Page 1 of Hades

Chapter one

Hades

“I hate this,” I sulked, arms crossed, watching my ex-wife freshen up her lipstick in my bathroom mirror.

“You could start dating again, too,” Jenny offered, rubbing her lips together and giving them a little pop.

“Don’t want to,” I grumbled, tearing my gaze away.

Seeing her like this was excruciating—all dressed up to meet another man. Her chocolate brown hair was pinned back in an elegant French twist, and her nails were painted an eye-catching coral pink. She’d swapped her Mom jeans and T-shirts for a breezy floral skirt and a lacy white camisole with a deep V-neck that cupped her heavy tits with heavenly perfection.

And she smelled fucking divine. Usually, she smelled like chocolate chip cookies, or cinnamon rolls, or whatever sweet treat she had been busy baking in the kitchen that day.

This time, she was wearing her favorite perfume—Some Enchanted Evening—with notes of jasmine, wildflower honey, and amber. I knew from personal experience that stuff was like goddamn catnip. One whiff and it drove a man wild. So, she saved it for special occasions…like our wedding. And our honeymoon. And our first anniversary.

My gut twisted at the familiar scent and the years of memories that came with it.

Jenny tucked her tube of lipstick into her purse, braced her hands on the counter, and turned to look at me. I leaned back against the doorframe, broody and sullen that she wasn’t staying to get that perfume all over my sheets tonight. Instead, she was dropping the kids off with me for the weekend and going to dinner with someone else.

“You’re pouting,” she said.

“I’m not pouting,” I protested. “I’m a grown man. I don’t fucking pout.”

She pursed her lips with a skeptical hum.

“We’ve talked about this, Simon.”

I huffed and dragged my gaze back to her.

“If you need to get laid, you know I’m ready and willing to lend a hand, mi amor. Morning, noon, and night.”

Jenny sighed with a scathing glance.

“I’m not hooking up. I’m looking for a serious relationship—a man who might become my husband one day and help me raise the kids.”

“You have a husband already,” I pointed out.

“No, I have an ex-husband,” she bit out.

I said nothing. A beat of agonizing tension filled the air. Jenny rummaged around in her purse until she came up with a necklace and looped it around her neck, fumbling with the clasp.

Seven years ago, Jenny and I got a divorce. I did everything I could to change her mind, but in the end, she was resolute. She hated the dangers associated with my club, and when I got shot busting a trafficking ring, it made her even more determined to get away from this life.

I didn’t fault her for that.

Stepping up behind Jenny, I took the necklace from her and easily hooked the clasp at the nape of her neck. Then I smoothed my hands down her back, over the generous, soft swell of her hips.

“Simon,” she warned.

“Just getting your zipper, honey.”

I tugged at the zipper in the back of her skirt, pulling it up. Trying desperately to ignore the heat of her skin radiating through her clothes as my knuckles grazed against her.

“You have to stop calling me that,” Jenny admonished, softer than before. As if she was almost reluctant to say it.

“Sorry, hon—” I broke off and cleared my throat. “Old habits.”

For a moment, our gazes met in the mirror, and we stared at each other.