Page 118 of Hades

Hades

Asclepius looked like absolute shit. That was the first goddamn thing I noticed when I walked into church three days after Rhea took off with Pegasus. Not Zeus sitting there like he was two seconds from ripping the fucking table out of the floor. Not Apollo quiet in his chair with that grim set to his mouth he’d been wearing since Nebraska. Not Coeus with three laptops open and that manic gleam in his eye that meant he’d found something ugly as fuck.

No. My eyes went straight to Asclepius.

He sat two chairs down from Apollo, shoulders hunched like he’d taken a gut-shot. Beard untrimmed. Eyes bloodshot and hollow. He’d always been steady. The doctor, the fixer, the man who could stitch a brother’s artery closed with bullets flying and still crack a joke about our shitty life choices.

Now he looked gutted.

Fucking destroyed.

And it was Rhea’s departure that had done it. Not Kronos dying. Not the funeral. Rhea leaving. He’d wanted to go with her; that much had been clear to every man in the clubhouse, even if nobody said a damn word. I’d watched through the window as he argued with her beside her car, Pegasus already straddling his bike a few feet away, engine idling. I didn’t hear the words. Didn’t need to. His hands moved too much. Hers stayed still. Chin lifted. Eyes hard. Spine straight.

He’d been pleading. She’d been refusing.

Then he reached for her. She shoved his hand away. Sharp. Final. The kind of rejection that said you don’t get to fucking touch me anymore. Asclepius stood in the driveway long after her car disappeared, staring at the dust like he could will her back by punishing himself hard enough. I understood that kind of pain. Didn’t mean I had patience for it, though. He wasn’t the only one bleeding in this room.

Zeus slammed the gavel down hard enough to make the wood jump. “Let’s get this shit done.”

I took my seat at his right, feeling the tension vibrate off him like a live wire. Three days without his mother had carved him down to something raw. Every hour Rhea stayed gone stripped away another piece of his control. Zeus liked enemies he could shoot, bribe, threaten, or bury. He didn’t know what the fuck to do with a mother who looked him in the eye and told him she wasn’t asking permission.

The call came yesterday morning. Unknown number. Zeus put it on speaker because he thought it might have been Rhea needing help, Pegasus checking in, or some lead on where the hell they’d gone.

It was Rhea. Calm. Steady. More like herself than she’d sounded since the funeral.

“I’m safe, Kane.”

Zeus went still. “Where are you?”

“No.”

“One word ain’t gonna cut it, Mom.”

“It’s the only word you’re getting.”

The silence that followed was brutal. Every man in the room froze because Rhea Cooper had never needed volume to remind us she’d raised half the monsters at that table.

“You need to tell me where you are,” Zeus said, his voice dangerously controlled.

“No, I don’t. I’m a grown woman. I am your mother, Kane. You are not mine.”

His face changed then. Not rage. Well, not only rage. Something wounded underneath it. Something childlike he would kill a man for noticing.

“Mom.”

“I love you. I know you’re worried. I know you think control is protection because your father taught you too fucking well, but I will not be ordered around by my son.”

“Where is Pegasus?” Zeus snapped.

A pause. Not hesitation. Calculation.

“He’s at the Pine Ridge Motor Inn outside Tyler. Room twelve. Don’t worry, he’s alive.”

Zeus’ hand curled around the phone. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I removed your leash.”

“Jesus Christ, Mom.”