Swamp Boy…His mother’s voice whispered across his mind.
Hades rubbed a hand over his face. It was going on eight years since she’d called him that. Sometimes it felt like he’d been Hades Fairgood longer than he’d ever been that superhero he made up, a good woman’s son.
Still, Waylon was acting crazy—even for Waylon. Hades didn’t like staying upstairs at the roadhouse when he was here with Persy. They were called the fucking rooms for a reason. The beds were designed for carnal activity—not for lying as far apart from each other as possible.
But when Persy came back from delivering her crochet orders, he said, “We’re staying here tonight.”
Persy didn’t respond. She never did unless she was given a direct command to do so. Her going along with whatever he said was assumed.
She merely waited until he was done drinking and followed him upstairs to a hallway lined with doors. As usual, there was a whole lot of moaning and carrying-on noises floating into the space from various rooms. They could also hear Waylon’s woman slamming her hand against her door and yelling at the top of her lungs.
“Let me out! Dammit, Waylon, let me out! Somebody help me! Please help me! I’m not supposed to be here. He’s holding me prisoner against my will!”
Hades cast a glance at Persy. But again, no reaction. Even for a woman who was basically in the same predicament as her.
He’d truly broken her.
Good. He should feel good about that.
But the alarm bells kept ringing low. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with her as they went through their usual on-the-road routine.
At home, she always played soothing French music when she drew him baths. The European version, of course. There wasn’t any such thing as a good Cajun French song you could relax to before going to bed.
But out on the road, they just took turns washing up in the usually tub-less hotel bathroom. And the roadhouse’s communal toilets forced them to get even more basic than that.
No way he was letting her go in alone tonight, though. Waylon’s earlier altercation had proven what could happen when bikers who didn’t know your reputation laid eyes on your girl.
They entered the communal bathroom together and washed their faces side by side at a long trough of spigots. One guy from the Bandits MC was in there with them, and he tried to steal glances at Persy at the other end of the sink.
Hades stared him down until he realized that was a bad, possibly life-ending idea and the Bandit ducked his head and left him and Persy alone in the bathroom.
When he turned back to the sink, he noticed she was having to tilt her head at a funny angle to keep her hair from falling into her face. Without thinking about it, he gathered it in one hand, holding it back so it wouldn’t get in her way.
“Thanks,” she said when she stood back up. She cast him a slightly surprised look before tearing off a sheet from the brown roll that was sitting on the spigot ledge to dry off her face.
He wasn’t surprised by her surprise. They spent a lot of time together. But up until now, he’d purposefully avoided moments like this.
“Your hair’s getting too long,” he pointed out as an excuse. “You on those extensions again?”
If so, he needed to have another talk with her hairdresser. Maybe over the three years she’d been coming to the house, Delfina had forgotten about his original preference for Percy’s natural curls.
“No, I was telling Delf how I couldn’t keep it from frizzing up. So she just flat ironed it straight and put it in two protective braids that I can take in and out to keep it from going crazy on me—speaking of which, I should…”
She started braiding half of her straightened locks over her shoulder.
And a sudden urge to help her with the other half of her hair rose up inside of Hades. Just so he could touch it again. Touch her again.
But no…he’d vowed not to let her weaponize his desire for her a second time. Weirdly, that vow was harder to keep during intimate domestic moments like this.
His mind time traveled back to the day they’d met, when her mama swooped down like a red-shouldered hawk and suddenly took the vision who’d just called him “Swamp Boy” away. Leaving him to finish the drain cover job the daughter had begun and give the pool a good cleaning and pH rebalancing after that.
He’d been disappointed, but by the time he’d met his own mother at his truck, he decided the Perreault lady’s intervention was a good thing.
Stephanie Perreault was too young for him anyway. Plus, she was the kind of girl who’d want to get in some college.
Five years….
As he drove his mother back home, he gave himself that timeline for getting done with the Army and making something of himself on the right side of the law. Five years to become someone impressive enough for Stephanie Perreault to say yes to when he asked her out on a date.
