Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)(20)

What a self-centered jerk.

I had heard of him, and it was nothing glorious. I didn’t want to spend another second with him. He went to Yale and was definitely part of the same secret gentlemen’s club as Nathaniel. He was a linebacker on Yale’s football team. He spent more time on the field than in a library or a classroom.

“I have,” I bit out and I elbowed his stomach.

He groaned, releasing me, but quickly grabbed my elbow. “What the fuck?”

“Let go of her, Thatcher,” I heard Nathaniel say behind me. His voice so cool and composed. A voice that calmed the storm inside of me. “You’re drunk.”

I glanced back to see Nathaniel standing in the middle of the room, his gaze fixated on Thatcher.

“Just having fun, aren’t we babe?” Thatcher laughed into my ear.

Nathaniel stepped forward, anger starting to crack through his composure but Gabe stood up.

“Let her go, Adams,” Gabe said, his voice was as sharp as a knife. Everyone was watching now. As if a king had spoken. “You know the code. You don’t want to go against it.”

The code? I wanted to ask but stopped myself. Their boy club had a code?

Thatcher’s fingers bit into my elbow and I couldn’t help the slight whimper that escaped me. At that, Nathaniel’s eyes lowered and I swear they looked like he was trying to burn Thatcher’s skin off the hand gripping my arm. “Here to save another soul, Gabe?” Thatcher laughed darkly, too drunk to filter himself. “Trying to make up for killing Alexander all those years ago? Come on now, man, we all know you guys let him drown, no point in trying to prove yourself such a saint now.”

I watched Gabe’s features darken, his large hands became powerful fists of rage. The tension grew almost suffocating in the room at that and I held my breath. Arsen rose from his chair and stood behind Gabe, and if Thatcher weren’t holding me so tightly, I would’ve cowered away from his glaring eyes. He looked like murder sounded far too appealing in that moment and the terrifying thing was—I wasn’t too sure it was only an impression.

Somehow, I could feel their anger, their wrath, like it had its own entity.

This, what Thatcher had said, had been a very, very bad thing to say.

You did not mention the Archibald controversy in the presence of the American Gods. Ever.

“Be very careful who the fuck you talk to like that, Thatcher,” Nathaniel said, deadly calm, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leisurely walked forward, getting closer and closer. I was in awe of his calmness, at how composed he could be. He smiled smugly at Thatcher, but his eyes were dark and hard. “I’ll repeat it one last time for your sake; let her fucking go.” He spoke slowly and firmly.

On an annoyed sigh, Thatcher shoved me to the side with more force than necessary and I slammed into the wall, bracing myself.

And then he threw his fist, striking Nathaniel across the cheek—he staggered back but kept his ground.

I held my head high, gawking as Nathaniel stayed still, his head twisted away. Thatcher’s nostrils flared.

Even though the music still blared around us, it was dead silent.

Nathaniel’s jaw flexed as he wiped off blood from his cut cheek with the back of his hand. He stared at it for a beat, then laughed deeply, but the sound held no joy. It was the kind of laugh that promised retaliation.

Gabe’s body was shaking with barely restrained rage. “You fucking—”

Nathaniel raised a hand, stopping Gabe from rushing to destroy Thatcher.

The look he shot Thatcher made my blood run cold. Too calm. The kind that was more worrisome than any rage.

“You’re out, Thatcher,” Nathaniel said. “Protection, connections, success, it’s all fucking gone. You just kissed it all goodbye.”

All the blood rushed to Thatcher’s face and he glared at him. I didn’t understand what he had just said, but by the way the entire room froze, I understood he had threatened something big.

“You can’t fucking decide that!” he roared.

Nathaniel fixed his jacket and lifted his head high, his cheekbone cut and bleeding. But he was back to his perfectly composed, perfectly indifferent self. “I just did.”

Thatcher glowered and stepped forward, but paused, glancing back at Arsen and Gabe who now stood closer to Nathaniel.

With a deep growl, Thatcher fought through the crowd, vanishing.





I straightened, glancing back at Arsen and Gabe. The Wasp had moved closer, her hand going to stroke Nathaniel’s back.

My chest tightened.

“Are you okay, Nathan?” the Wasp cooed, touching his busted cheek.

I turned, unable to stay any longer to watch.

I pushed through the crowd that was excited about the news of a face-off between two rich bastards.

It was when I made it out of the house and reached the sand, Nathaniel gripped my arm.

“Where are you going?” he asked as he spun me to face him, his brow creased in confusion.

I shrugged out of his grip. “I’m going back to the country club. Enjoy your night.”

I tried to turn again, but he stepped around me and stepped in my path, blocking me. “What’s wrong? Did he hurt you?” He touched my bicep, glancing at it for any bruising.

“Just go back to the party, Nathaniel. Go back to your perfect date,” I said, anger consuming my words.