𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀, percy jackson!

𝐗𝐈𝐈. duh, first rule of fightclub

──★ Chapter twelve

Ares stood in the dimly lit diner parking lot, his imposing figure a dark silhouette against the flickering neon lights.

"Well, well," Ares drawled, a mocking smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "You didn't get yourselves killed."

Percy's eyes narrowed, his voice tight with controlled fury. "You knew it was a trap."

Ares's grin widened, wicked and unapologetic. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was real surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. Gotta admit, though—you looked good on TV."

Percy's hands clenched around the shield he had been carrying. With a sharp movement, he shoved it hard against Ares's chest. "You're a jerk," he spat.

Annabeth and Grover caught their breath, while Adira silently agreed.

Ares, unfazed, caught the shield with ease and spun it effortlessly in the air as if it weighed nothing. The shield shimmered, its form shifting and melting until it reformed into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.

"See that truck over there?" He gestured with a nod toward an eighteen-wheeler idling across the street. "That's your ride. You're welcome. It'll take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."

The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which spelled: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

The brunette girl in the group raised an eyebrow at the sight, her tone laced with dry sarcasm. "Well, I guess you found your long-lost family, Jackson."

Percy flipped her off.

Ares chuckled, clearly amused. "I'm growing to like this one," he said, nodding towards Adira.

Adira's expression twisted into one of disgust. "Ew, please not."

"You're kidding," Percy muttered, his voice laced with disbelief as he stared at the truck, still grappling with the idea that they were supposed to hitch a ride with wild animals.

With one snap of Ares's fingers, the back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."

He tossed a blue backpack to Percy. He caught the backpack instinctively, his face twisting in disdain as he unzipped it. Inside were fresh clothes, twenty dollars in cash, a pouch of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos.

Percy prepared to hurl it back at Ares. "I don't want your lousy—"

"Thank you, Lord Ares." Grover interrupted, giving Percy a warning look. "Thanks a lot."

Adira wished she could continue for Percy. Her gaze flicked to the backpack, then to Ares. She wished she could voice the disgust curling in her gut, she wanted to refuse anything that had passed through Ares's hands.

Reluctantly, Percy slung the backpack over his shoulder.

Looking back at the diner, the waitress who'd served them dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt someone. She dragged the cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him, and he held up a little disposable camera and took a picture of them.

The group was ready to leave, and Ares turned to mount his motorcycle. But as Ares prepared to depart, Adira suddenly remembered the unfulfilled promise that still hung in the air.

"You promised you would give Percy information about his mother," Adira said, her voice cutting through the night with a firm, unwavering edge. Her eyes locked onto Ares.