The Darkest Secret

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NOW THIS IS THE SHIT, Strider thought with a slow grin.

A few hours ago, Lucien had flashed him and William to Paris. The guy, not the city. Though the evening had only just begun, Paris had been well on his way to ambrosia intoxication, already laughing like a loon. So rather than cart him off and start hunting Gilly’s parents to play a little game of slice and dice, as planned, and rather than leaving him behind in such a vulnerable condition, Strider and William had decided to take care of Paris—aka down a little ambrosia themselves—and head out as a unit in the morning.

Brotherly love and all that. The things I do for my friends. Not that Strider was intoxicated. He was the sober one.

He reclined on a delightfully cushioned lounge in the sprawling ranch Paris had rented. In Dallas, Texas, of all places. Promiscuity had decked himself out, too, wearing a Stetson (weird), no shirt (understandable), unfastened jeans (smart) and cowboy boots (weird again). Dude looked ready to rustle cattle or something.

At least the girls Paris had invited to party with him were more sensible. They wore bikinis.

Best of all, as the girls swam in the moon-and-lamplit pool, laughing, playing, Strider was reminded that he’d always preferred females with big boobs and lots of makeup. He was able to forget all about only-a-handful Haidee and how lovely and delicate she’d looked in Amun’s arms. Arms that should have been his. But whatever.

“I call dibs on the topless one,” William said from Strider’s left, throwing back his ambrosia-laced beer. “And the one wearing dental floss.” He’d changed his mind five times in the past ten minutes. As of now, he had dibs on every single female in sight.

“That’s a thong, moron,” Paris slurred from Strider’s right.

They reclined in lounges, too, the only cocks within miles of this little henhouse.

The girls were in front of them, some using the concrete rim around the hourglass pool as a dance floor. Gods love this modern era, because the females weren’t afraid to grind on each other.

“If the thing riding up her ass is a thong, whatdya call that string across her nipples?” William countered.

“A string,” Paris said, then nodded as if confirming his own genius. “And by the way, I get first pick since I rounded ’em up and brought ’em here, and I call dibs on the topless one.”

“Where’d you get ’em, anyway?” Strider asked. Funny. His own words were slurred.

“Strip club downtown,” Paris replied, finishing off his latest bottle of jack. “Throw enough money around and you can have anything you want. Except, maybe, fried Twinkies. I can’t find those anywhere.”

William tapped two fingers against his chin. “You had any of ’em before?”

“Fried Twinkies?” Paris nodded. “Only once, but I’ve never forgotten the experience. It’s like heaven in your mouth, man.”

“Fried— Paris, you dumb bastard.” Exasperated, William shook his head. “I meant the women.”

Exasperated himself, Paris splayed his arms. “How would I know whether or not the women have had a fried Twinkie? I only just met them.”

“Dear gods.” William pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you. Slept with. One of. The women. Before?”

“Oh. Sure, I have. And shit. Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”

“Finally,” William said. “We get somewhere. Who?”

Because of his straight-up awesome demon, Paris couldn’t screw the same woman twice. Sure, he weakened unbearably if he failed to roll around in the sheets at least once a day, but that was a small price to pay for unlimited nookie.

“Like I remember,” Paris replied.

“Your cock always remembers.”

“Well, we’re currently not speaking, so…”

“And we come to yet another dead end.” William’s sigh was somehow as wry as his tone. “You’re just gonna have to take who I give you and deal.”

“Like anyone would pick you over me.”

William blustered over the insult. “You just wait and see. I’ll have every single one of them eating out of my hand.”

“Only if you find one of those delicious fried Twinkies,” Paris snapped.

Strider rolled his eyes. Egotistical morons. Anyone with a set of eyes could see that Strider was the pretty one in their little threesome.

His demon immediately recognized the challenge and stretched, gearing up to do whatever was necessary to ensure that statement was true. Win?

Down, boy. He didn’t need the hassle tonight.

“Hey, William,” a beautiful blonde frolicking in the water called. “You said you wanted to taste me when I got wet. Well, I’m very, very wet,” she ended with husky entreaty. “Come taste me.”

