Barak. Marcie looked away, her mouth twisting with bitterness at the name. Selfish, nasty, evil Barak who tried to take what wasn’t offered at every turn. She hunched her shoulders unconsciously, pressing back against the sofa. He’d forced Tragos to do something so unspeakable she was having trouble even thinking about it. How could Tragos have killed someone like that? But-
Hecate had never said anything about her death to Marcie, and surely she knew who killed her. She’d never said or done anything to Tragos, or that Marcie felt fairly certain. So she must know about what Barak did, and what his punishment was.
And then she felt a cold dagger of fear, and looked back up at Tragos. “Ares,” she whispered. Kaden hadn’t seen what Ares had done to Barak, only the aftermath. He didn’t know what the men had talked about sometimes in the gym, what Marcie had overheard. Nobody walked away from the War Dogs. Nobody.
Tragos turned away from her when she said Ares’ name. He shared that fear in her eyes, but he didn’t want her to see it. He didn’t let go of her hand, though, and after a second he pulled her closer, locking his arms around her and tucking her head beneath his chin. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said. “As fast as we can and as far as we can.”
And they’d have to hope it was fast enough, far enough.
They were never coming back. Wherever they were going, they were never coming back. They just could never dare to, not to face Ares’ wrath. Marcie pressed her lips together tightly, not wanting to cry in front of them both. She had to stay strong and help them as much as she could, not fall apart at the seams. She could cry later. When she was alone.
She wished she could formulate some sort of argument against their leaving, but she couldn’t honestly, selfishly, convince them to stay when Apollo had so blatantly threatened Kaden’s life. “Let me come with you,” she said, a desperate plea to not have to lose them.