Page 129 of Hades

“I don’t know.” I turned around, leaning against the counter. “Are you going to tell the club?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Too long.

“Coeus is already digging,” he said finally. His voice was careful. Measured. “He’s mapped hundreds of deaths across Texas. All abusers. All suspicious. He’s looking for patterns, connections, methods.” His eyes met mine. “He’s good at what he does, Lettie. Really fucking good.”

My stomach dropped.

“So you’re saying it doesn’t matter whether you tell them or not.”

“I’m saying the investigation’s already moving.” He stood up and walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. “I can’t stop what’s in motion. But I can control how it plays out.”

“How?”

“By being the one who finds the answers first.” He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could feel the heat from him. Smell leather and motor oil and something darker underneath. “By making sure when the truth comes out, it comes out the right way. On our terms. Not theirs.”

“There’s no right way for this to come out, Brock.”

“Maybe not.” His hand came up and cupped my jaw. “But there’s a way that keeps you breathing. And that’s the only way that matters to me.”

I searched his face. Looking for the lie. The angle. The moment he’d turn this into leverage.

There was none.

Just possession. Just certainty. Just a man who’d already decided I was worth burning the world for.

“They’ll want justice,” I whispered.

“They’ll want answers.” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone. “And when they get them, they’ll understand why you did what you did. Or they won’t. Either way, you’re mine, Lettie. And I protect what’s mine.”

“Even from your club?”

“Especially from my club.”

The weight of that settled between us. Heavy and dangerous, and absolutely insane.

“You can’t fight Zeus and the entire brotherhood for me.”

“Watch me.” His other hand came up to frame my face, holding me like I was something precious and breakable, even though we both knew I wasn’t. “I’ll burn that clubhouse to the ground before I let anyone take you from me. I’ll put bullets in every brother who tries. I don’t give a fuck what it costs.”

“You’re talking about war.”

“I’m talking about you.” His forehead pressed against mine. “And there’s nothing I won’t do to keep you.”

“I made you tea,” I said quietly.

He glanced at the table. At the mug I’d poured for him earlier, still sitting there, still steaming.

“Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

“You drank it.”

“I did.”

“Even though you knew.”

“Especially because I knew.”

I stared at him. “Why?”