The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  “Where the hell was I?”

  Hugo side-eyed him. “Not there!”

  “No, I mean…” Simon looked rightfully confused and betrayed again. “Why am I just hearing this?”

  Hugo let his head droop in shame. “Briseis made me swear to keep quiet.” God, he’d been pathetic.

  “Total Brie move.” Simon swallowed visible disgust. “Okay. Details.”

  “That dance competition right after Dad’s funeral…” Hugo began retreading well-worn, painful paths. “Where I started a fight?”

  Simon perked up. “That's right! Brie was there.”

  “Yeah,” Hugo replied. “Then that big argument with the other Phenoms. Brie got me out of there while you played peacemaker. We go to her place. No one’s home.” The memories unfolded vividly, taking Hugo back to what he’d thought was mutual love. “We stole liquor from her parents' stash.” After finishing the bottle, he and Brie had gotten sloppy drunk and giggled their asses off.

  “Huh…” Simon motioned for him to continue.

  Hugo obliged. Long-forgotten emotions churned around his heart. “I must’ve passed out. But the next thing I know, I wake up with my head in Brie’s lap. She’s stroking my hair with this look on her face.” The echo of tender fingers running though his hair sent a shiver through Hugo. Brie’s eyes had held such longing—for him.

  Simon was lost. “What kinda look?”

  Hugo watched him with pity. “When you and G-Mama first have sex, you’ll know.” He continued. “We start kissing, then we’re having sex. And for a while, we were a couple, kinda sorta.” The nostalgia left Hugo with a deep emptiness he’d never known.

  Simon’s face filled with understanding. “Everything makes so much sense,” he remarked. “Why didn’t things work out?”

  Hugo gave a bitter laugh. “Brie was embarrassed. Her squad gave her shit for spending so much time with her loser friend.” His stomach roiled as more memories resurfaced. “Especially Spencer and Jodie.”

  Simon howled. “Oh, how ironic.”

  “Whatever,” Hugo growled. Spencer and Jordana had both apologized for how they’d treated him. Yet he’d banged them both…while they’d still been Briseis’s friends.

  Shame stabbed his innards. “Let’s just review police reports.”

  After Simon left a few hours later, Hugo needed a distraction. Spencer was in NYC visiting family, and Jordana had been acting weird since the L.U.N.A concert, leaving him with a third option.

  “Fun, fun, as usual,” Abby Dunleavy commented, the lazy afternoon sun piercing through the bedroom windows. She ran her fingers through her pixie-cut blonde locks. “Glad you could fit me into your rotation.”

  Hugo laughed from his bed, watching the slender slopes of Abby’s body as she leisurely pulled on her short-shorts. The girl was physical perfection, always down for whatever. Abby had definitely taken his mind off Brie and any other worries. “You’re in my top three, babe.”

  Abby gave a sexy smile over her shoulder, sending a stir through his loins. “I better be.”

  When Hugo walked her out, she snuck in a lingering kiss that made his toes curl.

  “Until our next play date,” she purred. Hugo stood in the doorway, watching Abby sashay to her car, those mesmerizing hips moving up and down. He hated seeing her go yet loving watching her leave.

  Locking the door, he spotted AJ parked in the living room watching TV, as usual.

  Since their confrontation two weeks ago, the siblings now coexisted in hostile silence. Hugo didn’t know how else to reach AJ. At least he’s behaving with Mom. And more pressing issues occupied Hugo’s mind.

  Soon he was skimming through old texts, thankful to find the message heard round Paso Robles High that had destroyed Brie’s reputation.

  Hugo had never watched the video titled Easy Breezy, not wanting to even gloat at Brie’s downfall.

  Bracing himself, he clicked the link.

  The video revealed a collage of familiar faces at a party four months ago. Varsity basketballers and many girls were downing drinks, chatting or writhing to booming music.

  The scene changed to Brie swaying drunkenly, slurring on about Jodie and J-Tom being disloyal bitches.

  “Want another drink?” the camera person asked. Lia Kim.

  Brie dismissed her to grab more drinks.

  The video switched to outside around a pool, Brie sitting on Harlan Mills’s lap. The two were kissing and groping sloppily. After a minute, he placed Brie on Cody Banks’s lap. “Your turn!” Harlan encouraged, mussing up Cody’s sandy mop. “You’ll see why I kept tapping that while Baz was dating her.”