“You’re not quite wet enough, honey bun. Keep playing, and I’ll let you know when you’re ready.”

For all his own dib-calling the past few hours, William hadn’t touched a single female yet. Strider had, though. He’d already taken the one with blue streaks in her sandy-colored hair upstairs. For forty-five minutes he’d unleashed his sexual needs on her willing body, making her moan and scream and writhe. He’d even made her beg.

Clearly, he’d been the best she’d ever had. Not that he’d ever doubted that would be the case. Not that he’d waited several minutes after the loving was done, tense, expecting to double over in pain since he hadn’t laid his patented moves on her, had just acted on need.

When he and Defeat had realized they could add another name to their ever-growing list of completely satisfied females—not that they remembered any of the names— Strider should have shot right into another climax. But the rush of victory hadn’t done anything for him. He hadn’t felt any better about his situation. He might even have felt worse. Like, hollowed out or something.

The girl had fallen asleep immediately afterward, thank the gods, because if she’d tried to talk to him, he would seriously have cut off his ears. Sex, good. Conversation, bad. He should have let her rest, but he hadn’t trusted her enough to leave her unattended, so he’d carted her back outside and placed her on a lounge—on the opposite side of the pool, where she was still sleeping. A guy couldn’t be too careful.

Still. She hadn’t been a challenge, not in any way, really, and he’d liked that. Liked being able to relax. With Ex, the challenge would always be there, influencing everything he did, so he would always be on edge. Of course, that would also mean the pleasure of finally winning her would be unparalleled, because the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory.

Not that he gave a shit about that now. He just wanted to take the easy road, damn it. He deserved the easy road for once. Even though he was learning the easy road sucked.

“Why don’t you join us, Paris?” a brunette called silkily, dragging Strider’s mind back to the party. She sat at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the crystalline water. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she swirled a finger over one of her bared nipples. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you ever since you first said hi to me.”

A few others sighed dreamily, as if remembering that very thing. As if Paris’s “hi” was the most stimulating conversation they’d ever had the privilege of enjoying.

“I’ve been watching you all this time,” Paris responded in a rumbling purr, “and as you can guess, I’m practically on fire to have you. But I gotta get myself under control before I can trust myself to even kiss you.”

The girls giggled.

Such a smooth talker Paris was, flattering without hurting a single feeling, yet doing exactly as he desired. Staying just where he was without inviting anyone over. But his desires were stupid, Strider thought. Did Paris want to spend the night alone and untouched?

And what the fuck, man. Was Strider dog food? Where was his shout-out? Where was his “come over here and play with me?” Or maybe they thought he only wanted the sandy-haired wench. Well, he wanted the topless one.

Win. Defeat stretched a little more, practically humming about the possibility of trying to steal the girl’s affection away from Paris.

Damn it. Can’t I have a single night to myself?

The demon replied with more humming. Meaning, hell no.

I gave you a victory tonight already.

WIN.

Fine. One more. But it wouldn’t be the fight his demon wanted. Frowning, Strider pointed to the shortest female in the group. “You.”

Her eyes widened with pleasure. “Me?”

She was slightly older than the others, putting her in her early thirties, with black hair and green eyes. He kinda wished she were a blonde, but she had a few tattoos scattered across her back—birds rather than words and faces, not that he cared—so he figured she would do. Not that he was particular or anything, or going for a specific type. He just knew what he wanted, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Yeah. You. C’mere, honey,” he said, crooking that finger and motioning her over.

She giggled and jumped to a stand. Several of the other girls threw her jealous scowls as she closed the distance and plopped onto his lap, and he nodded in satisfaction. Now that was more like it.

There’s your one more, you little shit.

Defeat quieted, happy with the win but bored by the ease of it.

Strider sighed. Earlier, this female had taken a dip in the water, and her gold-foil bathing suit was still damp. She fit her ass right over his semi-erect penis and leaned back, stretching out against him. Her large—really large—breasts jutted up, her nipples beaded underneath the fabric of the suit, and she squirmed against him, trying to rub him into full arousal.

