Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)
Ares: Chapter 3

“You hired an MMA fighter to bodyguard an MMA fighter?” I asked Chelsea, trying to ignore Mars’s looming presence in the middle of my living room.

Somehow, he matched well standing near my black leather couch, his boots complimenting the deep red colors of my boho paisley area rug.

“Retired MMA fighter. Considering his track record, I couldn’t think of anyone more suited to the task. Lucky for us, he’s been moonlighting as a bodyguard.” Chelsea grabbed her purse with a wide smile.

Mars remained silent, raising a brow and studying me. A younger me might’ve been attracted to someone like him. The long hair. The beard. The full-sleeve tattoo I knew lurked beneath his jacket. I clucked my tongue against my teeth.

“You know me, Chelsea. Think throwing a stranger at me to play sleepover with is going to go well?” I clenched my hands into fists.

“He’s not some stranger off the street. He’s a bodyguard through a legitimate company, has signed privacy agreements and liability contracts. You’re not head locking your way out of this. No tap outs.” She pointed at me. “Play nice Harm. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, Chelsea abandoned me.

My jaw tightened. “This isn’t necessary. Why don’t you go back to your company and let them know I turned it down? I’m a lone wolf. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m going to be the bigger man here.” He extended his hand. “I’m Mars.”

My gaze dropped to his hand—his large, masculine, olive-toned hand. “I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are. That doesn’t mean we’ve met.”

My shoulders tensed, and I wiped my palm against my thigh before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. Need me to show you where the door is?” The calluses of his palm scraped against my skin, making my stomach flutter.

He dropped my hand with a quirk of his lip. “Funny how you think you have a say in this.” He brushed past, towering over me like a skyscraper.

Squaring off my shoulders, I pushed a hand against his chest—his extremely firm chest. At five foot ten, I wasn’t used to looking up at people. It only added to the list of items that irritated me about him.

“I’m serious.” I dropped my voice an octave.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed at my hand on him before raising back to my face. “As am I. I didn’t even want to take this job, but your publicist can be very convincing.”

I slid my hand from his chest. At least we had one thing in common: neither of us wanted to be here. There was no getting out of this. “I’m going back to sleep. You can take the couch, the bathtub. Frankly, I don’t care.” I flicked my wrist, turned for my bedroom, and slammed the door shut.

Instead of the satisfying sound of wood slapping against wood, flesh hit the door, followed by a masculine growl.

“Vlákas, you’re more stubborn than I am,” he said through a grunt.

“I never sleep with my bedroom door open.”

He shoved it back with a stiff arm. “You do now. I think you misunderstand the whole point of bodyguarding.” His chocolate-colored eyes dropped to my underwear for a beat before panning up, pausing on my Greek-inspired tattoo that started on my right shoulder and continued over my bicep.

I snapped his fingers to draw his attention back to my face. “The minute you start snoring, the door shuts. I’m a light sleeper.”

He rubbed the full beard on his chin before narrowing his eyes. “So am I.”

Our gazes locked, the intensity in his stare reminding me of the way he’d zeroed in on me from the ring. His dark eyes were mystery and mayhem wrapped in a chocolate swirl.

Fuming, I crawled back under the sheets and pulled the comforter over my head. Hearing his feet shuffle, I peeked out to make sure he’d left. He walked past the doorway once, twice, three times. The doorknob jiggled, and his palm hit the window locks until finally, the lights dimmed, and darkness swept across the apartment. He laid down on the couch near my bedroom doorway, propping his hand on the armrest and nestling his head on it.

I flipped to my other side with a sigh. Sleep was never easy for me, and now, with this brute in my personal space, I’d probably go sleepless for nights on end.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I jolted awake in dazed confusion. My hair was all over my face, and I slid it to one side.

When had I fallen asleep?

My headboard was at my feet.

And why did I feel the need to sleep at the foot of my bed?

I groaned and slid out from under the covers. Rustling sounds echoed from my kitchen, and my body stiffened. I rushed for the door, stubbing my toe on the weight set in the corner—the only other object in my room beside my bed and nightstand. Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the baseball bat I kept behind my door. My heart rate sped into a sprint. If the threats were real, someone could be waiting to kill me right around the corner. I held it above my head and walked to the living room.

