Page 83 of Hades

“I can give you a way to lose the prospect.” My voice stayed calm. Measured. Even though inside I was already calculating dosages and delivery methods. Already planning how to make this work.

“How?”

I shrugged and kept walking, hoping she’d follow. She fell in step beside me, and I continued, “I can make sure he can’t follow you once you leave the clubhouse.”

“Would it hurt him?” she asked.

Even in her grief, she was thinking of someone else. As if she’d given her whole life for everyone but herself. As if her own needs, her own pain, her own desperate desire for freedom didn’t matter as much as protecting the men who caged her.

“No. He won’t be comfortable for a while, but he’ll be fine after a few hours.”

Rhea chuckled, and it was the first sign of amusement I’d seen from her since the club had come home from Nebraska. From where Kronos had died. The sound was lighter. Freer. Like she was remembering what joy felt like.

“You’re the reason Hades spent last weekend locked in the bathroom? And Echo last night?”

“He disrespected me. And she—” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “Well, she deserved it. They both did.”

“You’re perfect for him, you know.” I smiled but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure I was perfect for anyone. Wasn’t sure anyone could be perfect for someone like me. Someone who carried vials of poison around her neck and calculated kill methods the way other women counted calories.

“Zeus is hard like Lucas was. Hades—” She paused, searching for the right word. “He’s softer, but that’s not quite right either. He’s just as dangerous, but he’s built for love. I’ve known Brock since the day he was born. He’s only a few months younger than Zeus. His mama was so enamored with him.”

“Brock told me she left.”

“She did. I’m still not sure what happened. Cheryl loved those boys. She loved Jupiter. She was a couple of years older than me, and she taught me everything I knew about being a biker’s wife. I thought for sure she was a lifer, and then one day she was just gone.”

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“I do. She was my only friend. The other old ladies have always thought I was uppity. Like I thought I was too good to be their friend because I was the president’s old lady.”

“I’m so sorry, Rhea. That must have been hard.” The words came out genuine. Because I understood loneliness. Understood what it meant to be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone. To have no one who truly saw you. Who truly understood the darkness you carried.

“It’s lonely at the top—remember that, Lettie. I hope my son will settle down one day, but if he doesn’t, as the VP’s old lady, you’ll be the one who takes my place.”

My face heated. The implications of her words settled over me like a weight. The VP’s old lady. Second-in-command of the women. Responsible for the club whores. Expected to maintain order and hierarchy and all the bullshit politics that came with it. Expected to be watched. Monitored. Controlled.

Expected to give up my anonymity. My freedom. My work.

“Brock and I are just getting to know each other. It might not go anywhere.”

“He lets you call him by his birth name. That means something, Lettie.”

I must’ve looked like a fish, my mouth opening and closing as I processed what she meant, because Rhea threw her head back and laughed. Really laughed. Not the hollow chuckle from the kitchen or the forced smiles she’d been giving everyone. This sound was beautiful and light, like she’d forgotten what joy felt like. What it meant to be happy. To be free.

Until the tears started to fall.

She dropped to her knees as gut-wrenching grief rose to the surface in intense, shuddering sobs. The sound tore from her throat, raw and broken. Desperate. Like something inside her had finally cracked open and all the pain she’d been holding back came flooding out.

Cerberus came running as I dropped down beside her, pulling her into my arms. Her body shook against mine. Her fingers dug into my shoulders. Her tears soaked through my shirt, hot and wet against my skin. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had done this for her before. She’d been strong for everyone else, but no one had been there for her.

No one had held her while she broke.

I didn’t know how long we sat there huddled together, Cerberus standing guard and keeping the prospects who walked the perimeter from moving closer. His low growl held them at bay, preventing them from witnessing Rhea’s vulnerability. Her raw, unfiltered grief. We sat until her sobs turned to soft cries, and her soft cries became sniffles. We sat until she had nothing left.

Until she was empty.

“I’m sorry, Lettie,” Rhea whispered, sitting up and using the hem of her shirt to wipe her nose.

“Why are you apologizing? You should never apologize for grief. I should be apologizing to you. I suspect you’ve allowed everyone to take from you, holding them all up while you withered away.”