Page 31 of Apollo

“Which might’ve your plan all along, anyway,” Irowen rebutted, throwing a hard glare at Rizon’s pitiful ruse of distress. “Easier to unload it for operating cash, right? Unless Ito just wanted a temporary playdate with the thing?”

“Not such an odd concept,” Apollo clarified. “If Ito is a practicing Shintoist, he believes in us as deities called kami, who are associated with forces of nature both good and bad. Using a supernatural treasure as a temporary tool for power and wealth is one thing, but pissing off a kami long-term is another. He might already be looking for yet another buyer.”

Rizon’s soft but bitter chuckle was an accurate predecessor of his reply. “Oyabun is about as interested in pleasing the kami as weaving his toenail dirt into a new yukata.”

To her credit, Irowen only exposed her disgust in the tightness at the corners of her eyes. Otherwise, those incandescent greens didn’t flinch as she fully regarded Rizon again. “So, he’s gluing down the string for good.”

Before she was done, the worm at his feet had the wherewithal to insert a convincing shudder. At least he hoped Rizon was acting . . .

“Naí,” the asshole mumbled before clarifying his Greek: “Yes. That is his intention.”

“Shit,” Apollo spat. Fine; he’d been counting on Rizon’s charade to be just that, though Irowen actually appeared like she’d clutched big at ultimate bar trivia and scored them a round of top-shelf shots. The woman swayed side-to-side with mischievous glee, as if she just looked forward to a new round from the trivia machine.

But when she spoke again, after a few seconds that felt like years, it was damn clear she wasn’t playing at all.

“His intention,” she echoed. “Which implies what he plans to do, not what’s already accomplished.” Just as quickly, she leaned over, but only by half. In short, squaring off with Rizon but not stooping to his level. “Because Ito himself doesn’t have the string yet, does he?”

Apollo beat Rizon on the reaction shot to that by half a second. Couldn’t be helped, when the woman’s new insight made so much sense.

“Hellsticks.” He let his tone imply the facepalm to which he was tempted, along with the shit he didn’t give about the pun. “So if big man obayun doesn’t have it, and you don’t have it”—from his glower at Rizon, he swooped his attention back to the woman at his side—“where does that put us at now? Square fucking one?”

Irowen pushed back up to her full height. While that barely put the top of her inky curls to the middle of his bicep, she looked ready to put her own mark in the doorjamb with the frustrated fire in her greens and the tension in her dirt-smudged neck.

By the damnation of Zeus, how he just wanted to freeze the whole scene and lick that filth off her. Yeah, even now. Yeah, no matter how nasty it tasted. Yeah, just to carry more of the sexy little animal around with him. To haul her into his goddamned sinus passages the same way he ached to hold her in his arms, her cheek against his heartbeat. They’d both been through so much tonight, and here they were facing a brand-new ordeal . . .

Square fucking one.

“No.” She would’ve had him back at full focus even with half that confidence, but her fresh swagger was an extra boost for the cause. “Not there. Square one is when there isn’t an eager little Judas in front of you, ready to spare himself the noose. Isn’t that right, Mr. Byrd?” When her deliberate jab with the mortal alter ego made Rizon hunch again, she rolled her eyes and exaggerated a long pffft. “Oh, hey. Come on. I wasn’t serious . . . much. Have I asked you to kiss any cheeks, buddy? I mean, the one already on my mind has probably put up with plenty of your slobbering anyhow.”

“Huh?”

“Eh?”

Though there was no way to avoid embarrassed idiot syndrome when his retort slammed the air along with Rizon’s. At least Irowen got another two seconds for deliberation. Golden lining, part two: he got the chance to watch, unfiltered about his fascination, as her face conveyed the turns and clicks of her logic. But as awesome as the sight was, he hoped her conclusion came soon. The sleazebag at their feet, profusely sweaty in his fear, stunk like a ganja roach in a Skid Row puddle.

The little monster delivered like a champ. “It’s Natasha, isn’t it?” she declared then, smoothly folding her arms before Rizon jerked up a gawk of wordless confirmation.

“Well, fuck,” Apollo growled. “That makes scary sense.”

“Yep.” She popped the last consonant of the word, never swerving her scrutiny from Rizon. “The woman is a crafty little cookie. I know that much by shadowing her for the last few weeks. But you probably didn’t know how crafty, did you, demigod? Not when you first trusted her about who and what you are, yeah?”

Beneath the bastard’s grimy stubble, a furious flush developed. “She giggled at first, you know,” Rizon snarled. “Giggled. At me, a rightful polítis of Olympus!”

“So when you had the string in hand, you decided to make her see the truth,” Irowen filled in. “And at first, it was probably worth it. Whatever fancy woo-woo trick you pulled was enough to change her from giggly arm candy into the girlfriend who jumped every time you snapped your fingers. She got what she wanted, as well. You two became the pop-rock golden couple, ready to rule the world together.”

Apollo hummed, but not in a good way. In his thunderheads-about-to-rain-fire way. “And then the girl realized that a solo throne was better for branding.”

“Solo, my ass.” Sure enough, as if lightning itself had hit his ass crack, the bum on the ground lurched up. “Not when she’s about to pick up her golden spoon at Ito’s pretty table.”

“Excuse me?”

“What the fuck?”

It wasn’t so weird to overlap his comeback this time, partnering the sound with Irowen’s retort. He just wished the sound sandwich was filled with something more palatable than their shock and disgust.

“Ito?” she reiterated, also looking ready for Titanomachy II. “Why is she jumping on that bus, considering what she knows about his own secret identity?”

Apollo grunted. “Probably because of that.”