Page 3 of Learn My Lesson
It takes me a few seconds to form my reply. It hurts. It hurts so much to speak these words that mean a mere shadow of what they used to. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Most of the time.”
The amusement dissipates from his voice. “Do you trust me?”
I lick my lips. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.” He releases me and gives me a little nudge. “There’s a private room at the top of the stairs that belongs to the owners. The door is unlocked. Take him there.” He touches me with a single finger beneath my chin and raises my face to press a devastatingly gentle kiss on my lips. Bargains are sealed with less, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve sold my soul yet again for his pleasure. “You’ll be safe. I’ll ensure it.” He waits until I scoot to the edge of the booth to say, “Don’t disappoint me, love.”
I work up a little bratty glare, but I know better than to argue with that tone. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you, Sir.” I grab my purse from under the table and stalk away from him.
It takes three steps for reality to catch up with me. If I were a better person, I would use my safe word to get out of this little game. One little word and Hades calls a stop to everything. My very own emergency brake, though I’m too stubborn and too into everything we do together to use it often. That’s the crux of the matter: If I were a better person, the thought of seducing this bright-eyed waiter wouldn’t heat my blood. It wouldn’t send a downright delicious curl of desire through me. I want him, and I never would have taken him if left to my own devices.
Hades knows.
Hades always knows.
In this moment, it doesn’t matter that he undoubtedly has ulterior motives. He’s given me a new toy to play with, and the thrill is all I can think of as I slide up to the bar and order a whiskey straight. I can feel Hades’s attention on me, a languid weight at the back of my neck. If he’s got a room already picked out, then there will be measures in place to ensure it all goes according to plan. He’ll remain close by.
He always did like to watch me work.
I turn and survey the restaurant. People have started to clear out as the clock winds later. I frown. Where did my waiter go? Several minutes tick by before the truth settles over me. “Shit.”
He’s gone.
1 The dynamic between Hades and Meg is heavily influenced by Hadestown. I got super hyper-fixated on it around the time I was writing this book, and I loved the idea of this ruthless man and this prickly woman in a relationship that had gone cold.
2 I don’t write it often because it’s hellishly hard to pull off, but I’m total garbage for the marriage-in-trouble trope. Hades and Meg aren’t married in the legal sense, but they are in every way that matters.
3 I truly hope this doesn’t need to be said, but their relationship especially should not be used as an example of healthy kink in real life, especially this scene. It’s compelling in fiction, though!
4 In her own way, Meg is as much a villain as Hades. They’re so well matched. She’s mean and I love her.
HERCULES
My feet drag as I clock out of a long shift in a month of long shifts. I need the money, so I can’t afford to say no when my coworkers call in, but damn…I am so tired. I duck into the break room to change my shirt before I head home. It started raining sometime after I got here, and this uniform costs too much to risk ruining with something as mundane as rainwater.
I snort at the thought.
A couple of months ago, I could have bought enough of these shirts to wear every single day of the year without doubling up. I wouldn’t have done it, of course, because while they’re top end, they aren’t the kind of clothing I was used to when I lived in my father’s house. Considering how tight the budget has become in such a short time, I should have brought more clothing I could pawn. In another month, I’ll be on a strict diet of ramen.
I check my phone, and though I’m not surprised that I have no notifications, my stomach sinks all the same. Leda hasn’t responded to my texts in weeks, and it’s not like she’s going to suddenly do so tonight. She washed her hands of me and I can’t even blame her. I tried to help her, and all I did was make it worse.
It doesn’t stop me from wanting to check on her, to make sure she’s okay. To offer her the protection I have no business offering. I might have fancied myself strong enough to play that role, but my father outmaneuvered me. Again.
And Leda got hurt in the process.
As for my family…my father is the one who exiled me from Olympus.?1 My elder siblings are too intent on dancing to whatever tune he sets to dare contact me. And my mother is dead.
I carefully fold my shirt and stick it into my backpack. Thinking dark thoughts seems to be all I’m good for now. It doesn’t help that I’m exhausted from the sheer energy it requires to smile and be polite no matter how shitty the restaurant customers act—or the fact I haven’t slept through the night in longer than I care to remember. I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands to them. I’ll get through this. What little suffering I’m experiencing now is nothing compared to what Leda went through, and though she would never say I deserve this, I can’t help thinking that maybe I do. Compounding her hurt, even unintentionally, doesn’t mean it’s okay.
And there are so many other people my father has hurt over the years. I can’t save any of them.
I sigh and let my hands drop. Plenty of time to play whipping boy to myself once I get home. The last thing I need is one of my coworkers wondering what the hell I’m doing hanging out in the break room instead of booking it for the door the second I clock out. No one else is in the room, so I allow myself to stretch, something in my back popping as I reach my fingertips toward the ceiling.
“Sounds painful.” A woman’s voice—low and throaty and full of promise.
