A Touch of Ruin (Hades x Persephone #2)(12)

She sighed, frustrated, and added in a desolate tone. “Thanks for the warning.”

She started down the adjoining hallway when the man called to her.

“If you need help, I can get you out of here.”

Persephone was skeptical. “How, exactly?”

The corners of his lips lifted, but it was like he had forgotten how to smile.

“You’re not going to like it.”





CHAPTER III - A TOUCH OF INJUSTICE


He was right. She hated it.

“I’m not getting in that thing.”

‘That thing’ was a tilt truck full of garbage.

She was wrong when she said she didn’t want the smell of oil and piss. She’d take it, so long as it didn’t mean bathing in rancid trash.

The janitor led her to the basement, a trek that had her feeling uneasy and clutching her apartment keys tight. This is how people are murdered, she thought, and then quickly reminded herself that she watched too much true crime.

The basement was full of various things—extra furniture and artwork, a laundry room, an industrial kitchen, and a maintenance room where she stood now, staring at her ‘getaway vehicle’, as the man had started to refer to it.

He seemed pretty amused now.

“It’s either this or you walk out the door,” he said. “Your choice.”

“How do I know you won’t wheel me into that waiting crowd?”

“Look, you don’t have to get in the cart. I just thought you might like to go home sometime tonight. As for me outing you, I’m not really interested in seeing anyone get hurt for their association with the gods.”

There was something in the way he spoke that made her think he’d been wronged by them, but she didn’t press. She stared at him for a moment, biting her lip.

“Okay fine,” she grumbled finally.

The man helped her into the cart, and she settled into the space he’d created for her.

Holding a bag of trash aloft, he looked at her questioningly.

“Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Persephone said.

He arranged the bags over her, and suddenly she was in the dark and the cart was moving. The rustle of plastic grated against her ears and she held her breath so she didn’t have to smell rot and mold. The contents of the bags dug into her back, and each time the wheels hit a crack in the floor, the cart jostled, and the plastic grazed her like snake’s skin. She wanted to vomit but held it together.

“This is your stop,” she heard the janitor say, lifting the bags he used to hide her. Persephone was greeted by a blast of fresh air as she rose from the dark pit.

The man helped her out, awkwardly grasping her waist to set her on her feet. The contact made her cringe, and she stepped away, unsteady on her feet.

He had taken her to the end of an alleyway that let out onto Pegasus Street, from here she could get to her apartment in about twenty minutes.

“Thank you…” she said. “Um…what was your name?”

“Pirithous,” he supplied and held out his hand.

“Pirithous,” she took his hand. “I’m Persephone...I guess you already knew that.”

He ignored her comment and just said, “It’s nice to meet you, Persephone.”

“I owe you, for the getaway car.”

“No, you don’t,” he said quickly. “I’m not a god. I don’t extract a favor for a favor.”

He definitely has a history with the Divine, she thought, frowning. “I just meant that I would bring you cookies.”

The man offered a dazzling smile, and in that moment, beneath the exhaustion and the sadness, she thought she could see the person he used to be.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked.

He gave her the strangest look, chuckling a little and said, “Yeah, Persephone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

By the time Persephone arrived home, the apartment smelled like popcorn and Lexa’s music blared throughout the house. It wasn’t the kind you could dance to—it was the kind that could summon clouds and rain and darkness. The music cast its own spell, drawing on darker thoughts—revenge against Kal Stavros.

Lexa was waiting in the kitchen. She had already changed into her pajamas—a set that showed off her tattoos—the phases of the moon on her bicep, a key wrapped in hemlock on her left forearm, an exquisite dagger on her right hip, and Hecate’s wheel on her left upper arm. Her thick, black hair was piled on top of her head. She had a bottle of wine in hand, and two empty glasses waiting.

“There you are,” Lexa said, pinning Persephone with those piercing blue eyes. She indicated to the bottle of wine.

“I got your favorite.”

Persephone smiled. “You’re the best.”

“I thought I was going to have to file a missing person’s report.”

Persephone rolled her eyes. “I’m only thirty minutes late.”

“And not answering your phone,” Lexa pointed out.

She’d been so distracted trying to get out of the Acropolis and make it home unnoticed, she hadn’t even bothered to retrieve her phone from her purse. She did so now and found four missed calls and several texts from Lexa. Her best friend had started by asking if she was on her way, if she was okay, and then resorted to sending random emojis just to get her attention.