Page 7 of Gilded Gods

See, the thing is, I have always had to act like a bitch. Kids in school ridiculed me for my weight, especially the girls. Gym class sucked ass. And don’t even get me started on having to shower in front of a bunch of skinny-ass bitches who called me Fattie Phelia.

Stupid nickname.

Stupid girls.

I was passed up when kids chose who they wanted on their sports team. No one ever thought the chunky girl could run. Or catch a ball. Or do anything but stuff her face with food.

So I grew a thick skin.

I learned how to defend myself and give the bullies a taste of their own medicine. Of course, my mom wasn’t thrilled about Dad teaching me how to shoot or fight. But she knew one day it would be necessary.

I’m a Drakos.

We were born to lead.

And as the asshole god of a man beside me gives me a shit-eating grin, I’m thankful for those bullies. Because now I know how to handle men like Ares.

They are all the same.

I’d never have a shot with a sex god like Ares, but he acts like it with how his gaze keeps dropping to my cleavage. He can look all he wants because I will never touch him. I don’t care if his big hands would feel good spreading me open. Or if that sexy-as-fuck mouth would give me world-class orgasms.

Nope, I don’t care.

Ares watches me like a predator while his younger brothers resume eating. I spread the meat sauce around my plate and make it look like I’m enjoying the food. It’s an old habit. I hate eating in front of people I don’t know well.

Our parents are laughing, drinking wine, chatting up Atlas, and asking about his art. He creates marketing materials for their family’s businesses, never without his sketchbook.

I glance at Ares and Atlas’s tattoos, wondering if Atlas drew them. They’re good, from what I can see, and artistic. Not shitty tattoos you choose out of a book at the tattoo studio.

If Apollo has ink, I can’t see any. His skin is tanned, smooth, and flawless compared to his brother’s bodies, which look more like canvases.

“Belen, you should let my sons help Ophelia with the clubs,” Athena says. “They can keep the handsy men away from her.”

“That’s okay, Athena. I can handle myself. The guys at the club never mess with me. They know I’ll cut off their balls and shove them down their throat if they even think about touching me.”

Ares grins like a villain.

Apollo looks intrigued.

Atlas raises an eyebrow.

“Ophelia,” Dad gasps. “What is with the attitude tonight?”

I shrug. “Don’t you think your new family should know what they’re getting into? I’m not a sweet girl. You made sure of it. So let’s cut the shit and stop acting like this dinner doesn’t suck.”

Apollo grunts in agreement.

Atlas laughs, his voice barely a whisper, “God, she has balls. I fucking love it.”

“What did you say, sweetie?” Athena asks her son.

“Nothing, Ma.” He shakes his head, eyes on me. “Just saying that Ophelia is kind of a badass.”

“I wouldn’t let my daughter run Olympus alone if she weren’t up to the task,” Dad says with a smile. “However, I do wish I had taught her better manners.”

“You taught me all the ones that count,” I say in my defense. “Don’t shit where you eat. Never forget to turn off the safety before you point the gun at a man’s head. And my personal favorite. Always give a man the courtesy of choosing his death… if he’s earned it.”

Dad curses in Greek under his breath. “Maybe reserve your true self for another day, Ophelia. You’ll scare them away before we even walk down the aisle.”

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