Page 41 of Hades

“Yeah, Prez. Yeah. Dumped her in here and waited. Thought she might be dead for a second but I checked and she’s not dead.”

No, she wasn’t. He was watching her chest rise and fall.

Smite was active, bouncing foot to foot, like a goddamn cat waiting for praise for bringing its master a mouse.

“I’ll take it from here.” Hades murmured, adjusting the leg of his pants, he crouched down onto his haunches, he too checked her pulse with fingers on her throat. It was slow and steady, maybe she was preparing to wake.

Skin so fucking soft, water flooded into his mouth.

There was no movement from Smite so he spoke again, more forceful this time. “Go and enjoy your night.”

“So. We like, gonna play with her too, Prez, before we get rid?” he sounded excited, that wet bubble of untapped laughter in his voice, and Hades had the urge to watch the life drain out of the man’s face.

“Not right now.”Go the fuck away before I kill you. Lucky for Smite and the breaths he continued to take he did indeed leave.

The electricity flowing through Hades veins felt almost as if he’d been tasered in the nuts, his nerve endings twitching beneath his already too tight skin that he was nearing boiling point when he once again rose and quickly dumped his jacket and pushed back his sleeves to reveal the tattoos that sank deep into his skin.

She was miles from being his type, petite and pliable, but it was unquestionable the fucking hypnotic vibe he was experiencing, and he had the unmitigated thirst to overpower and own. To possess and dominant. To unconditionally pulverize the fight that was sure to come once her long lashes flickered and showed him her eyes up close.

Fight or flee.

Only, the flee option was not on her table.

Something forebodingly starved-like slithered through his belly. Was this how his father had once felt? Why he’d become the man he did even under the holy orders of God. Was this the power trip that prick had chased all those years? Suddenly he was tasting colors in the back of his throat. A vivid blood red. The blood coating her skin would look better than any Picasso hung in a stuffy art gallery.

Finding her student card, he turned it over on his palm, staring at the picture that didn’t do her justice, she was quite plain in print, but in person she set his teeth on edge to sink in and make her bleed, to hear her screams as he ravaged and devoured like an animal. He scrolled though her cell phone, read every single message. The last one she sent she told Morgana she was going out and not to wait up.

Morgana would be waiting a long time for this one's return.He pocketed all the important documents from her purse, including the phone after turning it off, the decision to keep her sitting firmly in his head.

He’d spun the wheel and keeping her was the option he landed on. He would have cheated the fucking wheel if it said anything other.

Mindful of what the term was called.

It was an ugly, nasty, heinous word and as she roused he smiled to himself, her body twitching as it checked back online, dainty fingertips stretched and foraged on the floor, he could see how she tried to figure out what she was touching when she went deathly still as if she realized she was lying on a cold floor and it struct him deep in the gut how dark and monstrous the word was.

Stolen.

She was going to become a stolen statistic for the system, yet another face lost in a sea of stolen and he found he was fine with that.

Not an ounce of guilt drove through his mind as he clocked her every bodily movement.

Lithe and slim, so very fucking delicate and fragile, he could imagine all the ways to bend and break a doll like her.

It sounded horrible but the surge of excitement for this newness, this alive feeling, wouldn't be ignored.

The thought blew swift and furious through his consciousness, categorizing everything he wanted to do, to test her will. Would she be so easily manipulated as Dana had once been? Would she fall on her back with legs open with her pleading, prayerful words dripping off her pink tongue like the club whores did?

Her unpainted mouth began to tremble, and he leaned forward, resting both forearms to his knees, hoping to see tears.

Would she scream? Was she a quiet weeper?

Watching.

Waiting for the baby bird to resurface.

That's it. Open those eyes. See me. See the God who owns you.

Now he didn't truly believe he was a God. Hades wasn't dumb nor was he mad. He was quite sane and calculating, he took responsibility for his actions and owned every bad thing he did.

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