Table of Contents

- Title

- Copyright

- More Books by Staci Hart

- A crawling beast

- Day 1

- Day 2

- Day 3

- Day 4

- Day 5

- Day 6

- Day 7

- Day 8

- Day 9

- Day 10

- Day 11

- Day 12

- Day 13

- Day 14

- Day 15

- Day 16

- Acknowledgments

- Also by Staci Brillhart

- About the Author

SHIFT

STACI BRILLHART

CONTENTS

Title

Copyright

More Books by Staci Hart

A crawling beast

1. Day 1

2. Day 2

3. Day 3

4. Day 4

5. Day 5

6. Day 6

7. Day 7

8. Day 8

9. Day 9

10. Day 10

11. Day 11

12. Day 12

13. Day 13

14. Day 14

15. Day 15

16. Day 16

Acknowledgments

Also by Staci Brillhart

About the Author

Copyright © 2013, 2017 Staci Hart

All rights reserved.

stacihartnovels.com

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover design by Quirky Bird

Photography by Perrywinkle Photography

Editing by Unforeseen Editing and Love N Books

Extra With A Twist Goodies

Playlist

Pin Board

MORE BOOKS BY STACI HART

Hearts and Arrows

Deer in Headlights (Book 1)

Snake in the Grass (Book 2)

What the Heart Wants (Novella 2.5)

Doe Eyes (Book 3)

Fool’s Gold (Novella 3.5)

Hearts and Arrows Box Set

Hardcore

With a Twist (Bad Habits)

Chaser (Bad Habits)

Last Call (Bad Habits)

Wasted Words

Tonic

A Thousand Letters - Feb 2017

Short Stories

Once

Desperate Measures

Sign up for the newsletter to receive a FREE copy of Desperate Measures, a ridiculous zombie romcom!

To those who have known

love that hurts.

Again love, the limb-loosener, rattles me

bittersweet,

irresistible,

a crawling beast.

-Sappho

DAY 1

The city stretched up like quartz against the fading sunlight, the colors of the sky deepening with every second that slipped by. Ares’s eyes were on the horizon, slashed with the darkening skyscrapers at the southern tip of Manhattan, but his mind was a thousand years behind him, and her face filled the space in between.

They were Mars and Venus. Man and woman. Ares and Aphrodite. The bond between them was unbreakable, undeniable, no matter how she had tried to reject it, tried to stay away. She’d never quite succeeded. She never would.

Even the gods could not betray the will of the stars.

It had been a hundred years since she warmed his bed, a hundred years of waiting for her. Now they would compete again in a game that mattered little to him. His prize was far greater than a token to be paid for a favor — he wanted her. And for the first time in a very long time, he had a chance to keep her.

Adonis had been in the way far too long — even murdering the human hadn’t removed him from the equation — but now the ground had shifted, tilted in Ares’s favor, and with Aphrodite’s footing unsteady, she would fall.

He would catch her.

This time, he wouldn’t let go.

Ares had already chosen his human player, and soon he would make his way down to the throng of gods who waited for the game to begin. She would be there. She would make her choice, and the fire between them would ignite as it always did — first with a spark, then a flicker. Then, she would be consumed, and so would he.

It would be the same as it ever was, and he was so starved for her, his body tensed from head to heart to heel in anticipation of what was to come.

From a hundred years down to a few days, the distance traveled worth every second of longing, and with every moment that passed, the stars moved closer to alignment and to his favor. And there was nothing she could do to fight it.

He’d see to that.

Aphrodite sank into her velvet couch with a sigh as she and Persephone looked in on Lex and Dean. He sat bent over his guitar, plucking and strumming a tune, pausing occasionally to jot down lyrics in his notebook as Lex watched on sketching, her hand moving with certainty as she composed his likeness with a series of lines, complex in their simplicity. He looked over at her and smiled, abandoning his guitar to climb onto the couch with her, taking her face with his hands, capturing her lips with his own.

Perry let out a sigh of her own. “I’m going to miss them.”

“Me too,” Dita said. “But they got their happy ending.”

“And Apollo too,” Perry added.

“Apollo’s happy ending might have been the most satisfying part of all. Even though there were repercussions.” Dita squirmed, thinking about Adonis.

“Adonis still hasn’t shown up?” Perry asked, reading her mind.

Dita shook her head. “It’s been weeks. I go to Elysium every night in my dreams, but he’s never there. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, I suppose. He’s angry. I get it.”

“Apollo killed him,” Perry said flatly. “You’d be pissed too.”

“He believes Apollo killed him. But you know just as well as I do that Apollo doesn’t do revenge killings. I know what Apollo says, but I also know better than to believe all I hear. Especially when it comes to Ares. He can deny his involvement all he wants, but my gut says something isn’t what it seems. Not that it matters to Adonis.”

“Well, Adonis never was one for reason.”

Dita chuffed. “No, he wasn’t. But still, I’m holding out hope that he comes around. He just needs time.”

“I hope so. Are you ready to compete with Ares?”

“Not really.” Dita sighed again, this time to relieve the bit of pressure squeezing her ribs at the thought of Ares anything. “Lex and Dean were fun — Apollo always picks the best players — but this is going to be stressful. Ares’s types aren’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.”

“More like napalm and cigarettes.” Perry pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. “What kind of player do you think he’ll choose?”

“Probably some asshole with a huge chip on his shoulder. They stick with what they know.”

A dry laugh burst out of Perry.

“He’ll pick someone fucked up, and I’ll have to pick someone equally fucked up. It’s vicious. But it’ll all work out. I’ve got my ass-kicking boots laced tight and my Girl Power playlist locked and loaded. Plus, when do I ever lose?”

“Never.” But Perry seemed unconvinced, watching Dita with big hazel eyes. “You’re going to sleep with Ares, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to, but my Adonis buffer is gone,” Dita admitted. “And Ares … what exists between us is bigger than I can control. It’s instinctive, compulsive.”

Perry’s lips drew together like purse strings. “Ares is a douchelord, and I hate him.”

“Part of me does too. But it’s more complicated than that. I love him, but I also want to blow him into a billion pieces.”

Perry chuckled. “I bet you do.”

Dita rolled her eyes. “We have children, history, a bond. And when we compete?” She laughed at the futility of it all. “We both want to win, which only stokes the fire between us. It’s always been this way. I don’t know how to stay away from him, Perry.”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe Heff will make you an extra-special, fancy vibrator.”

A laugh shot out of Dita. “That conversation wouldn’t be awkward at all.”

“Something tells me Heff would rather make you a magical vibe than see you hook up with Ares.”

“True,” Dita admitted. “But maybe I can find a way to hold out. Maybe Adonis will come back to me.” The words were tinged with hope.

But Perry’s eyes were sad. “Maybe he will.”

The string that connected the gods was plucked, tugging on Dita’s heart, and the goddesses met eyes.

“It’s time,” Perry said solemnly.

“Bring on the pain.”

The goddesses headed down to the common area of Olympus, which was modeled after a high-end New York high-rise. The living room and kitchen were empty of gods, but as they approached the theater room, the hum of chatter rose to greet them. And when Perry and Dita walked in, faces turned to look — some whooping and clapping, others narrowing their eyes.

Apollo waved them over to the front row where he’d saved a few seats, and Daphne beamed at them from Apollo’s side as they approached.

Ares walked in just behind them, and she felt his presence like an electric charge, raising the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. His body called to hers without speaking a word, and she found herself watching him as he sauntered up to Hermes, head of the games, who stood next to the ninety-inch screen.

Ares caught her gaze and held it, his blue eyes pinning her down, the set of his square jaw determined and his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of a thousand years.

He broke the connection, releasing her, and she tucked her legs in, leaning closer to Perry, as if her friend could save her from the inevitable.

She searched for her composure, and once she grabbed hold, she hoisted it up like an anchor.

Hermes huffed impatiently, though he wore an impish smile. “Ares, good of you to join us. You’ve finally decided on a player? Was a month not enough to figure it out? Or do you just enjoy making us wait?”

Ares’s eyes narrowed, and the hinge of his jaw jumped. “You’ll wait as long as I wish, Herpes.”

Hermes was unfazed. “Inspired insult, really. Truly original. I do hope you didn’t sprain anything composing it.”

Ares snatched the remote from Hermes’s hand, arching over him. “I’m good.”

When he clicked on the television, the scene on the screen was frozen. Two bloodied men stood in a makeshift boxing ring, the bright lights around them reflecting off their glistening bare chests. The crowd around them expressed a variety of emotions — from screaming to laughing to fists in the air or heads in hands.

The bigger of the two men was a brutish redhead wearing a sneer that framed bloody teeth. His taped fist was inches away from the face of his opponent — a blond with a tattoo of a snake curling around his biceps and down to his forearm, poised to strike. The blond fighter’s eyes flickered with the realization that he couldn’t stop what was about to happen.

A laugh shot out of Dita. “Please tell me your player is the guy about to get punched in the face.”

Ares scowled and hit play, and the entire room flinched at the smack of skin on skin.

Dillon saw stars.

Tiny bursts flashed behind his eyelids, and the sound of the crowd around him disappeared behind the ringing in his ears from the impact of the blow. MacFayden bounced around Dillon, but Dillon kept his fists up, shaking his head to clear it as his sight dimmed and brightened with his pulse. But he never stopped tracking MacFayden, his other senses dialed up as he blinked back disorientation.

He felt the movement first, the smallest tremor of air and atoms touching his nerves, and he ducked instinctively. MacFayden’s big arm swept over Dillon’s head, but Dillon kept moving, raising up with a hook that slammed into MacFayden’s ribs. The beast let out an oof, spraying spit and blood in an arch.

And then Dillon had his footing.

He locked onto MacFayden, feeling the shift of power, filling him with determination. Time slowed. He hooked the giant in the jaw, then the ribs, then the nose to the sound of percussive smacks that fueled him, spurred him on and on.

MacFayden staggered from the blow to his nose, joggling his head and listing just before his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground. Dillon stalked around him, pinning him down with his eyes, silently daring him to get back up.

The closest the man got was rolling over to spit out a gob of blood, but when he tried to pick himself up, he failed, landing on his back.

Even then Dillon couldn’t break the connection, pacing around MacFayden like a cat, coiled like a spring. All he could hear was his rushing blood and heavy breath. All he could see was a challenger, a task to end. It wasn’t until the ref grabbed his hand and lifted it into the air that the noise of the spectators slowly made its way into the quiet of his mind, and when the crowd exploded, he threw his free fist up.

Only then did it begin to end. The bloodlust. The fever. The rage. And the loss left him empty.

His manager — and one of his closest friends — Brian ducked between the ropes with a towel and water as MacFayden’s crew came to his aid, but Dillon was still far away as he took the offered water bottle and poured it into his mouth, over his face. He scrubbed a hand across it before spitting a mouthful of blood-tinged water onto the floor.

Brian guided him out of the ring and through the faceless mob. Only distantly did Dillon register the claps on the backs, the hands of strangers against his steaming skin. His name drifted to his ears from what felt like miles away, his body humming like an engine as people pressed in on him from all sides.

The back of the warehouse was silent. Dillon made his way to a stack of pallets where he’d left his bag, and as Brian chattered around him, he unwound the wraps on his hands and wrists, packing them away.

“Did you hear me?” Brian asked, only a little impatient.

When Dillon turned, Brian’s hand was extended, offering him his shirt.

“Sorry.” Dillon took it and pulled it on.

“MacLennan’s tonight, after you get cleaned up. You’ll be there, right?” Brian’s heavy brows were low, and the question was heavy with implication.

With a sigh, Dillon stuffed his leather jacket into his bag

If he hadn’t known Brian since high school, he’d never agree. If Brian hadn’t seen him through the hardest times in his life, he’d refuse. Because he didn’t want to go to the bar. He never wanted to go. A hundred people would be there from the fight, all watching him, all wanting a piece, however big or small they could manage.

When he was in the ring, he didn’t even know they were there. Outside the ring, there was nowhere to hide.

He grabbed his bag and hung it over his shoulder as he headed for the back door. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.” Brian smirked, folding his meaty arms across his broad chest, a bulldog in every sense of the word.

Dillon leaned against the door, pushing it open. “Then I’ll be there.”

Brian’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ll settle everything here and meet you at the bar.”

Dillon nodded and stepped outside, welcoming the cool winter air that sharpened his edge even more.

Warehouses stood in the silence all around him, watching him, listening to his footfalls echoing from their walls. His shiny black GTO waited there between them, offering solitude, even if just for a moment. Dillon popped the trunk to throw his bag inside and closed it with a thump in an automatic motion. When he slipped into the driver’s seat, the blood-red leather creaked under him, then again as he leaned forward to slip the key into the ignition.

His car thundered to life around him, and he gripped the trembling wheel with bloodied, swollen hands. In a few hours, he’d feel like shit. Until then, he would drive the adrenaline off.

He took the back streets for the sake of his accelerator, appreciating every moment a red light turned green, reveling in the feel as his engine climbed, savoring every corner he could take a little too fast.

There was something to be said for the feeling of controlling something powerful, of taming something dangerous.

By the time he pulled into the alley behind his brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, he was a little more himself, though the ache of his fingers and muscles rose a closer to the surface with every heartbeat. The sound of his engine rumbled deeper when he pulled in the alley; it tried to contain the thundering and failed.

His garage was a necessary expense — a stupid expense, but a necessary one — and once he pulled in and killed the engine, he closed the heavy metal door and shut the evening out behind him.

Weariness sounded with every stair-step, the heaviness of his boots demanding his attention with every footfall. But none of that mattered when he found his brother, Owen, on their L-shaped leather couch, book in hand.

He was the reason for everything.

Owen’s dark hair was swept back from his face, which was long and boyish and full of hope that Dillon had lost long before. His brows rose at the sight of his older brother. Judging by his expression, Dillon figured he looked like shit.

“You look like shit,” Owen said.

Dillon laughed. “I feel like I look like shit.” He dropped his bag by the stairs.

“How’d it go?”

“Long, but I won.”

“I figured as much. When was the last time you lost? Three years ago?”

“Four.”

“Such a bad motherfucker.” Owen snapped his book closed. “Want some help from the doctor?”

Dillon cocked a half.smile. “If you wouldn’t mind. But let’s put doctor in quotations. You haven’t graduated yet.”

“It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of practice in the craft, seeing as how you’ve been getting your ass kicked regularly since you were ten.”

Owen offered Dillon a sad smile that Dillon returned.

He set his book down and stood, pacing over with long strides, stopping in front of Dillon, leaning in to give his brother’s face a once-over. “You might need a stitch or two, but we’ve seen worse. Anything broken?”

“Not sure. I’m still amping.”

“Take a deep breath,” Owen said as he laid his hands on Dillon’s ribs, gently mashing them.

Dillon inhaled and let it out. “No pain.”

“Good.” Owen jerked his chin to the downstairs bathroom. “Come on, meathead.” He stepped around Dillon to lead the way. “Where’s the party?”

“MacLennan’s. I’m sure Brian is already there buying rounds on me,” Dillon said on a laugh as he followed.

“Don’t act like you mind.”

He chuckled in answer as he stepped into the bathroom, gazing into the wide mirror while Owen pulled out a box of medical supplies, lining up bottles, scissors, and bandages on the granite countertop.

Dillon’s blond hair was wild from sweat and the fight, and he turned his head, rubbing his bruised jaw. A deep cut under his eye was actively bleeding, though he hadn’t noticed, and his lip was cracked open and swollen. He yanked his shirt over his head and assessed his torso and back, his aching muscles rippling when he twisted from side to side.

Owen was right; they’d seen worse. Much worse.

He bent over the sink to rinse his face, wincing when the cold water hit his cuts, wincing even more when he gingerly dabbed it dry with a small towel.

“Sit,” Owen commanded.

Dillon did as he’d been told.

When Owen approached, he was armed with a cool, damp cotton pad that he used to clean the cut under Dillon’s eye. He followed that with a cotton swab dipped in Adrenaline Chloride, leaning in to dab the seeping cut.

“That should stop the bleeding.” He turned Dillon’s face, angling it toward the light. “No stitches after all.”

“Small miracles.”

Owen motioned for him to stand and circled him, applying pressure to his ribs and back. “Anything?”

Dillon winced when Owen pressed his left kidney. “Just tender.”

“All right,” he said, stopping in front of Dillon again. “Let’s see the moneymakers.”

Dillon held out his hands, palms down. His knuckles were split and bleeding, his hands swollen. Owen turned on the faucet and pulled Dillon’s hands under them to scrub them clean before patting them dry with a fresh towel. And then he inspected them one at a time, digit by digit.

“You are one lucky son of a bitch,” Owen said as he kneaded and wiggled Dillon’s index finger.

One corner of Dillon’s lips rose. “Luck’s got nothing to do with it.”

Owen laughed and turned to clean up. “Go put some ice on those before they get ugly.”

“Shower first, then ice.”

At that, Owen sniffed dramatically and smiled. “Good idea.”

Dillon wondered, as he did so often, just how he’d survived. No, he hadn’t just survived. He had thrived. Against all odds, he’d found a way to keep breathing.

He’d saved his brother and saved himself. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

Everything else was just noise.

The theater room was a buzz of discussion and bobbing heads, and Ares folded his arms, looking pleased.

Dita didn’t like it. Not one bit.

She unfolded herself from her seat and walked across the room, catching his eye, not stopping until she was close enough to feel the hum of his proximity all the way through her. She took the remote from him, and when her fingers brushed his palm, a zip of electricity shot up her arm.

But she focused instead on her plan, clean and crisp in her mind, hitting a button on the remote.

The screen flickered from Dillon’s back as he walked up his stairs to an olive-skinned, almond-eyed Japanese beauty in a gunmetal-gray 1969 Camaro. Her face was the picture of calm concentration as she gripped the steering wheel white-knuckle, her body tight and determined, set by confidence and certainty.

“I’d like you all to meet Kat,” Dita said, a little too sure of herself.

When she hit play, the low rumble of the engine filled the room.

Kat glanced at the red Corvette next to her and revved her engine, unable to suppress the smallest of smiles. The driver leered at her — his hair jetted out from his head in douchey spikes and his smile curled inside an overly manicured goatee.

When he saw she was looking, he licked his lips and flicked his tongue.

She rolled her eyes and pumped the accelerator with one foot on the clutch, turning her attention to her tachometer as it redlined.

The light was red, bathing her in menacing light, throwing everything else into shadow, and her heart banged, Camaro rumbling under her, waiting, anticipating. With one hand, she squeezed the wheel, her stick shift gripped in the other, and she stared at that red light with her breath still in her tingling lungs.

Green.

She let her foot off the clutch and floored the accelerator in synchronicity, sending her wheels smoking before they caught pavement and shot her off the line. The force kicked her body back into the seat.

The Goatee slipped behind.

Her engine climbed, and Kat shifted the second her engine hit the note she knew so well. But The Goatee nosed up in her sideview, a threat she wasn’t likely to let gain. She leaned forward, eyes narrowed, objective in her sights.

When she slammed it into third, he had inched up — close enough that when she glanced over, she caught sight of him glowering at her through the window.

She glared right back, though her lips smiled, a sardonic curve that was as natural to her as breathing.

There was nothing so sweet as proving people wrong.

Her engine hit the sweet spot, and when she shifted gears again, she pulled away from him, speeding under the light just as she redlined.

A whoop filled the cabin as her heart pumped like a piston, her hands numb as she downshifted and then again before pulling over at the meeting spot — a block down from the finish line. Kat killed the engine and sat back in her black leather seat, running her hands over the steering wheel, feeling the relief of having raced again for the first time in a month — one very, very long month.

She popped open her door and stepped out of the car, trailing her fingertips down the length of shiny metal as she walked toward the group gathered around the Corvette.

The Goatee stepped out of his car, slammed the door, and marched toward her, red -aced. “No way. No fucking way you beat me, you little cunt,” he spat, stopping in front of her with a jab of his finger. “You’ve got no business being here.”

He took a step closer, arching over her, and a couple of guys moved to intervene.

She held them off with a hand.

“No,” he said, licking his lips. “You belong somewhere else. On your knees. With a cock in your mou—”

He’d been so busy sucking his own dick, he hadn’t even registered her winding up to pop him in the nose.

The Goatee doubled over, swearing, but Kat just smiled and folded her arms across her chest with that cynical smile on her lips. Same bullshit, different track. “Aw, what’s the matter? Is your ego hurt? What can I do for you, pumpkin? Give you an apology?” The question was saccharine, and her smile slipped away, her hips shifting, setting her long legs in a brazen V. “I’m sorry you’re a misogynistic fuckface who wildly underestimated my skills and equipment, both of which are clearly superior to your own.”

He spat on the ground. “Fuck you, bitch.”

“In your dreams, asshole. You can go fuck yourself. It’ll be just like a regular Saturday night for you.”

She patted him on the shoulder as she walked past him, and the small crowd broke out laughing. The promoter, Charlie, met her halfway and offered her an envelope.

“Damn, girl. I knew you were good, but I have to admit, I didn’t expect that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Kat’s eyes darted to The Goatee.

