𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. 𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭. She hides behind sharp boots and brighter dresses, yellow loud enough to drown out the cracks in her heart. It almost works. Until the man her papa crossed decides to collect what he's owed. He doesn't ask. He takes. Tattooed hands. Calculated eyes. A ruler of empires built on blood. He closes the distance. She tries to keep it. But he's always liked the chase.

Running from hell isnʼt easy. Especially when someoneʼs dragging you back down into it. Belligerent, brash and always in shades of black, Freya is hardly a lady. Hidden away by her father, sheʼs lived a normal life despite being born into the dark waters of New Yorkʼs underworld. Heʼs cold, cruel and calculating, with a proclivity for destruction. Feared by even Made Men, Torren is the boss of the stateʼs most leachorous crime syndicate. Freya hates his crudity and possessiveness, but she canʼt deny the way her breath hitches at his rough touch, the deep timbre of his voice, and his dark, heated gaze. Torren hates her disobedience, her recklessness, and her chaos. To him, sheʼs only something to be tamed. And after he slips a ring on her hand, snatching away her future, she makes only one vow---to become his biggest torment.

What if Percy had fallen into Tartarus alone? Apparently, a whole lot of shit. * Down in Tartarus, it's the Greek version of hell. Percy experiences the hardest days of his life - and that's saying something - as he attempts to find his way to the Doors of Death. It's his only option if he wants to make it out of this alive. At least he has Small Bob, though. The best fucking awesome cat ever. * "No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the stain of Tartarus off his skin." * Started November 2017. Finished March 2018. *THIS STORY IS UNDER EDITING* *Due to the edits, chapter names and numbers may not line up, and some story details may be out of place. The story is not being edited in chronological order. I don't have a timeline for when edits will be finished.