Mars stood in my kitchen, casually leaning against the counter with a steaming cup of coffee. My coffee. He wore a shirt with the sleeves cut off, creating gaping holes on each side, showing a good portion of skin. He wrapped both hands around the cup as he blew on the hot liquid. My tiny kitchen made him look like a giant.

“Kaliméra,” he said, not looking up from his cup.

I lowered the bat. “What the hell are you doing?”

He shifted his stance, revealing a plate of egg whites resting on the counter behind him. “Pretty sure it’s called ‘breakfast.’” He shoveled food into his mouth.

Tightening my grip on the bat’s handle, I clenched my jaw.

After swallowing, he said, “Didn’t expect me to start the day with no caffeine or sustenance, did you?” Finally, he looked at me, cocking his eyebrow.

My blood boiled, and I stormed forward with the bat in hand. “No. Paying for your sustenance has nothing to do with babysitting me.”

I reached for the plate, but he scooped it in his hand and held it above his head with a scowl.

“Who said you paid for this?”

I eyed the freshly brewed pot of coffee like a succulent steak and bit my lip. “That’s still my coffee maker.”

He leaned forward, sticking his thumb in his mouth to rid it of egg remnants. “There’s plenty for you too, yiachní.”

His speaking Greek at random times would get old very quickly.

I shoved past him to grab a cup from the cabinet, slipping the bat between my knees to free both hands.

He continued to eat his eggs, sliding away from me. “Is there a reason you have five gallons of cookie dough ice cream in your freezer?”

I had the coffee pot in my grasp and paused mid-pour. “First ground rule. Do not snoop through my stuff.”

“No promises. And you didn’t answer my question.”

After slamming the pot back on the burner, I yanked the bat into my hand and sipped my coffee with the other. “And I’m not going to. I need to take a shower before work.”

He wiped a napkin over his full lips, taking an extra swipe over the beard surrounding his mouth. “Don’t close the door.”

I shoved the bat under my arm and held my cup with two hands. “I don’t think so. I’ll be naked.” Scoffing, I moved past him.

“Like I’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

My insides did a curious twist.

I rested the bat on my shoulder and glared at him as I backpedaled. “You won’t see this one.”

He shook his head.

After slipping into the bathroom, I shut the door with no hesitation, tossed my clothes in a corner, and hopped in.

It was the longest shower I’d taken in my adult life. Turning off the faucet meant facing reality—a reality who hulked in my kitchen and scoped my weakness for flavored cream. After beating my forehead against the tiled wall, I turned off the water and peeled back the curtain. The bathroom door was halfway open. Grabbing a towel, I wrapped it around myself and, still soaking wet, yanked the door open.

He sat on the armrest of the couch, his legs spread wide and his forearms resting on his knees.

I opened my mouth to start an argument.

“It’s called a compromise,” he said, interrupting me. He stalked toward me. His eyes dropped to the towel, and I clutched it against my chest.

I’d never been the shy type, but the intensity hidden in his gaze made me wish the towel fell to my ankles.

“You’re going to ruin the wood.” He cocked an eyebrow and pointed at the puddles forming at my feet.

I growled under my breath and stormed into my bedroom. Always leaving doors open or even somewhat ajar would eventually drive me insane. It was easier for me to hear someone sneaking in if they had to turn the knob. I’d taken care of myself since I was a kid. Relying on someone else felt about as foreign to me as him speaking Greek.

After throwing on my gym attire and pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I grabbed an apple from the basket on the kitchen table and moved straight for the door.

“I’ll ride with you.”

I bit back a smile. “Of course, by all means.”

He narrowed his eyes, and I whistled a random ditty as we made our way down the two flights of stairs that led to the apartment complex parking lot.

With my head held high, I strolled to my Harley, plucking the lock off for the helmet.

He folded his arms. “I knew you were too quick to agree.”

“I’m sorry, did you think I drove a car?”

He jutted behind him with his thumb. “Move. I’ll drive.”

“Excuse me? There’s absolutely no way you’re driving my bike and making me ride bitch.” I straddled it, further clarifying my point.

His lip twitched, and he balled his hand into a fist. “I’m not riding on the back. I’d barely fit.”

“Fine. Walk, call an Uber, whatever form of transportation you want to get yourself to the gym, but the only way you’re getting on this bike is behind me.” I slipped the helmet on and secured the strap.