“Don’t mind him. Thinks he’s hot shit, is all.”

“Nothing I’m not used to.” She chuckled and took the envelope stacked with her winnings. “Thanks, Charlie. Keep me in the loop, okay?”

“You got it, Kat.”

The Goatee shouted insults at her as she headed back to her car, making a point to look back at him only once, twiddling her fingers before closing the door. He went berserk.

When she fired the ignition, her car roared hello.

Oh, Sheila, she thought, trailing her fingers over the dash before throwing it into reverse.

Her car was her baby, a gift from her father at sixteen, one of the constants in her upside-down life.

Kat sped away, and as her heart slowed down, it flashed with guilt. She shouldn’t have raced. It was a stupid thing to do — stupid and dangerous.

But I’m so glad I did.

She’d covered her ass here and in Vegas. No one would find out where she was. We’re still safe.

The words ran on a loop in her mind enough times, she almost believed they were true.

Dillon pulled up to the curb outside MacLennan’s and cut the engine. The sign was a cheap shot at a stereotype — golden letters, a green clover, a leprechaun leaning on the M with his eyes flinty and brows angled in such a way that he seemed to say, Oy, boyo. Fancy a fight?

That sign was a familiar sight. When Dillon had first started fighting for money, this was the place they came to most often, though they hadn’t been to the bar in months. Brian liked to move the party after every fight, usually Irish pubs, citing the want to capitalize on Diamond Dillon’s heritage — not that the word meant overmuch to him. His parents had emigrated from Ireland before he was born. America was all he knew, and what his father displayed in regard to his heritage left him with less pride than Brian made him out to possess.

He stepped out of his car, the sound of his door closing loud over the muffled music floating to him from the pub. With his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, gray hoodie hanging out of the neck, collar flipped again the cold, he walked up to the door with Owen in his wake.

The night would be more punishment than party — that much, he knew. It was the same every time. He would show up hours after the fight, exhausted and nerves worn. Maybe if he were a drinker, it’d be easier to endure, but that was his father’s pastime. He’d inherited enough horrible traits without adding dirty fucking drunk to the list.

He would have much preferred to be at home, passed out, resting his body after all he’d put it through, but there was no way around the fact. The more he won, the bigger he got, the more people expected to see him outside the ring. Brian had said it was all about Dillon’s brand or some shit — if the people who bet on him got to actually hang out with him afterward, they’d be more likely to bet on him again.

But the attention was too much. As surprised and humbled as he was that people gave enough of a fuck about him to wish him well, the whole ordeal was a nightmare.

He didn’t do people. He didn’t do crowds. He didn’t do chitchat and idle conversation.

He did, however, do alone like a pro.

Dillon grabbed the brass handle and pulled open the door, sharing a fortifying look with his brother before stepping inside.

The sound of music and people hit him like a brick wall, and once the crowd saw him, they exploded into cheers. He tried to smile and ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could disappear, and the crowd before him parted.

Brian stepped through to greet him with a smile. “Took you long enough. Come on, this way.”

He turned, and Dillon followed him to the bar as people called his name. A few tried to hand him drinks, which he graciously declined. When they reached the long counter — all mahogany and brass — the three took seats just as a small pack of girls led by a bleached blonde pushed their way between him and his brother. It was Jessica, a groupie and general pain in his ass.

“Hey, Dillon. You were so good tonight,” she said salaciously, her glossy lips turning up in a smile as she batted her lashes at him. She squeezed in closer and laid a hand on his forearm.

“Thanks.” He moved his arm, angling away from her.

Her bottom lip popped out for a split second before she fixed her smile back on to try again, with feeling.

She leaned over the bar, cradling her breasts between her arms. “So, you gonna buy a girl a drink or what?”

Dillon’s gaze swept over the cleavage she’d so graciously placed on display with absolute indifference. “Brian’s in charge of rounds.”

Jessica’s cheeks flushed, her brows dropping with disappointment. One of her friends gave her a nudge, whispering something, and her smile found its way back, more determined than ever.

She rested her hand on his thigh and inched it up. “Aw, come on, Dillon. For old time’s sake?”

His jaw set. “What old times?” he asked before spinning away from her on his stool to jerk his chin at Brian. “Hey, Jessica wants a drink. Can you help her out with that?”

Brian snickered and rose, draping an arm over her shoulders to steer her away. “Yeah, come on, Jess. The bartender’s this way. What are you drinking?”

“But—”

Brian laughed as he kept her moving. “He’s not going anywhere.”

She didn’t argue. She did look over her shoulder at Dillon, blowing him up with her eyes, cronies on her heel.

Owen shook his head. “God, she never quits.”

“If I’d known she was crazy, I never would have hooked up with her.”

“Girl’s not just crazy. She’s queen of the asylum.” Owen leaned over the bar, glancing toward the bartenders, flagging a hand. “Damn, what’s it take to get a drink around here?”

Dillon turned to look in the direction Owen was, and when he saw her, he knew immediately — distantly but immediately — that he was in trouble.

She was leaning into a big metal cooler, her face hidden by a sheet of long inky-black hair, and when she stood, beers in hand, she flipped her hair over her shoulder with a snap.

He couldn’t look away any easier than he could speak Portuguese.

She met his eyes like she’d known he was there, like she’d been waiting for him forever, right there in a crowded dive bar in Brooklyn. Her eyes were almond-shaped and angled like a cat, intense and gray-green, lined with thick black lashes. He scanned her face, over the bridge of her long nose sprinkled with freckles that spread across the flushed apples of her cheeks. Her lips were full, rosy and parted, and his gaze lingered there for a heartbeat before snapping to her eyes again.

The noise in the bar was almost deafening, but they were still and quiet, two unmoving points in an ocean of people.

Someone bumped into him, and he blinked as the clock started again with a tick, breaking the connection. She seemed to shake herself before walking over.

Her eyes were on him the whole way, and his were fixed on her.

She tossed a couple of coasters in front of the brothers. “What can I get you?”

Owen cocked a smile with his eyes glued on Dillon. “Glenlivet, neat. Thanks.”

“And for you?” Her voice was smoke and fire; he could feel the heat from feet away.

“Just water,” he answered.

“Sure.” She turned to walk to the taps, glancing at him only once.

He didn’t miss it.

Owen laughed.

Dillon’s head swiveled to give his brother a look. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Owen smirked and turned back to the bartender as she approached with their drinks, setting them in front of their owners.

When Owen pulled out his wallet, she put her hands up.

“It all goes on Brian’s tab.”

Owen snorted. “Brian’s tab.”

She smiled and turned to leave, but Owen stopped her with a question.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

Confidence rolled off her in waves, and Dillon wondered what her story was, where she had come from, if she was human or goddess or mirage.

Her eyes were on Dillon as she answered his brother. “I’m Kat.”

“Hi, Kat. I’m Owen, and this here,” he slapped Dillon on the shoulder, “is Dillon, my big brother.”

She smiled again, lips together, eyes sharp and soft all at once. Dillon’s heart beat a little faster.

“Yeah, I heard,” she said. “Brian’s been talking you up for the last hour.”

Someone shouted to her from the other end of the bar.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said casually, just another line of waitress script, before turning to the mob.

And Dillon watched her walk away without an honest clue what had hit him.

Kat blinked as she walked away, stunned.

The moment she’d turned to find Dillon looking at her with eyes crisp and cold and blue, she’d been so connected to him that she couldn’t look away. He’d held her captive like a snake charmer, drawing her in with power stronger than her will. He exuded control, strength, confidence that commanded her; she’d found herself helpless.

As much as she wanted to fall into the feeling, she found herself unnerved. The exchange set her on edge, noted most aggressively by a tingle that climbed up her spine. It was a warning.

Nothing good could come from a look like that.

She stole a glance over at him and found his eyes on her again, if they’d ever left her. His blond hair shone under the lights, the hard line of his jaw casting a shadow on his neck, and his lips formed a sweeping curve that was somehow stone and silk at once. The expression was fierce and intense, and an unwelcome flush blossomed on her cheeks.

Kat dropped her gaze back to the drink in front of her, brows knit as a string of curse words rolled through her head.

She had no time for a guy, never mind a guy like that. Because that guy was trouble. She knew that as well as she knew the time it took her car to redline in first gear or the size of her engine or the level of pressure her tires needed to grip pavement best.

The swinging door to the back of the bar opened, and Kat’s younger sister, Kiki, appeared with a smile on her face and her arms full of liquor bottles. A few people cheered when they saw her, and her smile flashed even brighter as she winked, shimmying her shoulders.

Kat laughed, shaking her head. “Here, let me help you.”

She grabbed a bottle of rum and vodka from Kiki’s arms, and the sisters turned to stock the bar.

Kiki’s black hair swung in a high ponytail, so long that the ends brushed the space between her shoulder blades, and the deep cut of her tight black T-shirt made her neck look a mile long. Part of making money tending bar was selling your assets, and Kiki was an unparalleled expert.

“Is the boxer guy here yet?” Kiki craned her neck to look down the bar.

“Yeah, over there.” Kat jerked her chin toward the brothers, shaking her head again when she saw that Owen’s mouth was hanging open like a trout as he got a good look at Kiki.

This was The Kiki Effect, as Kat liked to call it. Kiki was the dreamer, the optimist, the doe-eyed little pixie who people instinctively felt compelled to take care of.

Kat was the flip. She was the cynic, the pessimist, the hard-eyed viper who warned everyone away. It was just easier that way.

When Kiki saw Owen, her smile tilted, her eyes sparking with devilry.

“Body shots,” she said with a flick of her brow.

“Oh God,” Kat muttered.

Kiki picked up a bottle of tequila, a lime, and a shot glass on her way out from behind the bar. The crowd parted for her like the Red Sea, cheering as she slinked by, hips swaying — they knew her plan. This was not her first time at the rodeo, and it was always a good show.

Kat stayed behind the bar, following Kiki to the brothers. Dillon was still staring at Kat, and when their eyes locked again, that tingle zapped up her spine like an SOS.

Kiki came to a stop behind Dillon and tapped him on the shoulder, and when he blinked, the spell between them was broken.

He glanced over at his brother and swiveled to face Kiki.

“Congratulations on your win, Mr. Malloy. Complimentary body shot to celebrate?” Kiki held up the bottle of tequila and gave it a little shake, flashing her megawatt smile.

Dillon laughed, and it was a good laugh, an honest laugh. “I don’t drink, but my brother does.” He clapped the shoulder of Owen, who looked like he’d been struck by lightning. Or a frying pan.

Kiki turned her attention to Owen, and as she looked him over, her face morphed from determined to curious, her smile transforming from sultry to sweet.

”I didn’t catch your name,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder.

Owen straightened up, blinking at her. “I’m Owen.”

“I’m Kiki, and I want to know one thing.”

Her sexy smile was back, and he leaned toward her.

“Anything.”

“Are you ready for this?”

He smiled slowly, an inching of his lips on one side. “Probably not.”

Kiki laughed and wiggled her way between the brothers to pour the shot. Dillon backed out of the way to give her room, but Owen didn’t move, forcing her to brush against him, his eyes amused and lit with challenge now that he’d found his wits. His face was just inches from her ear, and Kat didn’t miss Kiki’s shallow breaths as she leaned into him just enough to telegraph her awareness of his body.

Kat frowned.

Trouble. Both brothers were trouble.

Every man’s eyes within twenty feet were on her when she stuck out her tongue, licked her thumb, and trailed the wet digit down her neck. She reached for the salt tray with her other hand and grabbed a pinch, lifting her chin to spread it down the wet path. And when she finally backed away, it was with a shot glass in one hand and a lime in the other, which she nestled in her cleavage.

With that, she held out the shot and smiled in invitation.

Owen stood — he was tall, much taller than Kat had expected — and took the drink from Kiki’s fingers. His deep brown eyes held hers, his lips inching into a smile as he stepped into her space, the tension between them crackling like electricity.

The entire bar might have been holding their breath.

Owen slipped his hand onto the curve of her neck, his thumb resting in the hollow behind her ear, and he lowered his lips to trail his tongue up the line of salt, pausing to close his lips against her skin. She leaned into his hand like it was keeping her upright, even when he broke away to knock back the shot.

He turned his focus back to her.

Kiki’s green eyes burned as his hand skimmed from her neck down her back, and he lowered his face to her breasts where the lime waited for him, hovering for just the span of a breath. And when he buried his lips in her breasts, a shiver racked through her that Kat could see from feet away.

When he stood again, the crowd broke into whistles and catcalls, and Owen looked down at Kiki for a long moment. Her eyes were on his mouth, her chin tilting and lips parting for a kiss. But Owen stepped back with a smile bordering on evil if it wasn’t so sweetly handsome. He took his seat again, leaving Kiki standing stupidly behind him in shock.

Kiki was not accustomed to being on the other side of that particular coin, and to see the marvel firsthand should have been entertaining. But it wasn’t. Not after what they’d been through with Eric. Not while they were on the run.

A breeze stirred in the bar, and Kat thought she smelled roses.

How strange, she thought.

Kiki’s posture shifted — her chin dropped, eyes on fire. She straightened up, took three steps, grabbed Owen’s arm, and spun him around.

She cupped his stunned face and pulled in a breath that drew their lips together with a fever that left everyone around sweating.

It didn’t look like a kiss. It looked like she was claiming him.

He wrapped his arms around her as she melted into him, her back arching and arms winding around his neck. Their bodies twisted together, the kiss deepening, and after a long, hot moment, she popped away, leaning in to whisper something in his ear before slinking away.

The crowd went crazy — with the exception of Kat and Dillon — as Kiki walked around the bar, leaving Owen sitting on his stool, a blinking fool.

Kat’s frown deepened. And when Dillon turned around, his expression matched hers.

Kiki floated over with lust-drunk eyes, and the crowd pressed up to the bar for drinks, leaving Kat no time to hound her sister about whatever that nonsense had been.

If it had just been a body shot, that would have been one thing. But the way she’d looked at Owen told Kat that was just the beginning. And if Kiki opened that door, the delicate safety they’d found could come crumbling down like a house of cards.

Dillon’s jaw ticked in an attempt to stop him from fuming in the direction of Owen, who was staring into his scotch with glassy eyes.

He had one trigger, one big red button, and it had Owen’s name on it. Every good thing Dillon had done in his life was to protect his brother, and that wouldn’t stop today. Because the way Owen had looked at Kiki was the kind of look that would get Owen hurt.

“That was some display,” Dillon said, trying not to sound bitchy. He’d failed.

“Hmm?” When Owen looked over at Dillon, his eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated.

“You look like you’ve been shot through the heart. Need a cold shower?”

“Did that really just happen?” Owen asked no one in particular.

“It did.”

“I’ve got to talk to her. I’ve got to get her number,” Owen mumbled, moving to stand.

Dillon’s voice dropped with his brow, stopping his brother with a hand on his arm. “Whoa, hold up. I don’t think you should pursue that.”

Owen turned to face Dillon with his face drawn. “Well, fortunately, I’m a fucking adult and can make my own decisions.”

“Come on.” A half-assed scoff escaped him. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“How exactly do you mean it?”

“What I mean,” Dillon tried to explain, “is that you get attached, and she’s not the kind of girl you want to get attached to.”

Owen’s frown deepened. “How the hell do you know?”

“Most girls don’t make out with random guys in bars. At least, not the kind of girl you take out for a steak dinner.” Dillon glanced at the girl in question, her cheeks pink as she tended to waiting customers. “Trust me. I know her type.”

“What’s your problem?” Owen asked on a defensive breath.

Dillon scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated and edgy. His anger — the flickering flame that relentlessly burned in his chest — flared, snapping at his ribs from the inside. “I’m fucking tired, and I don’t want to be here. I think she’s gonna be a problem for you, and I think you need to leave her alone. She kissed you. So what?”

Owen looked hurt, which somehow aggravated Dillon even more, particularly when he realized he wasn’t communicating well or even moderately well. Words weren’t his thing. Actions were. And the only action that could get him out of the situation would be to grab Owen by the scruff of his neck and drag him out of the bar.

But, upon looking closer, he found he wasn’t mad at Owen at all. He was mad at that chick who had shoved her tongue down his throat.

So he redirected his anger in that direction.

“Hey, Kat,” he called — Kiki was out of earshot in the loud bar.

Kat smiled, but Dillon barely saw it. “What can I do for you?”

“Is that something she does often?” he shot with a jerk of his chin in Kiki’s direction, his face tight and hand clenched in his lap.

Her smile fell, her eyes hardening to match his own. “When the spirit moves her. What’s it to you?”

“I was just trying to talk some sense into my brother here. He’s the settle-down type, and, well, girls like her aren’t. Am I right?”

“Hey—” Owen tried to interject.

But Kat stiffened and folded her arms across her chest. “She’s actually my sister, so maybe you should watch your fucking mouth.”

Dillon shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, not at all sorry and not even pretending to be. “Just looking out for him.”

“Looks to me like he’s an adult who’s fully capable of making his own decisions, like licking my sister’s neck like a fucking lollipop.”

He bristled. “Well, she was the one with the fruit in her tits. She was asking for it; that’s my whole fucking point.”

“Jesus Christ, Dillon—” Owen started, but they wouldn’t stop.

Kat hung a hand on her hip, and her eyes lasered on Dillon’s like she would burn a hole through him if she could. “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t roll in here and insult me just because you’re some ‘roided-out motherfucker with anger issues and tiny balls.”

His anger fired like a fucking flamethrower. “You want to know my problem? My problem is that I don’t like your sister, and I don’t like her face-fucking my brother.”

At that, Kat leaned toward him, smiling as sweetly as a slit throat, saying cheerfully through her teeth, “Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him boiling on his stool for only a split second. And then he stood and stormed out with Owen on his heels, sputtering apologies over his shoulder.

The silence in the theater room was broken by an awkward clearing of a throat, and Hermes turned off the television.

“Well, it’s late,” he said with a plastic smile on his face. “Let the games begin and all that. Ice cream and popcorn are in the kitchen.”

The gods began to stand and move out, though with some trepidation, all of them eyeing Dita, who tried to keep her game face on.

It could have been worse. But not by much.

“You okay?” Perry asked from her side.

They hadn’t moved from their seats.

“Mmhmm.”

“No, but really.”

Dita took a breath and released it. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got Kiki and Owen,” she clipped.

Perry opened her mouth to argue just as Ares walked up. Her mouth snapped shut.

He stopped in front of her, and she tipped her chin to meet his eyes, shooting for defiance. But the look he gave her — one heavy with heat and lust and love and hatred — stopped her from doing much of anything.

Like the asshole he was, he knew he had her. His lips tilted into a smirk as he bent down, caging her with his hands on the armrests.

“You’re not ready for this, Dita.” His breath was sweet, hitting her face in puffs that pulled her toward him with the backdraft. “And when you lose, I know just what I’ll do with my prize.”

And then he disappeared, leaving her in a haze.

Perry watched her blink, her face twisting into a scowl. “Ugh, I fucking hate him.”

Dita looked off in the direction he’d gone, wishing she felt the same.

In the early hours of the morning, Kat sped through the streets of Brooklyn, dog-tired and dreaming of a hot shower and her feet between her sheets.

What a long fucking night, she thought, yawning while she waited for her garage door to open. The fighter’s party had raged on without the fighter’s presence. He wasn’t as important as he thought, which made her feel a little better. Not much, but a little.

She eased her car in and killed the engine, yawning again as she stepped out.

Kiki closed her door with a thump. “Stop yawning,” she said, the words stretched through a yawn of her own.

“Sorry.” Kat closed the garage door, and they walked out of the detached building and into the garden, trudging past the low lights along the landscaping against the fence.

Their father had spared no expense when he’d heard they were on their way from Vegas, buying them a completely ostentations brand new three-story, dual-master, completely ostentatious brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. He’d decked it out; everything was modern and expensive and way too much for Kat. He’d even hired a decorator, who had designed their rooms to suit their personalities. Kiki’s was all high-end, hip, and a little girlie while Kat’s was clean and simple and dark.

Kat had asked him not to do so much — she had money of her own and preferred to take care of herself. But her father was a control freak with way too much money, and spending it on his daughters was one of his favorite ways to get rid of it.

Kat unlocked the back door and walked in, clicking on the kitchen light as she dropped her bag by the stairs.

Kiki followed and closed the door behind her, leaning against it. “What a night.”

“I’ll say.” She reached into the cabinet for a glass. “So are you going to explain the whole thing with the body shot and groping and all?”

Kiki pulled out her ponytail and shook her hair loose with her fingers. “I don’t know.” Her voice was full of wonder, lips smiling, green eyes wide. “He took me by surprise.”

“I’d say you took him by surprise. That kiss … I mean, what the hell, Kiki?” Kat pushed her glass into the water dispenser.

