Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
The crowd was going crazy, violence-lust saturating the air. I knew what they wanted. They wanted blood. They wanted mine. They screamed for a body to be on the ground, broken and ruined.
And I knew at that moment I would be that body. My father wouldn’t allow the Russian to kill me, not when he still had so much use for me.
The big fucker slammed his forehead against mine. There was a crack of pain and the instant feeling of blood slipping down my temples. All I could smell was copper. It filled my nose, almost suffocating me in the aroma of metal.
I finally blacked out.
My body ached, my bones and muscles screaming. I shifted slightly and realized I was on something hard. The ground.
“The piece of shit is awake.”
It was Zachariah who spoke, the venom and acid in his voice so strong it should have burned my flesh. It sure as fuck felt like it. But I was so used to it, so used to the malice thrown my way.
My brother had been poisoned by our father for so many years there was no changing him, no making him see that we were stronger together than against one another.
I’d already come to that resolve, knew I couldn’t count on anyone but myself.
At that moment, I knew I’d play their games. I wouldn’t let them break me. And when the time came—when my time came—I’d take them down.
I would forever be alone, and I used that as a shield, a wall that I built brick by brick. It was the only way to protect myself.
Someone kicked me hard in the ribs and I groaned, rolling onto my side as I wrapped my arms around my middle.
My body felt like a meat tenderizer had gone to work over me, and I was pretty sure if I looked at my flesh, it would be covered with black-and-blue marks.
“Wake up, Hades.” My father spit out the words, and I was surprised he used my given name instead of one of the other colorful insults he liked to taunt me with.
I blinked my vision into focus and then forced myself to get into a sitting position. The pain was excruciating, but I gritted my teeth and pushed past the wave of nausea that threatened to make me pass out.
I recognized where we were. It was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Desolation, New York. Butcher and Sons was an old slaughterhouse that was now used for the illicit business my father ran on the underside of Cronus Enterprises.
I knew this was what he trained me for. He wanted me to do the gritty work because he and Zachariah were too good to get their hands dirty with the filth they associated with.
I must’ve been out for a while for them to bring me to Butcher and Sons. It was a good forty-five minute drive from where we’d been.
“I said get up,” my father growled and I staggered to my feet, swaying as my legs threatened to give out.
I was dying of thirst and my head throbbed something fierce. I was also confident a couple of my ribs were broken.
When I looked at Zachariah, he stood beside our father. They both flanked a long battered table. And littering the top was an assortment of implements they would use on me tonight.
A cattle whip. Branding iron. A knife. Salt. I took a step back and curled my hand into a fist.
I could defend myself, could have taken my father down at the very least. But Zachariah was still a little bigger than me, and just as brutal and strong. But now? I was too weak, my body too battered.
Zachariah walked over and gripped the scarred wooden chair that I’d seen far too many times. I’d sat in that chair more times than I could count, feeling the slats on the back digging into me. I gripped the armrest with my nails until my fingers bled.
I shook my head and pulled my shoulders back, resolve filling me. My father’s face became dark with rage, and Zachariah just smirked. He liked my defiance, the motherfucker. He liked pushing me so I fought back. The asshole got off on it.
Well, today they might still get what they wanted, but I was also going to leave a couple marks of my own.
Because if I was going to feel pain at the end of all this, I was going to get my pound of flesh as well.
Chapter 27
Hades
I refused to look at her after what I’d just said.
I didn’t want her sympathy, didn’t want her sorrow. The boy that had experienced that abuse was no more. He died a long time ago in that abandoned warehouse with bruises and cuts covering his body.
And out of the flames of that torment, a demon was created. I may still be flesh and able to bleed, to bruise, but I’d built a wall around myself to where nothing and no one could touch me.