Page 17 of Hercules

Was that really how Apollo expected him to go at this, after he’d behaved no better than a battle orc for ten years? But when he’d expressed as much to the Polo Pony, his stepbrother had laughed and spurted shit about getting back on the horse and sucking down a hair of the dog.

God damn it, he should’ve just swung by home and grabbed some weapons.

All right, technically he was already the weapon—Apollo had been clear about adding that to the pep talk, as well—but against seven burly mercenaries and the sugar mama who’d gladly barbecue their guts for breakfast?

If he couldn’t find something around here to fashion as a stand-in dagger or sword, that’d have to be the case.

Again, he had to leave that question with a wide-open end.

Thanks to the headstrong sibling who hadn’t listened to a word of his wisdom since the day she’d left diapers.

He swore beneath his breath, smelling Aphrodite before her presence hit the air. She was doused in something frothy, feminine, and alluring.

“Hi there, fellas.”

And, shitballs, matching it with her sweet croon and new outfit too.

“Aphrodite.” He seethed. “For fuck’s s—” And sliced himself short, though much too late. Because not one of these jerks heard his profanity as a simple expression. To their lusty leers, it was the verb they longed to enact. Their fantasy to bring to life.

There was a rush of stunned breath along his neck. “Wh-What’s she doing?” Natasha blurted, at least validating his dread at the sight of his sister now going for the Yankee Dominatrix in King Arthur’s Court look. He had a damn good idea about that answer but used a new grunt as a placeholder for it, instead opting for the sole shout that mattered.

“Aphrodite!”

“Ah,” murmured one of the dickheads, already betraying that exact anatomy element as his inspiration. “Aphrodite. Not going to argue there.”

“Definitely don’t feel like bickering either,” said another.

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

The team leader’s eruption was a fuzzy underline to his, though discernible through her knit mask. So was her long line of brutal yells, commanding her men to fall back. But she could’ve been Lizzie Borden reincarnated and lost the fight. Aphrodite in leather and lace was mightier than a nuclear blast.

Seriously, idiot? You had to go for that comparison, right now?

He blew the beratement at himself but swore Apollo’s echo was hot on its heels. His stepbrother’s call-out was as scorching as the fiery wind that suddenly surrounded and lifted Herc and Natasha, spinning them like the inside of an Oz-bound tornado. The starlet screamed and burrowed tighter against him, which was absolutely fine by Herc. He got a clear enough view through the chaos to note they had a cafe table and a couple of eucalyptus trees for company, instead of a cackling harridan on a bicycle.

Thank fuck.

An expression he fully intended on repeating to Apollo, with five times the gratitude, until realizing the chance had just been stolen from him—by his swiftly swelling throat and gummy, unmoving tongue.

But a thousand times worse: the tortured thuds of his heart.

Getting slower…

Slower…

Giving in, all too fast, from the dart of green goo that the raiders’ team leader shot into his groin before Apollo whisked him all the way up and away from the patio.

CHAPTER 6

“Oh my God.”

They were the words in her head, but Lois wasn’t sure they tumbled off her lips in recognizable form.

What was going on?

Not just now—though she was sure as hell going to have a talk with the atmospheric blender that had pureed her from head to toe and then spit her out—but…before. In the cute little patio attached to that club. The perfect atmosphere, however embellished, for stealing a few minutes with a stunning man who seemed to be seeking the same few minutes of some harmless conversation and a few soft laughs.