Page 45 of Gilded Gods

ARES

You know the saying,misery loves company? That’s why Atlas sits in the passenger seat, trying to talk me off the ledge so I don’t crash my Camaro. I love this car. And I love him. But I’m so fucking angry about having to throw my fight that I want to drive off a cliff.

Gripping the stick shift, I floor the gas pedal and race toward the light, taking a hard right.

“Ares,” Atlas warns, curling his fingers around my wrist. “Calm down. If you crash this car, you’ll kill both of us, and we won’t get our revenge.”

Through clenched teeth, I say, “I’m going to rip out Alexander Drakos’s dead fucking heart from his chest.” I whip around another bend, the wheels screeching, the scent of rubber wafting in the breeze. “And then I’m going to feed it to that smug bastard.”

My brother’s hold on my wrist tightens. “Knock this shit off and slow the fuck down.”

If anyone can talk some sense into me, it’s Atlas. He gets me in ways Apollo never has and never will. It probably has something to do with all the girls we fucked together, all the women we passed around so our brother can cure his affliction. Our need to help Apollo bonded us.

So I release my foot from the gas, snapping my head at Atlas. His shoulders sink in relief.

“I’m mad,” I tell him. “But I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Family is everything.

We’re all we have.

I pull up in front of a rundown building on the South Side of Beacon Bay. The home of Akropolis. At least a hundred cars crowd the parking lot and line down the street against the curb. People drink and smoke at the entrance, sharing rolled blunts and cigarettes.

I hop out of my Camaro and walk with Atlas toward the building. At the door, I tip my head at a bouncer.

“Hey, Frankie.”

He nods. “Hey, boss. Good luck tonight.”

I wink. “I don’t need luck.”

I head into the fight club, knowing I will lose tonight.

I don’t have a choice.

“Alexander showed up at the house tonight as a reminder,” Atlas says. “You have to lose.”

It’s killing me.

“I know,little brother.”

I pride myself on being undefeated. My entire career is unblemished, and I’m tainting my winning streak to keep my club. It’s a catch twenty-two situation. I can either win the fight or lose my club.

It’s that simple.

Most women in the building are barely dressed, their bare flesh on display. As usual, there are at least twice the amount of men. Women stare at me as I pass. They look at Atlas, too.

Akropolis is what you’d expect for a fight club—two rings, four bars, three concession stands, and complete fucking chaos. People are waving money in the air, taking bets. Almost naked girls are dressed in spandex and underwear. One girl is shaking her pasty-covered tits with only a tiny piece of fabric covering her pussy.

Two fights are already in progress. They’re boxers. Sometimes, we invite mixed martial artists to Akropolis.

Like tonight.

The guy I’m fighting flew in from Las Vegas and is part of an MMA team. He’s a legit, no-nonsense fighter. Even if I wasn’t supposed to throw the fight, there’s a good chance I could lose for real.

We weave through the crowd toward the back of the building. I have an hour to get my hands wrapped and complete my pre-fight ritual. Usually, I would come two hours early and listen to music. But this isn’t a regular fight, and I don’t give a shit.

Atlas and I push past the crowd of sweat-covered people. The stench of bleach, blood, alcohol, and cigarette smoke floats through the air.

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