He snarled as he took two hesitant steps forward and squinted. “Tell me, if you’re such a lone wolf, why did you get a passenger seat installed? I know this model doesn’t come standard with it.”

I flipped the visor up, glared at him, and roared the bike to life. “You have five seconds before I peel out of here.”

“Me spáseis ta nérva mou,” he mumbled, mounting the bike behind me.

“It’s extremely frustrating when I can’t tell what you’re saying.”

“Tough.” He scooted forward, and I felt his hips pressing against my backside.

My stomach flipped.

Maybe I should’ve called us both an Uber. I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.

“I don’t have an extra helmet.”

He grimaced. I’m sure the fact he was on the back of a bike, behind a woman no less, infuriated him. Good.

“I can deal.” He wrapped his arms around my waist.

My body stiffened, and I threw my hands up as if his arms were venomous snakes. “What the hell are you doing?”

He eyed me as if I asked him to summon rainclouds. “Do you want me to fall off?”

“Do you want me to answer honestly?” I cocked a brow.

His face fell. “Just drive, Makos.” He pulled me tighter against him.

Blowing air through my nostrils, I flipped the visor down and tried to ignore the hardness nestled against my ass. Hopefully, it was a cell phone.

We made it to the gym in record time. Mostly because I didn’t want to deal with the way my ovaries betrayed me from the feel of his arms around me. Sure, I was a woman, but I refused to think about sex with a man like Mars. He threw up far too many red flags to count. Not to mention, he had the alpha mentality. The moment he sensed a pack, he’d want to piss all over it. I was my pack—alpha, beta, delta…all of them. It could get exhausting, though. The idea of sharing my burdens—dividing them, always itched at me, but it was far too fragile to rest in anyone else’s hands.

He hopped off the bike before it came to a complete stop and rolled his shoulders with a grunt. After slipping the helmet off and securing it, I grabbed my items from the saddlebag.

“There’s a perimeter of windows. You can stay in the lobby. No need to come into the gym,” I said, not bothering to wait for him as I made my way inside.

He stood still, eyes shifting as I walked past him. His boots scraped against the asphalt, hovering near me, but giving distance. I whisked in like he was an invisible shadow, going about my normal routine. The receptionist, Lilly, peeked up from the computer, eyeing Mars over the rim of her glasses.

“Bring a friend, Harm?” Lilly asked with a sparkling grin. She twirled her finger around the strings of her lanyard.

Mostly ignoring her, I logged into the computer. “Ignore him, Lilly.”

Mars slid his aviator sunglasses on top of his head and did several circles on the area rug in the lobby before sitting on one of the four leather couches. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the length of it, their span covering the width of the sofa.

“Do you see the size of that man? You say ignore? I can’t take my eyes off him,” Lilly muttered, clutching her lanyard so tightly around her neck it dug into her skin.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Just…don’t talk to him. He might bite your finger off.”

Her eyes widened. “Not him.”

“Lilly.” I leaned my forearms on the desk, so we were face-to-face. “That’s Mars. Former heavyweight champion. He’s knocked men out for clipping him on the shoulder.”

Her eyes shifted at him and then snapped back to me.

“Stay away,” I reiterated.

Once I was convinced I had her terrified enough to keep her virginal paws off him, I entered the gym.

Phil stood there like an eager beaver, waving his water bottle at me. “You look great today, Miss Makos.”

I raised my brow, didn’t pause for small talk, and walked straight to the hamstring curl machine. “Thanks, Phil. You warmed up?”

“These calves are apple pie.” He laid down on his stomach.

I looked skyward and bit down on my lip. It wouldn’t be the first time a male client flirted with me, but Phil hadn’t shown any signs he’d be the type at our first session.

After adjusting the weight, I tapped Phil on the knee, letting him know he could start curling. He grunted through three reps.

“Okay, stop. Too much.” I lessened the weight. “Alright, try that. Twelve reps.”

I focused on his legs, watching for signs of strain, but they stayed motionless.

“Holy shit. Is that who I think it is?” Phil raised to his elbows, staring in awe across the room.

Instinct told me who it was before my eyes lifted. Mars lay on a bench, pressing a barbell with what looked like nearly six hundred pounds on it. He didn’t grunt, nor did his face twitch.

Phil hopped from the machine and started to walk over.

“Phil, you have another six sets,” I ordered, but it did no good. He walked over to Mars like a sheep to its shepherd.

