Richer Than God

by Amelia Wilde

  “You look good,” Alicia says when I come out. She’s wearing loose pants and a tank top that hugs her body, crisscrossing over her back. “How long have you been here?”

  “Two days,” I tell her. It seems like forever and not enough time. A wisp of the old fear grips me, making goose bumps rise on the back of my neck. Two days is not long enough to throw my father off my trail if he’s looking hard enough.

  “You’re new then.” Alicia looks thoughtful. “What earned you a room in the attic?”

  She’s been leading the way all the way downstairs but slows her pace while we turn corners on the main floor. I think we’ve gone the opposite way of the lounge. “Oh, I didn’t pass my inspection.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “You? But you’re really pretty.” She laughs to herself. “Sorry, I’m not usually like this. Just starved for conversation, I guess. It’s been a rough month. This is us.” Alicia stops at an opening in the wall. Voices float out from inside, and I take one more step to get the full view.

  A dining room.

  It reminds me of a hotel dining room, only a thousand times nicer. It’s bright and open, with white tables, and chairs large enough to tuck your legs up into while you eat. Several of the girls are sitting like that, talking over tea and toast. It’s beautiful. I’m drawn into it, lost in the clink of silverware on china and the gentle rise and fall of conversation. The first step inside the room seems like a given.

  Until it doesn’t.

  Heads turn, the conversation cutting off like someone’s flipped off the volume.

  They were talking about me.

  My heart skips a beat, face heating. I kept my head down in high school for reasons just like this. There’s nothing worse than walking into a room and knowing everyone was talking about you.

  Fine… there are worse things. But the burn in my cheeks and the embarrassed twist in my stomach feels like the worst right now.

  “Come on,” Alicia says, her own voice dropping. “Let’s sit down.”

  “Okay.” I can keep a straight face. I can act like nothing’s wrong—most days. But today, I’m sore, my soul raw, and everything seems exaggerated. I catch Savannah watching me from the corner of the room, eyes narrowed. She’ll know what happened in the lounge. Everyone will know. He did it that way on purpose.

  Mean.

  We take a small table in the corner, one with plenty of sunlight and a pot of hot water already waiting. Alicia takes another tin and lifts out two tea infusers in the shape of poppies. She drops one in each of our mugs and pours the water over it, steam curling in the air above the lids. It gives me something to focus on.

  A woman in a white apron approaches with plates. I had no idea how hungry I was until this moment. When was the last time I ate? Breakfast yesterday, with the maids. A horrified shock freezes me in place. I should be with the maids. He didn’t say to eat in the dining room.

  “I think you’re good,” says Alicia in a soft voice. “He sent you clothes.”

  I meet her eyes, face gone cold with fear. “How do you know that’s what he meant?”

  She shrugs. “If he didn’t want you here, he’d have had one of his people stop you at the door.” It takes twisting around in my seat to see what she’s talking about. I didn’t notice him before, the man in black; he hovers near the entrance, almost part of the decor. “A place like this needs a lot of security,” Alicia comments. “I think they’re meant to be part of the background.”

  “They’re doing a good job.” I stir my tea with shaking hands. If I had a plan at all, other than run, then it was to be unobtrusive. Stand out only enough to get what I need. So far, it’s been a disaster. Four spoonsful of sugar in my tea, and I’ve steadied myself enough to look at my plate. My stomach growls.

  Even the food is beautiful. Yellow, fluffy eggs nestle up next to perfectly browned toast. A small cup of jam decorates the side of the plate. Three neat strips of bacon balance next to crisp potatoes. Alicia is already digging in. She closes her eyes with her first bite, tipping her head back, and I look away. I tried that move last night. Zeus didn’t believe it.

  And then…

  And then…

  Then he saw the real thing.

  I push it out of my mind. I can’t eat with him crowding my brain, his voice low and sensual in my ear. That laugh. I crave it like I crave food, which is possibly the most fucked-up part of this entire situation. It sounds so real. Like he’s been laughing in the middle of hell all his life.

  Maybe he has.

  I only heard enough about him to know how to find his whorehouse. If I’d known it would be like this…

  I might still have come. That’s the terrible truth. I might still be here, pretending to orgasm while I’m splayed out on his lap in front of a group of other men.

  Eggs. I focus on the eggs.

  The oppressive silence in the room closes in, making me feel like I’m in a play about eating breakfast. The buttery toast makes no impact, and I oversalt the eggs to give myself something to do.

  The rustling comes first, like wind in a grassy field, and then one of the girls sitting nearby turns around and looks at me with the kind of frank assessment I should be used to by now. “How did you do it?”

  I chew a bite of toast and swallow it, aware of every tiny movement of my face. Look cool. Look normal. Look like this is not a big deal. Try to forget that these women surrounded you in a spa yesterday and watched you get waxed. “Do what?”

  “Make Zeus like you.”

  Savannah scoffs, rolling her eyes. “He doesn’t like Brigit.” Her voice is poisoned honey. “He feels sorry for her. Everyone knows he favors me, if anyone.”

