise my head off the pillow. It’s after seven-thirty. Dad went out hours ago and said he would return by eight with dinner.

But it’s not him downstairs.

There’s too much noise, so I jump out of bed. My dad has a lot of enemies, which makes them mine. So I grab the Glock from my nightstand and creep into the hallway. As I inch down the grand staircase, I take the steps two at a time, quiet as a mouse.

My father taught me how to shoot before I got my period. In our line of work, you learn how to defend yourself or die. It’s that simple. And this isn’t the first time greedy assholes have broken into my house to get revenge on my father.

It won’t be the last.

Loud, deep voices travel down the long hallway, spilling out from the sitting room. I catch a faint whiff of weed and grit my teeth. They have some nerve. My father would rip their heads from their bodies if he were home.

I poke my head into the sitting room and take in the scenery. Three black-haired men lounge on the sectional couch, blasting rock music from the flat-screen television. They have the same Roman noses, chiseled jaws, and thick heads of black hair. Mid-twenties and gorgeous, they have flawless olive skin, perfect smiles, and straight, white teeth, all three tall and muscular.

The Demetriou brothers.

What are they doing here?

Ares, the oldest of the brothers, smokes a blunt to my left, wearing a black suit that clings to his arms and muscular chest as if sewn onto his body. His tattoos aren’t fully visible, but dark ink creeps out from his dress shirt and sleeves. At the center of the couch, Apollo, the second oldest, tips a bottle of vodka to his lips. He’s dressed impeccably and, unlike his brothers, has no tattoos I can see.

On the cushion beside him, his twin, Atlas, kicks his feet up onmycoffee table as if he owns the place. He’s got a leather sketchbook on his lap, drawing with a charcoal pencil.

My dad would have told me if we were having guests. I haven’t seen the Demetriou brothers since my mother’s funeral. Their mother was my mom’s best friend and was always around in the final days. But I haven’t seen much of her since and even less of her sons.

Clutching the Glock at my side, I enter the room. “What the fuck are you doing in my house smoking weed in my living room?”

Ares stamps the blunt in the ashtray and hops up from the couch. His face looks like it was sculpted by hand to ensure flawless detail. “Calm down, little dragon.”

Drakos means dragon in Greek. Ares has been calling me little dragon since we were kids. Back then, he was—and still is—the epitome of perfection, while I was always the slightly overweight girl with boobs too big for her body.

I move toward him without wavering. “You’re trespassing on my property, which gives me the right to shoot you.”

He cautiously approaches me and smells like he’s just gotten out of the shower despite the scent of weed smoke lingering in the air. “Take it easy. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Well, I’ll hurtyouif you don’t leave my house.”

Apollo stands and turns off the television, plunging the room into silence. He gives me a mischievous grin that immediately makes me mistrust him. “We live here, killer. So why don’t you lower the gun?”

I snarl at his words. “You don’t live here.” I point the gun at his balls. “So unless you want to lose your favorite body part, I suggest you get out.”

Atlas pushes himself up from the couch and laughs. “She’s still feisty.”

Except for my mother’s funeral, I hadn’t seen much of them for years. The brothers own businesses on the South Side of Beacon Bay. I only venture to that side of town for work and rush home to safety with my bodyguard.

Ares cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Didn’t your dad tell you we were moving in today?”

I stand in front of the coffee table and size them up. “No, he failed to mention it.”

Ares plops back down on the couch as if my lowering of the gun is permanent when I haven’t decided what to do with them.

Arrogant asshole.

“I can change my mind any second and blow off your dick,” I tell him, wiping the grin from his face. His legs are spread, with his hand resting on his thigh, and I can see without getting too close that he’s got something down there worth losing. “So I wouldn’t get too cozy.”

Before he can reply with a stupid retort, the front door slams, and heels click on the tiled floor.

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