Kiki lifted her foot to unlace her combat boot with a laugh on her lips. “I don’t know. God, when he slipped his hand into my neck into that spot— you know the spot, the one where a man’s hand fits so perfectly — I thought I was going to die right then and there. But when he kissed my neck, I almost climbed him like a tall, dark, and handsome ladder. And once he did the shot, he walked away like he’d been unaffected while I stood there, staring at his back.” She shook her head, boot largely forgotten, lost in the recollection. “Something came over me. That’s the only way I know to explain it. All I could think was Mine. I had to kiss him right then, just like I needed to breathe or my heart needed to beat. So I did.”

“That was crazy, Kiki,” she said, trying not to sound judgmental. “You should have heard his brother. What a fucking jackhole. He didn’t seem too keen on the prospect of you being in close proximity to Owen.” She took a drink before she accidentally let loose the details of what he’d said about Kiki.

“He doesn’t even know me.” Kiki pouted.

Kat leaned against the counter and stretched her neck. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like we’ll ever see them again.”

Kiki popped off her boot, dropping it with a thunk. “You don’t know that. Maybe we will,” she added hopefully.

Kat found herself scowling. “I don’t know how you could even consider seeing anyone after Eric. It’s way too soon.”

She stiffened, moving on to her other boot. “It’s not too soon. We’re starting over, right? Plus, just because I have a terrible track record doesn’t mean I can’t find a good guy, does it?” The other boot clunked to the floor in echo of the first.

“Saying you have a terrible track record is like saying Hannibal Lecter just hosted bad dinner parties.” Kat crossed her arms. “How do you even know he’s a good guy?”

She shrugged, starry-eyed. “I just have a feeling.”

“Because that’s served you so well in the past.”

“No comment.” Kiki wiggled her liberated toes and walked over to lean on the bar, changing the subject. “So what was the deal with Dillon? One minute you were eye-fucking and the next you turned into The Bickersons.”

Kat took another drink and set her glass on the counter. “He’s a prick, which is too bad because he’s super hot. Even with his face all cut up. In fact, that might have made him even hotter.”

Kiki giggled. “What did he do?”

She picked up her glass after all, moving to the sink to avoid Kiki’s eyes. “He just mouthed off, and it pissed me off.”

“Well,” Kiki said as she combed her fingers through her hair, “it doesn’t take a lot to piss you off.”

“True.”

“And you’ve kind of been on edge since we left Vegas.” She hastily added, “With good reason.”

“Also true.” Kat gave Kiki a pointed look.

Kiki didn’t see it. “I wish I’d gotten Owen’s number. His brother blew out of the bar with him before I got a chance.”

“Aw, did you get twat blocked?” Kat poked out her lip and pretended to wipe a tear away.

“You’re such a jerk.” She chuckled and rested her head in her hand. “Maybe they’ll come back.”

“I hope not.”

“I hope so,” Kiki said wistfully.

“I think you must be delirious from exhaustion. You should sleep.” Kat smoothed her sister’s hair when she walked by. “See you tomorrow, Kiki.”

“Night,” she called back.

But as Kat climbed the stairs, her thoughts were on the fighter and his brother, wondering if she’d see them again, hating the fact that a tiny part of her actually wanted to.

Dita stared at the wall, listening to her robot Pomeranian, Bisoux, snore like a teeny-tiny freight train.

Kat and Dillon’s first meeting hadn’t gone well.

She’d anticipated Dillon being prickly, but the level of venom between the two of them had been a surprise. Dita had played her hand and sent Kiki straight into Owen’s arms, and the move had backfired epically, forcing a wedge between Kat and Dillon, using their triggers against each other instead of in their favor.

This competition was going to be much harder than she’d thought.

Dillon was a classic Ares — angry, presumptuous, combative. Kat was his match, the controlled fire to manage his wild one, but Kat was just as suspicious as he was. The ace up her sleeve was Kiki and Owen; their love match had been the deciding factor in choosing Kat as her player. The two-for-one deal had been too good to pass by, and having the siblings together would force the players into each other’s proximity.

Dita could find at least one love match for anyone in their own city, provided that the city had more than a hundred thousand people. That statistic was part of the reason she didn’t have to work overly hard to win. The other part was that a real love match was nearly unstoppable. The attraction, the pull of their hearts to each other — it was one of the surest things in the universe.

So she played the game entirely on offense. Winning was just a matter of swatting away the other gods’ plays.

Dita flipped onto her back, careful not to disturb Bisoux, and stared up at the dark ceiling, her eyes straining to make out the lines of the patterned tiles. She wished for sleep and dreaded it. Night after night, she would find herself pacing the meadow in Elysium where she’d met Adonis for thousands of years. But he was gone. Not gone, she supposed, not in the permanent way. But he had refused her, rejected her with his silence.

Every night, she knew he wouldn’t come, yet every night, she would find herself hurt when he didn’t. Of course, she was angry too, not at all regretting the choice she’d made to free Daphne, the choice that had driven Adonis away. They’d never work things out if he wouldn’t speak to her, and part of her was so frustrated, she didn’t want to see him at all.

But she would go anyway, driven by the hope that they could somehow find their way back to each other, back to some semblance of normalcy.

Another unfortunate situation in which Dita found herself was that she’d been without sex since their fight.

One week. One stupid week, and she was pent-up and cagey. Before this, it had been years since she went more than a day or two without. No, decades. Her brows furrowed. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d endured a drought.

Dita rolled over again and punched her pillow to fluff it.

Abstinence was not going to help her stay away from Ares. Slipping into bed with him would be easy. Too easy. And everyone knew you couldn’t get something for nothing; there was always a price.

Before Adonis, she had been with Ares for centuries, even loved him despite his flaws. She’d found she understood him, believed he could be more than he was, given time and a guide, which she was happy to provide. But she’d been wrong. People didn’t change, and neither did gods. Ares was unwaveringly Ares, and that fact would always remain.

After Adonis had died, she’d been suspicious of Ares, certain he’d played a part in the murder alongside Apollo. So suspicious in fact that she’d even used a token she’d won from Ares, a favor that could not be refused. He’d looked her dead in the eye and told her the same story he’d told her a hundred times — he’d had nothing to do with Adonis’s death.

It had never sat right with her. Ares was smugger than ever, which was a feat in and of itself. But she had no proof, so she accepted Apollo’s confession. It was just easier, nice and tidy and neat, and she didn’t have to think about what it would mean if Ares had been involved. Because that betrayal would shake the heavens.

But she never put her full and total trust in him again. When they competed, she found it impossible to keep her distance. Their equal desire to win, to own, was nothing but fuel to their explosive relationship. Ares was determined; he knew exactly what he wanted, and would do anything to get it.

This trait was the one she found the most irresistible.

Dita didn’t know if she could withstand him. The truth was that, even though she’d stayed away from him, she always found herself missing him. They had been companions for so long. They had lived through war and peace, watched empires rise and fall. They had loved, they had fought, and they had lost.

And now they would join once again, a thought that should bring her fear but sent another feeling through her, one far more dangerous.

Hope.

Ares couldn’t sleep.

He kicked off his sheets and rolled over again to stretch out onto his back. Moonlight streamed in through his windows, painting the room in shades of blue, and he sighed, staring at his ceiling.

He’d replayed Kat and Dillon’s meeting over and over, unsure of how to handle the game.

Dillon had been an easy choice, but Ares agonized over the decision all the same. It boiled down to the fact that Ares had deep roots in the human, who had easy triggers, triggers that would set him on fire with little to no effort. Dillon’s father, Jimmy, was the same way. Worse. Like father, like son. The drunken Irishman was a rageaholic who found joy in only two things in life: whiskey and beating the shit out of anyone who dared to get in his way.

Jimmy had been one of Ares’s favorite pets and was one of the reasons he was so attached to Dillon.

Dillon had been fighting since his mother died — fighting his father, the world, his true nature — but he’d never overcome. Instead, he pretended like he had his anger under control, isolating himself from the world, fighting in the ring as an outlet for the fury inside.

But the God of War knew better.

The most fortuitous bonus in Dita’s choice was Eric, Kiki’s ex-boyfriend. Eric was the move. But Ares would have to tread lightly. If he pulled the trigger on Eric, everything would go south. The players could be killed. Dita would go ballistic. Dita would be hurt.

And if he hurt her, really hurt her, it would jeopardize everything he’d built. And he had grand plans.

With Adonis out of the picture entirely, for the time being at least, Ares had a window of opportunity and he would take full advantage.

He’d waited long enough to win her back. And he would wait no longer.

DAY 2

“Come on, Dillon. Please?”

Dillon didn’t look up from his hands as he chopped an onion on the wooden cutting board. “You’re whining.”

Owen sat across from him on a barstool with his elbows on the surface of the kitchen island and a determined edge to his voice. “Do I ever ask you to go out?”

He kept his eyes on the onion. “No.”

“Right. So you should do me a solid and come with me.”

“I don’t want to go to a bar, and I definitely don’t want to go to that bar.”

“Indulge me.”

Dillon set the knife down and looked squarely at his brother. “You really think my opinion has changed since last night? She’s not the settle-down type, and her sister hates me. Why would I walk back into that nightmare, and why do you think I’d be interested in watching you jump into a volcano?”

Owen’s eyes were deep and sincere. “I have a feeling about Kiki, and you don’t even know anything about her.”

“Neither do you.”

“So maybe she’s not the settle-down type. Maybe she hasn’t met the right guy yet.”

Dillon tossed the onions into a pan, and they hissed with a satisfying sizzle as they slid across the surface. “Famous last words.”

Owen frowned. “I can’t go by myself. I’ll look desperate.”

“You are desperate.” Dillon picked up a bell pepper, sliced the top off, and reached in to pull out the seeds, effectively gutting it.

“Am not. You saw her. How could I not go after after … that?”

“Easy. You just don’t.”

“Well, what about Kiki’s sister? I thought you were into her, but out of nowhere you were laying into her for no reason.”

Dillon sliced the pepper into long strips, exhaling loudly through his nose. “Talking to her was about as fun as licking a sheet of sandpaper.”

“I dunno. Seems she made an impression. You should have seen the look on your face when you saw her.” One corner of Owen’s mouth rose as Dillon’s brows dropped.

“Yeah, well, you should have seen the look on your face when Kiki stuck her tongue down your esophagus.” He cut the pepper with more force than was entirely necessary, and the blade clicked on the wooden cutting board with an annoyed pop, pop, pop.

“Don’t change the subject. Why’d you go off on her?”

Dillon huffed and eyeballed his brother again. “I know you better than anyone, and I know her type. Have you met Jessica? You can’t get attached to girls like that; they’ll bleed you dry.”

“You don’t know her. And what does that have to do with you picking a fight with Kat? I mean, you insulted Kiki, flat-out and unapologetically. What if it had been the other way around? What if she — or anybody for that matter — had insulted me?”

Dillon scowled. “I would have been pissed. And anyway, she did insult you.”

“Wait.” Owen leaned on the island, his tone colored with challenge. “Did you lose it on Kat because I was interested in Kiki?”

“No,” Dillon lied. “I was tired and flew off the handle, and so did she.” He tossed the vegetables into the pan, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. “Kiki’s bad for you. I don’t get why you can’t see it.”

“You are so full of shit.” Owen shook his head. “Jesus, Dillon. Why would you take that out on her?”

Because she was there. Because she pushed back. “I’m trying to help you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well, I never asked for your help. You know, I don’t need you to protect me anymore. I’m capable of handling failure on my own. So maybe, just maybe, you should give me a fucking inch to breathe.”

Silence fell over the brothers. Owen’s eyes were on Dillon, and Dillon’s were on the pan.

Owen was right. Not only had Dillon been unreasonably controlling, but he’d also insulted someone who had nothing to do with whatever the bullshit du jour was in Dillon’s head.

He was wrong, as much as he hated it. He shouldn’t have bulldogged Kat. He shouldn’t have said what he had about Kiki. He shouldn’t have presumed. He shouldn’t have reacted.

But the hang-up was this:

Dillon was a wild animal behind a porcelain mask of a man. It took almost nothing to shatter the facade, to expose the beast underneath with gnashing teeth and a roar that ripped from the pads of his feet and past razor-sharp teeth. He had been trained to suspect and taught to bite back.

He was built for solitude.

Every good thing he’d done in his life, he’d done for Owen. Sometimes, that meant sabotaging what Owen wanted, and Dillon would find ways to justify his actions. Sometimes it happened subconsciously. But that didn’t make it right.

Owen broke the silence. “Can you get over yourself and come with me tonight?”

“Take Brian,” Dillon answered, not ready to concede. Instead, he pushed the simmering vegetables around the skillet, still holding out hope that the whole subject would just disappear and they could get back to their routine.

“Brian’s busy. And I want you to understand something.” He paused until Dillon met his eyes. “I will be seeing her again. I will be pursuing her, with or without your blessing. I will go there tonight with or without your company, though I’d rather it be with you. Maybe she’ll turn me down. Maybe I’ll see her again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. You say you’ve got my back. Well, I’m calling you on that. Have my back. Come with me tonight and help me by apologizing to Kat. You owe her that.”

Dillon considered it for a moment, the only sound between them the sizzling from the pan.

“Do I have to beg?” Owen asked.

“I thought that was what you were doing.” He nudged the vegetables again, feigning indifference.

Owen sighed, shoulders sloping, sad eyes on his hands, and in the end, that was Dillon’s breaking point.

“Fine. But we’re not staying out late.”

Owen shot up straight with a smile that threatened to split his face open. Dillon caught a flash of Owen as a child and found himself smiling back.

“Thanks, Dillon. I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dillon waved him off.

Discomfort niggled at him, but he waved that off too. He’d have to apologize. He’d have to watch Owen pursue someone he didn’t approve of. And he’d do it. Because the real truth was, sometimes taking care of Owen meant letting him make his own choices in pursuit of happiness, whether he agreed or not. Owen deserved happiness.

He only wished he did, too.

A cozy fire crackled in Dita’s library fireplace, and she readjusted herself again on the couch, flipping onto her stomach to prop her romance novel on the arm, wondering how long she had before she was uncomfortable again. She settled in, flipping the page. There had already been some sensual hand-brushing and one blatant waist-groping as the hero helped the heroine into her carriage, and an engagement was imminent.

The elevator dinged from the other room, and when she stretched to look over the back of the couch, she rolled her eyes. Ares sauntered in, tall and dark and magnetic, eyes set to dominate. Or annoy. Or annoyingly dominate.

“What do you want?” She turned back to her book, pretending to be bored while her heart betrayed her.

Ares walked around the couch, lifted her feet with his big hands, and sat where they had been so comfortably resting. “Good to see you, too.”

Dita huffed, snapping her book closed. “Did you need something, or did you just come in here to be an asshole?” She sat up, putting her back against the arm where her book had been and folding her arms across her chest.

“Kat’s a real piece of work.”

She rolled her eyes again and set her book on the end table. “So we’re gonna do this?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying. I think it’s funny that you chose someone just as angry as he is.”

Dita let out a single laugh. “Please. She’s got issues, but she’s got a handle on her shit. Dillon barely has a grip.”

“Apples and oranges.”

“All the more reason for you to be more concerned than you seem to be.”

His head cocked, his eyes hot and hard and glinting. “You’re so sure you’re going to win. But you underestimate me. You always do.”

Her heart ticked faster. “You don’t exactly have the best track record.”

His lips — they were so full and wide, the slope of them so familiar. For a thousand years she’d stared at those lips, kissed them, lived for the shape they made when they whispered her name.

Now they lifted on one side in a smirk that seemed playful, but his eyes told a different story, as did his voice, a low rumble that sent the hairs on her arms trembling.

“Don’t count me out. Dillon’s rage is so deep, it’s genetic. And at the heart of his hatred is me.”

“Dillon wouldn’t be the first bag of dicks I’d cured of you.” Her gaze hardened — all part of the game. Inside she feared him, wanted him, loved him. But she’d hide it from him with everything she had.

If he knew the truth of her feelings, he’d exploit it. And if he did that, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d fall into him and never resurface.

He laughed. “Dillon can’t be cured.”

“Maybe not. But I might have found his antidote.”

“True love conquers all, does it?” he mocked.

“Why do you always do that?” She bristled, and his smile faded.

“What? Point out the flaw in your grand design? Because true love does not equate to happiness. You and I are living proof.”

A warm ache spread through her ribcage.

Her voice was still, low. “Ares, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Hurt flashed across his face, all pretense of levity gone. “Tell you I want you? That I need you? You throw me away so easily.”

“Please,” she whispered a warning that meant little.

“You were mine, and then you weren’t. It was you who decided. You left me, and now I have to wait for scraps, like a dog, when I should feast.”

He reached for her legs, grabbing them, pulling them to haul her into his lap, and she was so surprised, she didn’t even consider stopping him.

She rested her hands on his chest, feeling the steady drumming of his heart against her palms. “It’s not so simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple. You’ve been abandoned. But I am here.” His fingers brushed her cheek, cupped her jaw. “I’m alive.” His eyes searched hers. “I am yours, as I have always been.” And when he tilted his face, when he spoke again, her heart opened up; he had always held the key. “Are you mine again?”

Dim, golden firelight shone on him, the angles of his face casting deep shadows over the planes, the dark swallowing the light to hide his features, but she could make out every detail. She would know it in pitch-black; she knew it so well.

And in that moment, she knew the answer. She was his whether she liked it or not. She couldn’t deny him; she never could, especially not when he showed the glimmer of what she wished for, what she’d always wanted from him. When he opened up his heart, she couldn’t refuse.

So she whispered the only answer, a single word. “Yes.”

He pulled in a breath that pulled her lips to his, and they met with a shock that shot down her spine to her fingertips to her toes, every part of her awakened.

It was the memory of tens of thousands of nights, of kisses in the moonlight, of promises made and broken.

He was the hope that had failed, the wish for a life she would never have. Because Ares could give her his heart but not without taking hers captive. And it would never again see the light of day.

She breathed him in, dizzy, frenzied, like she hadn’t breathed in a hundred years. Because she’d forgotten just how good it was, how right he felt, even if it was an illusion.

His arms wound around her, his fingers pressing into her flesh, his mouth opening wider. Hers matched, her head tilting so she could search deeper, as if answers were hidden there in the darkness of his body. She moved to straddle him, her fingers against his jaw as his trailed to her hips, flexing, holding her against him, the hardness of him pressing against the center of her.

Ares broke the kiss to move his lips down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His hands roamed her body — her neck, her breasts, her ribs, her ass — hands that were strong and deft, hands that knew each inch of her skin. They were hands that knew how to get what they wanted.

And they wanted her.

He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her onto the couch, climbing up to kiss her again. The weight of his hips pinned her down, hips that rolled with just enough pressure in just the right spot. When he pulled away, she opened her heavy lids to find him watching her with eyes burning hot enough to singe. And she reached up to trace the line of his jaw, to slip her hand into his hair.

When his eyes fluttered closed, her heart fluttered open.

With the turn of his head and his hand circling her wrist, he pressed a kiss to her palm before lowering his lips to hers for a kiss, one softer, deeper.

The air thinned, her head light, her hips wild with need.

His hand slipped between them, popping the button of her jeans, and when he backed away, it was to kneel between her legs and tug her pants off.

She watched him watching her, his eyes moving up the line of her long white legs to the small triangle of black lace where they met and up, up her ribs, her breasts, to her face. And then he stood, his eyes locked on hers, his chest rising and falling with breaths too deep.

His shadow danced over her with the flickering flames, his features cast in darkness as he reached between his shoulder blades to grip his shirt and tug it off. She knew every curve of his body, of his broad shoulders and chest, the lines angling and sweeping down to his narrow waist, the swell of his ass as he dropped his pants and stepped out of them.

He was a silhouette of a god, of man, of war, of will and power, towering over her, aiming to take her.

And so he did. And so she was helpless against him.

His eyes held hers as he knelt at the foot of the couch, his hands finding her calves, sliding up to her knees to spread them. And when he lowered his lips, they were to kiss the inside of her snowy thigh, the contact sending a shock straight to her center. Higher he kissed, higher his hands climbed until they gripped her hips, and he shifted his shoulders to press against the backs of her thighs to open her up.

He dragged his lips across the skin at the bend of her thigh, then his tongue — she flexed her legs, pulling him closer. His breath was hot through the thin fabric, and then those lips were against her core. And when the wet heat of his mouth closed over the aching center of her, her lungs shot open, filling them so quickly, they burned from the force.

His fingers hooked in the waist of her panties and squeezed until it was taut, sucking and licking her through the lace. The arch of her neck stretched longer as her chin tilted to the ceiling, her mind wholly focused on the point where their bodies connected, barely registering the rip and tug when he shredded the lace with a moan that sent her thighs trembling.

And then she was exposed.

He buried his face in her, his tongue and lips working. One hand slipped between her legs. The other roamed up, lifting her shirt, cupping her breast, thumbing her tight nipple through the delicate lace of her bra, and she watched him down the length of her body while he worked her, pressing and sucking and teasing his way in.

The faster her heart thumped, the faster he worked. The deeper he went, the harder he spurred her until her body clenched around his fingers inside of her, then again with a pulse and a whimper. Before she could come, he was gone.

