Page 97 of Hades

“The one that makes you my old lady.” His hand dropped. He stood taller, as if he’d suddenly developed the courage he needed to tell me the truth.

The struggle to keep my expression serious nearly did me in.

He’d called me his queen from the beginning. But being his old lady?

That was different.

That was permanent.

The day after the funeral, after I’d learned about everything Rhea’s children and grandchildren had been through, I’d asked Kytten why she would wear any item of clothing that called her a man’s property.

And Indie. After the way she’d been abused. After the things Mimic’s grandfather had done to her when she was a child. I didn’t understand how she could be okay being owned by someone else again.

“It’s not how it sounds,” Kytten said as she sat across from me in my kitchen. Cash and Mimic had gone into town to give us some time alone. They’d be leaving tomorrow, and I was going to miss them.

Miss the laughter and the early morning talks on the back porch. Miss the friendship that was growing with these two women I had nothing in common with, and yet so much at the same time.

“You see the way Cash makes his coffee so Kytten can enjoy a sip here and there. The way he asked her if she wanted to leave the funeral before he decided for both of them.”

I had seen it. The small intimacy of him adjusting the cream and sugar without asking because he already knew coffee made her happy, but she’d given it up for the pregnancy. The way he’d offered to bring her back to my house if she didn’t want to attend the funeral of the grandfather she barely knew. Like her comfort mattered more than club protocol.

“That’s what it is,” Indie continued, her dark eyes holding mine. “He takes care of her. Not like she’s helpless. Like she matters enough that her needs come before his pride. Before the club, sometimes.”

Something raw threaded through her voice when she said it. Something that came from surviving years of no one giving a shit whether she lived or died. “Protection isn’t control, Lettie. It’s choosing someone else’s safety over your own comfort.”

Kytten had nodded, but her expression held something more complicated. “Some guys take over. They think because you wear their name on your back, they get to decide where you go, who you see, what you do. But that’s the guy, not the patch. I still live my life.”

She rubbed her stomach and smiled. “Well, right now I don’t, but that was a decision we came to together.”

I’d been watching Indie and Mimic all week. The way they moved together like they shared the same nervous system. A glance across the room and he knew what she needed. A touch on her lower back and she melted into him. No words. Just understanding. The kind of connection that came from surviving hell together and choosing each other anyway. That was what she was describing.

Not ownership.

Belonging.

“Kytten’s right though,” Indie continued. “Cash consults her. But he also protects her. He doesn’t let other men disrespect her. He doesn’t let her carry burdens alone.” She paused, something vulnerable flickering across her face. “That’s the part I didn’t realize I needed. Someone who cared enough to protect me. Someone who made me understand that I matter.”

Now Hades was telling me the club had voted on my life. Made a decision without asking me. Without even consulting me.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

My chest tightened.

My hands curled into fists.

This man, this dangerous, beautiful man who made me feel things I’d never felt before, had just claimed ownership over me in front of his entire club. Without asking if I wanted it. Without giving me a say in what happened to my own life.

I’d spent twenty-five years building walls. Creating distance. Making sure no one could touch me, or control me, or tell me what to do. I’d poisoned men who tried to take that from other women. I’d killed to protect their autonomy. To protect their choice.

And now he’d taken mine away with a single vote.

“You voted on me?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Like you get to decide what happens to my life without asking me first?”

“It’s not like that,” he said, reaching for me.

“Then what’s it like, Brock?” I stepped back, putting distance between us because I needed space to think. To process. To figure out what the fuck this meant for my life. If I let him touch me, let him kiss me, my brain would turn to mush and I’d agree to whatever he asked.

“Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like a bunch of men sat in a room and decided what happens to me. Without asking if I wanted it.”