Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)(5)

“They survived like that for ten days, without supplies. James had broken his leg so Gabe and Arsen had to carry him up the mountain and down the other side. Once they were found, all three were sick with pneumonia and taken to the hospital. When the Archibalds heard their son was dead, they called foul play. They believed the boys killed him or left him to die, that he could’ve been saved but the boys chose not to. It was taken to court and all media outlets watched the case like hawks. The boys told their version of the story, and with little proof against them and James’ father as their ruthless lawyer, the court found them not guilty. But…the hype about them didn’t go away. They were boys dressed like grown men, who already knew how to yield words like deadly swords. They’re celebrities now. They did articles, photoshoots, and interviews. And they were only teenagers then. Forbes was the one that coined the name American Gods and it stuck ever since to the three of them.”

“Whoa,” Danielle whispered, staring at the group of men.

“We should keep moving,” I said, gesturing to the cart.

Mandy sighed but they both turned and Danielle pushed the cart toward the pool deck. A few women lounged in the sun, sunglasses and hats shadowing them from the burning heat.

I caught sight of a woman dressed in a white pantsuit, her dark hair sleeked back into a tight bun, watching us.

“Juliette,” someone spoke behind me.

I jerked, pressing the dirty towels to my chest and stared back at Nathaniel.

He lazily stroked a white cotton towel along his stomach, bringing my eyes to his dripping wet abs, muscles cut and sharp. A dark happy trail disappearing into his swim trunks, low on his narrow hips, teasing the deep V line. I had never seen him so naked, only in his tailored suits of navy and black. Despite my best intentions, I had imagined what his body would look like underneath those rich fabrics, but it killed me to admit it.

He was better than the muted image my imagination had come up with.

My breaths came in unsteady and it took me a moment to realize what I was doing. Staring at his stomach, so close to his swim trunks, his large hand pressing the towel to his skin.

My eyes darted back to his, but it was too late. I had been caught red-handed and he was smirking—full-on grinning like he had won one of our merciless debates.

My ears burned with embarrassment. “What?” I said sharply as panic settled in my chest. I realized quickly after that the tone was highly unprofessional. I couldn’t talk to him like that, not here. He was a guest. Hell, he was basically my boss. One day, he would own this palace. I wasn’t his fellow student here or his opponent in a debate, I was a servant, a maid. My pride died and in a much calmer, subdued voice, I ask, “What can I help you with?”

He still wore a grin, but it had warmed as his own eyes traced my figure in the white outfit.

My skin prickled with awareness. Like his eyes were his hands and he was touching me—slowly, carefully, skilfully.

“What are you looking at?” My voice came out breathy and labored, but I steeled my features when his eyes returned to my face and he stepped closer.

The nakedness of him, the wetness of his skin as he skimmed his fingers along my pristine shirt sleeve threatened my composure. This was worse than our debates. He was stepping over a dangerous line. A line I had hoped I had cemented long ago.

“Examining my prey, sweetheart,” he whispered, again, so calculating, so soft and hard all at once.

I held in a gasp and glared past him, eyeing his entourage, the American Gods, watching us. James flashed his teeth at me.

“Experto crede,” Nathaniel’s deep, cool voice said. “Don’t you think?”

My body froze and tingled at his words. At the Latin phrase used on me. Latin he knew I understood from our classes together.

Trust the expert.

That bastard.

Before I could even respond, he moved past me.

Gabe gave me one cool look and James winked. Arsen didn’t even bother looking at me twice and kept walking. I was left breathless.

A few words from him and I was flustered.

“Holy shit,” Mandy whisper-shouted, gripping my arm. “Do you know Nathaniel Radcliffe?”

I gritted my teeth. “Only from school.”

I didn’t dream about him or imagine him when I touched myself.

No.

But he was so full of himself, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought I did.

Nathaniel Radcliffe was the enemy.

Point blank.

I felt someone watching me and looked up to see the same woman again.

And as I stared back at her, her grim expression making my stomach tighten painfully, I knew exactly who she was.

Mrs. Hawthorne.





As the day neared night, I couldn’t wait to remove my heels. Again, heels were required for our uniform and today, I had fully suffered with them.

I was helping out in the dining hall when one of the waiters tapped my shoulder.

“Juliette Monroe?” His brows creased as he looked down at me.

I placed a pile of plates on the steel kitchen counter and faced him. “Yes?”

“You’re requested in the right wing,” he said. “To bring more whiskey.”

I frowned. “But only men are allowed back there.”

As much as Mrs. Hawthorne had updated the country club to be a family resort, it still held firm traditions and belief that there should be a place no women were allowed. It was an out-dated tradition, but it was one I didn’t feel comfortable breaking. Not if it got me on Mrs. Hawthorne’s bad side.