  I take another bite of toast and remain silent. Men will like you better if you’re silent. What about women? I don’t think it matters now. They’re all going to hate me for what he did.

  What he’s still doing.

  There’s a crackle of tension in the air. I stick my fork into some eggs. They’re way too salty. I eat them anyway. I’ll be grateful. If I can hang on long enough….

  Conversation starts up on the opposite side of the room. The girls farthest away lose interest. “What happened with Zeus?” Alicia directs the question to me in a low voice.

  I think of his hand on my hip and his fingers inside me. Reya watching. Men watching. The pleasure that wrapped itself around my hips and pulled until I had to give in. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

  I pretend to be absorbed in the food while Alicia tells me about the house she used to live in. The neighborhood is close to my father’s. “Evicted,” she said, and I ask the right questions to dodge any more questions about myself.

  It’s several minutes before I look up from my plate.

  Savannah’s still watching, eyes dark with hate.

  13

  Zeus

  The police station makes me feel vaguely ill. Oh, they’ve done their best to dress it up. Some modern architect came in a few years back, razed the original structure to the ground, and replaced it with a multilevel monstrosity that’s pretending to be a sunlit homage to the concept of putting people behind bars.

  In my opinion, it’s better to kill a person.

  The last time I was here, they brought me through the back in handcuffs. The architect thought of everything. Of course, they couldn’t just do away with the county jail. It’s simply hidden now, where it doesn’t detract from the shining justice displayed up front. I check myself in the reflection. I look utterly calm, bordering on pleased. They’ll never know how badly I want to destroy the bulletproof glass with bare hands and burn whatever’s left when I’m finished.

  I’ve never been fond of police. My brother, Hades, knew that when he brought an oversized SWAT team with him to Olympus. The smirk on that motherfucker’s face still makes me want to kill him. But it was the furious grief the second time he visited that sliced into me. Razor-sharp jealousy cut up everything in its path. He owes me, but he would never admit it. Our young adult
hood was not nearly as straightforward as he thinks it was.

  And as for his little police raid—such retaliation. All I did was briefly take possession of his favorite new toy. She would have had a perfectly nice time. He never listens to me when I’m telling him he’s made a mistake.

  Fucker.

  I’ve been staring at my own reflection too long, so I pretend to take a call then go in the door with confidence. The woman at the desk stares, blushing, and waves me through. The chief of police has his office at the top of the building, up a flight of stairs and across a bullpen of people at desks. I get a lot of wide-eyed looks. It’s like they’ve never seen a quality suit before. Judging by their uniforms, they haven’t.

  Xavier Morris wants me to see him behind his desk, so he stays seated for far longer than is polite. For the moment, we’re on relatively even footing. He could make my life difficult, if he wanted. He’s in his forties and graying, though he’s managed to avoid the paunch so many of his fellow officers seem to attract. He’s miscalculated, however, because staying in his chair means I get to loom over him. Which I do. Mine is the harder grip when we shake hands. I’m still taller, even sitting, and he hates it.

  “Zeus.” Morris puffs up his chest, folding his hands on the desk. “I hope you’re here with an invitation.”

  I pat my pockets and come up with a neatly folded stack of bills. “Is this the one you were looking for?”

  “Ah, yes.” He sweeps his hand over the money and stuffs it in a pocket. The man is corrupt as fuck. It’s why it was so easy to walk out of here when Hades decided to lose his mind and why it’s so difficult to shake them completely. “Does my invitation cover extras?”

  “A few,” I warn him. “I can’t have law enforcement overrunning the party. There are deals to be made.”

  He levels his gaze at me. “I would think the most important one is our deal.”

  “Of course it is, Xavier.” He also hates when I call him by his first name. “I would never prioritize anyone above you.”

  He taps his temple. “I’m still watching you, after that incident at your place. I’m expecting the party to make up for my troubles.”

  His troubles involved falsifying some reports to the Feds and accepting bribes. That doesn’t mean he can run roughshod over my establishment. “You’ll enjoy yourself plenty at the party.” I plant an elbow on the arm of the chair. “But the rules remain the rules.”

  Morris pouts. “The rules are the antithesis of a good party.” He’s proud of that one. “It puts a damper on a man’s evening when you let the girls pick and choose.”

  “If you want me to change my policies, then you shouldn’t be so fucking brutal.” And they are—the police are the worst clients, the ones who only the most desperate girls want to take on. They’re particularly nasty when they’ve had an uneventful day. The things I’ve prevented are beyond the pale, even for a man like me. “It’s not good for business when your men damage the merchandise.”

  He puts an offended hand to his chest then thinks better of it. “Most of them will be on shift. The city’s hot.”

  Morris doesn’t mean the weather. There’s a feeling in the streets that’s like a lightning storm about to crack through the sky. The men who guard the outside of Olympus have been telling me about fights on the corners and brawls at bars. Shadowy house fires on targeted streets. The tiff I had with Hades has had ripple effects. Shut down the train for a few days, and everything falls to pieces. I’m at the top of the ecosystem here, but the bottom is crumbling. Each fistfight is a bubble in a pot about to boil.