Her eyes were closed, though she didn’t remember closing them, and when she blinked them open, confused, it was to the sight of his face as he brought his lips to hers, pressing his crown against the slickness of her. He flexed hard, not stopping until he hit the end of her with a jolt.

His rumbling moan echoed in her mouth, his trembling arms bracketing her face. But he held still, his breath puffing against her cheek and his tongue sliding against hers, reaching into her. He filled her every way he could, and when he rocked his hips, when he left her empty and filled her up, what little composure she had was lost. Another pump of his hips had her legs winding around his waist. And then, when he slammed into her again, she came unraveled, her body letting go with a hot pulse that matched her racing heartbeat.

He was right behind her, her name on his lips — the old name, the first name, the name in the language of her birth and beginning.

And just like that, they were together again. Together after so long apart.

He collapsed on her, buried his face in her neck, laid soft kisses down her neck and between her breasts. And then he held her, resting his cheek on the swell that rose and fell to the rhythm of her heavy breath. Her heart thumped against his ear, her nerves on fire and fingers in his hair as she wondered just how badly she’d regret the moment. Because it was only the beginning, and it would end in pain.

It always did.

The bar was nearly empty, and Kat’s shift had been long, made longer by the slow ticking of the clock. It was only nine thirty, the bar closed at two, and she’d been looking at the clock on the wall every three minutes for the last half hour.

None of this inspired hope that things would pick up. So she picked up her towel and pushed it across the glossy surface of the bar for the fortieth time that night.

The door of the bar opened, and Kat straightened up with a smile, happy at the potential of purpose. Until she saw who was walking in.

Owen walked in first, tall and lean and dark. His deep brown eyes locked on Kiki the second he passed the threshold, and Kiki turned to the sound, her gossip magazine forgotten and her smile beaming like a ray of sunshine.

Warning bells rang, amplifying when Dillon stepped out from behind his brother.

His jaw was set, his blond hair mussed and eyes steely; even from across the room, she could feel the icy-hot weight of them pinning her down. The collar of his leather jacket was flipped, his shoulders wide, hands in his pockets, drawing her attention to his narrow waist.

He was beautiful and dangerous, angry and hard. Strong. Controlled. A time bomb ticking in the silence.

She knew because she was made of the same mettle, and they assessed each other, recognizing that commonality with cold calculation.

Kat realized her hand had stopped moving and dropped her eyes, scrubbing the bar a little harder, adrenaline pumping as she prepared for another fight. If the night before had been any indication, she was in for one.

The city was new, but her life was the same. Because her life had been shaped by darkness inherited from her father. Kiki had been granted the life of Barbies and ponies and daydreams. Kat had been given the life of racing and guns and reality. Her only comfort in her life was that Kiki had escaped it. Kat’s world was lonely and barren, with the desire to prove herself to the world, to her father, to her sister, overshadowing all else.

Kat’s life was a fight, and a change of scenery wouldn’t change that fact.

Kiki closed her magazine and stood, walking toward him like she was caught in a trance, and Owen matched her pace, meeting her in the middle of the room.

They stared at each other in wonder for a moment before she finally spoke.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

His smile — why did he have to have such a nice smile? — lifted on one side. “Surprise.”

“You left last night before I could give you this.” Kiki pulled out a scrap of paper that had been folded, refolded, and folded again until it was soft.

“This just so happens to be what I came here to get,” he said.

Kiki blushed.

Kat worried.

Dillon sat.

Kat turned her attention to him, not realizing he’d approached — her focus had been entirely on the potential train wreck her sister was heading for. And now he sat across from her with a heavy brow and eyes like the center of a flame. She bolstered her defenses and locked her face down.

“You drinking?” she snapped, caged and stuck and obligated.

“Just water.”

She said nothing, just grabbed a glass and tossed a scoop of ice into it, scowling at it as she mashed the big water button on the soda gun and waited in awkward silence for it to fill.

“I …” Dillon cleared his throat and leaned on the bar. “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot last night.”

He paused. She ignored him.

“I shouldn’t have been an asshole,” he said with only a tinge of defense in his voice. “It’s just that I’m … I worry about Owen, and sometimes that ends with me butting in where I shouldn’t.”

Kat didn’t look up. “I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”

“Nothing. I’m just saying …” He seemed to struggle to find the words. “Sometimes I take my own shit out on whoever’s available, and last night, that was you. I don’t do people or crowds or even this. I’m not good at it. Never have been. I do much more effective talking with these.” He held up his fists in display, all scuffed up and bruised and scarred.

She almost accepted his almost apology, finally meeting his eyes as she handed him his water. “I get that.”

“I just … look. I don’t want him to get hurt. And don’t take this wrong, but your sister seems like a … free spirit?”

At that, she laughed. “That’s a fair statement. Kiki’s been through more boys than the Cub Scouts.”

“That’s not really reassuring.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I guess it wouldn’t be. But between you and me, I’m on your side. Kiki … she’s been through a lot. Hazards of having terrible taste in men. She’s got a kind heart, a big heart that was made to love, but she doesn’t see the warning signs until it’s too late.”

She glanced over at her sister and Owen. He sat on a barstool, she was behind the bar, and the two of them were leaning toward each other with the goofiest, sweetest smiles on their faces. Kiki preferred big, meaty alphas, so to see her with Owen — who had a charming, honest, easy way about him — gave Kat hope. A flicker of approval passed through her, but with her better judgment, she waved it away.

“But,” she started, still watching them, “Owen doesn’t seem like a creep, which is encouraging.” Her eyes darted to Dillon. “Wait, is he a creep?” she joked.

“No,” he said on a laugh. “He’s the exact opposite of a creep. More like a Great Dane puppy.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Dillon raised one brow, jerking a chin at their siblings. “Not like we could stop them anyway.”

She followed his gaze and sighed, wishing Kiki and Owen met six months from now. As much as she wanted Kiki’s happiness, Kat wanted her safety even more desperately. And they weren’t safe. Not yet.

When she turned back to Dillon, she found herself feeling a little lighter. “So, what do you do besides beat the shit out of people?”

He laughed — he had a nice laugh too, one that made her feel warm, one that made her smile back. It was a genetic thing, she supposed.

“Can we at least say I beat the shit out of willing people?”

“Sure, I’ll give you that.”

“I run a boxing gym with Brian. Well, he runs it. I just fund it and use it whenever I want.”

“So an investment then?”

“It sounds so grown-up when you say it that way,” he said on a chuckle.

He took a drink of his water, settling the silence between them, which was far more companionable than it had been the first time.

“So,” Dillon started, “what do you do besides sling drinks and watch your sister get licked by strangers?”

Kat paused, defensive anger blowing over her at the near insult to her sister. But his body was relaxed, his tone playful. He wasn’t trying to be a dick. It just seemed that he couldn’t help himself.

Of course, the answer to her question was race, and the word was on the tip of her tongue when suspicion crept over her at the errant thought that he could be a mole, a spy. Could he know who she was? Could he know Eric somehow? It seemed unlikely, but scenarios flashed through her mind. Dillon telling someone, Eric finding them. And if Eric found them, one of them wouldn’t walk away with a heartbeat.

So she toed the line. “I’m into cars. Classic muscle.”

Something changed in him — respect, maybe. “Me too,” he said with his eyes full of approval and questions. “What do you drive?”

“A ’69 Camaro.”

He nodded, smiling. “I have a ’71 GTO. What’s the horsepower?”

“Nine hundred horses.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed, whistling.

She laughed and stood up a little straighter, more than comfortable with the topic of her baby. “She’s got a twin turbo 57-cubic-inch crate engine, a 10.5-inch dual-disc clutch, and a modded Viper transmission. You?”

Dillon shook his head, running a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “She’s running a Judge with a 400-cubic-inch small block V-8.”

“Modded?”

“A little. Nothing crazy.” His brow quirked. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a muscle-car kind of chick.”

“No one does.” Her voice was harder than she’d intended. “Ever race?”

“From time to time. You?”

She nodded. “Quarter mile.”

His face hardened. “For money?”

Hers mirrored his, her tone sarcastic and dry. “Why? Morally opposed to illegal betting?”

“I’m just wondering how the hell a girl like you gets into illegal racing.”

And that hit the hair trigger, shooting her straight into defense. “The fuck is that supposed to mean — a girl like me?”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight with you,” he snapped. “You’re so fucking touchy, Christ.”

“I’m just curious as to what kind of girl you think I am,” she popped back. “And maybe I wouldn’t be so fucking touchy if you weren’t an arrogant prick.” Her hands rested on her hips, body tense, adrenaline zipping, not at all surprised she’d ended up here after all.

Dillon watched her from across the bar, fuming. He was trying to apologize, trying to make nice. And for a minute, he’d succeeded.

That moment was long fucking gone.

Anger and suspicion rolled off her, feeding his own. He had been thinking that she was the kind of girl who seemed too beautiful, too smart to get mixed up with thugs and douchebags who ruled that world, but his hackles were up, and so were hers as they growled at each other, ready to fight.

But Dillon was always ready to fight, and if Kat was the same, they’d never finish a conversation. He didn’t even want to — if she wasn’t willing to try, neither was he. She could be as gorgeous and intriguing as she wanted.

The heat cranked higher on his anger until it bubbled up and over, rolling through him with a steaming hiss. He shook his head with disdain and disgust that was far less honest than it felt.

It was his ego that was bruised. And so he showed his teeth and took a bite out of hers.

“You know, it actually makes a lot of sense,” he said, the words dripping with contempt. “I’m sure bitches are right at home in the racing circuit.”

Her jaw clenched, eyes glinting. “You go from zero to cocksucker in about three-point-two. Kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“She’s dead, so no,” he spat.

She blinked, but he kept going, standing to rest his palms on the bar, leaning under the light to tear her down.

“I don’t think we’re going to be friends, Kat.” He said her name like it physically pained him.

“Your fault,” she shot with a jab of her finger. “Get the fuck over yourself.”

She turned to go, but he didn’t want her to walk away, didn’t want her to have the last word. No, he had to say more, his mouth on autopilot.

“You think you’re so hard, think you’re such a fucking badass. I can see it all over you. Think you get how the world works because you listen to Nirvana and wear black nail polish and your daddy bought you a pair of Docs at the mall. But I’d be willing to bet you don’t know shit. Not about the real shit.”

She whipped around, enraged. “You don’t even fucking know me. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

He laughed, the sound dry and cruel. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is? Because I’m dead fucking certain I could beat you on a quarter mile.” The minute it left his mouth, he knew not only that it was a mistake, but it was a lie.

Bitter laughter rang in his hot ears as she leaned across the bar and into his face. “Oh, you think so? Let me guess. You’re thinking, Surely, this little girl couldn’t beat me with my great big dick and my big bad car. Well, guess what, asshole? You’re on.”

She pushed away and tossed her towel in a bus bin, saying as she passed her sister, “I’m going to take inventory. You can handle all of this, right?” She motioned to Dillon, meeting his glare with eyes like razor blades. “I’ll see you on the track.”

And with those parting words, she turned on her heel and stormed into the back room, leaving him at the bar, his nostrils flaring and anger blazing like a bonfire.

Kiki’s brows rose at her sister, who blew past with a whoosh of hot, angry air, and she turned to Owen, who had been shocked silent.

Dillon stalked over, his body so tight, she wondered if he’d snap if any of them made a wrong move.

He didn’t look at her. He was too busy staring a burning hole in Owen. “I’m out.”

Owen’s brows knit together, and he nodded once. “I’ll call a cab or Uber or something.”

They shared a silent moment before Dillon answered with a nod of his own and turned to leave the bar just as suddenly as he’d entered it.

Owen sighed, his brown eyes soft and sad and deep. “That went really well.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the door still swinging on the hinges from the force of Kat’s exit. “Yeah, well, Kat doesn’t often find men she can get along with, but it’s rare to see her break out the honey badger so eagerly.”

He shook his head. “I’m really sorry. He’s … I don’t know. I’ll find out what happened, see if I can get to the bottom of it.”

“Me too. Kat’s not super trusting, and she’s got that mouth on her.”

He laughed.

“She talks a lot of shit because a lot of shit gets talked to her.”

“What were they talking about racing for?”

Kiki tucked her long hair behind her ear and rested her chin in her palm. “She’s been racing for a long time, since she was practically a kid.”

He looked confused. “That’s kind of an extreme hobby.”

“My dad is really into cars and taught her how to drive, how to race. It was something they shared, something I never quite understood. I was more interested in getting into my mom’s makeup than getting dirty with engine grease,” she said with a laugh.

His wide lips smiled, and she scanned his handsome face again. He was so nice, so easy. Kind. She felt like she could trust him, which was dangerous.

She’d made that mistake before. Her instinct wasn’t to be relied on, not like Kat’s was. But this was different. He was different, though she didn’t know how or why. It was just something she knew, like the sky being blue or sunshine being warm.

Kiki sighed. “Anyway, it’s mostly men she races, and they don’t take her seriously, not until they know her and see her in action. Then they know better. Then they can see just how incredible she is. But by then, it’s usually too late. Once she’s made up her mind, it’s hard to come back from that.”

“I can see that,” he said with a nod.

“So that’s probably the big reason she popped off.”

“Aside from my brother’s mouth.”

She chuckled. “Yes, aside from that. But …” Kiki paused, nibbling her bottom lip. “Well, Kat’s a little protective of me. Actually,” she added, “a lot protective of me. I don’t have a great track record, and the last relationship I was in didn’t end well. She doesn’t think I should be seeing someone.”

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes were bottomless, velvety brown, and she found herself drowning in them.

“Thanks, but it’s over now. She’s just a little paranoid.”

“I get that; so is Dillon. He wasn’t thrilled about coming tonight. I think he sensed you didn’t have the best track record,” he joked, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile.

“I wonder what set them off though?”

Owen picked at the napkin under his scotch. “Sounds like we might have set them off.”

She sighed again. “Did you see the way they looked at each other before their big mouths ruined it all?”

“I did. It was strange. I’ve never seen him react like that. Like he’d been struck. Not that he doesn’t have girls around. He’s got groupies, for God’s sake, but none of them have ever been what one would consider a girlfriend. And he’s never looked at any of them that way.”

Kiki’s brows rose. “He’s never had a girlfriend? That’s kind of weird, Owen.”

He laughed softly, but his eyes were sad. “I guess it is a little. But there’s a good reason. Our dad … well, let’s put it like this. Dillon learned to fight at a very young age.”

“Do you mean he …” She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to be right.

“I mean that he shouldered the weight of our father’s drunken Irish rage after our mother died. As in, Ye steal me lucky charms, and I’ll box yer ears, ye feck.” Owen’s voice lilted musically, but his face was sad. “Between Dillon’s own issues and what our dad did to our mom, I think he’s afraid of himself, afraid to let himself go. He fights to keep himself in check. It’s his job, and it’s his medicine.”

“Worst medicine ever—getting punched in the face.”

Owen laughed, and Kiki smiled wistfully as she traced the lines of his face with her eyes.

He paused, smiling back. “Go out with me, Kiki.”

A flush crept across her cheeks. “What do you have in mind?”

Owen looked into her eyes, leaning in. “Does it matter?”

And she laughed, angling toward him. “Not at all.”

The door to the stockroom hit the wall with a smack when Kat pushed it open, and she stormed into the narrow room lined with shelves of liquor bottles, pacing and fuming.

That fucking jerk. That jerk-ass jerk with his jerk face and bad attitude. She was so sick of men and their egos, their big, stupid, jerkface egos.

A string of expletives ran through her head as she paced the length of the room, wishing she could throw something.

The good guys didn’t run in her circles, guys like Owen. Of course, guys like Owen wanted nothing to do with her. Her edge was too sharp, too hard. She was a hazard, and men saw it from a mile away. They wanted girls like Kiki, soft and sweet and smiling.

Instead, Kat ended up around guys with something to prove. But then again, she had something to prove too. Maybe that was the problem.

And tonight, that fucker had come back and picked a fight and challenged her to a race.

He had no clue. But he was about to.

Kat sat down on a stack of beer cases, furious and frustrated. A bucket of bottle caps sat on the shelf next to her, and she slipped a hand in, wiggling her fingers to produce a gratifying rattle. She pulled out a bottle cap and flipped it over in her hand.

Her temporary acceptance of Dillon’s pseudo apology had passed, leaving her impossibly angry. With everything she and Kiki had just been through, Kat didn’t know how her sister could even consider dating someone. It was completely irrational. Irresponsible.

It was selfish. Kiki wouldn’t be the one to deal with the repercussions if Eric found them. Kiki wasn’t thinking about what would happen to any man who was with her when it came time to pay her dues.

Kat would.

It was late that night, the Las Vegas desert evening cool as Kat drove home from her bartending gig with the windows down and her hair whipping around her. She was exhausted, ready for her pillow and the long hours of silence that would carry her off to sleep.

Her lids were heavy. It was almost three in the morning, the neighborhood still and quiet as she pulled into her driveway and cut the engine with a sigh.

A scream ripped through the silence, and adrenaline shot through her like a bullet.

Kiki.

Kat reached under her seat for her gun and threw open the door, wide awake as she ran toward the house. When she pushed the front door open, every muscle in her body flexed, her arm rising on instinct to point the barrel of her Sig at Eric.

Kiki lay twisted on the ground, her clothes torn and shirt gaping, arms hooked over her face. She turned to the sound of the opening door, and a piece of Kat was lost forever when their eyes met.

Kiki’s eye was swollen nearly shut, a sick shade of purple ringing the socket, and blood streamed from a cut on her bruised cheek. Mascara streaked and smeared her face, her eyes wild and as bright as emeralds, shining with fear.

Eric loomed over her, his muscles straining under his skin as he flexed his massive fist, pulled back and ready to release. His face snapped to Kat’s, his eyes possessed. He was barely recognizable, a feral creature, completely broken.

Kat didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just stood in the doorway with her legs apart, chin down, and his forehead in her sights.

“Back the fuck up.” Her voice held a calm she didn’t feel.

His fist dropped just enough to indicate he’d heard her. “She’s not leaving me.”

“That’s not really up to you to decide, now is it?”

“I won’t let her.” His even tone sent a chill through her.

“Looks to me like she already did. Now, you have about ten seconds to get the fuck out of my house before I blow your fucking brains out.” Her heart hammered in her ears, but her hand was stock-still, her breath slow and steady, just like she’d been taught.

He stood straight, staring her down with dark eyes that cut through her like a hot blade. She could practically see his neurons firing as he worked through his options.

But he’d never been a smart man.

He turned back to Kiki, his face twisting, eyes burning with obsession as he bent over her, hand outstretched, and hissed, “You’re mine.”

Kat unlocked the safety. “Time’s up.”

“Wait!” Kiki screamed. “Kat, wait!”

Her finger eased off the trigger as her eyes darted to Kiki and back to Eric. She would kill him without thinking twice, without a single regret, and that fact clicked into awareness in them both at the same moment.

Eric’s eyes were on fire as he stepped toward the door and she sidestepped in the opposite direction, toward her sister, tracking him across the room with her gun.

He stopped in the doorway, face shrouded in shadows, his dark silhouette framed by the night.

“This isn’t over,” he said.

Her finger brushed the trigger, wishing to end it. “It had better fucking be over. You come back, and you’re dead. She won’t save you from me again.”

He stood in silence, hands clenched, the muscles in his arms rippling as he gripped and released, waiting what felt like ages before slipping away into the darkness.

Kat stared at the empty space long after his car rumbled away with the nose of her gun trembling, still aimed at the place where he’d stood as she waited for him to come back.

Kiki broke the quiet with a sob, and Kat wheeled around, dropping to her knees at her sister’s side.

Her ponytail hung half out with loose strands that had fallen around her shoulders. He dragged her by it, Kat thought as she inspected Kiki, running her hand over Kiki’s tangled hair and bloodied, bruised face before drawing her sister into her arms.

“Shh. It’s okay,” Kat whispered, the words shaky.

Kiki’s breath came in ragged, shuddering sobs. She curled into Kat, who looked back at the open door, expecting to find Eric there.

And she rocked her sister, whispering a promise. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Later that same night, Kat shifted gears and gripped the wheel with both hands again, the Camaro speeding through the desert that stretched out in every direction around them.

She glanced over at Kiki, who sat curled into the door with her forehead pressed against the glass, staring out at nothing.

“How long will it take us to get to New York?” Kiki’s hollow voice startled Kat. Neither of them had spoken for hours.

“Three days. Two if we drive straight through. We should have enough of a head start on Eric to be able to stop so I can sleep, if you don’t feel like driving.”

“He’s not going to follow us.”

Kat’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “He’d better not, or he’s dead. Seriously fucking dead.”

She turned to Kat with glistening eyes, the slit of her swollen eye brimming. “Stop it,” she said with a trembling voice. “Please.”

Kat took a heavy breath to calm herself; it didn’t. What she wanted was to cry, to scream or yell, to tell Kiki how she felt, how she really felt. She would say that she was sorry. That she was afraid it wasn’t over. Admit that she’d almost killed him. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t do anything to make things any harder on Kiki than they already were.

