Page 7 of Deathless
"Everyone stays in the car."
"Jasper."
"Diego. Stay. In. The. Car."
A man stepped out from behind the lead vehicle with his hands in his pockets, standing in the headlights like he had somewhere better to be.
"Hephaestus. You and I should have a conversation."
Jasper turned to face me. I knew that look from Brussels. In Brussels, that look had meantyes. Right now it meantgoodbye.
"You remember our plan for if we get separated? " he said.
I swallowed and nodded. Drive to the nearest town. Check into the chain hotel under Mr. Safe. Wait. If he didn’t show up within 24 hours, repeat.
Jasper grunted, grabbed his sword, and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
He walked straight into the headlights. The man with his hands in his pockets smiled. Jasper’s katana hung loose in his grip.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, guapo,” I murmured. Then I threw the car into reverse, steered around the SUVs, and floored it.
Achilles had his father'smouth, but not his smile.
When Zeus smiled, you could almost forget he was an evil, conniving son of a bitch. When Achilles did it, it just made me want to punch him in the face.
"Hephaestus! Brother!" He pushed his aviators up his forehead and threw his arms across the back of the seat across from me. “Long time no see. You’re well, yes? You seem well.”
I lit a cigarette. The last time I'd seen this kid, he'd been seventeen and desperate at a banquet in St. Petersburg. He'd laughed too loudly, stood too close to Zeus, practically vibrated for a look that never came. Zeus had leaned right past him to talk to me, and Achilles's face had done something I'd almost felt bad about witnessing.
That kid was gone. The man in front of me sat loose and easy, but his shoulders were tense. Zeus always said Achilles would never be me. Apparently, nobody had told Achilles.
“I’ve been better,” I answered and gestured at his white tracksuit with my chin. “Nice suit.”
“You like?” He grinned and tugged at the fabric. “Like old days, no? Except not Adidas. American trash, Adidas. This is custom. Two hundred thousand rubles.”
I turned my head, taking in the man beside me. He wore a long black coat over a leather jacket, with chains at his hip and throat. His hair hung past his shoulders, straight and dark. The same ant tattoo sat on his neck, half covered by a heavy silver chain.
“Who’s your friend?”
“This is Patroklos.”
“Achilles and Patroklos.” I snorted. “Something tells me he didn’t choose that name.”
Achilles shrugged. “Does it matter? He’s mine, the same way the Spaniard is yours. Just don't expect much conversation from him," Achilles said and gestured to his throat. “Patro learned early that there were consequences for lying to me, didn’t you? Go on. Show him.”
Patroklos opened his mouth, and I had to turn away. It took a lot to make my stomach turn over, but seeing the massacred stump of a tongue Achilles had left in his lover’s mouth was enough.
Achilles poured us two glasses of vodka. "You look like shit, by the way. When's the last time you slept?"
I blew smoke at the ceiling and stared at him.
"The silent treatment. Very Russian of you." He slapped his knee. "My father warned me you'd do this." He shoved a glass toward me. "Drink with me. We're gonna be here a while."
I picked up the vodka, stared at it, and then summarily turned the glass over and dumped it on his shoe.
“Oy! That’s expensive shit!” He scowled at me. “You know, that was always your fucking problem, Hephaestus. You always did think you were better than me.”
“I am better than you.”
