Page 32 of Gilded Gods

After discussing work, I glance at the black ink on Atlas’s forearms. “Do you draw your tattoos?”

Atlas nods. “I would never let someone ink me with their art. No artist with any self-respect would.”

“I’m guessing you’ve drawn Ares’s tattoos, too.” Settling into the cushion beside Atlas, I lower my guard and inch closer to him. “I noticed he has a lot of them. But Apollo doesn’t have any.”

“Because Apollo is too much of a prude. He thinks tattoos will make him looklesslike he went to Yale andmorelike a thug.”

“I’ve never gotten a tattoo,” I say in what I think sounds like a sultry tone. “But I’d get one if you drew it for me.”

“Yeah?” Atlas grins. “Your body is the perfect canvas for my art.”

ChapterEighteen

ARES

Atlas dodges my punches,keeping his gloves in front of his face. He’s always on defense, afraid of taking a hit. But he’s not a terrible trainer. After he gets in a quick jab that I sidestep, I land a hook to his jaw. It’s a love tap, not a punch meant to hurt him.

“Asshole,” he swears, shaking off the hit. “Always going for the cheap shot.”

I shrug, gloves raised. “Dad taught me to seize every opportunity.”

We’re at Akropolis, which I spelled incorrectly, and Apollo will never let me forget it. But the name of my fight club stuck. I got the idea from the Acropolis of Athens and named it in honor of our mother.

Apollo helps with the finances, while Atlas handles the promotions. Within a few months of our partnering, I had a legit business.

Until Belen Drakos.

I bet on the wrong fight and wagered money I didn’t have. So now, I got Alexander breathing down my neck. If I don’t throw my next fight, I’ll have to sell my club to pay him.

My dad would be proud of how far I’ve come. If only the old man were still here to see it. From an early age, I wanted to become a boxer. Dad noticed I wasn’t like my brothers. I kept getting into fights and came home with bruises. So, our father tailored his parenting approach to fit our needs.

While Apollo had his head in a book and Atlas was creating art, I wanted to hit something—or, more accurately, someone. So, Dad cultivated a safe space for us to nurture what we were good at.

He built a boxing gym in the basement of our home and taught me how to fight. Apollo got a library and a private school education. And Atlas had a drawing room with comfy couches and drafting tables. We had a sweet life before Belen Drakos destroyed it.

After we’re done sparring, Atlas spits his mouthguard onto the floor. Slobber drips from the corner of his mouth and onto his bare chest. “You’re not fighting at your full potential, Ares. Is Ophelia fucking with your head?”

“Hell no,” I fire back, working to strip off my right glove. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

My brother shakes his head, and dark waves fall in front of his honey-brown eyes we share. “Ophelia is on your mind. I can tell.”

“So what if she is?” I peel back the tape around my hand, leaning against the ropes. “I’m planning to tap that ass before the wedding. And every day after that.” I give him a wicked smirk. “I know you want to fuck her. Don’t even try to bullshit me, little bro.”

He rips off his gloves and tosses them out of the ring. “Apollo will wantusto fuck Ophelia. He looks at her like he’s thinking about watching us with her.”

Our brother has a dirty little secret, one I doubt he wants Ophelia to discover. We’re the only people who know why Apollo can’t get off with a woman.

I wave off his concern. “Apollo won’t do anything that jeopardizes us getting closer to why Belen killed Dad. And it’s not like he would let Ophelia touch him. He’d puke if she put her hand on his arm.”

It has nothing to do with Ophelia. This problem started a long time ago with no signs of improvement. We begged Apollo to get help from a therapist afterthatnight. I even suggested he come home from Yale and attend a local college. He insisted on finishing his degree because it was what our father wanted.

But if our dad knew what happened, he would never have let Apollo stay on campus. Not with that psychopath who I would gladly kill for my brother if he would only tell me a name.

“We can’t mix pleasure with revenge, Ares.” Atlas ducks under the ropes and hops down from the ring. “We both know you’ll get sick of her after you fuck her once. And Apollo will probably scare her away.”

Apollo chooses most of the women we fuck. It’s part of this sick game we play. Our brother has particular desires, and we never tell him no because of his affliction.

I follow Atlas out of the ring and laugh in his face. “You got some nerve when you’ve got a crush on her.” My eyes flick to his sketchbook on the table beside my water bottle. “Have you been jerking off to the pornographic images you’re drawing of our stepsister?”

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