Carnage: Nate Temple Series Book 14

by Shayne Silvers

  “Let’s just say that I trust a handshake over bloodlines.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. Then again, judging by the myths…he had a solid point.

  “Well? What do you want me to do?”

  He chuckled. “That’s just it! I—” He cut off abruptly, glancing over my shoulder. “Ah. Perfect timing. They need to hear this as well,” he said, chuckling again. And he strode past me, making his way closer to the stairs. He gave Carl a wide berth, which was difficult, because Carl was suddenly hurrying over to my side, glaring towards the base of the steps as if to protect me.

  I spun to find three people striding up the stairs. I spread my feet shoulder-width apart and clenched my jaw as I eyed the crew of thugs.

  Ares led the way. He wore a crimson toga with gold embroidery at the hem and a wide leather belt. His fiery red hair was tied back in a man-bun, and his scarred cheeks peeked over the top of a thick, wiry beard. His head resembled a misshapen hunk of granite, and his eyes glittered with hatred. He was fucking huge, but not in an aesthetically pleasing way. He made Gunnar look anorexic in comparison. He must have taken a nap, because he didn’t look quite so murderous as when I’d last seen him stomping out of my cell in a hissy fit.

  Apollo came next, tall and lithe, like a…well, like an Olympic swimmer. He had broad shoulders but looked as if he’d missed every single leg day in his athletic career. He wore a white and gold toga, and his long blonde hair looked professionally straightened. He had a gaunt, imperious look on his face as if he was always looking down upon anyone who might attempt to talk to him. He was that guy who showed up at the pool party in a company polo and khakis, hemming and hawing about his Ivy League degree while he daintily sipped a bottle of microbrew—that he had brought himself, of course—with his pinky raised. The man who wanted everyone to know how special and unique he was—while everyone else was busy congratulating each other on a new keg-stand personal record.

  The guy who demanded that the peasants worship and adore him, even though he secretly scorned them for their inferior upbringing. So, still smart and dangerous, but arrogant and elitist to such a degree that he made me look like Mother Theresa.

  I grabbed a firm hold of my junk, tugged it with a salacious hip thrust, and blew him a kiss. “I missed that magical way you rub oil into my shoulders. Next time call before you cancel our appointment, you heartbreaker.” I winked suggestively.

  The vein on his temple bulged and his cheeks reddened with outrage at my inelegant greeting. He even looked embarrassed that I had singled him out—as if not wanting his fellow Olympians to assume we had any kind of social relationship whatsoever, let alone a romantic one like I’d implied.

  Ares curled his lip and took a noticeable step to the side so as not to catch the apparently contagious homosexuality molecules in the air around his brother. Homophobia for the win.

  Last, but certainly not least, a stunningly beautiful woman brought up the rear. She had long, lustrous, thick brown hair, perfectly plump cheeks, and a narrow chin. Her almond-shaped eyes were big and wide, and her vibrant green eyes drew me in with an almost physical pull that made my tongue and jaw tingle for some bizarre reason.

  She wore a sheer toga that flowed loosely around her rather than hugging her flesh. I had a perfect view of absolutely every asset in her investment portfolio, since the fabric of her garment was more transparent than a wedding veil.

  And, like the wedding veil, what lay beneath that single sheet of fabric was a groom’s greatest desire. An experience that menfolk waited their entire lives to attain. A course of learning that every male student in existence would pay any price to attend, even if they were destined to fail the exam. Because even failures could impart unforgettable lessons.

  Starting with the first letter of the alphabet and giving her top scores for looks and an I will eat your heart while you thank me for it vibe, I assumed this was the infamous Aphrodite.

  She took a firm position on the use of undergarments—she didn’t wear them. Period. She walked with a seductive sway, but not like a porn star or cabaret dancer. Her grace had class and distinction despite inciting obvious lust. She wasn’t just about sex—she was about forcing men to become the best possible form of themselves so that they might earn the right to at least witness her in passing.

  It was…unsettling. Like her very presence made me want to become a better person. That wasn’t to say that she exuded a divine sense of goodwill or anything. I had the perception that Aphrodite’s call to bring out the best in people didn’t grade on a curve.

