Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)

The next day, I opted for an Uber to take us to the practice arena, an open-space gym with punching bags in every corner and a sparring ring in the center. It seemed particularly needed after discovering the weirdo known as Mars didn’t carry a cell phone. My fists flew into the bag with more zeal than usual. Who could blame me? One day I was celebrating my championship. The next, I’m getting death threats and forced to have Big Foot as my shadow for the unforeseeable future.

It didn’t help matters that the aforementioned hairy oaf moved to the side of the ring and watched me during my session. I could see him in my peripheral vision, brow furrowed, and arms folded like he judged every muscle in my body.

“You could get more power in your swings if you leaned into it more,” he said.

Heat shot up my neck, and I grabbed the swinging bag. “Are you seriously trying to tell me how to throw a punch?”

“No.” His jaw tightened. “How to throw a better one.”

I dropped my hands at my sides and stepped away from the bag with narrowed eyes. “You win one championship, and suddenly you think you’re the god of the MMA?”

His scowl deepened, and he took a step forward, brushing our toes together.

“Well, glad to see you two are getting along so swimmingly.” Chelsea breezed into the room with the grace of a ballerina.

Mars and I glared at each other. No telling what would’ve happened if Chelsea hadn’t interrupted.

“That was a joke, by the way. You could cut the tension in here with a butcher knife,” Chelsea unbuttoned the one button on her suit jacket and put her hands on her hips.

Yanking off my gloves, I kept watching Mars from the corner of my eye as I crawled out of the ring. “To what do I owe this visit, Chelsea?”

“You’re going on tour.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m what?”

“A tour through the US. The Amazon defends her title.” She motioned her hands like a billboard.

Mars sliced his hand in front of him. “No. Following her ass all over the damn country was not part of the deal.”

Chelsea sighed, reached into her purse, and threw a stack of papers on the table. “You signed a contract to guard her.” She pointed at me. “We never specified a location. Therefore, you go where she goes.”

“Yia tin agápi tou día,” Mars rattled off as he interlaced his fingers behind his head.

I pinched my eyes shut. “Is this really the best time? You were the one worried about the threat.”

“Harm, you got a dozen requests for matches yesterday alone. This will be a huge opportunity for you.” She frowned. “And if that note were real, it’d be better for you to get out of town anyway, right?”

My stomach twisted into knots. “If you’re so worried about it, why not get the cops involved?”

“We don’t know if the letter was from Fiona. It’s all speculation right now, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be cautious.”

Mars escaped to a corner of the room, mumbling incoherently to himself.

I fixed my gaze on his calf muscles tightening as he paced, occasionally pausing to punch the bag hanging from the ceiling. “We’ve barely survived these past couple of days. You think traveling and hotel rooms together are going to help matters?”

Chelsea stepped in front of me, blocking my view of Mars. “Why did you hire me?”

“Uh.” I shifted my eyes. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Yes, but the biggest part of my job is protecting your interests as both a public figure and person.” She nudged my shoulder. “This will be a good thing. Trust me.”

I looked past her at Mars punching the mat-covered walls. “Sometimes I think you’re crazier than I am.”

“The first match is in Colorado Springs. I e-mailed you an itinerary of locations and hotels where you’ll be staying. I mapped it out so you can drive to each and avoid flying.”

Chelsea knew I hated planes. When the only close family member you’ve ever had died in a crash, one tends to develop a dislike for them. I pulled my cell from my gym bag and opened her e-mail with a sigh.

“What are the ones with an asterisk by them?” My stomach churned as I gazed at the endless list of locations.

“The matches I’ll be able to attend. Harm, listen.” Chelsea placed a gentle hand on my forearm. “Why don’t you and I go grab a cup of coffee? Talk about this some more?”

“Coffee? You know I only drink that stuff as a pick-me-up.”

“Okay, whiskey?”

I shrugged.

She tossed her hair. “Let’s drink liquid somewhere and chat.”

“What about the Hulk over there?” I motioned at Mars with my head.

“I’m sure he won’t mind staying at a reasonable distance to give us some girl time. Right, Mars?”

He grunted—a deep caveman-like grunt.

Chelsea beamed.

“Fine. Finnigan’s?”

“Perfect. We can take my car since I didn’t see your bike out front. What’s going on there?”

“Don’t ask.”

Finnigan’s was your typical Irish pub fare. A dozen high-top tables in the center, green booths lined the perimeter, a jukebox, the bar, neon signs of popular beer. Simple. Just the way I liked it.