But she couldn’t keep completely quiet. It just wasn’t in her nature.

“He’s had fair warning, Kiki. I won’t let him go again.”

“I know,” she whispered, laying her head on the window again. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to live with myself if I’m the reason he’s killed.”

Kat’s heart sank like a stone in her chest. “I get it. I was the one who almost killed him.” She paused. “Kiki … what happened?”

Her shoulders lifted in the slightest of shrugs. “I don’t know when it happened, when things turned. Everything was fine at first. I mean, we were together all the time, but somehow, I never knew what he was. Who he was. What he wanted. I thought he was just into me, and that was why he was so clingy. But once the newness wore off and I tried to get back to my life, he squeezed tighter. And then … I don’t know. He started to get angry. Possessive. I’d been planning on breaking up with him for a while, but I was afraid of how he’d react. At least I was right about that.” Her voice was gravelly and worn.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d flip out.”

Regret slipped over Kat. Kiki wasn’t wrong; if she’d known, she would have put a stop to it. And now, they were living the worst-case scenario outside of that one way, that final way.

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me,” Kat finally said.

“It’s okay.” She stared out the window. “You would have been right.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. “You know that if Dad finds out what Eric did, he won’t stop until the debt is paid.”

Kiki wiped a tear from her cheek. “It’s the yakuza way. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Kat stared at the road where her headlights cut wedges in the dark. Their father was a yakuza waka gashira — the right hand of a big boss in the Japanese Mafia. And he would go to great lengths where his daughters were concerned.

Given Eric’s crime, his punishment would be extreme. And extreme for yakuza was unspeakable.

She sighed. “We’ll figure it out, Kiki. I’ll call Dad in the morning and tell him we’re coming.”

Kiki turned, snapped from her lethargy, her body tense and alert. “What are you going to tell him?”

“Not the truth. I’ll tell him we just want a change of scenery.”

“You really think he’s going to buy that?”

“Probably not. But if you want Eric alive, this is the only way. Dad can’t know the truth. I don’t think he’ll press our story, but he’ll dig around behind our backs to find out. Eric won’t say anything, not knowing who our father is. He’s stupid, but he’s not that stupid.”

“What about Mom?”

“I think we can tell her the truth, and I think we have to. There’s no way she’ll believe we split town in the middle of the night without saying goodbye for no reason. She won’t tell Dad. Out of everyone, she’s the one person who will understand what it would mean if he found out.”

Kiki nodded. “I should be the one to tell her. You handle Dad.”

“Okay.” Kat glanced at her sister and then back at the road. “I know you don’t think Eric will follow us, but I’m going to have a couple of people who run in our circles let me know if he leaves town or starts asking about us. If he makes a move, we’ll let Dad loose. We should have a few days’ lead on him if he leaves Vegas. He won’t fly if he has plans for us, too easy to track. But if he lets it go, if enough time passes … well, I’m hoping we can all just fucking drop it.”

Kiki ran a thumb over her swollen bottom lip. “We’re going to need jobs—unless you’re going to race.”

But she shook her head, heart heavy. “There’s too high of a chance that someone will recognize me and get back to Eric. You know how bookies love to gossip, and I stand out.”

The thought of not being able to race weighed on her. When everything else was out of control, racing always brought her back to center. It was one of the only things she could control.

“So, bartending?” Kiki asked with a half-smile.

Kat chuckled. “What bar owner worth his salt wouldn’t hire two half-Japanese sisters with green eyes?”

“Zero-point-zero. What about a place to live?”

“I’ll talk to Dad about it tomorrow. He’ll help us find a place, hopefully one with a garage. Otherwise, where the fuck am I gonna park Sheila in New York City?”

Kiki laughed, but it never reached her eyes. “Good point.”

Kat covered Kiki’s hand with her own. “It’s going to be all right, Kiki.”

The sigh that left her was heavy. “Coming from anyone else, that wouldn’t make me feel better. But from you? I have to believe it’s true.”

And Kat sped off into the night, hoping she could keep that promise.

Kat flipped the bottle cap over and held it flat between her thumb and ring finger. When she snapped, the cap flew across the room and hit the label on a bottle of Canadian Club with a gratifying tink.

It had been a month since that night, and everything seemed fine. This should have come as a relief. She should have found comfort. But there was only the anticipation of the worst.

Eric haunted her, the vision of his eyes, of his voice, of his echoing the words, She’s mine. He would have killed Kiki, she knew. If Kat hadn’t come home, if she hadn’t stopped him, her sister would have died.

Because if he couldn’t have her, no one would. She believed that terrifying truth with all her heart.

That look in his eyes had told her more than he’d said in words, though those had said plenty on their own. He wasn’t going to let her go: his words had been a vow. It wasn’t over, no matter how quiet things had been.

She wondered if it would ever be over. She wondered when she’d be able to rest. But in the end, what Kat wanted didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping Kiki safe from him.

If she could only tell her father. She considered, it just as she had a hundred times. He would put an end to the nightmare, and they would be free again. But she couldn’t betray Kiki. If Eric died, Kiki wouldn’t forgive her.

If he lived to hurt Kiki again, she didn’t know if she could forgive herself.

No, Kiki was in denial. Her sister, the dreamer. The optimist. She believed the worst was behind them and had turned her face to the sun while Kat looked back to the shadows, waiting for him.

Kat sighed, the circle of the argument complete once again; it was a path she’d walked so much it was a rut with no beginning or end. The inventory clipboard hung on the wall behind her, and she picked it up, turning to the bottles lining the shelves, hoping that, by the time she finished counting the rum, the brothers would be gone.

If only they’d never walked into the bar. Owen was complicating an already complex situation. And Kiki would keep on believing that everything was fine, jumping into the arms of a man who couldn’t protect her or himself against the storm Eric would bring.

Of course, Dillon could protect Kiki too. And if he wasn’t such a fucking asshole, she might have even had faith in him to do just that.

She thought about Kiki and Owen and what it would mean if they started something, wishing again they had met down the road. Kat wanted so badly for Kiki to be happy but at what cost? She wanted Kiki to make her own choices, but she was naive to believe she would ever be safe—not just from Eric, but from anyone.

The entire situation was impossible, a maze with no exit. And Kat had been given the delicate task of finding a way to lead them out.

Dillon slammed his car door shut with a sharp flick of his arm and stormed up the steps into the house.

Fucking disaster.

He was furious, so furious that he’d left his brother at the bar in exchange for driving around Brooklyn with the hopes that it would calm him down.

It hadn’t.

He stomped up the stairs and to his room, pulling off his jacket, then his shirt. Once he kicked off his shoes and traded his jeans for sweats, he trotted back down the stairs to his weight room, flipped on the lights, turned on Pantera, and loaded his barbell. “Mouth for War” raged out of his speakers, and he lay down on the bench and got to work.

With every press, with every firing of nerves and burst of energy, his anger focused on the heat of his muscles and the air in his lungs.

He had no idea why Kat set him off so easily. Every button he had, she pushed. Everything she could say wrong, she did.

He’d done her no kindness either.

And still he found himself thinking about it, replaying the exchange, noting every time they’d lost ground until the moment they slid away from each other.

She was infuriating and intriguing. She was maddening and mysterious. He wanted to know her, and he wanted nothing to do with her. He wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to kill her.

His arms trembled from exertion, each press slower than the one before until he hit his limit, using his reserve energy to hook the bar back in the stand. And then he sat, straddling the bench, fuming.

He didn’t understand why he wanted to know her, why he wanted to see her. To fight with her again, to apologize, to win, to submit — he wanted it all, whether he knew why or not.

Instead of sorting it out, he moved to the squat bar and added weights, trying not to think about his brother and Kiki. He tried not to think of Kat or her eyes or that smile he’d only caught glimpses of. He tried not to think of what he’d said to her.

He tried to rid himself of the desire to take it back. But that was the hardest of all to shake.

The city lights dotted the space out of Ares’s window that night as he sat low on his couch, legs open as he played video games, but he was barely playing attention. His mind was on her.

He’d spent the afternoon in her arms, reacquainting himself with her body. Being with her was like coming home after war, filled with relief and purpose and determination not to squander his lease on life.

Calmness had settled into him that he hadn’t felt in so long, he’d all but forgotten the feeling. It was a rightness, a certainty of his future.

It was hope.

She had submitted, yielded, bent to him, and it was every bit as sweet as he’d known it would be.

The elevator pinged behind him, and he paused the game, looking over his shoulder. His heart skipped when he heard heels clicking in his foyer.

“Dita?” he called, unable to keep the optimism from his voice.

His mother rounded the corner, her blue eyes narrow and red lips in a tight line. “No, it most certainly is not.” Her blond hair was perfectly coiffed, but she ran a hand over it anyway to be sure.

Ares tossed his controller onto the couch and sighed. “Hello, Hera.”

She clipped into the room and sat primly in a blood-red leather armchair, her back straight and stiff. “Please, call me Mother, Mom, or some other respectful term. It’s truly one of the few things I ask of you.” Her elbow rested on the arm of the chair, and she crossed her ankles, the curve of her waist bending her body in an elegant angle like a fashion model from the 50s.

“Yes, Mother.”

“That’s better,” she said, satisfied, as she smoothed out her navy pencil skirt.

“Do you need something?”

“Do I need a reason to visit my son?”

He sighed.

“I’d like to hear your plans for the competition. How’s it coming along?”

Ares threaded his fingers behind his head. “Dandy.”

Her brow rose as she waited for him to continue.

“I’ve got it under control. What more do you want to know?”

“What exactly are your plans? Forgive me, my sweet, but you have never been the strategist of the family. That title is held by your sister.”

He huffed at the insult. Ares and Athena had never gotten along — they fought constantly. He could never beat her, not at games, not at wars, not even at arguments. It was maddening.

Ares offered an abridged version of his plan, knowing he wouldn’t escape until he gave her something. “Well, Dillon can’t keep his mouth closed long enough for Dita to stand a chance. And there’s Eric, the ex-boyfriend. Since Kiki left him, he’s come unhinged, and every day, he’s getting worse. All I have to do is let him loose, and I’ll win.”

“Eric is the key. You can control him, weaponize him. Watch him, watch the game, and use him when the moment is right.” Hera’s smile was cruel, her mouth a red slash. “Oh, Aphrodite won’t be pleased.”

“She definitely will not be pleased. Which is why I don’t know if I’ll use him.”

Hera’s hand stilled as it swept over the cuff of her blouse. “Excuse me?”

“If I lead Eric to the girls, he’ll kill them. I’ll win the competition, but I’ll lose Aphrodite.”

She stared at him blankly. “I still don’t understand the problem.”

“I have a chance to get her back, and I’m going to take it. Which means, no Eric.” He changed the subject, not interested in arguing. The last thing he needed was to burn his bridge with Hera; he needed her. “So I saw your groupies in action.”

She eyed him but took the lead, not pressing him about Dita. “Jessica is an amusing distraction and a tool already in play to interfere. I’ve been whispering in her ear for so long, her nature is my own.” Hera crossed her legs, shifting in her chair. “You’ll at least try to win, won’t you?”

“Of course I’ll try to win. I just don’t want to kill anybody.”

One very blond, very manicured eyebrow rose.

“Okay, maybe I want to kill some people, but I’m going to try not to,” he conceded.

She dragged in a breath through her nose and let it out out slowly. “Well,” she said shortly, “you have my tokens, should you need any help. Do you have any others?”

Ares unclasped his fingers and crossed his arms over his chest. “A few, but I doubt they’ll help me. I’m not anyone’s favorite anything. I’ve never been the golden boy.”

“No, that title belongs to Apollo, as infuriating as it is. Your father and his illegitimate children. It’s all Aphrodite’s fault.” The color rose in her cheeks, her blue eyes sharp. “She has crossed me more times than I care to consider.” She tugged at the cuff of her blouse again, poorly feigning indifference.

“She’s not trying to get to you. She’s trying to get to Zeus.”

“It only hurts me. Does she honestly think he would be opposed to sleeping with anything and everything that struck his fancy?” She glared at him, but he shook his head.

“What affects him is your wrath.”

Her face relaxed with the exception of that same solitary eyebrow, and she lifted her chin. “Well, I do suppose that is something to fear.” She popped open her purse with a sigh, digging through it for her lipstick and a small mirror. “What do you expect from Aphrodite?”

Ares smirked. What he expected from Dita was hardly appropriate to talk about with his mother. “She’s already gotten the younger siblings interested in each other, I assume to force Kat and Dillon into each other’s space, give them time to warm up. But Dillon is a land mine, and if I set him off, he’ll destroy everything she’s built. I just need to time it right.”

She ran her lipstick over her lips, eyes on her mirror as she pressed them together. “If she’s using the siblings, perhaps we should try to keep them apart.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Why didn’t I think of that? “How do you suggest we do it? The only thing I’ve got is Eric, and I have to save him until I need him—if I use him at all. He’s my last grenade.” He shook his head, thinking it over. “I have no influence on Kiki or Owen; they aren’t aggressive or prone to fighting, not even arguing. And you don’t have much influence over them either. They’re not particularly jealous or proud.”

“No, but you and I have all of New York to choose from if we want to create a diversion. We can create a wedge. My powers are divisive; yours are merely destructive. Even though that has its place, darling,” she added a little hastily as she snapped her mirror closed. “We even have some closer to the point of impact. Like Jessica.”

Ares ran a hand across the stubble of his chin. “What about her?”

“What if she or her little friends were to try to make Dillon jealous?” she asked with a cruel smile. “And what if the nearest object of affection was Owen? And what if Kiki saw this happen? Perhaps we could fan Dillon’s anger a bit while we’re at it. He could be very angry if Owen were hurt somehow by the whole thing.”

One corner of his lips lifted into a smile. “Think it would work?”

She shrugged elegantly. “It’s worth finding out — unless you have a better idea.”

“I’ll think about it,” was all he was willing to commit to.

Her cool eyes assessed him for a moment. “Do you think you can beat her?”

“I usually don’t. But this time … well, there’s a possibility. Kat has her own baggage; she’s not going to make this easy for Dita. The players are volatile, and the situation is explosive, which gives me an edge. So, yes, there’s reason to hope.”

The thought of winning was sweet, so sweet that he found himself smiling. There was nothing he hated more than to lose, especially to her. He’d much prefer to own her. In all ways.

“Well,” Hera said as she dropped her mirror and lipstick into her clutch, “let me know how I can help. Just don’t tell your father. He hates to hear that you and I are scheming.”

Ares rolled his eyes. “Fucking Zeus.”

“Oh, darling. He won’t hurt you. Not with me around.”

His teeth clenched, jaw flexing. “I’m not worried about him hurting me. And I don’t need your protection.”

“Don’t be angry.” She tsked. “I only mean, you needn’t be concerned if he finds out we are scheming. I’m practically the only being who can sway Zeus. I’ll take care of him.”

Ares glanced to the city outside the windows. Of all of Zeus’s children, Ares was the only legitimate son — the heir, born of the union of Zeus and Hera, and yet he was the least favored of all. It should have come as no surprise that the tempestuous relationship between his father and mother would have bred the God of War, and Ares was born into his nature, coddled by his mother and rejected by his father. Maybe it was simply because Ares was a reminder of Hera, whom Zeus resented so much.

She was queen by name alone, never able to rule Zeus’s heart, no matter how much she wished or hoped or tried. She squeezed him with an iron grip to hang on to him, but Zeus would not be told how to feel. Ares had never witnessed kindness between his parents and didn’t believe it had ever existed. And so, Zeus would find his joy with other women, like Leto, his longtime lover who had born him the twins Apollo and Artemis.

Hera hated her so deeply that the only place Leto was safe was in Artemis’s domain — where Zeus could be found on many nights.

Zeus was proud of so many of his children, particularly Apollo and the demigod Hercules, but he forever looked down upon Ares as a curse, a bumbling mistake, and Ares forever found himself fulfilling the prophecy, never able to win his father’s approval, no matter how he’d tried.

Nothing was ever enough.

Even as a small child, Ares had been difficult, unbridled, without thought for consequence. He had been the God of War from the start, finding thrill in the lust of a fight, the madness brought by murder, the survival of self by dominance over another. Forever was he following his instincts, doing what he thought and cared to do, never understanding why it was wrong.

But his mother understood.

She would find him deep in the gardens with his fingers buried in the innards of a rabbit, split open with his knife, and she would pet his hair and whisper sweetness into his ear as she swept the carcass away and washed the smell of death from his hands. She would follow him through the woods on her horse as he ran naked through the brush, spear in hand, mud streaking his face, a battle cry ripping from his throat as he felled a boar with little more than a stick and his bare hands. And she would smile when he laid gifts of blood and flesh at her feet, a smile that reminded him that he was precious to someone. To her.

His father did not have the same affinity for such gifts.

Ares would be met with disdain and disgust, the hot rejection from the one whom he needed it most twisting him, shaping him.

But he never stopped trying.

It was the thought in his head as he ran through the halls of Olympus as a giddy boy who should have been innocent but never would be, not beyond the callow desire to please his father.

Blood dripped from his fingers in a soft pat, pat, pat, a crimson trail on the creamy limestone floors. He could still feel the thrumming of heartbeats in its warmth.

He sped into the open space of their quarters looking for Zeus. Open walls led to a covered balcony lined with potted cypress trees that stretched to the sky like spears, and the cerulean ocean spread toward the horizon like a glistening mirror of the sky.

Zeus looked up from the scroll in his hand, his massive frame filling the chair at his grand desk so fully that it almost seemed too small, like furniture for a child.

His gray eyes sparked. A shadow passed across his face, his lips flattening. “Ares, a thousand times I have told you—” His eyes traveled down to Ares’s hands. “Is that … blood?”

“Father,” Ares said, standing tall and strong and proud, chin in the air, the picture of pride. “Today, in Olympia, a crowd gathered, an angry mob. The Grecians—”

Ares’s eyes snapped to Athena as she glided in from an antechamber, white robes flowing and nose in the air, moving to stand behind Zeus to watch Ares, assess him, calculate. A small, condescending smile played on her lips, and Ares scowled, unable to stop the flush from creeping up his neck.

Zeus set the scroll down with a pop. “Get on with it, boy.”

Ares turned his attention back to his father and puffed out his chest. “They defiled your statue, and so I passed judgment, a lesson to be learned by all — none shall desecrate the name of the King of Gods without payment in blood.”

“You what?” His voice boomed, and the room dimmed, filling with rolling thunder.

Ares’s smile fell. Athena’s widened.

“What have you done?” Zeus hissed. “Are they … you killed them?”

“Y-yes, Father.” Joy washed out of him and fear took its place. The heartbeats that had delivered the blood to his hands silenced.

“And you believed I would be pleased?” He stood, gray eyes storming.

Ares opened his mouth to speak as his father approached, but the words caught in his dusty throat.

Hera burst through an archway and onto the patio, emerald robes flying behind her like wings, her face wild. As she entered the room, she slowed to a brisk walk, smoothing her robes with shaking hands, painting on a placid smile to mask her distress. Her eyes betrayed her.

“Whatever is this?” she asked innocently.

“Not now, Hera,” Zeus growled as thunder boomed, the sky growing darker by the second.

Wind whipped through from the ocean, charged and smelling of salt, setting the hairs on Ares’s arms and neck on end. Zeus fixed his cold eyes on Ares as he stepped toward his son, hands open by his sides, lightning crawling and jumping between his fingers.

“Dearest.” Hera laid a hand on his arm, her voice tight and false. “But what has he done?”

He laid the weight of his gaze on her. “He has slaughtered Grecians. In my temple.”

She glanced at Ares, shocked, but she quickly recovered, smiling at Zeus, stroking his arm. “He must have had reason. Was he defending your honor?” Her eyes found Ares again.

The boy nodded, his eyes on his father, his heart climbing his throat.

Zeus pointed at his son, white lightning crackling from the tip of his finger. “This will not go unpunished.” He flipped his hand and splayed his fingers.

Ares’s arms were pressed to his body, the air pulled out of his lung by the force of his father’s power, his bones bending, cracking. As Zeus raised his hand, Ares rose along with it. The only sound was the rumble of thunder, the popping lightning, and the soft pat of the blood of sacrifice as it hit the stone beneath his dangling feet.

Zeus closed his fist, and Ares saw nothing, his body thrashing, eyes rolling back, the world dim and distant, aware of nothing but his pain.

“Stop!” Hera screamed, pulling Zeus’s arm with all her strength, the pretense of calmness gone, her face bent and twisted in panic. “He did this for you! He only wishes to please you. Please, please! Let him go!”

“Not yet,” Zeus said through his teeth. His eyes were so focused on Ares, there was nothing else, his purpose singular.

Lightning wove a cage around Ares, and only then did Zeus release him.

Ares slammed into the base of the cage, lighting it with a shock at the contact, the charge of the spark and crackle hanging in the air around them.

The King of Gods walked to the cage where his son lay, panting. The boy looked at his father, pleading to a judge with no mercy, begging for understanding where none would be found.

