Chapter 9 All Roads Lead To Foggy Basin

As Ares stumbled forward, he struggled to maintain his balance, the alcohol impairing his senses. "Brently, don't," he slurred, every word too slow, too weak to bite through the taut tension electrifying the air. Frantic, he reached out, trying to grab Brently's arm to pull him back from that edge, but Brently shrugged him off with a flick, barely acknowledging the effort. The distance between them had felt insurmountable; an unbreachable chasm widened with every fleeting second.

He had not expected things to get so out of hand so fast. He laughed for a moment, trying to suppress a gnawing feeling of anxiety in his gut by having another drink.

"You think you can just walk in here and take whatever strikes your fancy?" Apollo's voice was low and dangerous, every word laced with simmering rage that sent a shiver racing down Ares's spine. He stepped closer to Brently, his posture tense and coiled like a spring. "Ares isn't some toy for you to discard at will."

Brently's smile thinned, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he leaned in, closing the space between them. The challenge was evident, unmistakable in the air.

"And what are you going to do about it, Apollo?" Brently's voice flowed smoothly, slick as oil, but beneath that polished surface lurked an unforgiving steel edge—sharp and unyielding. He wasn't used to challenges, certainly not from a man like Apollo. "You think you can stop me?

Apollo's fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning an almost eerie shade of white, causing a surge of concern and aggravation to wash over Ares.

He had seen that look in Brently's eyes before, the one that said he would stop at nothing to take what he wanted, to claim whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. But Apollo was not a man to be claimed, and Ares just didn't have the patience to get caught in their pissing contest. And yet, here he stood, unable to do a single thing to diffuse the situation.

"You can fascinate everyone else in this room," Apollo's voice emerged for a thin-lipped, controlled hiss, his words seeming to cut through the air that separated them. "But I will stop you, and I can. So, tread carefully."

Brently's smile wavered as his eyes seemed to darken with shadow, and he advanced, filling the space with an increasing sense of hostility. "Is that so?" His words dripped with condescension as he closed the distance between them, creating an uncomfortable hostility. "You speak with a certainty, but we both know how this will end. Ares will come back. He has too much to gain and far too much to lose by remaining with you."

Ares' heart picked up a beat, anger and helplessness warring within him. He wanted to step in and end this, but Apollo remained locked in and unflinching. "Fuck you," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom and simmering rage. "The only thing Ares has to lose by leaving is living a good life with a good man, a man who doesn't want to change him."

Apollo's words conjured a portrait of a life he had never dared to fathom—one quiet, simple, and peaceable. While he wanted nothing more than to confront Brently for his audacity to reappear in his life. Ares was also furious with Apollo for meddling in a battle he had to resolve. But at the same time, he wanted for Apollo to drag them out of the restaurant so they could hide in his cabin deep in the woodsforever.

As Ares's heart quickened, a rush of annoyance spread within him. He noticed the dispassionate anger in Apollo's eyes and observed how tightly clenched his jaw was, barely holding back the brewing hurricane. Ares wanted to step in and take control, but it was too late—Apollo had already fallen into Brently's trap.

"That is the problem—you cannot buy me. And that scares you," Apollo went on, his voice sharp as a cleaver through the thick silence.

Brentley's lips curled into that infuriatingly smug smile, the very one that sent shivers down Ares's spine. He stepped closer, and the atmosphere developed a sense of danger.

"I can buy this whole town," Brently purred in his low, smooth voice, almost like a caress. He slid in closer, his breath warm and scented with expensive whiskey. "And the people in it."

Ares's heart pulsed in his ears as, at the cockiness of Brently, anger surged through him, but beneath that lay burning worry for Apollo, warring with him. He saw how Brently's eyes narrowed and the flare of nostrils as he spoke—like a predator relishing the scent of fear. The suspense hung heavy in the air, and the urgent need to protect Apollo slammed against the frustration of being sidelined and powerless to avoid what was about to happen.

Apollo's fist flew out, a blur of motion that connected with Brently's jaw with a sickening crack. The punch inevitable. Brently stumbled backward, his pretentious face finally washing clean as shock and rage flashed across his features. The room boiled over as Brently's entourage surged forward to take Apollo down, but he was beyond constraint now, fueled by a raw, unfiltered need to protect.

Surprised by Apollo's speed and power, Brently staggered back. The room erupted into chaos as his entourage surged forward, desperately attempting to halt Apollo's advance. Eventually, they pulled his arms back, restraining him. Ares could see that Apollo was no longer holding back, fueled by the unfiltered desire to protect him from Bentley's toxic influence. Apollo broke free, delivering another powerful blow to Brently's stomach.

Brentley's body doubled over, his breath coming in quick gasps as his confidence shattered into a million pieces.

"You…you're going to regret that," he snarled, straightening, and wiping the blood from his lip.

As Apollo prepared to strike again, the restaurant door swung openwith a loud crash, and as Rafael appeared again. When had the asshole left?

Here's a reworded version of the passage in your style:

Brently's men lunged at Apollo, but it took more than a few of them to finally restrain him, their grips tightening as they struggled to hold him back. Brently eventually hauled himself to his feet, pride bruised and eyes dark with malice. With a vindictive snarl, he gravitated toward Apollo, his intent clear.

Ares tried to push himself up, but the alcohol had dulled his senses, making his limbs heavy and uncooperative. Guilt gnawed at him—he wanted to protect Apollo, to stand by his side, but his body refused to obey.

"That's enough!" He ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.

Despite his raised fist, Brently froze in place, his eyes betraying a flicker of apprehension. That was all the opening Apollo needed. With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, he had broken free from the grip of Brently's men and connected with a final, brutal punch to Brently's jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.