  Drunken laughs sounded around the pool as Cody and Brie started making out.

  Hugo’s stomach seemed to crawl up his throat. Lia let this happen? He forced himself to watch three more ballplayers pass Brie around like a basketball.

  The scene changed to a bedroom, two people intertwined under dim lights, clearly having sex. Hugo cursed having 140/20 eyesight. Briseis and Baz Martinez.

  Startling Hugo more than the bedroom gymnastics were the off-screen whispers. Thanks to hypersensitive hearing, Hugo caught the entire conversation. “This is epic!” one girl hissed happily. “You sure the others left?”

  “Yep,” Lia answered under her breath. “Spencer told J-Tom, Natalie, and me what Brie planned on doing to Jodie. They told her off and bolted after that.”

  Whispered laughter ensued.

  “You recorded the boys playing Pass Around Brie?” the first girl asked.

  “Hell yeah,” Lia whispered with malicious glee.

  “Awesome,” the first girl cheered. “Once this goes around school, that bitch will finally get destroyed!”

  Hugo paused the video, gawking at his cellphone. He felt like cold water had been poured down his back, recognizing Lia’s co-conspirator.

  “Holy shit,” Hugo gasped. “Abby…”

  Chapter 26

  Greyson paced around the wooded hilltop, impatience sinking with the sun into the horizon. Saed and Rikki weren't here. He'd called them hours ago.

  The cartel compound was compromised, he knew for sure. Any conversations would be overheard by Diablo’s informant. Or Diablo himself. A pair of lights cut through thick shrubbery and encroaching darkness. Two figures approached, carrying what looked like an army duffel bag.

  Greyson approached Rikki and Saed, unable to hide his anger. “Where were you?”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Rikki threw back, hands spread.

  Greyson ignored her indignance. “Did you bring what I asked?”

  Saed limped forward. “All here.” Inside his bag were guns and the energy tracker used on Diablo.

  Relieved, Greyson smiled at his colleagues. “I found Diablo.”

  Rikki paled. “What?”

  Saed’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

  Greyson pointed to the valley below, dotted with lights. “In Missiones. I wounded him badly.” He was ecstatic, like an overcaffeinated kid.

  Saed didn't sharing his enthusiasm. “Why isn’t he dead?”

  Greyson recalled his confrontation with Missiones's residents. “Too many bystanders.”

  “Why isn’t he dead?” Rikki echoed.

  Greyson gaped. Were they that jaded? “Half the town was protecting him. How much heat would killing that many people bring?” Heat that could include US authorities.

  “He’s right,” Saed interjected before Rikki could reply.

  She brushed back her long mop of hair. “Why aren’t we at the compound?”

  “Diablo knew where I was,” Greyson explained. “Which means there's a cartel mole.” Or he works for the cartel. Greyson didn't share that part.

  Rikki’s eyes twinkled while she pondered this. “What now?”

  Her question wasn't surprising. Rikki was a talented killer but not a long-term planner. “We use that tracker, sneak into town at night, then kill Diablo properly.”

  Saed nodded. “Works for me.” He h
oisted a high-powered automatic rifle from the bag lovingly. “We got the hardware to seek and destroy.” Greyson appreciated his eagerness.

  Rikki picked up a handgun, loading in a clip. “This better work.” She studied Greyson with distaste. “The Delgado kids are looking for you.”

  Greyson stared, a bizarre idea surfacing. “Which ones?”

  Rikki looked annoyed by the question, checking her handgun. “Hernando and Dayanara.”

  “No Cristóbal?”

  “Wasn't there. Who cares?”

  Cristóbal could be Diablo. “Huh,” Greyson remarked with practiced nonchalance. He scanned the dimming skies. “Let's wait another hour—”

  The flash of energy illuminated the night from behind, scalding Greyson’s muscles.

  He crumpled in overwhelming pain, paralyzed. “What…the…hell?”

  Saed and Rikki watched in horror until red lightning forks impaled both. They were flung into darkness.

  “Saed…Rikki…” Greyson tried yelling. All that emerged was a groan.

  The helplessness was a cold stab through Greyson. The attack wasn’t Diablo, but felt familiar.

  Greyson struggled to lift his head as a lean outline filled his line of sight. The man standing over him was brown-skinned, his hair in cornrows. His eyes glowed, a triumphant smile on his face. “Remember me?”

