The Darkest Prison. Gena Showalter

little portion of food was meant for her before she could fight her way to the front of the line, starving her. If she hadn’t been wearing the collar, he never would have been able to do those things. She would have been too strong. Another reason to despise her captivity.

      “Sucking myself would probably elicit better results than when you did it,” he retorted.

      The handful of gods and goddesses around him snickered.

      “Whatever,” she said, as if the taunt didn’t bother her. Except, her cheeks did flush. She was the epitome of strength—or she was supposed to be—and she’d always been more mannish than feminine. That was why Atlas’s attention had so surprised and delighted her. That gorgeous man could have won anyone, yet he’d chosen her. Or so she’d thought. And she’d fallen for his act because he’d somehow made her feel like a delicate, beautiful woman.

      Just then, Atlas strode into the guard’s station. She didn’t have to see him to know. She felt him. Always she felt his heat. When her gaze found him, she discovered that he had his arm wrapped around a leggy blonde. A blonde who cuddled herself into his side as if she belonged there—and had rested there many times before.

      The thought angered Nike. It shouldn’t have; she despised Atlas with all of her being and didn’t care who he slept with. Didn’t care who he pleasured. And yes, he would have pleasured the blonde with those talented hands and seeking lips. He was an amazing lover whose touch still haunted Nike’s dreams. But there it was. Anger.

      She didn’t mean to, but found herself striding to the bars and gripping them for a better, closer look at him. Three other guards stood around him, all talking and laughing. While prisoners wore white, guards wore black, and he wore that darkness well. It was the perfect complement to his dark, chopped hair and sea-colored eyes.

      His face had been chiseled by a master artist, everything about him perfectly proportioned. His eyes were the perfect distance apart, his nose the perfect length, his cheeks the perfect sharpness, his lips the perfect shape and color and his chin a perfect, stubborn square.

      She should have known he was playing her the moment he’d turned those dangerous eyes on her and they lit with “interest.” Men just didn’t look at her like that. Not even Erebos had, and he had loved her.

      “Bastard,” she muttered, the curse for both the men in her past.

      As if he heard her, Atlas lifted his gaze. The moment their eyes met, she wanted to release the bars. She wanted to step away, out of sight. But she didn’t allow herself that luxury. That would have been cowardly, and this man had seen her weak one too many times.

      Just to taunt him, and hopefully make him feel as out of control as he always made her feel, she allowed her attention to fall to his chest, exactly where her name rested. She smiled smugly before raising her gaze and arching a brow. Score. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

      What does your lover think of your mark? she wanted to shout. What does the blonde think of my name on your body?

      He jerked the stupid blonde deeper into his side and, without breaking eye contact with Nike, planted a lush, wet kiss on her mouth. Of course, she reacted as any other woman would have. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life. As Nike well knew, that man could make a woman come with the expertise of his kiss.

      Nike’s anger intensified. Had she been able, she would have stomped down there and ripped them apart. Then she would have killed them both. Not because she wanted Atlas for herself—she didn’t—but because he was clearly using yet another woman. Passion did not glow from his expression. Only determination did.

      Nike would be doing the female population a favor by snuffing him out.

      “Erebos,” she called. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

      “What?” he gasped out, his shock clear.

      “Do you want a kiss or not? Get over here. Quickly.”

      There was a rustling of clothing behind her and then her former lover was beside her. He was a prisoner, and sex was a rarity. He would take what he could get, even from someone he loathed. That much she knew.

      Nike turned to him; he was already leaning down. Like the blonde, she wrapped her arms around her companion’s neck and held on tight. Only, she didn’t enjoy the kiss, familiar as it was. Erebos’s taste was too … what? Different from Atlas’s, she realized, and that ratcheted her anger another notch. No man should have that much power over her.

      Still. She let Erebos continue. Atlas needed to realize that she no longer desired him. He needed to realize that he would never, never play her emotions again. She was not an idealistic little girl anymore. He’d made sure of that.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Rage. Absolute rage filled Atlas. He released his companion—he couldn’t recall her name—and she gasped in protest at the abruptness of his actions. He didn’t bother explaining what he was about as he stomped away from her. The rage continued to spread as he climbed the stairs that led to the prisoner’s cages and to the cell holding Nike.

      His name was on her back. How dare she allow another man to put his lips on her?

      When he reached his destination, he raised his arm, and the sensor he’d had embedded in his wrist caused the bars to slide open. Several prisoners were seated against the far wall. Rapturous longing colored their faces as they watched the minor god of Darkness and the goddess of Strength clean each other’s tonsils. So absorbed were they, in fact, that they didn’t rush Atlas and try to escape. Or maybe that had something to do with the pain they would feel if they did so. He had only to press a button, and their collars would ravage their brains.

      Nike moaned, as if she really liked what was being done to her. Red flickered through Atlas’s vision. How. Dare. She. Teeth grinding, he grabbed Nike by the collar of her robe and jerked her into the hard line of his body, away from Erebos.

      A gasp escaped her. Unlike when the blonde had gasped, he did not remain unaffected. He wanted to swallow the sound—and do something, anything, to cause Nike to make it again.

       What’s wrong with me?

      “Hey,” Erebos snapped, foolishly reaching for her to finish what had been started. “We were busy.”

      Scowling, Atlas kicked him in the chest. The smaller man flew backward, slamming into his fellow prisoners. He jumped to his feet to attack, saw who had rendered the blow and stilled, nostrils flaring.

      “Touch her again,” Atlas said, “and I’ll remove your collar—right along with your head.”

      The god paled, perhaps even whimpered. “She wasn’t worth it, anyway.”

      Atlas might kill him for his words, as well.

      “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nike demanded, suddenly coming to life and drawing his attention. She whirled on him, glaring up at him. “I can sleep with whoever I want. And hey, I might even pick one of your friends.”

      Despite her heated words, she wasn’t breathless as she would have been if Atlas had been the one kissing her, and her cheeks weren’t flushed. Her nipples weren’t even hard. Finally, something cooled the hottest flames of his rage.