Page 4 of The Games Gods Play
And he said that so loud. No one within a wide radius could have missed it.
I breathe through my nose, chin held high with fake confidence. Without glancing back, I throw Chance the middle finger over my shoulder and force my legs to function and carry me away.
He won’t be the only one meting out punishment for this exchange later. I just broke one of the Order’s cardinal rules. Never abandon the job when any thieves are still in play. Felix will be pissed.
But I don’t care.
Head down, I keep walking, away from them, away from the crowds, and up the mountainside into a copse of decorative trees that surrounds the temple, where it’s blessedly empty and quiet. The second I know I can’t be seen anymore, all the starchy pride that got me here disappears, and I sag against a tree, ignoring the knot that digs into my back.
No one comes to check on me.
Because Chance was right about one thing. I don’t have any friends. At least not any who would truly give a shit if I didn’t make it back tonight.
Worse, Boone is going to hear about this. Which means I’ll have to face him every single day, knowing that he knows. Worse, knowing that he could never feel the same.
Underworld take me now. I’d even prefer a corner of Tartarus.
I swipe away the moisture that manages to escape my stranglehold and glare at the tears on my hand, a few rolling past a thick scar on my wrist. I promised myself a long time ago, after I nearly died from a ruined street scam that ended with my wrist sliced open and not a single person checking on me in the hospital, that my issue was not worth my tears. And yet, here I am…
“That’s it,” I mutter.
Something’s got to give.
Whipping my head around, I glare at the temple sparking above the branches. Fuck Chance. Fuck this curse. And definitely fuck Zeus.
I stick my tablet in my jacket pocket and shove off the tree, the burn of anger heaping coals onto my hurt and humiliation but also filling me with a new sense of driving purpose.
One way or another, I’m putting an end to this damn curse…and I’m already in the perfect place to do it.
Time to have it out with a god.
3
The Last Mistake I’ll Ever Make
Raw emotions bubble inside me like a poisonous potion in a witch’s cauldron.
I haven’t entirely decided what I’m going to do when I get to the temple. I’m either going to beg that egotistical fucking god Zeus to remove his punishment or I’m going to do something worse.
One way or the other, my problem will be solved.
And, unlike earlier, now I don’t give a shit that midnight is the start of the Crucible and all the “rules” that come with the cryptic festival.
We mortals know only how the festival begins, how it ends, and how we celebrate in between. They begin with each of the major Olympian gods and goddesses choosing a mortal champion during the rites at the start. The festivities end when some of the mortals selected return. Some don’t. The ones who do make it back don’t remember a thing, or maybe they’re too scared to talk about it. And the ones who don’t, well, their families are showered in blessings, so it’s supposedly an honor to be chosen either way.
Regardless, mortals have been throwing this festival every hundred years since what feels like the dawn of time, everyone hoping they’ll be chosen by their favored god. What can I say? Humans are foolish.
Zeus is probably in his heavenly city on Mount Olympus, busy preparing for the start of the Selection Ceremony, but I’m having it out with him right now.
It can’t wait. I just need to get his attention is all. Luckily, everyone knows the one thing Zeus is most attached to in our world—his fucking temple.
Adrenaline pumps in my veins as I hurry through the trees. The temple is already cordoned off, but at least I’ve got enough thief training to be able to get around the barriers with no one noticing.
I skirt past a row of perfectly manicured bushes and approach the place from the back, where I’m less likely to be seen. The arcs of lightning overhead fill the air this close to the temple with charged electricity, masking the sounds of my footsteps as the hairs on my arms stand on end like toy soldiers.
I should take that as a warning.
I don’t.
