Page 46 of Hades

“What else?” he asked, and I blinked at him.

“Cookies.” I pointed to the tin on the counter. Apparently, one-word answers were all I was capable of. He opened the tin and dropped a few onto the plate.

When he turned back with the tray in his hands, he lifted a brow. “Should I drop it off?”

That was enough to clear my mind in an instant. I jumped off the counter and snatched the tray from him. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

He laughed as I rushed from the room to drop off my mother’s afternoon snack. I hadn’t added the jimsonweed, not with Brock standing there. He would ask questions I didn’t want to answer, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I should look into packing my own tea bags.

It was another product I could sell. Another less obvious way to deliver the potions needed to help women and children stay safe. They would have to be labeled correctly, but in a way that didn’t reveal the contents. Something to think about when my brain came fully back online.

“What’s wrong with you?” my mother asked as soon as I walked into her room.

“You need to be more specific.” I knew she had a list of complaints when it came to me. How I lived, how I dressed, how I spoke. The criticisms were never-ending with her.

“You’re flushed. What were you doing?”

“I was making your tea, and I was in a rush to get back to my company.”

My mother pressed her lips together and looked me over from head to toe before focusing on her tea. “I hope you didn’t mess it up by rushing.”

I rolled my eyes and waited for her to taste it. If she only knew I hadn’t made it at all. If she only knew a man who’d just made me come against the kitchen counter had prepared it.

“Well, is it up to par?” I asked once she took a sip.

“Hmpf,” she muttered. “It’ll do.”

I shook my head and made my way back to the kitchen, hoping she’d still fall asleep when she finished. There was something to be said for muscle memory.

The kitchen was empty when I returned, and I looked out the window. His motorcycle was gone. I pressed a hand to my chest and breathed deeply, wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing since I hadn’t heard his motorcycle start up when he left. Maybe I’d hallucinated the entire encounter. Maybe I’d finally lost my damn mind.

Then I saw the note.

Had to get back to the club but be ready by six. I’m picking you up and taking you to dinner.

Brock

I stared at the piece of paper and smiled. He didn’t leave me his number, so even if I wanted to tell him no, I couldn’t. Not until he showed up here tonight. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Trapping me. Claiming me without giving me a choice.

But maybe I could surprise him and cook dinner instead of going out. I wasn’t the type of woman who needed to be wined and dined. All I wanted... needed... was to be loved and cherished. To be seen. To matter to someone.

“VIOLET!”

I wanted one day where I wouldn’t be screamed at by a woman who could take care of herself but refused to. A woman who constantly told me I was ungrateful while she lived in my house and ate my food.

Maybe going out wasn’t such a bad idea. I trudged down the hall and told my mother she was on her own. That I had a date, and for the next few hours I’d be getting ready for it. And then I’d be unavailable to her as I left the house for said date.

She muttered and complained, but I walked away and ignored her. Instead, I took a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. I shaved everywhere. Not for him, but for me. The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I was absolutely shaving for him. For the possibility of what might happen tonight.

I wouldn’t be having sex with Brock on the first date, despite letting him make me come on my kitchen counter the first time we met. Despite the fact that my body was already aching for more. Despite the wetness still coating my thighs.

Stupid and reckless wasn’t normally part of my personality, but as I dressed, I decided it was time to be a little selfish. To do something for me. As I clasped the necklace around my neck, I smiled at my reflection and held the small vial of purple liquid, knowing that one wrong move and Brock would be meeting the real Hades before the night was over.

I brushed and dried my hair, then applied some lipstick and mascara. I didn’t wear much makeup. I didn’t go out enough to warrant dressing for others like most women did.

They might say they dressed up and applied a full face every day for themselves, because it made them feel beautiful. But unless they did the same on the days they stayed home and cleaned the house, they were lying to themselves.

We all had a touch of vanity. There was nothing wrong with that. But why not admit you wanted people to notice you? What was the harm in wanting to be seen?