Before Apollo could wreak further havoc, Rafael stepped in, too quick and too close for Ares's liking. He gripped Apollo's arms with a force that was both aggressive and uncomfortably familiar, yanking him back with a rough pull.

"That's enough, Apollo," Rafael commanded, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.

"Get your hands off him!" Ares demanded, his voice sharp and fury. "This isn't your fight."

But Rafael barely glanced his way, his attention fixed on Apollo as he expertly snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, binding them tightly behind his back. The cold click of the cuffs echoed in the room, sending a fresh wave of panic through Ares. The sight of Rafael's hands-on Apollo, that controlling grip, made his blood boil even hotter.

Rafael finally turned his gaze to Ares, a smirk on his lips.

"Stay out of this, Ares. You don't belong here."

Ares's eyes blazed with anger, but the hands holding him back tightened, reminding him of his helplessness.

"Let him go, Rafael," he demanded, his voice trembling with fury and desperation.

Rafael's smirk deepened, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned away, dragging Apollo with him, leaving Ares fuming, caught between his anger and the frustration of being unable to do a damn thing to help.

***

∞∞∞

"Morning, sunshine," Brently drawled, mock warmth dripping from his voice as he sauntered into the hotel room, casually holding the towel at his waist like he owned the place—because, in some way, he did. "Rough night?"

Ares said nothing, taking a slow sip of cooling coffee, praying it would ease the gnawing ache in his head. Brently's presence was impossible to ignore, dragging Ares back to the events of the night before—an argument with Apollo, too much alcohol, and the mistake of letting Brently get too close.

"What the hell happened last night?" Ares bit out, rubbing a hand through his hair to clear the fog. "Where's Apollo?"

Brently's smile widened, predatory. "Ah, yes. Apollo. He's doing ninety days in jail as we speak. Quite the scandal."

Ares's gut dropped, the hangover forgotten. "What? Why? What did you do?"

Bentley's tone was almost casual, as if discussing the weather. "What did I do? It's more about what my dear father wanted. He pushed for a harsher sentence, but I managed to pull some strings and got it down to ninety days—with a few added inconveniences."

"Inconveniences?" Ares felt his blood turn to ice.

Brently's eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "Nothing too severe. Just the occasional beating from the guards. Some solitude. I paid good money for them to not hurt your hero severely, plus you know, protect him too."

The room tilted as Ares digested Brently's words. "You're an asshole," he scoffed, his voice trembling with anger and fear. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Brently shrugged, indifferent. "I'm just doing what needs to be done. Besides, I didn't take everything. Apollo still has his cabin, workshop, and five acres. Consider it a gift—for you."

"A gift?" Ares stared, horrified. "Why the hell would you give me that?"

Brently's smile turned sly. "Because I care for you, Ares. I always have. You left, remember? I'm just ensuring you're taken care of, even if it means letting Apollo keep a few scraps of dignity."

Ares's mind raced, trying to decipher Brently's motives. Genuine care was laughable—there was always an agenda. But as Ares glanced at Brently, something else caught his eye: bruises crisscrossed Brently's otherwise flawless skin, jagged redness marked his wrists, and minor cuts lined his puffy lips.

"What happened to you?" Ares demanded. "Did Apollo…?"

Brently chuckled, humorless. "Some of it, yes. Apollo's still got quite the punch. But most of this?" He gestured to his bruises and wrists. "These are Rafael's handiwork. He's quite creative when he wants to be."

Disgust churned in Ares's stomach. The thought of Rafael with both Brently and Apollo twisted the situation into something far more complex. Brently noticed the revulsion in Ares's eyes and smiled—a cruel, taunting smile.

"Calm down, Ares. Nothing happened between us last night. I'm not a rapist, but an asshole—yes."

Ares's gaze snapped to Bentley's wedding band as he slipped it onto his finger. "Why do you do this?" Ares asked, voice thick with revulsion. "Why are you like this?"

Brently looked upon him with amused pity. "Because it's who I am, Ares. This world we grew up in—it's about power, control, survival. You know that as well as I do."

He was right, to an extent. The world they grew up in was heartless, a brutal war for dominance hiding under social etiquette. But Ares had walked away to find something real. And now, standing before Brently, a living reminder of all he'd left behind, Ares's resolve hardened.

He wasn't going back.

"Look at you," Brently continued, teasing laced with cruelty. "All grown up—finding your voice. But let's be honest, Ares. You're just running from your dad's influence, the Sinclair dynasty. This town, this life you're trying to build—it's just another escape. Sooner or later, you'll realize that."

Ares stared, calm. "I'm not running from anything. Not anymore."

Bentley's brow arched. "Oh? And what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm choosing," Ares said, meeting Brently's gaze. "I'm choosing a life not defined by what my father wanted or what you think I should be. I'm choosing something better."

Bentley's grin wavered for a moment, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed his face. But it vanished quickly.

"You honestly think you can just walk away from everything? From me, from your father's shadow, from everything you've ever known?"

"Yes," Ares said simply. "I do."

They stared at each other, tension thick in the air. Brently seemed to search Ares's eyes for doubt, but Ares didn't flinch. He had decided.

At last, Brently sighed, almost regretful. "Well, then. We'll see how long that conviction lasts. Me and the boys have bets."

Ares didn't answer. There was nothing left to say. He rose, the choice settling on him like a mantle. But it wasn't heavy. It was freeing.

Brently watched him, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "You know, I'm rooting for you, Ares. You and Apollo. But then again, I do enjoy a good tragedy."

Overlooking that he was still in yesterday's rumpled clothes, he strode to the door. He didn't belong there, in this suite, in that world. He belonged to Foggy Basin, with Apollo.

Brently's voice stopped him as he reached the door. "Ares," he called light, almost teasing. "Just remember," Bentley's voice stopped him as he reached the door, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Don't lose your way."