Suddenly he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to be rubbed—or talked to. Damn his irresistible sexual magnetism.

“Easy now,” he told her, gripping her hips to ensure she slowed down. “I need a few minutes to recover from the excitement of having you here.”

Thankfully, she stilled. She twisted just a little, peering up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Want me to turn around?”

She smelled of peaches and cigarette smoke. “Actually, be a good girl and get me another beer from the kitchen.” He hefted her to her feet and gave her tight ass a pat. “I need to rebuild my strength or I’ll never be able to keep up with a woman as talented and beautiful as you.”

The action startled her, and she yelped, then threw a narrowed glance over her shoulder. “Beer?”

“Yeah, and sometime tonight,” he prompted, not wanting to give her time to question him further. “That’s a sweet girl.”

“Grab me one, too, sweetness,” Paris called. “Don’t pop the lid, though, all right?”

With a huff, she flounced inside. The kitchen sat right next to the patio, the glass doors allowing him to watch her as she dug into the fridge, turned and stalked back out. By the time she reached him, she had calmed down.

When she tried to sit back on his lap, he confiscated the beers and gave her a little push toward the pool. “Watching you swim is about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Show me that swan dive again, and transport me right back to heaven.”

“But I thought you wanted… If you’re sure you don’t…”

“I’m sure. I’m practically drooling just thinking about how graceful you are.”

Her shoulders squared proudly, and she raced off to do just that. Strider tossed Paris his beer.

“I just had the best idea ever,” William said the moment they were alone. Well, as alone as three guys could be with a backyard filled with strippers. He grinned evilly. “Let’s give Maddox a ring.”

Paris had dumped a baggie of ambrosia in the new bottle and had just taken a swig. The liquid caught in his throat, choking him. After banging a fist into his sternum, he regained his breath and said, “You mean propose to him? To grumpy ole Maddox? Shit, Willie, why didn’t you tell us you’re a masochist who swung that way? You’re so delicate, he’ll rip you to shreds the moment you climb into his bed. Plus, he’s hitched himself to Ashlyn. You try to lay a move on him, and that sweet thang will rearrange your face.”

Rolling his eyes, William withdrew Paris’s cell phone from the pocket of the swim trunks he’d borrowed. “I mean call him, you idiot. What’s with you tonight? Permanent brain damage? We’ll breathe heavily and ask him what he’s wearing. I bet no one’s phone sexed him before.”

“Hey!” Paris frowned as he eyed the small black device. “I had that stashed in my bedroom.”

“I know. That’s where I found it when I was snooping through your things.” As always, William was unrepentant about his sins. “So who has the titanium balls to actually do it, huh?”

Defeat raised his arm like a schoolboy, the only kid in class who knew the answer to the seemingly impossible mathematical equation on the board.

Enough from you already! You had your “more.”

“Why Maddox?” Strider asked. If anyone could kick his ass over the phone, it was the keeper of Violence. The warrior would probably find a way to reach through the line and strangle him the moment he started describing all the naughty things he supposedly planned to do to him.

William flashed his perfect white teeth. “Because he’ll curse the most, and that’ll make me laugh the hardest. Now, are you in or not?”

“Give me that effing phone,” Strider grumbled, opening his palm and waving his fingers.

“Effing?” William laughed with genuine amusement. “You ever realize how polite you get when you’re hammered? And you know what they say. A man’s true character is revealed when he’s toasted. So you gotta face facts, man. You’re a closet gentleman.” He shuddered. “Loser!”

“The heck I am!”

Even Paris laughed at that.

Strider snatched the phone out of William’s hand and started dialing. Yeah, Maddox—like every other warrior—was on speed dial, but Strider didn’t know the order Paris had them listed and he didn’t want to ask. If Strider wasn’t first, he didn’t want to challenge the bastard to fix the mistake.

A few seconds later, Strider realized he’d dialed the wrong number because some dumb kid answered with a “What’s up, yo?”

Strider quickly hung up and tried again, carefully pecking at the keys. After the first ring, he switched to speaker.

Maddox answered a few seconds later, his voice raspy with the force of his panting. “Something wrong, Paris?”