Curling my hands around a tumbler of scotch, I kept an eye on Mars playing a game of pool by himself while waiting for Chelsea. The anger that consumed his face at the gym still baffled me. He was like a lit fuse waiting to explode.

Chelsea walked up to our high-top table, a Manhattan in hand. I’d never seen her drink anything else in the few times I’d witnessed her indulging in alcohol. After setting the glass down, she tousled her fiery hair and put her hands on her hips.

“I’m taking off the publicist hat for this evening and speaking to you as a friend.” Chelsea slipped her jacket off, folded it, and draped it over the back of her chair with perfect creases.

“Woah, there.” I held my palms up. “Watch out. Gloves are coming off and everything.”

She tossed an exasperated glare before hopping on her stool. “Harm, I’m serious. This tour is the best for you professionally, personally, everything-ly.”

“I don’t doubt you, but when have I ever agreed to something with ease?” As I sipped my scotch, I stole a glance at Mars over her shoulder.

She squinted at me and twisted her torso to look behind her.

Mars held the pool stick in his hand as if readying to throw a spear, stalking the corners of the table like a warrior preparing to strike. The pool balls were enemy soldiers, unaware of his presence.

“Is he always this intense?” Chelsea asked before facing me again.

“Yes.” I snorted into my glass. “I told you.”

“Good.” She plucked the maraschino cherry from its stick and held it between her teeth. “His eyes won’t leave your ass then.”

I held my glass between two fingers lazily, letting it dangle. “I’d much rather his eyes be elsewhere.”

She laughed. “Please. That guy is your type a million times over.”

“I don’t have a type.” I made half-hearted quote gestures with my fingers.

“Right. Right. You have flings, no dates, but flings with betas to guarantee control.” A sinister grin flashed over her mouth.

My lip twitched. The words stung—mostly because they were right.

“I can count on one finger the times we’ve talked about my love life.” I held up my middle finger.

She slapped my hand. “Because you don’t have one. It’s part of my job as a friend and publicist to be aware of what’s going on.”

“Why?”

She twirled the sword-shaped toothpick between her fingers. “In case something leaks into the media, and I need to cover it up for you.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know the next time I go to an orgy.” My face turned to stone, staring at her.

Mars’s head lifted, his gaze falling on me, a wicked glint in his eye. I crossed my legs and rubbed the back of my neck, turning my focus on Chelsea.

A thin red eyebrow slowly rose as she studied me, more than likely gauging if I was full of shit or not.

“I’m kidding, Chelsea. Come on.”

She took a long swig of her drink. “I wouldn’t put it past you. I never thought I’d have to explain your sudden green thumb, but the jungle growing on your terrace out of two hundred planters proved me wrong.”

I finished my drink and traced my finger around the rim.

Chelsea watched my finger before lifting her gaze back to my face. “How are you doing? Truly.”

The question jarred me. “Can’t complain, I guess?”

“Have you given therapy any more thought?”

My jaw clenched. “No, Chelsea. We’ve talked about this a dozen times. My therapy is getting to beat the shit out of people without consequence.”

She tapped her fingernail against her glass. “It’s been over twenty years, Harm. Do you really feel any better?”

“Does anyone ever feel better after a childhood like mine?” I cracked my neck. “Does it ever go away?”

Mars slipped the rubber band holding his hair between his lips and combed his hands through his long dark locks several times before securing it back in a bun. I uncrossed my legs and bit the inside of my cheek.

She sighed and took a tiny sip of her drink. “I don’t know what it’s like to go through what you have, and I’m not trying to pretend I do. I just worry about you.”

I slid my tumbler across the table from one hand to the other. “You know there’s no need for your concern. Besides, I have Godzilla watching over me now, right?”

“Godzilla?” She bit down on her lip, trying to hold back a laugh. “You know what they say about big feet…”

“Big ego?”

Mars bent over the pool table, his back facing me, and my eyes fell straight to his ass.

Chelsea laughed, and I snapped my gaze back to her.

The dreaded small talk again. It was probably the reason Chelsea didn’t often ask for these drink and conversation moments. “So, uh—how are you and—” I pinched my eyes shut. Name. Name. Remember his name. I snapped my fingers. “Tim.”

“You know his name. I’m impressed. We’re good. Caught him scoping out my Sparkly Things Pinterest board.”

“Oh? Think he’s gonna pop the question?”

“Who knows.” She shrugged. “Could be looking for ideas for an anniversary gift. I’m not in any hurry to get hitched.”

“Amen to that, sister.” Holding a finger up, I flagged the bartender, wiggling my empty tumbler. “I assume you’ve already talked to my work about this, haven’t you?”

