From Darkness (Hearts & Arrows Book 3)

by Staci Hart

  Her eyes misted up. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, meaning so much more than anything to do with the windows.

  He scanned her face as he brushed her hair away from her cheek. “Dita—”

  The elevator dinged, and Dita’s eyes flew to the doors as they opened.

  Ares was leaning against the back wall with his arms folded across his broad chest and his dark hair in disarray. His eyes snapped to hers as if he’d known exactly where she was, sending her nerves firing down her back, her skin tingling in warning from nape to fingertips.

  “Shitstick Von Chili Rim,” Perry whispered.

  A shocked burst of laughter passed Dita’s lips, her heart jump-starting in her chest.

  Ares pushed off from the back wall of the elevator, his eyes holding her until he reached the kitchen. To everyone else, he appeared nonchalant. His face was placid—for Ares, at least, which still included a smoldering scowl—and his gait was long and lazy like a cat, but Dita noted the tension in his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

  Selfishly, she was glad the whole ordeal was difficult for him, too. Because every single cell in her body was focused on him, and knowing he was affected made it a little bit easier for her to endure.

  Not much, but every bit helped.

  Artemis moved into Dita’s line of vision, setting her bowl of Cheerios on the table and taking the seat directly across from Dita.

  The huntress had never fully adopted the new ways, not in the way the rest of Olympus had. Dita would have paid a token just to see her in jeans and a leather jacket instead of short blue hunting robes and calfskin sandals. Or to see her black hair spilling down her back instead of twisted and braided around her silver diadem, inset with an opal moon, flanked by topaz stars.

  “Aphrodite,” she said with a sardonic smile and a nod.

  “Artemis.”

  Perry shook her head, her eyes on Artemis’s bowl. “You’re so adamant about keeping the old ways, so why aren’t you eating porridge or something?”

  Artemis shrugged. “I like Cheerios.”

  Dita could still feel Ares even though he was across the room, drinking coffee and sullenly leaning against the counter. But, instead of looking at him, she kept her eyes on Artemis’s. She was almost lost for a moment in the brilliant blue of her irises, the deepest shade of twilight, her long lashes lining her lids black against the milky-white moonlight of her skin.

  It’s a little early in the day to be waxing poetic, Dita, she told herself as she tried to shake off her rambling nerves flitting around her stomach like moths.

  She laid on a smile she didn’t feel. “So, Artemis, have you already chosen your player? Not that it matters since you’re probably going to lose.” Dita glanced at her nails.

  Artemis’s eyes narrowed. “I have chosen, and I will not lose.”

  “Statistics say you’re wrong, so I wouldn’t go making any foolhardy bets. Especially not now. I’ve got nothing but time to spend on plotting ways to take you down.”

  Artemis rolled her eyes. “Gods, Aphrodite. May I eat breakfast before you start acting like a child?”

  Dita threaded her fingers under her chin and laughed. “Okay, but eat fast.”

  Artemis shoveled cereal into her mouth, scowling around her spoon.

  The second the conversation died, Dita’s bravado seeped out like a leaky tire. Her eyes found Ares again. His eyes were almost hidden in the shadow of his brow, but they were on her. The feeling was so strong, he could have been touching her.

  She realized she was holding her breath and breathed deep, forcing herself to look at Artemis again.

  “So, what’s your player like?” Dita asked, desperate for a distraction.

  “You will know soon enough,” was all she offered before taking another bite of cereal.

  “Ah, come on. Not even a teeny-tiny hint?”

  “You have enough of an advantage as it is.”

  Dita’s cheer slipped into a pout, however fake it had been. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Artemis set her spoon down and leaned forward, raising a black eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”

  “As a heart attack.” Dita leaned forward in answer.

  Artemis chuckled with a condescending shake of her head. “You have an unfair advantage. Your love matches are practically impossible to stop. This competition is, by its very nature, unbalanced. Very little skill is required for you to win.”