  Whether your calling was to be the best professor at your college or the most feared among hostile dictators—as long as the man was giving it their all, Aphrodite was satisfied.

  The three of them watched me with varying degrees of uncertainty and hostility. They gave Carl a wide berth, refusing to look at him as if they could pretend he didn’t exist. But their body language gave them away—tense and uneasy.

  Carl smiled, flicking his tongue at them in greeting. “Hi, syphilitic groin spawn,” he said very meticulously. Then he glanced at me. “Was that what he called them?” he asked me, not so discreetly jerking his chin towards Zeus.

  I smirked at the familial hand grenade he’d come up with—especially how he’d implied that their own father had said it rather than me. It almost brought a proud tear to my eye. “Yes, Carl. That is what he called his own children.”

  Zeus was studying his children with a glare that demanded their attention over Carl’s jab. “Where is Hermes?”

  I heard a metallic flutter behind me and I spun, rearing back with my fist to sucker punch any biological entity in my personal bubble.

  Hermes luckily leapt back a step before I had time to deliver him a four-knuckled message. Well, he leaned back, technically speaking—and glimmering, metallic tattoos covering each of his calves suddenly peeled off of his skin to reveal metal wings as thin as paper. They whisked him away as swiftly as a dandelion seed at the faintest gust of wind, propelling him to safety.

  He met my eyes. “Apologies. The crest is where my coin’s Gateways open up,” he said, brandishing a golden coin between his thumb and first knuckle. Huh. Kind of like my Tiny Balls, except reusable. “Security measure my Father put into place. He’s somewhat paranoid, you see.”

  “Get over here, Hermes,” Zeus growled. “You’re not only incompetent, but you’re late.”

  Hermes waited until Zeus looked away to smirk and flash me a mischievous wink before fluttering over to his siblings, landing beside them in utter silence. The ankle wings wrapped back over his lower legs, making me think of the wings on the golden snitch in those Harry Potter flicks.

  Hermes was a wild card. He was very tall with wavy golden hair, and his golden irises seemed made of the molten precious metal. He was also in excellent physical shape, but he looked like an awkwardly growing teenager when standing beside Apollo and Ares—like he was waiting on one more growth spurt before his voice stopped cracking and the bulbs in his man garden sprouted their first pubiflora.

  I turned to Zeus with a resigned sigh. “You were about to tell me what you need me to do for you since our families are such good friends.”

  Zeus nodded with a faint grin. “I will be taking a short trip. While I’m gone, I don’t need you to do something for me…I need you to do absolutely nothing for me.” His smile stretched wider.

  His children frowned thoughtfully, sharing furtive glances out of his view. Carl continued to watch them with a suspicious glare. “While you’re gone,” I repeated, trying to wrap my head around the comment. He didn’t want me to kill someone. He wanted me out of the way. “Wait. Your evil plan is to leave me up here?”

  He nodded. “It’s better for everyone that way. Once I return, we can discuss the logistics of you handing over the Armory to me. It is mine, after all. The majority of its contents are Greek.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “What Armory?” I asked, lamely.

  7


  Aphrodite smirked in amusement before catching herself, but Ares had noticed her look. The rapid scowl on his face let me know that he’d decided I was now competition for a prize that I hadn’t known I was playing for—his sister’s affections.

  Hermes watched the exchange pensively, his face blank but his eyes calculating. He was the dangerous one—the watcher. Always watch the watcher, my dad had often warned me.

  Apollo had a thinly disguised sneer on his face, as if mentally tallying the dozen other, more important, matters he should be attending to rather than suffering my presence. Like polishing his participation trophies while reading Tony Robbins mantras out loud in the first person.

  I am amazing. I deserve to be loved. I am special. And god damn it, people like me!

  Zeus was utterly confident and unflustered, now seeming to flaunt his position of power over me. “The Armory. The stolen collection of Greek antiquities your family has guarded for me all these years. The Armory we will use for the upcoming war when you join my forces. You will be my general. Once you prove your loyalty, of course.”