William and Paris were on the edges of their seats, peering over at Strider with utter glee. He hadn’t seen either warrior that happy or relaxed in a long time, and he realized they had needed this vacation as much as he had.

Strider blew into the mouthpiece, then moaned as if he were buried deep inside a woman’s body. He tried not to grin.

“Paris?” Maddox asked, confused. “You there? You okay?”

Both warriors tried to cut off their laughs, smashing their knuckles into their mouths, but snorts managed to escape.

“You naked, big boy?” Strider asked in his best imitation of an aroused female. “Because I am.”

More snorting followed his words.

“Strider? And don’t try to deny it. I recognize your voice. What the hell are you doing with Paris’s phone? I thought you were in Rome. And furthermore, what the hell does it matter if I’m naked or not? You have exactly two seconds to explain or I’m going to reach through the line, rip your tongue out of your mouth and—”

There was a pause, static, a muttered, “Give me that,” by an indignant female. Then the normally quiet and reserved Ashlyn was demanding, “Did you just drunk dial my husband?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Strider said, and the other two finally burst into laughter, falling back in their chairs, their bodies shaking with the force of their mirth. “A guy’s gotta have some fun. Even if it’s the fun he puts in his own funeral. So is he? Naked, I mean.”

“No, for your information, he is not. He’s working out. I, uh, kind of incited him to rage so he’s beating the crap out of a brick wall.”

The laughter continued for several minutes, until even Ashlyn was chortling. “You boys are incorrigible. This isn’t funny! He’ll probably destroy the other wall when we hang up.”

“Good. He needed to get out of bed and finally do something besides—” Strider stopped himself before he said something else Maddox would rage over.

“Besides pleasuring me?” Ashlyn finished for him, anyway. “You’ll change your mind when you next see him. Lately, he’s a nervous wreck about the babies. He’s picking fights with everyone he meets and has even been arrested. Twice. We’re going to make our way back to the fortress in the next week or so. He needs you guys. Because, and please don’t laugh when I tell you this, if we’re alone much longer I’m going to murder him in his sleep.”

Strider chuckled. “Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t saved him from his death curse.” Once upon a time, Reyes had been forced to murder Maddox every night and Lucien had been forced to escort his soul to hell. Ashlyn managed to reverse the curse, sparing them all.

“A little peace and quiet isn’t too much to ask for, you know?” she said loudly. Then, in a softer tone, she added, “So everyone’s good?”

“Don’t be nice to them,” Maddox barked in the background. “You need your rest, and they interrupted.”

“Oh, hush,” she replied. “If you had your way, I’d be resting every minute of every day. And like I can really rest while we’re outside, in the middle of town, while you destroy another building. Besides, I miss them and want to talk to them.”

That shut Maddox up. He could deny his precious Ashlyn nothing.

“We’re great. Me, Willie and Paris are on vacation. Together,” Strider added. He relaxed against his lounge, his free hand anchored under his head, wondering if he’d ever have such an easy relationship with a woman. “You guys good? No trouble lately?”

“Besides Maddox’s temper? Not even a hint of it.”

He didn’t ask where they were or what, exactly, they were doing. Besides destroying public property. He didn’t want to know. Ignorance was bliss. Besides that, if Hunters ever managed to pull their heads out of their asses and capture him, he wouldn’t have any secrets to spill.

Secrets. Amun. Ex.

His jaw clenched. You weren’t going to think about them, remember? “How are Stride and Stridette?” Friend that he was, he’d taken the massive burden of picking names for the twins upon himself.

“He’s means Liam and Liama,” William called, but a shadow then passed over his features, his grin fading.

“Madd and Madder are kicking like professional soccer players,” she replied, her voice softening with love and affection. “I swear, we’re gonna have our hands full when they finally get here.”

“By the way, you’ve ruined a perfectly good prank call with all this baby talk, Ash,” William scolded her.

“Seriously,” Paris said with a nod.

She laughed with unvarnished delight. “No more than you deserve, boys.”

“Hang up the phone, woman,” Maddox suddenly said, grim. “Someone’s coming.”

