Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)

Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)

R. Scarlett

Dedicated to my parents, Steve & Jackie.

Thank you for always supporting and encouraging me to reach for the stars. Thank you for always believing in me, even as a small child when I struggled with school. Without your love and support, I wouldn’t be the person I am today or be able to write novels. All the effort you put into my education and my life shaped me into the person I am today. Thank you, Dad, for sparking my love for history and mythology and for buying me all those books. Thank you, Mom, for always helping me as a child with school projects and essays and always being there to talk about life.

I love you both to the moon and back.

She was unstoppable. Not because she did not have failures or doubts, but because she continued on despite them.


Summertime Eyes by Halsey + Lana Del Rey (mashup)

Sia ft Adele Type Beat 2016 "The Wanderer" prod. by Freek van Workum

Then by Anne-Marie

Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift

Into You by Ariana Grande

Talking Body by Tove Lo

My heart crawled up my throat at the sight of my enemy before me. Dressed in a navy suit that fit his frame as if he were born wearing one, his wide shoulders and narrow hips accented a perfect man. A man I loathed and in a suit that would have cost me an entire year of rent back in New Haven.

And here I was, in the worst possible position.

On my knees, cleaning up shards of glass at his feet.

For three years, I’ve competed against Nathaniel Radcliffe. Always trying to be better, smarter, faster—anything more than him. And in a matter of seconds, all that had crumpled to soot around my sore knees.

Unlike him, I didn’t come from a wealthy family thriving on power and success. Two things that had been cemented into his DNA.

I came from a borough back in New Haven where having to wear your entire winter gear in bed during the colder months was normal.

And now the man I despised for the past three years at Yale knew I wasn’t as privileged as him.

Not when I was working as a maid at the most prestigious country club on the east coast.

The glass shards lied scattered around my white wedges, glimmering like diamonds under the bright chandelier above us.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice, deep and slow, as if each word was calculated and measured before leaving his mouth. There was a touch of smugness in them, too.

I instantly wanted to fix the loose dark strands around my face but fisted my hands to stop myself. Him in his perfect suit with his perfect skin and perfect thick hair.

I clenched my jaw, begging myself not to say a word, not to throw an insult. Whenever I was around him, it seemed to be second-nature for me. Spending years debating with him in front of Yale’s elite had weathered me to his appearance. Like an armor made of steel and iron used to shield me from the rich scum of the university.

If he hadn’t stood in silence watching me and then decided to announce himself by clearing his throat, I wouldn’t have jumped and dropped the champagne glasses in the Dior suite I was cleaning. My hands had flown to my chest as I took in the sight of Nathaniel Radcliffe the Third.

And I’d fallen to my knees, gawking at the broken glasses.

“I thought you were spending your summer in the south of France,” he spoke again and my eyes caught his leather Italian loafers. Every inch of him was clothed in designer brands and family heirlooms, but he wore it with the confidence of a man well established in his career. He was only twenty-one and with all his advantages: wealth, family name, looks, and grades, he had it all in one powerful fist.

I didn’t answer him and spread my hand against the pristine marble floors, trying to cup any of the tiny shards.

I flinched when one shard embedded into my skin, but it didn’t stop me. It would take a lot more than a tiny shard.

Then my enemy did the unthinkable. He crouched, his sable suit pants tightening around his steel thighs and his long fingers picked up one of the shards. My eyes followed the elegant movement, watching as he, too, examined the clear glass between his forefinger and thumb.

Slowly, he pressed down and the shard sliced his thumb, enough for redness to pool, but not enough to make a mess. A tiny pearl of red contrasting against his olive skin.

So the god bleeds.

A tall, big-boned male of striking looks, his features strong if not precisely chiseled, his nose long and bold, his mouth wide. His chestnut hair hung over his forehead in a perpetual spill, while those singular turquoise eyes were shadowed by extravagant dark lashes.

And I hated every atom of his being.

He stood, staring down at me and he took his thumb into his mouth and sucked it once. The popping sound of his thumb leaving his mouth made an unexpected tremor roll down my spine.

I swallowed thickly.

“What are you doing here, Nathaniel?”

I enjoyed the way his arms bulged and a muscle in his jaw feathered at the sound of his full name. Most called him Nathan, but I preferred to address him as formally as possible.

It kept a much needed distance between us.

By the way his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within their blue depth, I figured he hated it.


But despite the displeasure in his eyes, a wicked smile clung to his lips. “My family owns this country club, Juliette.”

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