  Dita’s ears were hot, her cheeks warm. “You think this is easy?” she asked, her tone sharp. “I’ll admit that a love match is hard to stop, but I have an extremely tight time limit.”

  “Four weeks is ample time for you to make two humans fall in love,” Artemis said.

  Dita was too ranty to note that she was being baited. “It’s not ample, given the humans you guys always choose. I mean, last round, both players almost died. You all love to choose the most fucked up players you can find, which makes it really, really hard to combat. Winning takes wit and planning. I have to constantly adapt and detour to get the humans to each other. It’s not like I’m sitting around, painting my nails and eating chocolates and…and…I don’t know. What the fuck do you think I do all day?”

  “I care very little.” Artemis shrugged.

  Dita’s teeth ground together as she glared across the table. “It does take skill, and I don’t have an advantage,” she said a little louder than she’d meant to.

  “You are set up to win, and we are set up to fail. The game is rigged.”

  “It is not!” Dita slapped the table.

  A hush fell over the kitchen, but Artemis only smiled.

  Dita pushed her chair back and stood, her eyes never leaving Artemis. “Let’s go. You and me. Right now. Fuck your Cheerios.” She turned on her heel and blew out of the room.

  The Olympians abandoned their breakfasts for the drama, filing into the theater room behind Dita. She walked past the rows of leather armchairs to stand in front of the screen with her jaw clenched and lips pursed.

  Perry stopped next to her. “Breathe.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “I am breathing, dammit.”

  “Okay. Choke, hag. Better?”

  “Actually, yes. Thank you.”

  Ares was all but forgotten. Dita’s thoughts were busy obsessing over Artemis.

  “You have an unfair advantage,” she muttered to herself in a mocking voice. The fucking nerve.

  Artemis made her way in with her chin high and a smirk on her face, and Dita resisted the urge to permanently banish it.

  The Goddess of Hunt stopped at the far end of the room with the remote, pointing at the humongous screen as Hermes attempted to thread his way through the crowd to reach her and announce the game. But she didn’t wait for him. His face screwed up with agitation when she turned on the television.

  The screen lit up with the image of a woman wearing a look of solid determination as she drove into an alley in New Jersey. Her long red hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, and her big brown eyes were trained on the road in front of her.

  Dita recognized her and smiled, catching herself before she laughed out loud. Her plan clicked into place and was set in motion that second, and giddiness bubbled up in her as she realized just how easy winning would be.

  “I would like to introduce you all to Josie Campbell,” Artemis said.

  And the screen jumped into motion.

  Josie pulled into the New Jersey alley late that morning and stopped just down from the bail-jumper’s house. The pavement and grass were slick and shiny from the trickling rain, the sky gray and heavy as she grabbed her cuffs from the passenger seat and stuffed them in her back pocket. She reached into her brown leather jacket and touched the handle of her gun for comfort, though she was sure she wouldn’t have to use it. It was only Chester after all.

  Chester was a repeat offender whose favorite pastime was committing acts of indecent exposure
. The old man had been nabbed more than a dozen times for exposing himself in public—from malls to movie theaters and everywhere in between. He’d once flashed a woman in the produce department of a grocery store while delivering a choice joke about cucumber and melons along with lewd hip gestures for illustrative purposes. Chester always got out on bail and never showed up when his court date hit the calendar. At that point, his bondsman would call one of the private investigators on their list.

  That was where she would come in. Chasing skips was the bread and butter of any private investigation firm, and hers was no exception. It wasn’t the first time she’d been called to bring the old man in for skipping bail, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

  The rain hit the pavement in soft pats as Josie slipped through the short gate of the chain-link fence around Chester’s backyard, stepping around tires, beer cans, and tools to make her way up to the back door. She skipped the first step up to the patio. That one always squeaked like crazy.

  Josie pressed herself up against the wall next to the screen door and closed her eyes, listening for any sign of him.

