Page 93 of Junkyard Dog

“Can you control it?”

“Yeah.”

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms and sat back in her seat. “Are you going to give me more than one-word answers?”

“Probably.”

When he smirked, she rolled her eyes, the tension in her body releasing a little. “Are you going to sit?”

“Only if you command it.”

Her eyes narrowed.

He gave her a tight smile and looked over to the coffeepot. “Once that fills.” He ran his hand through his hair and shifted his weight. “I should have said this earlier, but whatever I tell you doesn’t leave here.”

Her brows shot up. “Of course not.”

“Not even Max.”

She tilted her head and watched him as he opened a cupboard and pulled out two mugs. Every muscle was tense, the tendons in his neck taut. He had yet to really look at her, the usual fluidity of his movements abrupt while he poured the coffee, wetting a dishcloth to wipe the small spill before he picked up the cups and carried them over.

She inched her hand across the table to his, giving it a quick squeeze of reassurance. He glanced down at her fingers and drew his arm back. “Ask away.”

Ignoring the ripple of hurt that hit her, she lifted her mug. “What are you?”

He grunted and stretched his arms across the back of his seat. “Might as well go big or go home, eh? We’re the original junkyard dog.”

Keeping her face as expressionless as possible, she waved her hand. “Go on.”

He took a sip of his coffee and resumed his position. “Once upon a time, there was an old god named Hades. He oversaw the souls of the dead, broke up fights, assigned punishments, all that stuff.” He paused, watching her reactions. “He had a dog named Cerberus that helped him monitor the perimeter to make sure no one got out. Or, in some cases, got in.” He leaned his head back. “You’d be amazed at how many people inadvertently find themselves in realms they shouldn’t be in.”

She leaned forward. “You’re kidding.”

“Woof, baby.”

She downed half her coffee, wincing when it burned down her throat. “Cerberus. The hellhound.” Frowning to recall the image she’d spent sleepless nights erasing from memory, she pointed her pinky at him. “That’s what I saw, isn’t it?”

“Bo, Ryan, and I can exist separately, but the only way to transport ourselves and our kills back to Hades is to unite,” he replied slowly, his attention drifting around the trailer. “And yeah, that’s what you saw.”

She nodded to buy herself time to think, her head struggling to reconcile the three-headed beast she’d seen with the man drinking coffee feet away from her. “Why are you here?”

“Glutton for punishment?” he grumbled. “Our master is a little impulsive and vindictive when it comes to his wife. Some poor dumbass nabbed Seph a few thousand years ago.” He lifted a brow when Charlotte opened her mouth to speak. “Persephone. She was back right away, totally fine, but thanks to Hades and his flippant curses, every male who carries the blood of the Pirithous line has to be eliminated before the job’s done and the hex is satisfied.”

Hunting for signs of deception in the tale he was spinning, she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “How hard could that’ve been? I mean, thousands of years ago? There were, like, five developed civilizations.”

He scoffed. “I made that very point when Hades booted us topside a few hundred years ago. Had he sent us up at the time, the three males carrying the Pirithous line would’ve been dead and gone within the year.” Getting to his feet, he scooped up her mug and refilled it. “Instead, he kept us on the shoreline until the believers dried up and he didn’t need the guard dog anymore. And Seph liked having her golden boys around to show off to her family. So, by the time we were sent topside, the line was all over Europe and Africa. One spinoff in India.” He set her cup down for her. “That one was a real bitch to hunt down.”

She tested the drink before taking a sip. “So this line is the guy who was in the park. The one who attacked me.”

Alex’s expression morphed, his eyes hardening. “I dropped the ball on that one.”

“How so?”

He looked at her pointedly. “I was distracted.” He bit his lower lip and stared at the table. “The Pirithous males turn after their first run-in with one of us. Totally normal guys until we cross paths.” He drummed his fingers along the back of the bench seat. “After the first time, they start to have violent thoughts. Controllable, but dark. They start to hunker down in their future kill zone without realizing what they’re doing. The second run-in triggers the movement from thought to action.” He reached down to rub his ribs. “The sedan hit was the second.”

“Which is why the bodies began turning up,” she mused. “He’d staked out his site.”

He nodded. “I’d scented him in the area months earlier, but hadn’t been able to track him. And by the time I did, the park was knee-deep in dead hikers and I was head over…” He paused. “I was slacking on the job.”

---