She grinned. “Yes. They have another trainer filling in for you with your clients. Some guy named Phil didn’t seem very happy about it.”

“Phil’s new. He’s one of the overenthusiastic varieties. Pretty sure he’s got a crush on me too.”

“You think he does?”

“Do you want to say that again, but not like a maláka, hm?”

Mars stood toe-to-toe with a man only a few inches shorter than him. Both men’s arms bulged with veins.

“Shit.” I jumped off my stool.

“You heard me, asshole. That girl of yours over there is a grade-A bitch. Thinking she owns the ring,” the man said.

I shimmied my way in between them, facing Mars. “Mars, care to introduce me to your new friend?”

“Speak of the devil,” the man grumbled.

Mars widened his stance. “This maláka called you a bitch.”

“I’ve been called way worse. Trust me. And considering I hold the title right now, it’s not going to get any better.”

“Yeah. Listen to your little pet here,” the man said, chuckling.

Mars locked eyes with me. My hands tightened on his shoulders, and I could feel the fury burning through my core. He gave a subtle nod, his left brow raising. The fury built to a pulsating boil, and my head flew back, straight into the man’s nose.

Chelsea leaped off her stool, threw money on the table, and grabbed her jacket. She held her hands in the air toward the bartender and plastered her widest fake smile. “We’re leaving! We’re leaving.”

Mars cocked his head to the side, gazing at me like the world’s most mysterious Rubik’s Cube.

“She broke my goddamned nose,” the man behind me whined.

Mars lifted his arm behind me. His left eyebrow twitched.

“You know, I’ve always hated that you don’t like football. Who doesn’t like football?” Mr. Broken Nose said to one of his friends before sucker-punching him in the face.

My jaw dropped, and Mars wrapped a hand around my bicep, turned me, and led us toward the exit.

“Oh yeah? You couldn’t hit a golf ball if your own balls were on the line,” another man said before half of the bar erupted in a fisted frenzy.

What started as a slip-up on my part became a distant memory thanks to their commotion, breaking beer bottles and throwing each other onto tables.

It didn’t make any sense.

The evening mountain breeze whipped over my face as we walked outside. Chelsea’s heels clicked against the concrete, and she pointed a finger in my face. “What the hell was that, Harm? We don’t need any unwanted attention right now.”

Chelsea was back in publicist mode.

The back of my head still ached, but it’d soon fade away. The memory of Mars’s expression as I’d slammed into the asshole…that was etched into my brain.

“You can only poke the bear so many times,” I told Chelsea, squinting at Mars over my shoulder.

“We took care of it. No harm, no foul,” Mars added, keeping his gaze forward.

Chelsea rubbed her temples and dug into her purse. She held a paper out to Mars. “It may not be part of your job description, but it’s in Harm’s best interests that what happened in there doesn’t happen on this tour.”

The skin under Mars’s eyes bounced as he looked at the paper, not answering her one way or the other.

“I’m not a kid, Chels. I’ve had it in check. One slip-up doesn’t mean I’m going to go ape-shit on some innocent bystander.”

She ignored me and re-emphasized the paper in her hand to Mars. “Please.”

Mars’s dark gaze fell on me, his tongue subtly licking along his bottom lip before he looked back at Chelsea. “I can attempt to dissuade her.” He plucked the paper with two fingers. “But you should know I’m not exactly the best person to douse someone’s inner fire.” A sharp glint sparked in his eyes.

The two of them stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Chelsea slipped her hand in the top part of her blouse, dragging her fingers over her collarbone. Her cheeks flushed with pink, and her eyes widened, unblinking. It was like she was in a trance.

“I’ll have to be happy with an attempt then, I guess,” she said, monotone and still not closing her damn eyes.

What in the ever-loving hell?

Mars held up the paper. “What is this?”

As if being snapped back to reality, she shifted her stance and cleared her throat. “Right. That’s the uh—the rental car confirmation. Scheduled to pick up tomorrow morning at 0900 sharp.”

He slipped the paper into the front pocket of his jacket. “We should head back so Harm can get some rest.”

“Only I need rest? What about you, tough guy?”

He played with the ring on his finger. “Figured you could use the beauty sleep.” He brushed past, making his way to the car.

I narrowed my eyes, still thinking about the way he looked at me in the bar. I’d caught his gaze, and it was as if he willed me to hit the guy behind me—encouraged it. The moment he nodded, I’d felt an uncontrollable urge and did it without a passing thought. It wasn’t the headbutt that terrified me, no. It was the sinking realization that in the brief moment…I let him encourage me.