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Any person able to afford the generous membership required to stay at the Hawthorne estate was here. Anyone with power, money, a significant family name. None of which I held. But one day I would. One day I’d be powerful and feared and I wouldn’t be scrubbing their dirty country club floors. As I sat on the floor under his watchful gaze, I tried to repeat that in my head. I would be better than him. I would be stronger than him.
He was a mere man, I knew that, but he and his friends were treated like gods. It didn’t help they looked like it, too. Intimidating, perfect and deadly.
As a very driven and confident woman, most men preferred to stay as far away from me as possible. They tended to fear those things in a woman because it was intimidating—as if being with a confident woman made them any less of a man.
“This will be the only time you ever see me on my knees before you,”
There was something untouchable, something holy and unholy about the boys. Sacred and sinful all at once. Bastards of Grace. Fame, wealth and power poured out of them. They were the things of legends and myths.
Gabe Easton had ranked 1st. A magnetic, intoxicating personality. A deadly smile paired with looks blessed by the goddess of beauty and a sharp, intelligent mind made him a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention his future was set in stone. His family had raised two former presidents before him.
Everyone knew in their bones that Gabe Easton would accomplish bigger things than most men. He’d get whatever he wanted and go to whatever length to get it.
James Rhodes had ranked 4th. The James Dean of Yale—classic dark blond locks, an easy, killer smile, and a gleam in his blue-blue eyes. One flash of his legendary smirk and he had anyone wrapped around his finger. He partied hard and fucked harder. Every weekend there was a. party hosted by him; wild and expensive, destruction woke in his path. He was reckless, addicted to anything that would endanger his very existence—street racing, drugs, fights, booze, jumping off cliffs—he did them all with the kind of rare carpe diem attitude that led to an early death.
And the last of the American Gods, Arsen Vasiliev. The Russian god had ranked 7th. Below his name—and the picture of his steel, beautiful features—was the reason why. As much as he was powerful and rich, he was terrifying. His cool dark gaze and his permanent scowl made him very unapproachable. Not to mention the rumors that ran wild about him. Gossip about his family running a deadly business, one of blood and drugs and weapons—connecting the rich with criminals.
They were desired, they were stalked and chased, and they loved it.
“We’re both competitive,” he said, cutting me off. “We hold the highest marks at Yale,” he said, reaching for his drink on a nearby table. He let the ice cubes hit the glass, the sound filling the dimly lit room. “We both want to conquer. We both want to achieve the careers we desire and we’ll stop at nothing to achieve every single one of our goals.”
Exposed wasn’t the right word for how I felt. Naked. Vulnerable. To my enemy.
His mind had aroused mine even before his body had.
“All I had to do was arouse you with my words and you became undone.”
“You’re the only one who makes me furious.” A smile stung his mouth. “Good.” He looked far too smug. “I’m the only bastard who gets your wrath.”
I remembered him and his three friends. How their names were spoken like sacred hymns and how much power, terror, and legacy came with them. He was bigger than most men. More important, more powerful and he would only grow stronger, larger than life itself. I felt it in my bones like a storm was approaching off the ocean and onto the sandy quiet beaches. He had been immortalized the moment he took his first breath.
I challenged each of his touches with my own, our kisses were a battle of dominance, our hands weapons to make the other come undone.
James was no pretender, his reputation, his allure and bad habits fit him to perfection. He embodied all of it proudly as if raising hell was second-nature to him.
“Life is ten percent what happens to you; ninety percent is how you react to it. I chose not to engage.”
His ocean eyes, dark and hard—held the universe in them. A universe he was offering to me.
“We’re bastards with too much power.”
I had fallen for a god and I had to give him up to keep his immortality.
“The asshole is a fucking mess,” Arsen muttered under his breath.
I’m on my knees for this man and this is all he said the entire book.
“If I want to be your husband one day, I know I’ll have to negotiate every single day to keep you happy,”
“I’m a greedy, overachieving bastard, Juliette. I examined the risks and you’re worth the fall.”
