Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)(19)

My chest squeezed when I realized the circle of people was a full-blown fight.

I saw glimpses of fists being thrown, a hectic rush, and the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

I gripped my necklace.

“Who’s fighting?” Mandy asked someone as we stood outside of the circle, trying to glimpse who was within.

“Rhodes and Dawson,” someone replied in the darkness.

My stomach dropped. James Rhodes was here and that most likely meant Gabe and Arsen were, too.

Mandy took my hand and shoved through the crowd until we were in the first row. There was blood splattered onto the white sand.

James was shirtless, his jeans low on his hips, as he lifted his fists. With a cut bottom lip and blood in his golden hair, he looked like the god of war.

The two opponents circled each other, like lions waiting to pounce, and in a surprisingly swift movement, James lunged, his fist colliding with Dawson’s cheek and he went down hard.

Cheers erupted and someone bumped into my back, propelling me forward. I caught myself on Mandy, sending an annoyed look behind me. The guy staring back at me looked like an absolute mess, sweaty and his clothes in disarray. His eyes seemed unable to focus properly, looking all around him frantically. Sure enough, there was what suspiciously looked like white powder around his nostrils. Shaking my head, I turned back around, focusing on the fight once more.

James staggered, wiping his bleeding bottom lip and downed the bottle of Jack Daniels someone was handing him from the sidelines. Once more, he threw the empty bottle on the sand nonchalantly, wiping his grinning mouth off with the back of his hand. His body was covered in sand and blood and sweat. James was no pretender, his reputation, his allure and bad habits fit him to perfection. He embodied all of it proudly as if raising hell was second-nature to him.

“Fuck yes!” James shouted to the sky and gestured to someone from the sidelines to join him in the circle.

Another opponent, another fight, another night of destruction.

“Let’s go inside,” Danielle hollered to Mandy and I. We elbowed our way through the crowd and made it up the elegant staircase. When we walked inside, a couch was flipped over and broken glass was scattered across the classic hardwood floor.

Mandy and Danielle were already looking for drinks as I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. I wandered farther inside, glancing into another living room. Inside was Gabe Easton and Arsen Vasiliev, along with other guys I didn’t recognize from school. I relaxed. No one would recognize me or discover I wasn’t the girl who spent her summers in the south of France. A few of them, however, I recognized from the country club.

They were sitting in leather chairs, features drawn. Some were casually holding joints between their fingers, speaking in low voices to each other. Gabe was the only one not smoking. He was sitting back in his chair, relaxed as he examined carefully each man as they spoke to him. Arsen sat in a chair opposite to Gabe’s, a cigar tucked between his long, tattooed fingers, head bowed as if deep in thought.

It was when one of the men stood that I caught a glimpse of Nathaniel standing near the fireplace, an elbow resting on the mantel.

But he wasn’t alone.

That same girl, that Wasp stood close to him, their eyes locked, a full-blown smile on her face as she stared up at him like he had put the stars in the sky just for her.

My chest grew too tight too fast and air caught in the lump expanding in my throat.

I watched as the rich girl—a girl he had grown up destined to be with—stroked her manicured fingers along his bulging bicep.

I hoped he would do something—step back, but he continued to stare down at her, sipping from a short crystal glass of whiskey.

She laughed bluntly at something he muttered to her and I hated her even more because it was a gorgeous chuckle. She looked half in love with him and I was sure I looked the same way at him even when I fought against it.

He wasn’t supposed to be returning until Monday, but here he was. Two days early. And he hadn’t said anything to me.

I couldn’t help the stab of pain in my chest. Was he avoiding me? Would he have told me he arrived back on Monday and not mention he was here for two days before that?

I cringed. We weren’t serious. This—Nathaniel and I fooling around—was just the two of us getting rid of this need and sexual energy between us.

Nothing more.

Part of me wanted to go to him then and kiss him so everyone knew he was mine. Wanted to be able to be with him in a public place. Not behind doors. But if I did, Mandy and anyone else who knew us, would know something was going on.

I was the maid; he was the owner’s son.

I was a poor girl; he was a god.

He wasn’t mine. He would never be only mine.

Nathaniel’s head lifted, glancing sideways and I stepped back, wanting to leave, wanting to vanish and return back to the country club and forget everything about him, but it was too late. His eyes caught mine a second later and his jaw clenched, his entire body straightening as he turned toward me.

I spun, only to run into another body.

“Whoa!” Hands gripped my hips and I looked up to see a man smiling down at me. Platinum blond hair cut short and a dimple on one side of his mouth. “Well, hello gorgeous.”

The shock faded and I flattened my expression, trying to back away and move past him. But he sidestepped me, blocking my path.

“What? Not gonna say hi back?” He bent his head, trying to catch my gaze. “Name’s Thatcher Adams. You may have heard of me.”