One of our regular muscle heads, Antonio, walked over to Mars with his burly arms crossed. Antonio was five foot six with arms wider than his head and legs about as thin as mine. He spent so much time working on his arms with little to no cardio that he had a rounded belly. He ran a hand over his slick black hair styled with so much gel it glinted the overhead lights more than the gold chain around his neck.

“Heard you retired after winning the championship, Mars. You afraid of losing it to the first person who challenges you, huh?” Antonio grinned wide as several men around him snickered.

Kanéna distagmós.

The words whispered across my ears like a gust of wind. I furrowed my brow, snapping my attention to Mars’s face. He sat up with the scowl of a raging lion, his eyes glowing red.

Was he on steroids?

Another feeling twisted in my stomach, propelling my feet forward.

Mars stood up, swung his leg over the bench, and grabbed a fifty-pound plate from the rack, holding it in one hand like a bag of flour. He loomed over Antonio, gripping the plate in his hand. Antonio looked like he was ten seconds away from pissing his pants. As Mars raised the plate above his head, I sprang forward and grabbed it, seething up at him.

With me between the two men, Antonio suddenly found the courage to clear his throat. “You’re fucking crazy, bro.” He pointed at Mars before power-walking away.

“Smack talking is legal. Bashing a guy’s face in with a weight plate? Is not,” I said to him through gritted teeth.

He growled, yanking the plate from me and sliding it back on the rack. “I was only going to give him a love tap.”

“I’ve seen your love taps in the cage.” I crossed my arms. “He would’ve left on a stretcher or a body bag. Neither of which I care to explain.”

His nostrils flared, and he paced back and forth like he was in a confined space.

“Are you juicing?” I lowered my voice.

He stopped and glared at me. “That’s for cowards. Do I look like a coward?”

His eyes were back to their usual dark color, not a hint of red.

“Why did your eyes look red a second ago?”

“How the hell should I know?”

I recognized that look, the way he paced, the rise in decibel of his voice. He was moments away from flipping a bench.

“Real professional of you. One quick call to Chelsea and I could have you packing faster than you could say ‘leather chaps.’”

He ignored me, his chest pumping up and down. “So many of them talk as if what they say has no consequence anymore. It’s infuriating.”

Them?

“Mars—,” I started. “What’s your real name? I’m tired of calling you a damn planet.”

He leaned in. The smell of leather, metal, and wood chips permeated the air despite him wearing a tank top and gym shorts. “Mars is all you’re getting.”

Now it was my turn to get angry. I squared off my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Why don’t you go check out the ellipticals?”

He took another step forward, his face so close now I could feel his breath on my lips. His scent sent an endless wave of mixed emotions through my head—my body. He smelled like carnage. Like…war.

“Do I look like the type to use an elliptical?”

I clenched my hands so tightly, they shook. “Then just go over there if you insist on being in here. You’re distracting my clients and causing a scene. I need this job.”

He scanned my face before grunting and brushing my shoulder as he passed. Antonio laid on the bench press with his entourage surrounding him to spot. Mars stood across the room, legs wide, arms folded over his chest. The scowl creasing his brow deepened until he looked downright sinister.

Antonio grunted as the bar fell on his chest. He pushed up but only managed to make his face redder than a strawberry. I ran over, grabbing onto one end and motioning to any of the three men standing there doing nothing.

“Will you all stop staring and help me?”

One man grabbed the other end, and we pulled, but the bar didn’t budge. The other two men grabbed hold, and with all of us lifting, it remained plastered on Antonio’s chest.

“Move,” Mars said from behind us.

The three men shuffled away, but I remained, narrowing my eyes at Mars.

He wrapped one hand around the bar and sunk his face to Antonio’s. “Maybe you should stick to a spin class, maláka.” He lifted the bar, and it hit against the metal posts with an echoing pang.

Mars breezed past me without so much as a glance, heat radiating from his skin. Antonio groaned, clutching his chest and rolling back and forth on the bench. Antonio’s friends turned to help him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Mars. How did he manage to lift with one hand what four of us couldn’t? And there he sat, on the leg press machine, pushing the max amount of weight possible with the speed of a jackhammer.

I don’t think Chelsea knew what she was doing putting the two of us together. What did you get when you combine one hurricane with another? Cataclysmic destruction.

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