  “I’m sure you’ll have it under control.”

  He looks away, letting out a short sigh. “Your brother is running the trains again.”

  “I’m running the trains.”

  “And Poseidon is back outside city limits?”

  I let out a conspiratorial laugh. “Do you think I keep the man in my pocket? He does what he will.”

  “There’s a tipping point,” says Morris, eyes searching mine. “You know that.”

  “Poseidon isn’t going to bother anyone.” This is as empty a promise as I’ve ever made. Nobody can control him, least of all me. It was a stroke of dumb luck that Hades got him to move against me. They must have bartered. I’ll never know. “Things will settle down.”

  “Better happen soon.” He fiddles with a pen on his desk. Morris’s cracks are showing. He prefers regular, run-of-the-mill crime—crime he can extort bribes from without anyone being the wiser. Something more is happening out in the city. I make a mental note to send some people looking for what it is. “My men are overextended. They need a break.”

  “We’ll do our best to supply it.”

  “Your best?”

  “Want to be wined and dined, Xavier? It can be arranged.” This is several steps down from what men like Xavier Morris want out of Olympus, but I’m anchoring him. He’ll agree, in the end, because one of his secret fears is that I’ll bar him from the whorehouse entirely.

  He considers it. “It’s been a difficult month.”

  “Then let me know when you’re stopping by next. I’ll have the chef tend to you.”

  Morris’s eyes light up. The chef is not my real chef, but one of the girls who likes a bit of role play. She’s one of his favorites, and she’s been at Olympus long enough that there’s not much she’ll say no to. “Good. That’s very good.”

  I give him a few heartbeats with his fantasy before I lean in. “There’s something else.”

  This, Morris finds even more interesting than the prospect of a naked woman serving him food in one of the private back rooms. “What is it, Zeus?”

  “I need your help.” I say it with just enough humility to convince Morris that there’s no other way. A certain amount of worry in my eyes sells it. “I have a new girl at Olympus.”

  “Oh, I know.” He taps his fingertips together, and a sick chill shivers down my spine. “Brigit. I’ve heard all about her.”

  I didn’t recognize any of his men in the lounge last night. Word spreads fast in the city, and faster in its underbelly, but it’s only been a matter of hours since I made her come on my fingers like the little slut she is for me. I didn’t take note of any of them, but was I looking very carefully? No. I was concentrating on her. I can’t make that mistake again. “I need some information about her.”

  “A background check?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Morris is the one leaning in now, practically licking his lips. “Are you using her for something specific?”

  Me. For me. “There are things that would be useful to know. She arrived under unusual circumstances.”

  The cardigan, for one. And now that the cardigan’s off, she’s still hiding, still hedging. I don’t know anything about her, other than what her eyes look like when she orgasms and what her pussy feels like around my fingers and on my lips.

  “I’d like to propose a trade.” Morris is so fucking jovial that I could kill him. “I’ll look into her if I can fuck her tomorrow night.”

  “No.” Too quick—it’s a dead giveaway, but I cover it with a smile and a shake of my head. My blood burns through my veins, tensing my hands and blocking out reason. “She’s not ready. She won’t be ready until the party, at least.”

  His eyes narrow. “Savannah, then.”

  A bargain—one for the other. Savannah always refuses him. Always. She’s never once taken him to her room. Twice, she’s brought me drinks and begged for me to step in.

  But Morris is the fastest way to get information about Brigit. I have people in the city, but they tend to clash with Hades’s men. I don’t want another entanglement with him. Not when our arrangement is so tenuous. Not when Demeter, our foster sister, has gone dark at her house and is rumored to be up to her old tricks. It’s fucked, but the quiet way to do this is to go through Morris. Keep it in-house.

  I stand up again, and this time he scrambles to his feet to shake my hand. He takes down Brigit’s nam
e and her neighborhood, which is all the information I have. “I’ll make Savannah amenable.”

  14

  Zeus

  There are too many pieces in motion.

  They rearrange themselves on a chessboard in my mind on the way back from the police station. The city, on the verge of coming apart. Xavier Morris, who wants Brigit. The line of men Reya has in her notebook. They turn around and around until there’s nothing but paranoia left. I shouldn’t have gone to the police station. Brigit has been defenseless without me all this time.

  And if someone else touches her….

  I’m feverish with anger by the time the car lets me out at the front. That fucker. Even asking me about touching her, as if his men didn’t tell him she’s mine. If she isn’t mine now, then she will be… just as soon as I find her.

  They could be connected.

  Things started tearing at the seams when I shut down the trains. Hades nearly killed me with my own window. And then Brigit appeared. There are invisible threads running between all these things; I’m fucking sure of it.

  I’m equally sure that something happened while I was out. I try to shake off the rage, but it clings to my skin. I hate it. It clouds my mind and makes it difficult to see what’s coming. In my father’s house, there was no room for rage, only the performance of it. This is real.

  It spiders out over my skin and takes residence in my spine like a cancer, like a thirst that can only be slaked one way.