  Nothing.

  He was either asleep or he wasn’t there. She crept around the house to his bedroom window and peered in. The breeze pushed the curtains away, and she saw his rumpled, empty bed. Her lips pinched together as she moved to the living room window, bending into a frown when she didn’t find him on the couch either.

  Josie cursed as she hurried to her car, bowing her head against the drizzle. She should have known he wasn’t there. He was well acquainted with how the system worked, though she figured she’d have been irresponsible not to at least check to see if he was home. But Chester wouldn’t wait around for someone to come pick him up and haul him in. Instead, he’d find some dive to get drunk in until someone found him and dragged his ass to jail.

  She fired her engine and thought about where he could be, cycling through his favorite haunts. The Grand Duke, she thought, her gut telling her to start there. And so, she did.

  Dita sauntered across the theater room until she reached Artemis, holding out her hand for the remote.

  Artemis laid it in her waiting palm, looking all too proud of herself.

  Dita’s eyes were narrow, but inside, she was all but jumping up and down and giggling. Artemis was too easy to provoke for her plan not to work.

  “Since you’re so keen on talking shit,” Dita said, “and since you think all of this is so simple for me, why don’t we up the stakes? For my player, I’ll choose the man Josie despises more than just about anyone—her ex who left her without a word, who dumped her and broke her heart into a million pieces. Would that make it fair enough for you?”

  Artemis laughed with a shake of her head. “Impossible. Josie would never fall in love with him again. Not after what he did to her.”

  How little you know.

  “So is that a yes, Artemis?”

  “Yes, this is fair. I accept.”

  Artemis looked so very sure of herself, though Dita was sure her own posture didn’t look any less confident.

  “Not that I need your permission. This is just to prove to you that I can play this game on your terms and still beat you. And when you hand over a token, you’re going to eat a big, fat slice of humble pie. Deal?”

  Artemis smirked. “Deal.”

  Dita pointed the remote at the television, and the image switched to a tall, well-built man with dark hair that curled against the collar of his leather jacket. He was stepping out of his Jeep, and Artemis’s eyes went wide when she saw where he was.

  “And now,” Dita said to the crowd, “I have the pleasure of introducing you to Jon Landreaux.”

  She hit play.

  Jon closed the door to his Wrangler and made his way across the parking lot to the entrance of The Grand Duke, a dirty dive bar where he hoped he’d find the bail-jumper he was after. He’d gotten the call only a few minutes before, but he knew Chester’s habits well enough. The Duke was one of Chester’s favorite haunts, and it happened to be the closest when Jon had gotten the call to pick the flasher up.

  He pulled The Duke’s door open, and the sad, haggard faces of the men at the bar turned to the light. Jon stepped in and shook the rain off his jacket as he scanned the room for the face he was looking for without luck.

  A heavyset, middle-aged woman gave him a halfhearted smile. Her hair was an electric shade of color that fell somewhere between red and orange, and her eye shadow was a similar density of blue.

  “What can I get for you, honey?”

  He glanced at the door, his gut telling him to wait a few before he took off to check the next spot. The clock on the wall read eleven.

  It’s five o’clock somewhere.

  “What do you have in bottles?”

  “Plenty.”

  “How about Sam Adams?”

  She glanced down at the bin in front of her. “Don’t have it.”

  “Okay, how about Heineken?”

  “Nope.”

  He leaned over the bar and looked in the ice bin of beers where he found Bud Light, Budweiser, and Miller.

  Lite.

  “Well, that certainly is a mighty wide selection you have there.”

  “We do what we can, sweetie.”

  The door to the bar swung open, and their faces turned to where Chester staggered in the doorway, dirty and wrinkled, his gray beard gnarled and cheeks red.

  Jon’s lips pulled into a lazy smile. “Well, how about that? Looks like you have what I was lookin’ for after all.”