  My blood ran cold at mention of the upcoming war, but even more at the fact that he wanted me to be his general. Anger soon took over and made my blood boil. I was stunned by his audacity, that he thought there was a world where I would work with him…for him.

  Ares’ face purpled, and Apollo shot a wary look at Hermes. Aphrodite looked abruptly nervous, and Hermes looked as calm as a cucumber. Carl watched the siblings as studiously as a psychologist, taking notes with his eyes. There were games within games afoot, that much was obvious. “That’s just a rumor.”

  “Reputations and rumors,” Zeus mused, nodding. “Like the one that you hold my niece, Pandora, hostage.” I kept my face blank. “I will have her back,” Zeus said in a firm tone. “Then there is the rumor that you are a Horseman, for example. I truly didn’t believe that at first. I knew you had the blessing of the dreaded Four, but I didn’t know a second band of Horsemen could roam the world. That you could be a Horseman in your own right. Hope,” he growled, not sounding pleased. “As offensive as that is, I would be willing to forgive you that disrespect in exchange for you marshaling them under my banner against a common foe.”

  So, not only the Armory, but my Horsemen as well. My mind raced, wondering how best to play this turn of events. Go along and find a way to double-cross him—which seemed like the avenue some of his children had taken—or to outright laugh in his face. The problem with the latter, more truthful, option was that I was currently his prisoner, and it would get me nowhere. Well, it would get me right back in my cell. I couldn’t do anything from my cell. Which he was well aware of.

  Bastard.

  And why had he waited a week to tell me this? Why lead me to believe that he wanted someone dead? What games was Zeus really playing here? What games were his children playing? What had Zeus been doing while I’d been locked away, and what had changed for him to suddenly decide to share his travel plans if those plans had literally no impact on my current living conditions?

  “But the Armory isn’t as important as your little trip…” I said to Zeus.

  He shook his head. “I require a weapon to kill a certain god. Believe it or not, I seek a weapon you once wielded,” he chuckled. “Once I conclude my personal vendetta, we will map out the logistics of your new career as my general. I wanted you to have time to think about it. To come up with ideas. To prevent any untoward delays that would result in friends and allies coming to harm.”

  The threat was obvious. My allies were leverage that he had no issue using. And with me locked up, there was jack and shit I could do about it. Still, if I caved easily, he would suspect me of playing games. I had to live up to my reputation. And, to be fair, it was my honest answer.

  “And you expect me to just sit here doing nothing. Then to hand over the Armory when you get back,” I said dryly, wondering what I was missing. “Hard pass. I’m not giving you anything. Especially when I get nothing out of it.”

  Zeus sighed with resigned annoyance. “Then my children will break you. They will continue to torture you until you see reason.”

  Ares punched his fist into his palm. “Gladly,” he growled murderously. Apollo had a twisted grin on his face as well. Hermes, once again, observed in silence.

  Aphrodite cleared her throat and glided forward a few steps. “Perhaps honey is better. Pain obviously does not work on Master Temple. Neither do threats. Has anyone tried to show him how none of us find this desirable, but that we do, in fact, share a common enemy and must unite to survive. Has anyone tried appealing to his needs?”

  “That’s a long list, lady,” I said, dryly.

  “Oh, I’m counting on it,” she murmured huskily, sauntering closer in a deliciously slow swaying movement. “Perhaps a woman’s touch is what he truly needs while you are traveling, Father. Pain has gotten you nowhere. Perhaps it is time for a little pleasure…” she said, eyeing me hungrily.

  “I’m not really into the whole dominatrix thing,” I said, hoarsely.

  “Perhaps you are into the whole endless orgasm thing,” she replied, biting her lip dramatically. She whisper-fucked me with her tone, her words seeming to hit the erogenous zones of my mind like magic. “We will find out what kind of fetishes you are truly into. I promise to introduce you to a few of my favorites.”

  Ares instantly began arguing against Aphrodite’s suggestion and I found myself smirking faintly. I’d almost forgotten that Aphrodite and Ares shared more than a sibling relationship. Although she was married to Hephaestus—the Olympian Armor God—she didn’t try to hide her sexual promiscuity. One of the most notorious horses in her sexual stable was her brother, Ares.

