No, not Swamp Boy. He wasn’t a self-commissioned hero anymore. He’d become a demon of the underworld.
Hades.
How appropriate a name for the devil who was about to end my life.
But then, the gun suddenly withdrew.
“You know what? This is an old-fashioned gun, so let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”
There came the sound of several metal plinks.
“I’m going to take all but one bullet out, and we’ll see if that fou bitch Fate wants you to live another night.”
A slight spinning sound. Then my father’s revolver was pressed back into my forehead.
I knew nothing about revolvers. But I’d watched enough older movies to recognize the sound of him cocking the gun for the game I’d heard referred to as Russian Roulette.
At that moment, I suddenly understood the meaning of the phrase “lose your shit.”
My bowels threatened to loosen. But if there was anything us rich Southern girls got training on faster than most, it was how to keep liquids inside your body. Sweat, tears, and especially poop were things we only ever released when we were hidden and alone.
I hadn’t had accidents beyond the age of two and a half. And I clenched everything to keep from having one now.
I’d lost it when I saw the tattoo, but I wouldn’t do that again. No more satisfaction given to these monsters. If I died, I would die with digni—
The dramatic click of him squeezing the trigger stopped my heart cold.
But somehow…
Not my life.
I blinked. And blinked some more. Oh God, Oh God, I was still alive….
“Looks like Fate ain’t done with you yet,” Hades said, his tone amused and wry. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
“What?” I breathed the question out on a gasp. “Why did you do that?”
But conversation time was over. Instead of answering me, he called out, “Derelict, Jam. Y’all can come out now.”
That was all the warning I got before two men I hadn’t seen before emerged from the shadows. Like the guard who’d left with the teenage girl, they were dressed in leather vests. But neither of them wore tees—just skin covered in tattoos. Mardi Gras-style skulls appeared to be the main motif.
“Take her upstairs,” Hades commanded. His voice was calm, almost soft. But his expression…
A storm raged behind his silver eyes. Like he was just as pissed off about me still being alive as I was surprised.
The shirtless guards grabbed me and dragged me out of the room before I could ask any more questions. There were steps…two flights of them, then they sent me tumbling through a set of double doors into a…
Actually, I wasn’t quite sure what to call this place as I climbed to my feet.
My first thought was a suite. But it was more like a whole apartment with a full bedroom, a sitting room, and even an office area with its very own throne chair. However, I wouldn’t necessarily call the large living place a loft either.
This was the kind of setup I’d only seen in French Quarter homes that doubled as museums. Gold and maroon damask wallpaper, gorgeous bergère sofas in the seating area…There was even a hand-carved Victorian-style bed with a two-post silk canopy.
Honestly, my mother would have died all over again—this time from pleasure if she had seen this place.
Hades lived here?
Antebellum mansions like the one I grew up in were worth millions of dollars. But I couldn’t calculate the value of a space this well-preserved upstairs, but also big enough to house a nightclub downstairs.