  Chester’s eyes passed over the room, landed on Jon, and flew open. He turned and ran, and the door slowly closed on its own behind him.

  Jon shook his head. “They always do that, though I can’t figure out why.” He turned to the bartender. “Thanks anyway, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat and took off after Chester.

  Josie parked in The Duke’s lot with her nerves tingling. Chester was there; she could feel it on her skin, and her eyes scanned the parking lot. As soon as she stepped out of her car, he stumbled around the side of the building and shuffled toward the entrance. She froze, hoping she could wait for him to get inside where he couldn’t run, and she stayed just where she was until he pulled the door open and walked in.

  She hadn’t made it five steps before the door burst open again, and Chester bolted around the building, toward the alley behind the bar.

  Josie smiled as she took off after him. Gotcha.

  That alley was a dead end.

  Her boots slapped the wet pavement as she made it to the mouth of the alley. Chester had come to a stop at the end.

  He turned and faced her. “Well, hello there, Miss Josie. Fancy meeting you here.” His words were slow and drawn out, and he listed a little, swerving as he tried to stay upright.

  “Hey, Chester,” she said genially, though her body was tense and ready to move. “We gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?”

  A deep voice with a Southern drawl said from behind her, “Oh, I don’t know about you, Chester, but I always find that the hard way’s a little more fun.”

  Josie turned and looked up, and when their eyes met, her heart shot into her throat.

  Jon’s hair was damp and flipping at the ends from the rain, his leather jacket dotted with condensation. His eyes were so blue, so bright, and she blinked, breaking the contact.

  How he always did that to her, she’d never understand.

  She put all her energy behind the anger bubbling up in her instead of his crooked smile as he looked down at her.

  “What are you doing here, Jon?” she asked flatly.

  He shrugged with a casual grace so gorgeous, it should be criminal. “I got a call a minute ago from Jerry J’s to pick up Chester, and I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by The Duke.”

  She huffed. “How is that possible? They’re only supposed to call one PI.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, did you set this up?”

  That stupid smirk of his stretch
ed higher on one side. “Don’t flatter yourself, honey.”

  “Don’t call me honey, asshole,” she shot. “They called me hours ago, and I was here first.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I was here first. I was inside when Chester here came ambling in.” Jon’s slow smile never left his jerk face. His stupid, hot jerk face.

  She scowled. Bastard.

  “Hey now, Jo, no need to get mad.”

  “I’m not mad.” She was well past mad and edging into blind fury.

  Jon’s eyes moved behind her, and his smile stretched wide. He leaned forward, mouth angling for her ear, and dropped his voice. “Don’t look now, but I think Chester’s got a little something for you.”

  Josie turned and rolled her eyes when she saw Chester swinging his naked dick at her. “Jesus Christ, Chester. Put that thing away.”

  She trotted over to the old man, giving him a wide berth as she made her way behind him, cuffs in hand. Jon covered her from the front, getting the full assault, to ensure that Chester wouldn’t make a break for it. Not like he would get very far with his pants around his ankles.

  Josie chuckled, her anger tempered by only a small margin. “Why do we have to do this every time, Chester?”

  He was almost pouting as he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m too pretty for jail, Miss Josie.”

  “Well, you end up there anyway, so why not just go with it?”

  Chester looked back at Jon, who looked even more amused than she did. Chester’s eyes twinkled under his salt-and-pepper caterpillar eyebrows, and he gave a wistful smile from behind his grizzly beard.

  “She don’t understand, but I bet you do, Mr. Landreaux. Nothing makes you feel more alive than being on the run.”

  Jon walked up and grabbed ahold of Chester’s arm with an understanding nod. “You know, I get your meaning. But now we’re gonna have to take you in.”

  “Naturally.” Chester tripped on his pants when he tried to take a step.

  Jon tightened his grip to keep Chester on his feet. “Whoa there, buddy.”

  Jon couldn’t help but smile when he heard Josie’s smoky voice from the other side of Chester.