“Never,” Zeus said, the muscles in his neck taut, the chill in his voice final. “Never presume to act in my name.”

He clapped his hands once, and Athena jumped, wide-eyed, a gasp passing her lips.

The cage disappeared.

Hera’s face drained, her porcelain skin as white as snow. “What have you done with him?” she breathed.

As the clouds parted and the sun slipped over them, he turned to her with flinty eyes. “He is in the great hall where all can see. All can hear what he has done. All can mock him. Perhaps he will learn the humility you could never teach him.”

Hera shrank away from him as he blew past her and away with the scent of rain and rage in his wake, his white cloak flapping behind him with the billowing snap of sails.

“Are you listening?” Hera’s voice was sharp with impatience.

“What?” Ares snapped, still shaken from the memory.

“I said, if you win, what will you do with the token?”

He ran a hand from jaw to chin. “I suppose it depends on how the competition goes.” He could use it for Dita or against her, help her or hurt her. Or he could serve himself.

There were so many favors he could ask of her.

Hera eyed his smiling face. “You really believe you have a chance.”

Ares hung his arms on the back of the couch. “We’ll see.”

“Well, someone should beat her.” She flattened her lips and brushed invisible lint from the arm of the chair. “If it’s not you, perhaps it will be me.” At that thought, her lips twisted in a smile.

“Maybe it will be you, Mother, and you can devise some horribly embarrassing way to exact revenge.”

Her smile stretched wider, and she stood to go, tucking her clutch under her arm. “Oh, yes. I’m sure I could think of something.”

Apollo stretched out on Dita’s bed as he watched Dita and Perry bustle around a very wary Daphne.

They went on about her, and her moss-green eyes followed them with mild suspicion. Her robes were the color of evergreen, and a golden rope wound around her slender waist, crisscrossing between her breasts — they had called it a strophion in the old times — pinned there by a brooch that twinkled with rubies.

Apollo folded his hands behind his head with a sigh, his gaze sweeping the length of her wild copper hair that tumbled down her back in curls. He would never get his fill of her, not in a thousand years.

Dita and Perry had undertaken a mission to bring Daphne into the twenty-first century, though the nymph was clearly out of her element, having just been awakened after being locked in a magical tree for three-thousand-some-odd years.

Daphne met his eyes and offered a tentative smile, and he winked with a comforting smile of his own.

Dita held up a pair of black skinny jeans and a sheer gold blouse. “These are going to look amazing with your hair.”

She hesitantly took the clothes, the corners of her lips turning down a smidge. “Are you sure —”

“Don’t worry,” Dita said, shuffling her toward her closet. “You’ll get the hang of it.” She stopped just short of the door and snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot! Hold, please.” She ran into her closet and came back a moment later with a lacy black bra in her hands.

Daphne’s frown deepened.

“It goes like this.” Dita held the bra up over her shirt.

Apollo’s brow rose as Daphne took the device, perplexed.

Dita laughed. “It’s like your strophion, except a little more … involved.”

Daphne looked down at the bra and touched the brooch with her free hand, clearly not buying Dita’s flippancy about the undergarment.

Perry turned Daphne toward the closet, and the nymph glanced over her shoulder at Apollo with pleading eyes before the door closed.

Dita gathered her long golden hair and twisted it into a rope as she walked across the room, tossing it over her shoulder. She plopped onto the foot of the bed.

“So, Kat and Dillon look like a real match,” Apollo said, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Dita’s mouth fell into an O as she mocked, “You doubt moi? Didn’t I just beat you? Again?”

He shrugged. “I got what I wanted, so I guess that’s debatable.”

She laughed and hit him with a throw pillow. “Don’t be a douche.”

“Speaking of douches, how’s Ares?”

Dita sighed and rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “Same as always.”

“I’ll never understand the attraction, Dita. He’s such a shit.”

“Well, he’s my shit,” she joked, but her smile lost its shine. “I don’t understand it any more than you do. Maybe it’s because we’re so much alike.”

He shook his head. “Personally, I don’t think you two are anything alike. He’s petty and vindictive, arrogant and childish. He’s been throwing tantrums over his toys for thousands of years with little care or respect for others.”

“Some would say the same about me.”

“Then they don’t know you at all.”

She picked at her bedding, eyes on her fingers. “We’re more alike than you think. It’s just that I’m not evil. I mean, not unless provoked.”

He laughed at that.

“We’re both too competitive for our own good, and we have a high appreciation for beauty, power, and sexual aptitude.”

“So, basically, it’s like sleeping with yourself?”

“Sleeping with your evil self. Pretty much.”

Apollo recrossed his ankles. “There has to be more to it than that, Dita. He’s far too much trouble for that to be enough.”

“The distance of time helps. We go a long time between being together, and with Adonis gone …” She let out a heavy breath. “Apollo, I’m alone. And I know Ares is bad for me. I know it will probably all end in tears. He hates me for not choosing him, and I hate him because he wants to consume me and won’t rest until he has. But we love each other just as much. We hurt each other, but we always come back for more. It’s … complicated.”

“I’ll say. But you’re still going to try to beat him, right?”

She gave him a look. “Whenever have I not tried to win?”

“Fair.” Apollo grabbed a small red pillow and put it behind his head. “Have any moves up your sleeve?”

“Kiki and Owen are my biggest move. They’re my only tool to get the players into each other’s space. If Kat had her way, she’d never see Dillon again. No way would she willingly give him a second chance. She’s already written him off.”

“Well, sounds like you’ve got this in the bag.”

“Don’t question the mistress.” Her eyes lit up, and her smile was merry. “They just need a little time to realize they’re not enemies. Without Kiki and Owen, my chances would drop drastically. They’re the reason I chose Kat as my player. I’m sure I could still win, but I’d really have to work for it.”

“Do you think Ares will try to expose that? Break them up?”

“I’m not sure he’s smart enough to see anything but the direct path. He thrives on spontaneity. The heat of the battle and all that. He relies completely on his emotions. Athena is the sibling with pragmatism.”

“She’s so pragmatic, she’s practically a robot.”

Dita snickered. “Ares will probably use Eric, but I’m hoping that by the time he figures to put Eric in the game, I’ll either be close enough to winning that it won’t matter or I’ll have a plan to take care of him. If Eric comes after the girls, I’m afraid he’ll kill them.” Her voice softened, all levity gone. “He’s a psychopath, and he wants Kiki.”

Apollo’s brows were drawn, the dread of the potential outcomes stirring in his chest. “I just hope you haven’t handed the game to Ares by choosing someone so unpredictable.”

“I won’t deny that Kat was a risky choice, but I can see the threads that bind them, and I know it’s right.”

He must not have looked convinced because she smiled.

“I’ve got this. Ares has quite literally never beaten me in my own game. He doesn’t have the capacity to understand love. He doesn’t even understand his own love for me, which is why he can’t seem to respect that love, or me. So really, don’t worry; the odds of him winning are laughable. Perry and I even have bets going on how fast I can beat him and what his reaction will be, if you want in.”

“You sure you want to bet with the Oracle?”

She laughed, flashing her perfectly gorgeous smile. “I’m not worried. Plus, I love beating him, partly because he is the biggest baby when he loses.”

“It’s so true. Remember that chariot race in Rome?”

“Oh gods. Do I ever.” Dita ran her hand through her hair, shaking her head. “That tantrum was one of the many reasons why I wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Well, before I had something to do with him at least. He hates to lose, but with you, he’s got something to prove. Daddy’s golden boy versus the ne’er-do-well.”

Apollo folded his arms across his chest. “He lost that race fair and square. I don’t even know why he challenged me. He’s always been the second best chariot driver in the history of the universe. He should have challenged me to a gladiator bout. I would have sucked at that. But no, he had to pick one of the few things I’m amazing at. He’s the sorest sport. Ever. We should have Heff make him a medal.”

Dita snorted. “We can shape it like a giant dick and put Number One Cocksucker on the metal plate.”

A laugh shot out of Apollo, and Dita giggled at a memory.

“Remember afterward?” she asked. “When he stomped around the finish line arguing and threw his helmet?”

“Are you kidding? I play that on a loop when I have a bad day.”

The closet door opened, and Daphne emerged looking extraordinarily uncomfortable. She walked into the room like a newborn calf, tugging at the thighs of her jeans as she stopped in front of the mirror in Dita’s bathroom.

Apollo sat up when he saw her, swinging his legs off the bed to walk to her.

Daphne eyed him, but he touched her freckled cheeks and brushed his lips to hers in awe and reverence.

When he pulled away, he was smiling. “You look beautiful.”

Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth as she looked down the line of her body. “These clothes are so odd. Women truly wear garments like these all the time? I feel … well, I feel stifled and naked all at the same time.”

Apollo turned to Dita with a brow up. “You couldn’t have started her off with a dress?”

Dita waved him off. “Sometimes you just have to dive in.” She beamed at Daphne and hopped up onto the counter. “You look fantastic. Okay, so what do you want to learn about the modern world today?”

Perry leaned against the counter next to Dita, her face lighting up. “What about the Kardashians?”

Dita rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how that’s relevant—”

Daphne looked up at them, big-eyed. “The who?”

That was all Perry needed. “Well, see, there are these sisters, and they’re famous. They’re really beautiful and rich, and everyone watches them to see what they’ll wear and what they’ll say. Really, their whole family is famous, too—”

Daphne’s eyes sparkled with wonder. “These sisters, are they princesses?”

Perry’s brow furrowed. “No, not exactly …”

“You know,” Dita interjected, “on second thought, maybe we should let you get used to the whole pants thing. And I’m sure Apollo can teach you more about your bra.” She jumped off the counter with a wink.

Apollo laughed and held Daphne a little closer. The realization that she was real and whole and in his arms caught him by surprise; it was always in the small moments. And he smiled at Dita, his savior, who loved Ares, his jailer, hoping she could find a way through the competition without getting hurt.

But he knew it was in vain.

It was late by the time Kat ran out of things to count in the stockroom. Kiki hadn’t bothered to come check on her, which stung. Kiki’s absence was also an indicator that the brothers were still there, which made leaving the back even worse.

But Kat was nothing if not determined, so she took a deep breath and pushed the door open with a scowl on her face, ready for round two with the angry brother, thankful at least that she could kick them out.

Kiki sat next to Owen at the bar, though she hopped out of her seat the second she saw Kat and walked over, her face full of concern.

Dillon was gone. At that fact alone, Kat relaxed considerably.

“You okay?” Kiki asked with genuine worry.

Kat threw on a sardonic smile. “Great. Just peachy.”

Owen sighed. “I’m really sorry about him. He’s not usually so …”

“Hostile? Belligerent? Obnoxious?”

“Well, no,” Owen started. “He’s usually those things, but tonight he was in rare form.”

“And last night?” Kat added.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “And last night.”

Kiki gave her a withering glare.

Kat sighed, trying to at least make an attempt at being understanding. This required herculean effort. “Listen, it’s not your fault. And it’s nothing I’m not used to.” She tossed Kiki a towel and turned to start cleaning up. “It’s about closing time.”

She caught the towel and twisted it in front of her, biting her lip. “Um, Kat? Could I … I was wondering if maybe I could borrow your car to drive Owen home?”

Kat picked up a rack of glasses and stacked it on a cart with a clank. “Can’t Owen take a cab like the rest of New York?”

“Kat,” Kiki’s eyes went a little wide and darted to Owen, “come on.”

She was too tired and salty to care that she was being rude. “It’s really late, and Owen’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“It’s just … I just thought maybe we could hang out a little longer, that’s all.”

And there was the truth of it. Kat turned to face her sister as Owen stood and pulled on his coat.

“It’s okay, Kiki. We can do it another time.” He gave Kat a smile that was warm and full of acceptance, which made her feel like an utter jerk. “It’s all good. Really.”

Kiki silently begged Kat with gigantic puppy-dog eyes.

Kat could already feel her resolve crumbling. Because, as pushy as she was and as much as she felt like she knew better, she also knew that saying no would end in a fight, and that fight wouldn’t go away. Kiki wasn’t going to drop it, which meant that if Kat pushed, Kiki would revolt. And if Kiki revolted, Kat’s job would become much, much more difficult. She’d quit listening, run away, leave Kat out. The sisters had been together almost every single minute since they left Vegas, and that comfort wasn’t something she was ready to give up yet.

There would be no saying no. But she could try to keep it under her control.

“How about you come to our place instead?”

The lovebirds grinned at each other from across the bar, and Kat almost felt happy for them.

“Works for me,” Kiki answered.

“At least that way, I can keep an eye on you,” she joked, making a V with her fingers and pointing them at her eyes, then her sister’s.

Kiki rolled her eyes, smiling as she pulled the bins of drink garnishes. “You’re more like a big brother than a big sister, you know that?”

“You’re welcome.” Kat reached for a scoop to empty the ice bin as Owen sat across from her.

He glanced over at Kiki, who was out of earshot. “Listen, I just want to say thanks. Kiki said the last guy she dated was a jerk and that you two didn’t get along, so I really appreciate you not tossing me out on my ass.”

She would have laughed at Kiki’s version of the truth if it hadn’t been so horrifyingly blasé. “Yeah, you could definitely say he and I didn’t see eye to eye. But here’s how to stay on my good side.” She squared her shoulders, her voice heavy with warning. “First, do not fuck with her. If you fuck with her, I will fuck with you, and you do not want me to fuck with you.”

He nodded.

“And second, if you have anything but noble intentions, you need to leave. She’s been through enough, and I still think it’s too soon. Don’t prove me right. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” He turned his gaze back to Kiki, who was heading to the back with her arms full of rubber mats. “I’m usually the one who gets dumped, if that makes you feel any better.”

Kat laughed and tossed a scoop of ice out of the bin and into the bucket. “Well, good luck with Kiki because she’s a man-eater. Though I will say, you’re not her usual type, so there’s hope for you to break the cycle.”

“And what’s her usual type?”

“Big, douchey meatheads. Sorta like your brother.”

He smirked. “Touché. I really am sorry about him.”

Kat shrugged and transferred more ice to the bucket. “It’s all right. You’re far more pleasant anyway. I’m glad she’s into you and not him.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile that reassured her more than she’d ever admit out loud.

DAY 3

Brian shouted countdowns and instructions, moving the pads on his hands at intervals as Dillon circled him in the gym, his eyes trained on the targets.

Shift, pop, shift, pop.

Every thump of his gloves against the pads reverberated up his arms, into his mind, alongside her name.

Kat.

The night had passed slowly, his body undeterred by his attempt to wear it down. The shower he’d taken didn’t cool him off. The darkness never brought sleep. The ceiling had remained the same blank sheetrock at four as it had been at midnight when he climbed into bed. His ears had strained in the blackness for sounds of Owen, but the sound never came. Instead, there had been a ding from his phone with a message that Owen wouldn’t make it home, that he’d be staying at Kiki’s.

That had brought him no comfort either.

And so, he’d lain in bed, holding his rightness up against his mistakes, considering the how and the why of his feelings regarding the sisters who had done nothing and everything to upend Dillon’s life.

The first problem sister — Kiki — was too late to solve. Owen was in — all in. The pieces were already in play, including his heart. The look on Owen’s face when he’d walked in the door that morning said it all, and so Dillon had to let it go. It was going to happen with or without his permission, just like Owen had said. There was nothing to be done but back Owen up and be there for him if things fell apart.

The second problem sister — Kat — was unsolvable.

At some point in the small hours of the morning, when his frustration had ebbed, he’d found himself torn over his feelings for her, but one realization had risen to the surface, underscoring the war between them — he was the point of animosity, the fulcrum that had kept the situation teetering in and out of civility.

He’d been a dick to her, plain and simple, and she hadn’t stood for it.

That alone had set a fire in his belly. He’d discovered that he loved the challenge of her just as much as he hated it. She wouldn’t roll over; she’d buck up and bark back.

Never in his life had he met someone like her. She was fierce and strong, smart and sharp, but she’d cut him just as quickly as he could grab her. But, more than anything, he discovered that she was real, more real than any woman he’d ever known. She needed no one but herself and her sister.

He understood that more deeply than he could express.

The minute his mother had died, he’d been alone, besides Owen. The walls he’d built were just as much for his protection as they were to protect everyone else from him. And those walls were impenetrable to everyone but his brother.

In high school, when everyone else had been dating and partying, going to prom and worrying over the homecoming court, Dillon had been surviving beatings from his father — blood payment to keep Owen from enduring it in his place. When everyone had gone off to college, Dillon had been fighting in warehouses for money to pay for his apartment while Owen finished school. While people had been getting married and having kids, he’d become the king of an empire demanding solitude, working to pay for Owen’s college.

Dillon never had a chance at normal, but Owen would. Owen would have everything he wished for, and Dillon would do anything to provide the future he deserved.

The longer he fought, the more he disconnected from the world. He’d been surrounded by people and was still completely alone. With winning came cash and fame, and with cash and fame came women. But it was all empty, all in vain. They wanted to be in his corner at fights, on his arm at parties, in his bed at night. They didn’t want him, and he didn’t want them either.

None of them had found their way past the wall. None had even found their way to the wall to lay their hands on the cold stone and ask for entry. And he’d never shown them the path to get there.

Behind that wall was nothing but blood and bones, and passing the gates would lead you to the beast inside. And that beast was untamable, wild and hungry. That beast would destroy anything that got close enough to find out the truth.

Kat, Kat, Kat.

Somehow he found himself he wanted to show Kat the way. She was a force of nature, just as he was, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if his force met hers, what kind of noise they would make when they collided.

Maybe she had a beast of her own. Maybe she would lope through the gate and match him step for step, roar for roar. Maybe she was strong enough. If she wasn’t, he couldn’t guarantee her safety. And that was why he couldn’t let her in either even if she might be able to withstand him, even if she wanted to.

It doesn’t matter, he thought as Brian leaned into him to tolerate the battering of hiss aching hands. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d insulted her, challenged her, hurt her on purpose for no reason other than he didn’t know any better.

He had never been good with words. He was good at anger, at fighting, at hands and blood and sweat; those came easily, a second nature of war and pain that separated him from everyone he’d ever known.

Brian halted him with a countdown and lowered his hands with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes heavy with concern. “You could use a break.”

Dillon nodded once.

He walked over to the stool in the corner of the ring and sat, pulled his gloves off, and poured water from his bottle over his face and hands. With hot hands and an aching chest, he combed through his soaked hair, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms.

The very core of who Dillon was had been molded by the fists of his father . The two were alike and nothing alike. Dillon had fought against that which they shared but never won. He’d taken the anger, the violence, and turned it into a job, given it a valuable purpose in his life, but there was no denying his nature. There was no stopping him from becoming his father. There was no stopping any woman he might find to love him from suffering the way his mother had. There was no stopping any children from that bond from finding themselves caught in the cycle he’d been in.

And he could never let that happen. Even if that meant he’d be alone for eternity.

It was the little things that Dillon always remembered about his mother — the blueness of her eyes, the sound of her humming softly as she’d stood at the sink, the lilt of her voice as she’d told him goodnight, her small hands pulling the covers up to his chin.

She’d only wanted to keep them safe. In the end, she couldn’t even protect herself.

One morning so many years ago, when he was ten and Owen five, the two of them sat at the table, eating Cap’n Crunch and exchanging pages of the funnies.

She stood at the sink, her powder-blue waitress uniform crisply pressed. A dishtowel was slung over her shoulder, the sun shining in through the window lighting her blond hair like a halo as she swayed, glancing over her shoulder with a smile at her sons.

Dillon was colored like summer, golden and sweet, with a strong nose like his father and blue eyes and fair hair like both of his parents. Owen had none of his traits. His hair was the color of chocolate with eyes that matched, his body long and lean, with a button of a nose.

The differences were recognized by all four, his father most of all.

The door to his parents’ bedroom slammed, and she dropped a dish in the sink with a clatter. The three of them stopped all movement, even down to their ribs, breaths held, the world frozen as if they were caught in amber.

Jimmy walked into the kitchen, blond hair jetting in every direction, thick stubble smattered on his heavy jaw. His dirty white tank top was half-stuffed in his rumpled pants from the night before, and the stench of sweat and whiskey hung around him like a fog.

They had moved to America for a better life, but things in Brooklyn were no easier than they had been in Ireland. And instead of meeting his lot head-on, he met it at the bottom of a bottle.

No one moved as he pulled out his chair, the scrape of the legs against the linoleum floor marring the heavy silence, and when he sat, he fixed his eyes on Dillon, who hadn’t realized he was staring.

“The feck are you lookin’ at, gobshite?”

Dillon dropped his eyes to the comics. “Nothin’.”

Jimmy turned his cold eyes on his wife. “Where’s me tea, Moira?” His voice was low, body tight as he leaned on the table.

Moira wiped her hands on her towel, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll pour you a cuppa.”

She opened the cupboard for a teacup and saucer, poured a cup from the kettle waiting on the stove, and walked across the kitchen to deliver it to him. Every move was deliberate. Every move screamed in its silence.

He looked down at his tea and back at her expectantly. “And me eggs and toast?”