“Uh-oh. I have to go now,” she said and hung up before anyone could reply.

Strider tossed the phone to Paris, who missed. “Think they’re in trouble?”

“Nah,” Paris said, plucking the device before William could. “The someone who’s coming is probably Maddox himself.”

“Yeah, he’s probably dragging her back to wherever they’re staying so he can make a prank call of his own,” William said, adding, “on her body.”

Before Defeat could throw in his own supposition, Strider changed the subject. “So now what are we going to do?” Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings.

The girls were watching them, he realized, confused by their amusement but clearly charmed by it. They were wearing dreamy expressions, as if they were already planning a triple wedding.

“I guess we could grab a female or two and head to our bedrooms.” Paris didn’t sound enthused by the prospect. At least he wasn’t going to deny himself his daily dose, though.

“Yeah,” William replied, and he actually sounded depressed.

Strider knew Paris’s problem. The woman he had desired above all others, the first woman he’d ever been able to have sex with more than once, had died in his arms, gunned down by her own people. Hunters. Like Ex.

This time, Strider didn’t even attempt to cut off his thoughts of her. Yet. Had she been among the shooters? Probably. There was no bitch more coldhearted. Literally. He’d never met anyone whose body was as cold as that girl’s—except those he’d sent to the morgue, of course. Like he’d once sent Ex.

Was she cold because she was still dead? Was she akin to the walking dead?

The possibility was worth considering. Later. Right now, he wanted to figure out William’s unusual somberness. A much safer topic. Was there someone the warrior wanted but couldn’t have? Someone he’d lost? Was that why he was so hands-off when he used to be a worse degenerate than Strider? Seriously, he hadn’t touched a single stripper. Not even to slap a rump.

“So am I the only one who sees the dead girl at Paris’s feet or what?” William asked conversationally.

Strider and Paris stiffened in unison. Dead girl?

Strider was the first to find his voice. “What do you mean?” He looked, hard, but saw no hint of a dead…anything.

“Is this a joke?” Paris demanded, and there was no denying the menace in his voice.

“No joke, I swear.” William held up his hands, all innocence. “She showed up a few minutes ago and just kinda threw herself on the ground beside your chair. Dude, she’s got her hands wrapped around your ankle.” His gaze remained in the same spot, as if he were studying her. “She’s got dark hair and dirt-smudged skin. Or maybe those are freckles. She’s wearing a ripped white robe and black wings are growing out of her back. Ohhh, she’s got nice hands. Look at those things. I bet she does all kinds of naughty things with them.”

Paris was on his feet a second later, wild gaze darting over the concrete surrounding his chair. “Where is she? Where, damn it?”

A frowning William pointed at the exact spot Paris was standing. “You’re on top of her. Hey, girl. Girl. I don’t think he can see you. Or feel you. I don’t think grabbing on to him like that is gonna help you.”

Paris jumped back and, with an urgent moan, fell to his knees, patting the area in question as if he were putting out a fire. “I don’t feel her. Are you sure she’s here?” Desperate, uttered in a rush.

“Uh, yeah.” William’s brow furrowed several seconds before smoothing out as comprehension dawned. “I guess I never told you guys, but I see dead people. Oh, and look. There’s Cronus.”

Cronus, the god king. Strider’s eyes widened, but he saw no bright light to announce the sovereign’s sudden appearance. All remained as it was. No, not true. Paris had stiffened, fury bathing his face, his teeth bared in a fearsome scowl.

Cronus had given them medallions to hide them from the gods, but had since taken them back, saying the Lords had abused them. Meaning, Cronus wanted to know where they were at all times. Here was proof.

“Hey, buddy. How you doing?” William waved. “You taking the girl?” Pause. “Wow, you’re brave. Doesn’t look like she wants to leave with you.” Another pause. He didn’t seem to care that he was having a conversation with himself. “Okay, then, but go easy on her. I think Paris likes her. Well, bye.” He waved again.

Paris listened, growing more and more agitated. At the “bye,” he launched himself at William, his roar shattering the ease of the night.