  Which, unless you were a pharaoh in Egypt, was just gross.

  Also…even if you were pharaoh, that’s gross.

  And he didn’t want Nate Temple diddling his sister. It was so ridiculous that I burst out laughing—which shut everyone up. Ares’ face darkened and Aphrodite pursed her lips, looking hurt. As much as I didn’t want to have any kind of romance with Aphrodite—on a rational, personal level—part of me was definitely drawn to her allure.

  But that was just her godly power. It wasn’t me actually wanting it. It was her slipping me a mental roofie.

  Zeus stepped forward. “I am willing to give you this opportunity, daughter.”

  I raised my hand, but I didn’t wait for anyone to call on me. “I’m not interested in acquiring venereal diseases from before Christ, thank you very much. I think I’ve been pretty clear.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I cannot get a sexually transmitted disease. I am actually the cure to any and all sexually transmitted diseases. Fuck me once, immunity on you. Fuck me twice, oblivion on you. Fuck me thrice…” she grinned expectantly, “well, you’ll see.”

  Well. As campaign slogans and suicide options went, that was a top contender.

  Ares folded his arms stubbornly, muttering darkly under his breath. I ignored him and arched an eyebrow at her. “You literally have a magical hoo-ha? Wow.”

  She was suddenly directly before me, and I couldn’t move a muscle. Carl tensed anxiously, knowing that if he moved, I might just be murdered. I was more focused on the fact that she had grabbed a firm hold of my happy place and there was a dark grin on her face.

  “Honey,” she whispered, “you have no idea how much of an understatement that is.”

  Before I could reply, she was a safe distance away, and I could move again.

  “Aphrodite can be quite convincing,” Zeus mused. “Perhaps her suggestion has merit.”

  Ares folded his arms, furious. Apollo rolled his eyes and shrugged.

  “He is a rather broken soul,” Aphrodite said, eyeing me up and down. “I wager he won’t last five minutes before giving in. It has been years since he’s had sex, the poor dear. He’s dying for attention, looking for love in all the wrong places. My kind of places,” she added with a smoldering grin.

  I gave her an unimpre
ssed look—which took effort, let me tell you. “It would be incredibly difficult to get it up for such a broken wreck as your daughter. I’ve never been into pity sex.”

  Her face paled and she clenched her fists. Carl slowly swiveled his head to stare at me with wide eyes, shaking his head as if even he thought I’d crossed a line. Aphrodite’s voice was pure venom. “It seems I will have to resort to more drastic measures, Father. I will fuck him so completely that he will do whatever you wish to get back into my bed faster.”

  I’ll admit, she made a compelling case.

  “It is decided,” Zeus said matter of factly. “Aphrodite will have first stab at Nate tonight. Moving forward, the three of you will each get two sessions per day with our guests. May the favorite child win,” he said with a cruel grin, assessing each Olympian.

  Ares and Apollo looked annoyed—and competitive. Hermes was busy watching his father, as if waiting for something. Aphrodite opened her mouth. “I ask only that—”

  “That will be all,” Zeus interrupted in a commanding tone. “Your job is to open your legs, not your mouth.”

  Aphrodite stiffened as if slapped. “Yes, Father.”

  I raised my hand, but spoke before anyone could deny me. “Does Hephaestus know you’re banging his wife?” I asked Ares.

  He smirked darkly. “No one cares about the tinkerer. Right, Aphrodite, my love?”

  She nodded her agreement, but I saw the mask she wore over her true feelings—whatever those actually were. “I did not ask to be shackled to Hephaestus, so I don’t know why everyone seems to be waiting for me to trip over my own heart. He was a punishment, if I recall correctly.” And those pretty little eyes grew glacially cold, frosty, and barren as they locked onto her father.

  Zeus grunted, looking unhappy that his efforts to punish Aphrodite with a lame husband hadn’t led to the desired effect. Hell, maybe it was because he was offended that a woman—even if it was his daughter—had overstepped an imaginary line.