I guess I’ve just found a time limit for myself. Since that fateful night that Constantine pushed me over the cliff’s edge, I have been treating myself with kid gloves. Things I used to do without thought? Working for two hours straight, trying to do the same thing over and over?
I consider that to be something I left behind in my art school days. Dead and buried, with my pride and ambition alongside it.
I shake out my hand. But it begins to really hurt, a pounding ache. Without some aspirin, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to work anymore.
“Hades?” I call.
I expect him to be surly. To be hateful, even.
But I do expect him to answer. After all, this is his damned project that I’m killing myself to work on.
I turn my head. My gaze sweeps the warehouse and finds it empty. My gaze narrows.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I trail over to the bed that Hades has claimed for himself. It’s the same one that we hooked up on.
I run my fingers over the downy comforter, tracing the place where I lay. Where Hades made me feel such extraordinary pleasure.
Heat shoots through me at the memory of it, so brief yet so exquisite.
The same place I was sitting when he turned cold as ice.
Yeah, I have to stop reliving those moments. I’ve been tormented by them for the last two days. My skin crawls.
I need to finish this goddamn artwork fast so that I can be rid of Hades forever.
I lean against the bed and hear a quiet crumple. I tilt my head, examining the side of the bed where my leg rests. A flash of colorful paper catches my eye. I see a thick stack of euros sticking out from under the mattress.
When I lift the corner of the bed, I’m stunned to see what a million euros is easily maybe, stacked under Hades’ mattress as cavalierly as one might hide a diary or a baseball bat. There are also three sleek, shiny guns.
I make a face. Wherever Hades is, he’s missing some hardware that I would rather not know existed.
I snag one of the stacks of money. The crisp bills smell new and are heavier than I imagined they would be, somehow. After a moment’s thought, I pick up a gun, too.
You can never be too careful when you’re a fugitive on the run from the whole fucking world.
It only takes about thirty seconds of hunting before I locate the keys to the bright red convertible parked outside the warehouse. Hades will likely be pissed when he realizes that I’ve taken the car… but he wasn’t here when I needed some aspirin.
My stomach gurgles faintly. Make that aspirin and something to eat other than stale pastries. I don’t need to go far… just the first gas station or retail pharmacy shop should do the trick.
I scoop up my phone, pocketing it and the stack of euros before I head outside. It’s bright outside, the day as hot as all the others. Dust clings to my stylish black booties as I strut out to the car.
It’s been years since I drove a car. Especially one as expensive and sleek as the little black two seater. I can’t help thinking about that as I start up the Mustang, revving the engine.
Excitement makes me shiver as I turn the car around and nudge it toward town. The first car I ever learned to drive was a stick, just like this. But I am a little rusty, especially starting out.
Yeah, I stall the engine a couple of times before I get the hang of it. The gears grind a few times.
But hey. It’s not like Hades will care… right?
No, I shouldn’t be worried about what he thinks. He deeply, truly sucks as a person anyway.
Gaining a little confidence, I zip along the highway and crest the last big hill separating us from the city. At the very top of the hill, the city spreads out below me like a pool of ink.
“Wow,” I mumble to myself. “People that said Monaco was dazzling weren’t lying.”