She turned back to the sink, hanging her towel on a hook with trembling hands. “Jim, you’ve slept too late. I’m to go now. Me shift is startin’.”

Jimmy stood and stalked to her, stretching taller with every step, and the moment he was close enough, he grabbed her wrist and held it up, yanking her into his chest with hate in his eyes and venom on his lips.

“You’ll make me eggs before you go, whore, or your wee Owen and me may spend some quality time together when you’re gone.”

Her eyes darted from Owen back to Jimmy, her throat working as she swallowed. “I’ll be late. They’ll fire me.”

“Then you’d best get started, eh?” He flung her wrist back at her, and she held it to her chest, turning to the refrigerator to pull out the eggs with unsteady hands.

Tension pressed on Dillon with every second — the crack of the eggs, the sizzle of the pan, the fear of his brother, the anger of his father — as Jimmy glared at Owen from across the table, hatred rolling off him in waves.

The only way out was through the door. If they could get out before their mother, they could stay gone until she came home. Until they’d be safe again.

“Da, can me and Owen go outside?”

His eyes snapped to Dillon as he picked up his tea. “All the better. I won’t hear your racket if you’re out. Football’s on.”

Dillon nodded and glanced at Owen before slipping out of his chair and taking his brother by the hand. His mother held the screen door open, and he looked into her blue eyes brimming with sadness and fear as clear as the tears caught at the rims of her lids.

It hadn’t been long after that when she died. And then there had been nothing between them, nothing to stop Jimmy.

Nothing except for Dillon himself.

He stared at the dark spot on the gym floor between his feet, spreading with every drop of sweat that slipped from his nose.

There were so many reasons to stay away from Kat, too many. But he couldn’t help but wonder what if, even though he knew the answer. If he went after her, he could end up caring about her. And if he cared about her, if he let her in, he could lose it and hurt her. And if he ever hurt her, he’d never forgive himself.

Brian ducked into the ring and rested against the ropes. “Want to talk about it?”

Dillon sighed and leaned back, hanging his elbows on the ropes behind him. “Did Owen tell you about his new girl?”

“The bartender from the other night?He did. He told me about her sister too. Said you went full T. rex on her. Ate her face right off.” Brian mimicked pulling his face off for illustration.

Dillon would have laughed if he didn’t felt so shitty about it. “Twice.”

“And you’re upset about it because …”

“I might have been out of line.”

“Might have?” Brian arched an eyebrow.

“Okay, I was way out of line. I went there to apologize and ended up picking another fight instead. And then I challenged her to a drag race.”

“Owen told me that too.”

Dillon’s teeth clenched. “Well, why the fuck did you ask me if you already knew the whole story?”

“Because I like watching you squirm,” he said with a shrug. “Owen also told me she’s going to kick your ass.”

Dillon turned his head, not unhooking his arm from the ropes as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I’d deserve it.”

“Classic Dillon. Big mouth strikes again.” Brian crossed his ankles in front of him. “She’s hot, man. Too bad you blew it.”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like her.”

Brian eyed him. “You like her.”

Dillon huffed. “I don’t know how I feel about her. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Don’t gaslight me. I know when you’re into somebody, and you’re into her.”

“And if I am? It’s not like it’d matter anyway. I can’t keep my shit together, and who knows if she’d be worth the trouble.”

Brian laughed. “Girls like that are always worth the trouble.”

But Dillon wasn’t buying it. “I’m not stable enough to be with anyone, and we both know it. One moment, one snap — that’s all it would take.”

Brian lifted his chin and looked down the bridge of his nose at Dillon. “Listen, have you ever snapped on a chick before? Like, actually snapped?”

“I’ve never stuck around long enough to give myself the chance.”

“Then can’t say you know if you’ve never tried.”

“I don’t want to risk it,” Dillon said with a shake of his head. “It’s too much weight to carry.”

Brian assessed him through a pause. “You’re not your dad. You know that, right?”

Dillon looked back at the dark spot on the floor between his feet.

Brian pushed himself off the ropes and knelt in front of Dillon. “You have more humanity in your little finger than your father had in his entire body. Who he was, what he did — that was his choice, and you are not him. You would never have choose his path. You would never do what he did.”

That much was true. He wouldn’t choose. But if he lost his self-control, if that anger took him over, he would have no choice.

Brian stood and hit him on the outside of his knee. “Now, come on. You’ve got a fight coming up, and I’m not going to have my reputation tarnished by you losing.”

Dillon chuckled and stood. “Your reputation, huh?”

“You heard me, strong man. Let’s go.”

Dillon pulled on his gloves, wanting to believe Brian was right, wishing he had control, wishing for a normal life and a normal brain and a normal past. But he could wish all he wanted. Things were what they were, and as long as his father’s blood pumped through his veins, he’d never be free.

Kat looked up from her book, eyeing her sister, who sat sideways in an armchair with her arms slung over the side, chatting with Owen and grinning like a teenager.

Kiki giggled. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” She set her phone in her lap, fingers still resting on the case, like they wanted to be connected to him still, and sighed dreamily.

Kat snickered. “You’ve got it bad.”

Another sigh as she stretched out, her eyes big and twinkly and lovesick. “He’s just … it’s just …” Yet another sigh.

“Do you have some sort of leak? Should we get you checked out by a doctor?”

Kiki rolled her eyes. “You’re such a killjoy.”

“No one should be allowed to be that happy.”

But Kiki smiled. “I like him so much. It’s so weird; I barely know him, but I’ve never felt like this before.”

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it, Kat. Something is different with him.”

Kat flipped her book closed. “I’m not gonna lie — I didn’t think we’d see Owen again, so I was surprised to see him walk into the bar last night, but I should have known better. They always come back for you.”

Kiki bit her lip and looked down at her phone.

“I’m sorry,” Kat said with hot cheeks, both of them thinking about Eric. “I didn’t mean it that way. I actually kind of like Owen, mostly because he’s a complete one-eighty from the jerkburgers you usually bring home. They’re like lost puppy dogs. You can’t say no.”

“Well, consider my tune changed. I’m done with guys like that. Eric pushed me over the edge.”

“You and me both. I never understood why you couldn’t just pick a nice, safe guy.”

Kiki picked at her nails. “I don’t know either. There’s just something about a guy who would stand up for you, protect you. It’s hard to resist a guy who doesn’t give a fuck, a guy who reacts, who takes what he wants. It’s like a drug.”

“But you never recognized where to draw the line; that’s the hard part. Like Joey used to get in fights every time you went out. And Richard would hit on other girls when you went to buy him drinks. I don’t think he bought you a single one. Ever.”

“Ugh, you make me sound like such an asshole.”

Kat shook her head, her face softening. “You’re not an asshole. You just want to see the good in people where there is nothing but trouble.”

“I just thought they could change. I thought I could show them how to be better, if they would let me. I thought I could help them meet their potential.”

“You believed in them, which is noble. But you can’t change people. And you deserve the love you give to others. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

Kiki nodded with a sigh — this time, sad — so Kat let it go there.

“Well, I’m glad your affinity for alpha assholes has passed. Owen doesn’t seem like the fighting type or the type to con drinks out of you. He’s more the bookish, sensitive type. I rate him at about a three on the bad-boy scale.”

Kiki’s brows inched up. “Am I hearing this right? Do you actually approve of someone I like?”

“He seems sweet,” Kat said with a shrug, “and I think it’s fair to say that whatever this is,” she motioned to her sister, “it’s more than a passing phase. I didn’t expect to see him here this morning. But he made pancakes, so I couldn’t be mad. That was probably his plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“Probably, but it was an honest plan.” She blushed, smiling. “He’s … God, Kat. He’s just so great and kind and strong and …” She sighed again, and Kat laughed.

“You’re a mess.”

“I know,” she said, shaking her head like she didn’t believe it.

“You deserve to be this happy, Kiki.”

She frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I thought you said I wasn’t ready.”

Kat glanced down at her book, flipping it over without purpose. “Maybe it’s me who wasn’t ready.”

“I can’t even believe I’m hearing this. What’s with the sudden self-awareness?”

Kat rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “Hanging out with you last night, listening to you two talk, hearing you laugh … I dunno. I get it. Plus, I feel bad for being bitchy to Owen at the bar.”

“Well, Dillon pushed you pretty far, and when you get mad, you don’t usually take it out on the right person. I didn’t take it personally, and I’m sure Owen didn’t either.”

“Whatever,” Kat said, pretending like it didn’t matter. “Dillon was just acting like every other fucker on the track.”

Kiki rolled her eyes. “Like having a dick makes them a better driver.”

“I’m happy to prove them wrong, just like I’ll prove Dillon wrong.”

“I can’t believe he called you out like that. This is your job, not a joke or a hobby. He’s not going to beat you, and he’s stupid for thinking he can.”

“I told him he didn’t know who he was fucking with, but he’s not really the type to listen.”

“How could he? He’s too busy barking.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Kat tried to picture him throwing a fit, but all she could see were his bright eyes, the strong line of his nose, his wide lips, the hard edge of his jaw. The image blazed in her mind, and she kicked dirt over it to put the fire out.

It was desire she felt, and she cursed herself at the realization.

It had been a long time since she met anyone she wanted like that — in that way that felt automatic, undeniable. In Vegas, she’d run with the same guys for so long, and the ones she’d liked were tried on and discarded. She’d always been drawn to men with skill, men with confidence, but she’d found time and time again that her own skill and confidence threatened them. She was too hard, too jaded, too much, and before long, it would end and she’d be alone again.

Loneliness suited her, she’d found. And so she’d all but given up on the prospect of more. She’d given up her expectations, finding men who had no expectations of her — usually out-of-towners in Vegas to party, gone as quickly as they’d appeared. She hadn’t invested in them, they hadn’t invested in her, and everyone had ended up happy, whatever that meant.

The saddest part was, she didn’t know if the type of man she was looking for even existed. All she wanted was mutual respect. She wanted an equal, someone who could match her blow for blow, kiss for kiss, laugh for laugh.

She wanted a man who would love her as fiercely as her father loved her mother.

Kat reached for her necklace, fiddling with the solitary pearl to slide it up and down the chain, comforted by the quiet zipping it made, and she thought of her father.

He was the only man in her life who truly respected her.

She’d called him the day after they left Vegas, rightly assuming he wouldn’t buy her excuse as to why they were on their way to New York. He had known it was bullshit, but he hadn’t asked any questions, much to her relief, though she knew he’d been digging since then. She also knew it would be almost impossible to find a thread to unravel. Four people in the world knew the truth, and none of them were talking.

The hardest part of the whole ordeal was keeping the secret from him. The lesson he’d taught her above all was that family was everything. It was why they’d left, the reason for the cloak-and-dagger and the sacrifice.

Tanaka Katsu loved both his daughters, but with Kat, the eldest, the bond was deeper, stronger. She was his likeness, their seriousness and capability so much of who they were that they stepped into their roles of protector easily, simply, as if there were no other choice. Katsu was yakuza, trained to kill and lead and plan and procure. Kat was as fearless and confident as him, but without the structure of an organization to use those skills, she was left with a single purpose — protect her family. And she had.

They had been at risk so far away from him in Vegas, but that distance had been safer than having them nearby. Their lives were too complicated, twisted with commitments and duty and love. And as much as he loved them and wanted them close, it wasn’t safe. Yuki saw to that.

But for once in her life, she had her father close by. Now that only a few miles separated them, she saw him often, and that alone almost made the trouble worthwhile.

Family was everything, and hers had been split apart. But that fact had never stopped them from loving each other so deeply that nothing could stand in their way, not distance or time.

“Will Papa bring us presents?” Four-year-old Kiki looked up at Kat with eyes so big.

The sisters sat in the window seat on their knees like they’d been for the last half hour, looking through the glass at the empty street, listening for his thundering car.

Kat smiled at her little sister and adjusted the bow in her hair. “He usually does.”

“I miss him,” she said, turning to look at the driveway.

“Me too, but we won’t have to wait much longer. He’ll be here soon.”

The sisters pressed their hands against the window and looked up the street as their mother flitted around them with a dancer’s grace, undeterred by her heels. She fluffed the pillows on the couch again and picked up pictures and moved them arbitrarily before finally taking a seat next to the girls, fingers threaded in her lap, glancing out the window with as much hope as her daughters.

“Grace has strict instructions to make sure you eat too much candy and stay up far past bedtime.” Kim smiled, holding Kiki’s cheek as she pouted. “I’m sorry we’re going out tonight, baby. But we’re going to spend the rest of the weekend together. I promise.”

They heard the rumble of his engine before they saw him. The sleek black ’69 Charger rolled up the street before pulling into the driveway.

Kiki squealed and hopped off the seat, and Kat was right behind her. Kim stood, straightening her tight black cocktail dress, smoothing a hand over her hair as she walked to the door and opened it.

The girls bolted, barreling down the walkway to meet him.

He stepped out of the car, tall in a gray suit, his jet-black hair combed neatly back. On his long, narrow nose sat black sunglasses, and when he smiled, it was bright and full of joy and relief, lighting up his handsome face. He was powerful — anyone could see the gravitas and authority in the straightness of his back, the sureness of every step — but with his children, with Kim, the hard shell of duty fell away, leaving a softness reserved just for them.

Katsu set his leather bag down and knelt in front of the car, spreading his arms.

“Ah musume. Koko ni kuru. Come here, my beautiful girls.”

“Papa!” Kiki squealed.

They ran to him, and he wrapped them in his arms, peppering their cheeks with kisses.

“I have missed you. Where is your mama?”

“Right there!” Kiki cupped her father’s chin and pointed it to Kim.

She waited behind them, tall and slender, her hair falling over her shoulders and green eyes glistening.

He stood slowly, his eyes locked on hers, looking her over for a long moment before closing the space between them to hold her face in his hands.

“I have missed you most of all.”

Her cheeks flushed as she leaned into his hand, gazing up at him like he was the center of the universe.

He bent to kiss her smiling lips, and Kiki giggled. Kat nudged her, though her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling too.

Katsu turned to the girls. “Come, musume. I will show you what I’ve brought.”

Kiki squealed again and ran to him, slipping her tiny hand into his as he picked up his bag, beaming at Kim.

He turned back to Kat. “Come, Katsumi. I have something very special for you.”

And when he smiled again, it was the smile he gave only to her. She answered it with her own and started after him.

Once inside, the girls sat on the floor of the living room, all eyes on Katsu as he sat on the couch. He opened his bag and reached inside, his hands reappearing with a porcelain doll. Her hair was black and shiny, pin straight down her back, and her eyes were a vivid shade of green. They reminded Kat of soft spring grass, warmed by the sun, so bright against her creamy skin and midnight hair and the blood red brocade kimono.

“Keiko,” he said, leaning toward her where she sat at his feet as if he were telling her a great secret, “this doll sat in the window of a shop, and she called my name. Do you see her eyes? She is a jade child, like you.” Kiki’s eyes were wide, her face rapt as Katsu handed her the fragile doll. “She is delicate, my Keiko. Take care not to break her.”

“I won’t, Papa. I promise,” she said, cradling the doll against her chest.

Katsu’s face was soft, and he cupped the back of Kiki’s head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. When he turned back to his bag, he reached inside to retrieve a small velvet box, which he handed to Kat.

She took the soft box, running her hand over the lid before hooking her fingers in the crease, opening it with a creak. Cream satin lined the inside of the box, and on the padded side lay a fine gold necklace with a small pearl pendant.

Kat touched the shiny pearl and looked up at her father. “Thank you, Papa,” was all she could manage.

“Would you like to wear it?” he asked.

She nodded. It was the most lovely thing she’d ever been given.

He slid off the couch to sit next to her on the floor and took the dainty necklace from the box. She gathered her hair out of the way as he laid it on her neck and fastened it before sitting back to admire her.

“Kireii musume. You are beautiful, my Katsumi. Did you know that pearls have their own power?”

Kat shook her head, her fingers on the pearl.

“It is said that wearing a pearl will protect you from evil and bring you luck. And I wish both things for you very much.”

She beamed up at him and then at her mother, who sat behind Kiki playing with her hair, and she was struck by the rightness of it all. If only they could be together always.

Katsu turned back to his bag. “And for my Kim …” He pulled another velvet box out of the bag, and Kim’s breath hitched, her fingers touching her lips.

“But Katsu, why—”

“After all these years, you still ask?” He laid the box in her hands.

She held the big, flat box for a moment, her chest rising slowly as she took a deep breath and opened it. Kiki leaned in to look and her mouth dropped open when she looked inside.

Kim’s eyes shot up to Katsu’s in disbelief.

“May I?” he asked with a smile, extending his hand.

She gave him the box, and it was Kat’s turn to drop her jaw when he took out a necklace strung with diamonds with a large diamond pendant in the center. He tenderly placed it on Kim’s slender neck, the pendant resting just in the hollow of her collarbone.

He pressed a reverent kiss to her neck.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she whispered, trailing her fingers across the twinkling diamonds.

His eyes found hers, his voice soft. “It has been too long this time.”

“Every visit is too long between and too short within,” she whispered back.

They sat in silence, lost in each other for a long moment, and the girls were still, caught up, frozen.

The doorbell rang, and they all jumped.

Kiki was across the room in a split second, chanting, “Grace, Grace, Graaaaace!”

Kim glided to the door, opening it to reveal their nanny with a soft smile on her face and her gray hair twisted into a bun. Kiki threw her arms around Grace’s waist.

“Ooph! Hello, Kiki.” She patted Kiki on the back and leaned in to kiss Kim on the cheek. “Hello, Kimberly, dear.”

Grace walked into the room and set down her things, her eyes twinkling as she smoothed out her shirtdress. Katsu stood, offering a small bow with a smile on his face, and Grace waved a hand at him.

“Oh, you. So polite.” Grace patted Kat on the head.

“Let me go grab my things,” Kim said, glowing and floating through the house like an angel.

“Papa, can’t you stay?” Kiki pouted.

Grace winked at Katsu as she headed into the kitchen, and Katsu bent down to the girls.

“Mama and I are going out, but tomorrow, there will be ice cream and a movie for all of us. What do you think?”

Kiki lit up, her sadness all but forgotten. “Can I have a banana split?”

He brushed her cheek. “Anything you wish.”

Kim came into the room with a weekend bag just as Grace entered from the kitchen, tying an apron around her back.

“Grace, could you have the girls ready for breakfast around ten? We’ll be back to pick them up.”

“Sure,” she said, pulling Kat into her side for a hug. “They’ll be here with bells on.”

Kim turned to the girls, kneeling down to hug them one by one. “Be good, okay?”

“We will, Mama,” Kat answered.

She kissed both girls and stood, and Katsu took her place, cupping the girls’ faces one at a time. Green eyes looked into brown, reflecting love and hope like mirrors. And then he stood and walked to Kim, taking a last long look at his daughters before closing the door.

Kiki and Kat ran to the window seat, giggling as he opened the door for their mother, pausing to kiss her sweetly before she slid into the sports car. And Kat watched her father until he was in the car and she could no longer see his face, and when she touched her pearl, she smiled.

Someday, she’d find a man who looked at her the way her father looked at her mother. Someday, she’d have little girls of her own, and someday, they’d all be together and as happy as she was right then.

“You okay, Kat? You have a weird look on your face.”

“I’m fine.” Kat gave her sister a smile she hoped was reassuring as she tried to put her memories back in their box, deflecting the question with one of her own. “What are you doing tonight?”

Kiki’s cheeks flushed. “Going on a date with Owen.”

Worry shot through Kat right alongside surprise. Of course they would want to go out. And somehow, Kat was completely unprepared.

“What’s the matter?” Kiki asked warily.

“This makes me nervous.”

At that, Kiki full-on frowned. “Why?”

“Because, when I’m with you, I know you’re safe. Owen complicates that.” She paused, thinking. “We need ground rules.”

Kiki swung her legs around to set her feet on the ground, putting on a mock -erious face. “Okay, Mom. Shoot.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Can you just humor me?”

“Okay, okay.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs and clasping her hands. “Well, you and I will keep working the same shifts at the bar, so that covers a lot of it. If he stays over here rather than me going there, would that help?”

Kat considered. “That would definitely make me feel better.”

“And how about if we go anywhere, we can really pretend you’re Mom and I’ll let you know exactly where I’ll be and when I’ll be home?”

“That would also make me feel better.”

Kiki watched her with hopeful eyes. “So you’re really okay with this?”

“I’m okay with it,” Kat answered and meant it. “Just keep his brother away, all right?”

“I know, right?” Kiki laughed, pulling her knees in as she sat back in the chair.

“I’ll make nice with him for the sake of you and Owen though, when I have to. I can sidestep his snark, and if he quits being a shit, maybe we can get along. Beating him tomorrow should shut him up for a minute.”

“You’re welcome for setting the whole thing up for you, by the way,” Kiki said.

“Well, I wasn’t going to call him to work it out.”

“I don’t blame you.” She laughed, the color high in her cheeks as she beamed at Kat. “You’re the best sister ever. You know that?”

“I do. You’re lucky to have me.”

