Page 28 of Hades

I stood my ground as Adonis and Hyperion helped move Oceanus out so Asclepius could work on him. The old bastard was still gurgling, still bleeding, still clinging to whatever miserable existence he had left.

Atlas closed the door and leaned against it, watching Zeus and me quietly. Always watching, always three steps ahead.

“I know he’s your father, and I love him too, but I need answers, Brock.”

Zeus fell back into his chair. He rubbed his hands over his face, then leaned his elbows on the table, the weight of leadership crushing him, grinding him down. He only ever called me by my name when he was at his end. When the weight of the club, the secrets, the lies, and the blood became too much to carry alone.

When he needed his best friend, not his VP.

“We all know Oceanus is an asshole,” I said, trying to find some logic in the chaos, some reason that made sense.

“We do. And Ares won’t hold it against your father for shooting him. Unless he survives.” Zeus gave me a smug grin, dark and twisted, like the idea of Oceanus dying was a fucking bonus. “Then we might have a problem.”

“And my father?”

Zeus leaned back in his chair, his eyes hard and calculating. “He has answers I need. Answers I don’t even think he realizes he has.”

“Then why not just fucking ask him?” My voice rose, frustration and fear mixing into something volatile, something dangerous.

“He shot a brother, Hades.”

I shook my head. He was back in club mode. The ever-fucking powerful president, the man who had to make the hard calls, who had to enforce the rules even when it destroyed the people he loved.

“We have rules, and you fucking know it.”

“Fuck you, Zeus.” The words came out harsh and bitter, laced with venom I didn’t know I had. “Don’t take your anger at your old man out on mine. You don’t give a shit that he shot Oceanus because, just like everyone else in this room, you suspect he was in league with Kronos.”

“Which is why I need fucking answers!” he ground out, his voice raw and desperate. The sound of a man drowning in secrets and lies.

Atlas quickly stepped out of the way as I slammed through the church doors and made my way downstairs, my boots pounding against the floor. Each step echoed my rage, my fear, my fucking helplessness.

“Hades, what the fuck is going on? Why is Dad downstairs?” Iapetus, my little brother Malcolm, walked beside me as I trudged down the stairs, his voice tight with worry.

“He shot Oceanus,” I said, my voice void of emotion. Flat. Dead. Because if I let myself feel anything right now, I’d fucking explode.

“What? Why?” He grabbed my arm, halting me in place, his fingers digging into my bicep. “What happened?”

“I don’t fucking know, Malcolm.” I ran my hands through my hair, then punched a hole in the wall. The drywall crumbled under my knuckles, pain shooting up my arm, blood welling from split skin. The physical pain was a relief. A distraction from the chaos in my head. “Everything went to shit in church. I’ll tell you what I can once I know more.”

I opened the basement door and walked through like my life wasn’t in fucking shambles. Like my father wasn’t locked in a cell. Like everything I’d believed about him wasn’t crumbling to dust.

When I reached his cell, Ares was leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone like this was just another fucking Tuesday.

“Open the door.”

“Can’t.”

“Ares, open the fucking door,” I ordered, my voice hard and commanding. The voice of a VP who expected to be obeyed.

He didn’t look up. Just kept playing on his phone, ignoring my order. Dismissing me like I was nothing, like my rank meant shit. I turned toward him, ready to make him fucking listen, when my father called out, “Brock, enough.”

“I am the fucking VP.”

“And your president gave him an order.” My father’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

I released a breath and looked at my dad, really looked at him. He sat on the cot in the corner, relaxed, almost peaceful. Like being locked in a cell was exactly where he wanted to be. “Why are you so fucking calm about this?”

The corner of his mouth hitched. “I wrote the rules, kid. I knew exactly what I was risking.”