  Greyson gasped. “Y-you…” ShocKing, out of jail, in Mexico. How?

  “Connie sends her regards.” ShocKing raised a foot and stomped on Greyson’s face.

  There was an explosive jolt of pain. Then nothing.

  Chapter 27

  The sun cast a hazy, sullen glare through the morning fog. Quinn usually didn’t drive into the office this early. But her new roommate had crowded up the condo with those silent, accusing stares or sleeping half the day. She could hear Therese sobbing at night even with the guestroom door closed. Understandable given the archer's bond to Geist. Except, she kept angrily rejecting Quinn’s condolences.

  “Don’t bother. You’ll just run again,” Therese had hissed last night, slamming the guestroom door shut.

  Hence why Quinn was enduring morning traffic. She couldn’t offer whatever Therese wanted from her. And she wasn’t ready to deal with Hugo, aka Bogota, aka Aegis dating her cousin. Gah!

  At work, everything made sense. The Paxton-Brandt exposé was almost ready.

  Also registering with Quinn was the black Suburban driving close behind her. The same SUV following her from the I-22 to downtown San Miguel. Ice ran down her spine. Is Paxton-Brandt having me followed? Implications stampeded through her brain as she hung a sharp right, then another left onto an alternate route.

  Checking her rearview mirror, the Suburban didn’t follow. Quinn breathed in relief. Maybe that was paranoia. Or Paxton-Brandt was spooking her like with Pablo, who was still traumatized. Quinn pumped the gas.

  An incoming call disrupted her musings. Quinn happily answered. “Mamacita!” Seraph’s bachelorette weekend was exactly what she needed. Therese will stay with Clint a few days… “I’m ready and packed for tomorrow.”

  Seraph’s reply was the opposite of cordial. “How could you?”

  Quinn blinked, happiness fading. “Excuse me?”

  “I trusted you with my secrets,” Seraph raged, “and you betrayed me!”

  “Mikaela, use your words,” Quinn chided. Something bad had happened. “What happened?”

  “Stop lying!” Seraph sounded unhinged. “You told the Wall Street Journal about me and Luke!”

  The accusation was a shotgun blast. “WHOA!” Quinn stomped the brakes, angered honks answering behind her. She sped up, trying to process this absurd accusation. “That’s not true!”

  “I thought you were my friend!” Seraph kept ranting. “Now Kurt's gone…you’ve ruined us!” Her wretched sobs were difficult to hear. “You depraved tabloid writer!”

  “I didn’t leak to anyone, Mikaela!” Quinn shouted over her, desperate to prove her innocence. “Why would I?”

  “Pray to the Lord I never lay eyes on you again.”

  “Mikaela—”

  Seraph hung up. Quinn drove in a daze, absorbing this new normal. Blur and Seraph was public knowledge. She snapped out of her stupor and called Seraph back. Straight to voicemail.

  Seven attempts later, Quinn’s heart truly broke. Seraph thinks I betrayed her. She slammed a hand on the dashboard as tears blurred her eyes. Thankfully, she had reached the office.

  Taking several minutes to regain some composure, she headed inside.

  A flood of activity greeted Quinn the moment she stepped off the elevator. Upon reaching her desk, Quinn read the WSJ story. The relationship timeline went back months. And it was chillingly accurate—including Blur being in Massachusetts the same time as Seraph and a secret meetup three days ago. Quinn saw why Seraph suspected her.

  “Someone inside either The Extreme Teens or The Vanguard leaked,” she guessed. Who, and why?

  Unsurprisingly, Quinn received urgent emails from Jono to get details and one angry email from Helena on why SLOCO Daily got scooped. Those conversations wouldn’t be pretty.

  She found Boyd weaving through busy halls. “Slow news day?” he remarked.

  His snark lightened Quinn’s mood. “Hear about Blur and Seraph?” Openly discussing this secret affair felt so bizarre.

  Boyd scowled. “Do birds shit on cars?” By the bags under his eyes, he looked tuckered. “I mean, Seraph and Sentinel’s wedding has to be cancelled—again.” He dodged a trio of interns. “What does it mean for The Vanguard?”

  “No clue.” Quinn stiffened, realizing how fatal Seraph’s affair might be for The Vanguard. She didn’t know if the team could recover after this.

  Boyd’s voice drew her out of her head. “I know what this means for Spotlight.”

  She froze hearing this cryptic update and faced him. “What exactly?”

