Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)(4)

I watched as Gabe ran backward, eyeing the football spiraling in the air. Reaching outward with his long, muscular arm of steel and clay, his hand formed the perfect shape to catch it. His dark wavy hair, thick and shiny from the water and his own sweat, fell in front of his forehead.

Like a man sculpted by the gods.

James Rhodes had ranked 4th.

The James Dean of Yale—classic dark blond locks, an easy, killer smile, and a gleam in his blue-blue eyes. One flash of his legendary smirk and he had anyone wrapped around his finger. He partied hard and fucked harder. Every weekend there was a party hosted by him; wild and expensive, destruction woke in his path. He was reckless, addicted to anything that would endanger his very existence—street racing, drugs, fights, booze, jumping off cliffs—he did them all with the kind of rare carpe diem attitude that led to an early death.

I had heard that he had crashed a car into a tree on the Main Green a few years ago on campus. He had been high and over twice the alcohol limit. All of that—the charges, the scandal—vanished overnight.

His father, a lawyer that ran a firm dedicated to famous politicians and celebrities— wielded money and power like a third hand. The law firm had been around since the 1890s. James coasted through classes, but his grades said something more about him. He was intelligent without even trying. If he applied himself, he would be deadly.

I knew his mother had passed away when he was younger so it was just the two of them, father and son. People said James was set to take over the law firm, but I couldn’t imagine that ever happening. Not the wild boy in front of me.

He ran a hand through his golden locks, sunglasses I was sure were hiding fresh bruises from a fight as his bottom lip was busted.

And the last of the American Gods, Arsen Vasiliev.

The Russian god had ranked 7th.

Below his name—and the picture of his steel, beautiful features—was the reason why. As much as he was powerful and rich, he was terrifying. His cool dark gaze and his permanent scowl made him very unapproachable. Not to mention the rumors that ran wild about him. Gossip about his family running a deadly business, one of blood and drugs and weapons—connecting the rich with criminals. He had been born in America, but he spent his summers in Russia. Because of that, he spoke Russian fluently. I’d even overheard Gabe and him exchange in Russian a few times at school. Whatever they were discussing, I didn’t know.

I had heard of Arsen’s family estates. Salutation Island sat on the North Shore of Long Island, not so far from New York City. The island was said to have six houses on forty-six acres of land, along with ten acres of underwater rights and a twenty-eight acre pond. Only people with an invitation could attend their elaborate, exclusive parties.

As I watched Arsen scowl, I saw Nathaniel cross the beach and pat James’ arm. My eyes couldn’t help but rake over his lithe, muscular frame.

Although he wasn’t one of the American Gods, Nathaniel Radcliffe had still ranked 2nd.

My jaw clenched, my teeth grinding.

As soon as the pamphlet had made its rounds, the girls at Yale had gone wild. I saw firsthand how so many of them craved power, craved rich and successful men more than their own success. The list became one for the most eligible bachelors to secure. The boys not on the list became agitated and aggressive with the others on it.

And the members of the club ate it up like candy.

They were desired, they were stalked and chased, and they loved it.

Everyone talked about the pamphlet like it was some sacred text and the more I heard about it, the more annoyed I became.

I hadn’t thought of the repercussions as I typed up my anger for the Yale Herald.

How I had wanted to draw attention to how disgusting we were behaving. How I wanted to chase my own dreams instead of chasing an entitled rich boy.

The next day when the paper released, I had found everyone staring at me with odd looks. They’d whispered and gawked as I walked to my morning class.

“Well, aren’t you Miss Perfect,” one girl had snapped at me when I sat down in the lecture hall.

I felt the entire class glare my way. The change had been sudden and odd.

I had expected more comments, more insults, but after my next class, no one approached me or even looked at me.

“When they were in boarding school,” Mandy whispered, chasing my memories away and bringing me back to reality. “They went on a hiking trip for their PA class. They were fifteen back then and Gabe, Arsen, and James along with another boy called Alexander Archibald were grouped together for the activity. Well, the news articles say they were sailing in a boat making their way to their first checkpoint when a storm caught up with them. The boat capsized and they all went in the water. Alexander panicked and, trying to get back onboard, started to push James underwater. According to the boys, Alexander had been drinking that morning before the activity and was too drunk to swim properly or stay afloat long enough for the guys to grab him. Gabe and Arsen managed to set the boat right. Once back on board, they gripped James because he was the closest and pulled him back into the boat. The storm was still beating down hard on them and Alexander was getting farther and farther away, spluttering. They couldn’t get to him fast enough and he drowned. When they finally washed up on shore, they were lost. The compass and map they’d been given vanished in the water when the boat overturned.”

My mouth twisted ruefully. I remembered hearing all about it in the news as a girl.