Page 51 of Flame and Fury

A door opens at the back of the room. A spike of icy panic lances through me. It’s Nathaniel Rogers.

“Five hundred thousand,” Nathaniel calls out across the crowd, uncaring that one of these dicks was mid-bid.

The crowd rumbles. Nervous titters and gasps reach my ears.

“Mister… Mister Rogers, sir, Nathaniel. High priest. She’s yours.” The man at the podium stumbles over his words. Then he slams the gavel down. The sound it makes is my future being cemented in stone.

Angry chatter and a whispered frenzy of surprise ripples over the crowd. Nathaniel doesn’t bother waiting around. He turns, snapping his fingers as he goes, as if that’s supposed to mean something. Apparently, it does for the assistant with the glasses. She teeters onto the stage, running like a baby giraffe in her sky-high heels.

She puts her hands on my shoulder to push me, but I step to the side and level her with a stare. What is with these people and putting their damn hands on me? Funny thing, it turns out she was using me to balance herself. Her arms windmill like we’re on a turbulent boat.

“You need to go.” She points toward Nathaniel once she regains her balance.

“That didn’t require you to touch me.”

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to speak, but she must see something in my eyes that has her mouth snapping shut.

Fuck. My Fury is way too close to the surface.

I don’t bother going to the stairs. I jump off the stage, my boots landing on the carpet with a soft thud. The front row rears back like I just saidboo. I stomp down the middle aisle toward the door Nathaniel disappeared through. The elites warily watch me go by like they're afraid I’m going to bash their skulls together. They deserve it, coming to this place to buy a fucking person.

Deep breaths. My shoulders itch, my wings dangerously close to snapping out.

The stinky cleric is back, wafting his vinegar scent in my direction. Nathaniel is nowhere in sight. The cleric holds out his hand again, like he’s going to grab hold of me, only to drop it back to his side with a sneer.

“The high priest is going to have so much fun putting you in your place.” The smelly piece of shit murmurs under his breath, as if I can’t hear him.

Gods give me the strength not to tear any limbs off this asshole. Today might just be the last straw in a series of incredibly shitty days. Including being snatched off the street and thrown into a gladiator arena where I had to fight hundreds of people for a place in this stupid game. Followed by challenges where I’ve been poisoned, hunted down like an animal, and then finally the cherry on top, being sold off at an auction to the High Priest of the Heralds of Olympus. And I’m not even adding getting kidnapped and taken to meet with the leader of the Underground to that shit cyclone.

I focus on my breathing, so I don’t scream at the top of my lungs.

Stinky is leading me down another hallway. This one ends in a garage, where a car is idling. It’s the same sleek black town car that all these rich pricks seem to have shuttling them all over the place. The cleric opens the door and jerks his head for me to get in.

I slide inside and salute with my middle finger. He snarls at me and slams the door so hard the bottles of water fall out of their little holder and onto the floor. I pluck at my shirt. It’s still damp, but my blood is starting to dry into a crispy coating on my body and the fabric. I’m dirty, sweaty, and I stink. I suppose those problems are all relative when you consider that I was just sold to Nathaniel Rogers.

The partition between me and the driver is up, but I doubt Nathaniel is sitting up there. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would ride with the staff. I’m just glad I don’t have to sit in the back of this car with him next to me. I don’t know where we’re headed. Hell, I don’t even know where we are, but at least for the duration of this ride, I can sit and stew in my own thoughts. Like…I made it out of the games. And…Where the hell is Atlas?

The car drives up a small incline, and we’re exiting the garage onto a city street. I look out the window at the surrounding buildings, including the one we just left. Sure enough, it’s a hotel. A hotel I recognize. As soon as we get into traffic, I know exactly where we are. We’re back in Chicago.

CHAPTER29

ATLAS

There were at least a dozen people I knew sitting in the audience of that fucking auction. I know the purpose of hauling me on stage, at least in part, was to humiliate me. Well, jokes on them. I don’t give a shit what any of them think. They’re all sheep who follow the gods blindly.

What I care about is the woman I left back in that room. I was tempted to start swinging at every one of those assholes until I’d fought my way back to Wren, to get us the fuck out of there. I might be strong, but I couldn’t take down hundreds of people. I’m no stranger to patience, and this was just one more time when I needed to shove aside my feelings and wait for the right moment to strike. Wren is strong. She’s a Fury. She can hold her own. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be her shield.

The person who won my auction wasn’t in formal wear like the rest of the crowd. She’d been wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. After the auctioneer slammed the gavel on her bid, she’d gotten up and walked out of the room.

I was left to a jittery assistant who ushered me to an empty lobby of a hotel. Which is where I’ve been waiting for the past five minutes.

“Dry your tears, I’m here.” A familiar voice has me closing my eyes.Great. “Son of Zeus. How nice to see you.”

“Hermes.” I don’t even come close to hiding my exasperation.

Standing in front of a sad painting of wildflowers with his hands behind his back is the god of thieves. The Herald. He can travel anywhere at the speed of light. He’s tall and handsome, like all the gods, and has a head of golden curls that he’s far too vain about.

He looks over his shoulder at me with a wink.

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