  Boyd stopped before her, several inches taller. His expression faltered. “The exposé got pushed a few weeks.”

  The reply slapped Quinn across the face. “Why?” she barked, not caring who looked.

  “This affair will dominate the news cycle for days. Maybe weeks.” Boyd shrugged with an acquiescence that bordered on sadness. “Helena doesn’t want the exposé to get lost.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Quinn marched off. A delay was unacceptable. After Geist’s death, Therese’s injuries, and Seraph’s rejection, she needed this win.

  Helena was easy to find. She powerwalked through a hall, flanked by Managing Editor Rhonda Malo in a loud pastel suit, Lifestyle & Culture's Medina Levy, and Doyle. The intern had glammed up her wardrobe, kinky curls up in a sleek knob.

  Quinn already saw the difference in Helena since ditching the pills. She’d regained that spring in her step and razor-sharp wit, her eyes alert. But her stretching her shoulder meant the editor-in-chief still hadn’t seen a doctor. Quinn swallowed her annoyance. Paxton-Brandt needed sorting first.

  Helena saw Quinn coming. “Hi!” she gushed.

  “Hey. I hear the PB exposé is being pushed.” Quinn gave her a pointed stare.

  The editor-in-chief’s face emptied. “Gimme five minutes,” she told Rhonda and Medina. Helena then steered Quinn forward as the other editors left.

  “Yeah,” she continued as Doyle trailed them. “The Seraph/Blur affair is gonna butterfly out past next week.” Helena rubbed her hands, eyes brimming with potential headlines. "The timing sucks to drop that bomb when The Vanguard might implode before our very eyes.”

  Quinn side-eyed her, grossed out by the bloodthirsty delight. “That team's legendary. Try not to be too upset.”

  Helena softened. “C’mon. Seraph, the Princess of Purity cheating on Sentinel with a teenager?” She frowned as if recalling something. “DOYLE!”

  The pudgy intern came running.

  “Get Lincoln Conference room ready for the senior staff meeting,” Helena ordered.

  “On it!” Doyle headed for the elevators.
>
  Helena returned focus on Quinn as they kept walking. A blind person could’ve seen her next request. “Still no comment from The Vanguard or The Extreme Teens. So stick to that Seraph/Blur story like glue. Religious types love begging for contrition when they screw up. Ooh!” By her excitement, an idea had bubbled up. “Get in touch with Seraph ASAP for a statement.”

  Quinn's chest tightened. “Can’t.”

  Helena wheeled around in bewilderment. “Why? Aren’t you…oops!” She cackled. “Weren’t you going to be one of her bridesmaids? Speaking of….” Helena leaned closer. “Did you catch any clues about her infidelity?”

  Quinn fleetingly squeezed her eyes shut from how much her soul ached, dreading what came next. “Not here,” she whispered.

  Helena’s expression shifted in bald-face recognition. She marched Quinn by the arm back to her office without another word. Fear coiled in Quinn’s guts at the looming explosion. Here we go…

  “Oh my fucking god,” Helena cried, closing the door before facing Quinn. “You knew!”

  Quinn felt like throwing up. “Seraph thinks I’m the leaker. I’m not.”

  Helena grimaced, rolling her shoulder. “She told you about the affair.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I got suspicious after a weird exchange between her and Blur.” Talking helped ignore the nausea. “Seraph confirmed it later.”

  Helena’s eyes narrowed. “When?”

  Quinn steeled herself and spoke. “During The Vanguard interviews.”

  Helena staggered back against her desk. “You’ve known almost a year?” Her voice rose. “And said nothing?”

  Quinn remained steady, despite ballooning terror. “Wasn’t my place.”

  “Breaking stories is your job.” Helena jabbed a finger at her face. “Have you learned nothing from me?”

  “Mikaela is a kid,” Quinn countered, not minding her temper. “This affair will ruin her career, her life, and The Vanguard!”

  “So?” Helena threw back, her eyes merciless. “Seraph had sex with a teenager. Let her reap the whirlwind.” She shook her head, disgusted. “And you lacked the brainpower to leverage that into Vanguard access.”

  Now Quinn was repulsed. “Blackmail, Helena?” Many times, she’d privately considered publishing Seraph’s misdeeds. But aside from betraying their friendship, Quinn knew that was a Rebecca Reyes move which would’ve destroyed her soul. “That’s not how I operate.”