Kiki shook her head as Kat’s phone rang in her lap, a photo of her mom and dad lighting up her screen.

“Hi, Mom,” she answered.

“Hey, baby. How are you?”

Kat stood and stretched. “Pretty good. How are you?” She wandered down the stairs and to the sliding door that led to the small patio.

“Oh, you know. Hanging in there. Things are quiet around here without you.”

“Quiet? In Vegas?” Kat sat in one of the chairs and propped her feet on the railing.

Kim laughed. “More quiet than you’d think. How are you girls doing? Still liking New York?”

“It’s definitely different,” Kat answered, not wanting to admit just how much she loved the city. “We’re doing all right. Kiki met a guy.”

“Oh God. Kat—”

Kat cut her off at the fear in her voice, “It’s okay, Mom. Owen seems to be a really good guy. I’ve just given her my approval.”

“Wow. Well, that’s a relief, I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“We’ve set up some rules so I can keep track of her in case of Eric. She’s agreed; in fact, it was her idea. Hopefully that means she’ll take them seriously.”

“Honey, there’s only so much you can do. She loves you, and she’ll do what you ask. But trying to hold her back will probably only come around to bite you.”

“I’ve just realized that. She’s really into him. I think you’d like him.”

“Once all of this dies down, maybe you can come visit me.”

Kat didn’t miss the sadness in her voice. “Have you thought about coming out for a while?”

“Your father is coming in a few weeks, but maybe after that. I’ve been so busy at work. Hopefully things slow down soon. I’ve got some of my girls taking on more responsibility at the dance studio, and I’ll have a lot more free time once they’re trained. But enough about boring, old me. What’s new with you?”

“Besides Kiki’s love life, not much. I raced the other night, which was probably a mistake. But it felt so good.”

“Think anyone knew who you were?”

“Nope, I don’t. I have another race tomorrow night, but it’s just to shut someone up. Owen’s brother, in fact.”

“Owen, as in Kiki’s someone?”

“The very one.” Kat turned sideways in the chair and tucked her legs in. “It’s just for respect though, no money, no bookies. So it doesn’t really count as a race, right?”

“I don’t know, Kat. Does it?”

She sighed. “I guess so. It’ll feel good to drive and to put him in his place — he called me out. New city means a whole new class of pricks to school.”

“Baby, you know you’re good. Just have faith in yourself. When you believe in yourself, they can’t touch you. When you let them get to you, they win even if you win.”

“Have you met me? Backing down isn’t something that comes naturally.”

“I know, but you’ve learned so much patience. I’m proud of you, Kat. You’ve come so far. Just keep believing in yourself.”

“You sound like a motivational poster,” she teased, but she already felt lighter. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. I miss you lots.”

“Miss you too.” Kat picked at her jeans.

Kim sighed. “Well, I’ve got to run. Tell Kiki to call me later. I want to hear about this new someone.”

“I will.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Kat stared at the hedge against the fence, her gaze lost in the shadows between the leaves.

As a little girl, she’d thought she’d find someone to look at her the way her father looked at her mother. Instead, she’d been looked down on with hard eyes and lusted after like a toy, but never once had she felt the love, the undeniable, irrefutable love that she saw between her parents.

Maybe it didn’t exist. Maybe they were magic, an anomaly. Maybe it was the distance that made them love so deeply.

Or maybe it was just that Kat wasn’t made for love, not like her mom, not like Kiki. Maybe she was just too hard, too cold to let anyone in. And all she could ever do about it was dream.

The tile under Ares’s palm was cool despite the steam of the shower, never warming, even under his touch. Water streamed down his back, almost hot enough to burn.

He closed his eyes and found her face in the darkness.

Ares hadn’t seen Dita since he left the day before after hours wrapped up in her, reminded of all the reasons he wanted her, he needed her. And he hadn’t pressed her for more, hadn’t gone back, giving her a little space rather than taking what he wanted, which was more.

It was always more.

But waiting was not something he was accustomed to. A little restraint was a small price to pay — the more he stayed away, the more she would want him now that she’d had a taste. It was a dance they’d done so many times, he knew every step by heart and memory. He was even willing to lose, as much as he would hate it. But if he were going to lose, he’d lose with her naked and wrapped around him.

He found himself smiling as the water sluiced down the furrows and ridges of his back.

Dita giving Daphne to Apollo was the best thing that had happened to Ares in a thousand years. Adonis’s loss was Ares’s gain. She was his alone for the first time in too long.

The smile on his lips slipped away.

A caveat to Apollo’s reward was that he was indebted to Dita. And the closer the two grew, the more that relationship would put his secret in danger. His only comfort was in his oath with Apollo. Neither Apollo nor Ares could utter the truth about who had killed Adonis, and so Apollo would carry on taking the blame for Ares’s action. The bond was beyond their powers, and the truth had been hidden since Minotaurs guarded labyrinths and Olympus was atop a mountain of the same name.

Water pattered against his shoulders, and in his mind, he saw her — hair like spun gold, eyes blue and bright, her body and soul open and calling to him. She was all he’d ever wanted, and to love her set him free. But the power she had over him held him captive all the same. She belonged to him, but to take her, to keep her, she had to be claimed.

No god or man had ever claimed Aphrodite, though so many had tried. She took; she was never taken.

Not until Ares.

From the moment Ares had stirred with desire, Aphrodite was the only one he wanted. Of course, she’d seen him as nothing but an insolent child, even as he had grown into a man, and with every day, with every meeting, his determination would dig deeper with roots, searching for acknowledgement.

Until one day, he had seen the shift.

He stood in his chambers, admiring his new armor in his looking glass. The golden chest plate had been forged by Hephaestus, who had instilled it with magic and polished it until it shone — the sunlight beamed in from the windows, illuminating the surface.

Ares smiled at his reflection, squaring his shoulders before turning to leave, pausing at the table next to his door for his medallion. The familiar weight comforted him as he turned it over in his hand — two snakes knotted together, one white and one black, completing the circle with their tails in each other’s mouths. Ares considered it a token for good fortune, though Tyche, goddess of such matters, mocked him for it.

There was little in the world Ares hated more than being mocked.

He ran his thumb along the black snake’s body before tucking the medallion away in the pouch on his belt, striding through the halls of Olympus and into the dining hall. When he entered the wide room, his eyes found her, and hers found him. Neither looked away.

Her robes were the color of blood, her skin the color of milk, with eyes that burned behind long lashes, telling him without a word what she wanted. She could deny her feeling all she wished. The truth was written across her face, carried on her shallow breath across the room and into his heart.

Persephone, who sat at Aphrodite’s side, elbowed her as he approached.

Ares ignored them, sliding onto the bench across from them. He picked an apple out of the bowl of fruit on the table.

The goddesses’ eyes were amused as Aphrodite spoke. “May I help you, boy?”

Ares bristled. “I am no longer a boy and have not been for some time, a fact I would quite enjoy acquainting you with.”

Her voice was heavy with disdain. “Oh, I am quite sure you would.”

Persephone snickered, and Ares narrowed his eyes at her. Her brow rose in challenge, but he was undeterred. Persephone didn’t concern him, and neither did Hades. Not that Ares wished for a fight, but he wouldn’t think twice about ending the God of the Underworld’s reign, nor would he walk away from the opportunity.

He’d always wanted his own dominion.

Ares turned his gaze to Aphrodite, smoothing his face. “Walk with me. My temple in Athens is complete, its glory known throughout Greece. You should know its glory.”

She sighed, looking incredibly bored. “Ares, I do not wish to walk anywhere with you, least of all to an entire temple devoted to you. Have you anything else to bother me with? Because we were in the middle of a very important conversation before you interrupted.”

Ares stood, his eyes intent on her as he walked around the table, stopping at her side with power and boldness rising in his chest. Curiosity colored her face, and when he lowered his lips to her ear, she leaned away. But his hand wound around her slender arm, pulling her closer.

“You will be mine and of your own volition, Aphrodite. You will want me, and you will sigh my name to the stars when I take you. Trust in this.”

When he stood and their eyes met, she wore a new expression. The goddess was caught in a mixture of desire and annoyance, appalled at his audacity and at herself for wanting him. He could read her like a book, no matter how she fought to hide from him.

There was nowhere for her to hide.

Ares tossed the apple in the air and caught it, his eyes holding her still as he took a bite. And, with a tip of his head, he turned to stroll from the room, red cloak whipping behind him.

Steam curled up around Ares, and he smiled at the memory. She had always been his siren, the one he couldn’t resist. He would fight through Tartarus for her, turn his back on any god or man for her favor, cross any distance to reach her. They were destined, fated, and she knew it just as well as he.

No longer would she deny him.

Ares turned off the water and dried himself, pausing with his towel in hand, standing naked before his mirror. What he saw was a wall of bone and muscle, sinew and will, built for war, built to win. And he would. He would win all that he wished, starting with her, starting right now.

Dita’s thumbnail had been chewed down to the quick as she paced the clearing in Elysium, white robes billowing behind her like the tail of a comet.

Adonis hadn’t come. Again.

She turned to walk back in the direction she’d come. She shouldn’t have been surprised; it had been well over a week since they fought over her freeing Daphne. And it wasn’t that she couldn’t see his side; she could and understood. She just saw the side he didn’t — the side that knew Apollo’s suffering.

No, Adonis wouldn’t speak to her, but he would speak to Perry, the only mother he’d ever known. It had taken her days, but she’d finally convinced him to agree to meet with Dita. So here she was, trying again, seemingly to no avail, with her stomach twisted in knots.

The brush rustled, and Adonis stepped through, his face shadowed and sharp, his back straight and stiff. He stopped just inside the clearing and crossed his arms.

Days of thinking and wishing and waiting for him ended with a shock that zipped up her back at actually seeing him in the flesh. She stepped in his direction, reaching for him without thinking. But his scowl deepened, the muscles of his arms and shoulders tensing, and she withdrew her hand, twining her fingers behind her back, tripping over her thoughts.

She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again before finally settling on the one thought that was always present.

“I have missed you,” she said softly to the grass and the trees and his heart.

Softness touched his eyes, nowhere else. “I have missed you as well.”

“Every time I close my eyes, I am here.”

He hesitated. “I know.”

“Yet you will not come to me.”

“What is left to be said? What could you say that would change what you have done?”

Her heart ached, and with a breath, she stepped toward him, encouraged when he didn’t step back. “Nothing. Everything. Will you give me the chance?”

With cold eyes, he scanned her face for a moment before nodding.

The tightness in her shoulders unwound just enough for her to realize they had been tense in the first place. “Come. Sit with me.”

He followed her, taking a seat by her side under the shade of the tree, watching as she smoothed out her robes. She fought the urge to touch him, choosing instead to run a finger over the gold trim of the fabric to keep her hand occupied. His body was tight and the silence uncomfortable as she sorted through all she wanted to say. A list had existed in her mind, a list that had disappeared the moment she saw his face. And with nowhere to start, she decided to begin with the simplest statement, the heart of the truth.

“I am sorry.” The words were solemn, earnest, honest.

“That is not enough to right the wrong,” he clipped.

Heat rose in her cheeks. “I know. I understand—”

“You do not understand, Aphrodite. If you did, you would never have betrayed me.”

She hardened at his words, carefully choosing her own. “No, I suppose I do not,” she said evenly. “But I have hurt you, and I am sorry for that.”

“But you are not sorry for what you did. You wish for my forgiveness, but I cannot grant it.”

The argument was the same as it ever had been, the same as always. “Thousands of years have passed, though I know you can’t understand — time here passes so differently. She was trapped, helpless all that time, and he suffered so—”

The tendons in his neck tightened. “What care have I for his suffering? You betrayed me, betrayed us, for the one who stole my life, stole you from me—”

“No, he did not! You live on in Elysium. You have me still, though now you ignore me. And had you drunk the nectar as I’d asked—”

Adonis stood, his forearms and biceps rippling with his clenching fists, but his voice was as calm as the center of a storm. “We will never agree, and you should not have come.”

“How can we come to an agreement if you refuse to speak to me?”

He turned to leave, and her words caught in her throat.

He can’t leave, not like this.

“Please,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to live without you.”

His feet paused in their track, and when he turned it was with eyes sharp as blades and words hard as stone. “You should have considered that before you turned your back on me. And so, my goddess, this fate is your doing; your choice was made the moment you set her free.”

Her hands were numb as she stood, matching his anger with her hurt, with her rage at his presumption sparking her. “Do not lay blame on me when it is you who will not see reason.” She stepped toward him, fists at her sides. “No one tells me what I can and cannot do, not even you.”

Adonis squared his shoulders. “I never told you what to do, Aphrodite. I only hoped you would hold your love for me above all else.”

When he turned away once more, he never looked back.

Dita opened her eyes, back in her room as a frustrated tear slid down her cheek and onto her pillow.

Futility nestled into the hollow in her chest. He had thrown her love back at her as if it were a trifle, manipulating her by questioning her feelings, feelings he knew to be true. He had accused her of not seeing reason when he refused to even consider a side other than his own.

He wasn’t going to get over this, and neither was she. There was no argument to be made that hadn’t been made a hundred times. There was nothing she could offer and nothing he could say.

The impasse was a chasm too wide for their voices to carry across.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to cross it anymore.

The realization crept over her like a storm, blocking out the sun, crackling with lightning. Her life without him flashed through her mind, racking her with a shock of loneliness and fear. Life without her most familiar, her beloved. Her constant.

But what she feared most of all was the whisper of relief she felt.

Tears spilled from her eyes, and she pulled a pillow into her chest, pressing it against her heart.

The elevator dinged, and when Dita turned, she found Ares walking into her room, arrogant and smug until he scanned her face. And then his eyes were only full of concern, his brows heavy with questions, his body tight with desire to protect her.

She opened her arms, and he slipped into her bed, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in his neck, breathing in the crisp scent of his soap.

“What’s wrong?” he asked against her hair so gently.

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head.

Ares leaned back, searching her face, capturing her chin. And then he looked into her eyes with determination she knew he could deliver and made her a promise she hoped he could keep.

“I will make you forget him.”

And he sealed the vow with a kiss.

DAY 4

Dillon sipped stale coffee from a Styrofoam cup, the metal folding chair he sat in hard and uncomfortable, listening to Melanie, a waitress in his anger management group.

Her arms were folded across her chest, her face drawn. “Then, that fucker had the nerve to tell me he didn’t want onions after I specifically asked him if he’d wanted them and he’d said yes. I almost lost it.”

Dr. Lovell adjusted his reading glasses where they sat low on his nose, peering over the top of them at Melanie. “You said almost. What happened?”

“I almost bit my tongue off to stop myself from cussing him out and found my manager so she could deal with the asshole.”

He nodded, his smile small but present all the same. “You took time to think things through and rerouted your trigger to someone better equipped to handle the situation. You removed yourself. That’s progress.”

She sighed with a weary smile of her own. “This is the first job I’ve held for more than two weeks in the last five years.”

Congratulations rolled through the group, and Dr. Lovell turned his attention to Dillon, arms crossed over the legal pad in his lap.

“We haven’t heard from you in a while, Dillon. How are things with you?”

He shifted in his seat, not wanting to talk. But he’d been in the group for years, built a level of trust with Lovell and his peers even though the group had grown and diminished and grown again. He knew it was a safe place. That didn’t stop him from remaining withdrawn unless it was absolutely necessary.

So he took a breath and sat back in his seat, the small coffee cup in the circle of his hands. “Owen met someone the other night after a fight, and things are … complicated.”

A few people nodded.

Lovell’s face was still. “Owen dating hasn’t ever been easy for you.”

“No, I guess not. He’s been hurt, mistreated, and we all know that’s my trigger. My biggest trigger at least.”

He nodded. “What makes it complicated?”

Dillon scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “I think she’s dangerous, a risk. I see him with a good girl, someone who’s like him, someone who will take care of him. But I know I can’t choose for him. I can’t make that decision, and I can’t stop him from doing what he wants. It’s just …” He looked at a spot on the carpet in the center of the circle of chairs. “It’s like this; I’ve spent all this time and energy growing a garden, and eventually I know I have to let it go, give it to someone else. How do I know they’re going to care about it like I do? How do I know they won’t just let it go to ruin?”

“You don’t. That’s where you have to trust Owen.”

“I want to, but …”

“You’ve spent your life focused wholly on giving him the life you feel he deserves, and giving up that control is hard. You’ve been his keeper since you were a child.”

Dillon’s throat tightened, and he swallowed to force it back open.

“And it’s scary to think that, when he finds someone to love, you won’t be his keeper anymore, not the same way you’ve been. So what will you do with yourself? Therein lies your fear. But therein also lies your freedom.”

He met Dr. Lovell’s eyes but didn’t speak.

“What about you? If Owen finds someone, do you think you might want to too?”

Kat’s face flashed through his mind, but he shook his head. “I can’t. Doesn’t matter if I want to.”

“Can you tell us why?”

Dillon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his coffee cup hanging in his hands. “What if we fight? Can I be with someone and keep my cool, keep calm when I’m angry? What if I hurt her? What if I’m too jealous, too possessive? Because I don’t know who I am with someone else. I don’t know how much I can give.”

“It’s a lot to assume with no data to back it up one way or the other. But there are ways to try without putting yourself or someone else at risk. Take it slow. Remember that the people who care about you aren’t your enemies. Be honest about how you feel and about your past.”

“That’s the hard part. How can I be honest and talk about what I talk about here with someone I don’t trust?”

“Let someone in enough to earn your trust. It doesn’t have to happen all at once. Step one is opening yourself up to the possibility.”

Dillon nodded, and Dr. Lovell moved on to another member, leaving him with his thoughts.

He looked into the black depths of his coffee, thinking about what had been said, wondering if it was possible. He hadn’t been open to it and wasn’t sure why he was even entertaining the possibility. Kat had affected him even though she shouldn’t have, even though she seemed to hate him — and with good reason. He’d pushed her away, hurt her, bitten her like an abused dog that spent its time waiting for another swinging boot, another angry word.

There was no chance for him there. Not with her.

And anyway, he barely had control. He didn’t know how to change. He didn’t know if he could. Because his beast was his father’s, and his father’s had been untamable, wild.

His father’s was a murderer, and Dillon would never stop believing his would be too.

Thunder boomed, rattling the windowpanes, and Owen scooted closer to Dillon on the worn, tweed couch. The dark living room was lit only by the flickering television and the occasional lightning that would cast white light and black shadows across the room.

Their father had left an hour before, drunk and possessed. One minute, he’d been sitting in his armchair, staring at the television with a drink in his hand, and the next, he had risen, mumbling to himself while he pulled on his boots. He’d left as the first drops of rain fell, and within minutes, the sky had opened up.

The rain fell in sheets against the windows, and the thunder and lightning had kept the boys from attempting to sleep. And through it all, Dillon knew something was so very wrong. He felt the whisper of it across his skin, in the air around him, in his bones and brain and soul. So he kept vigil, eyes on the screen, heart on his brother, mind on his father.

Headlight beams swung across the wall through the window. The brothers shared a look in silent agreement before switching off the television and running to their room, hearts banging, fear mounting. The feeling of wrongness amplified in the echo chamber of his mind. Owen climbed into Dillon’s bed, waiting for him, but Dillon closed the door but for a sliver, watching. Waiting.

The front door opened, and his father’s bulk filled the frame in shadows, the world behind him shining in the driving rain. Lightning flashed, and that was when Dillon saw the blood.

It wasn’t a drop or a smattering. It was a wash, staining the once-white undershirt from hem to collarbone in splashes and strokes, like a painting of an end, of death and rage, dotting and streaking his arms, his hands, his pants.

Jimmy stepped inside and slammed the door, his boots tracking mud through the living room. The kitchen light flooded into the living room when he clicked it on. His shoulders were wide and sinewy, the wet tank clinging to his broad chest as he turned to the sink, starting the faucet to rinse the gore from his arms and hands.

Dillon watched, rooted to the spot, his breath coming in bursts, as Jimmy gathered an armful of towels from the linen closet and disappeared outside. There were too many questions; Where had he gone? Who’s blood was that? Why had it happened, whatever it was?

But the question that burned brightest and hottest was this: Where’s Ma?

He couldn’t connect the questions in his mind, couldn’t admit what he suspected, unable to comprehend how it could be possible. There had to be another reason Ma wasn’t home, some explanation why Jimmy was covered in crimson. Jimmy got in fights all the time; that was nothing new. It had to be that. It couldn’t be more.

When Jimmy came back a few minutes later, he stripped down in the kitchen until he was naked, hands stained red, harsh light casting his body in shadows and light, sharpening every angle. Everything he touched went into a trash bag.

Owen sat in Dillon’s bed waiting, the covers gripped in his fists. “Dillon,” he whispered.

Dillon’s heart shot into his throat.

Jimmy froze in the kitchen, his hand stilling in the midst of tying a knot in the top. He looked back over his shoulder at the boys’ door and turned, his eyes as hollow as his soul.

Dillon shot away from the door and into bed, throwing the covers over him and Owen, pressing his mouth to his brother’s ear. “Pretend you’re asleep,” he whispered with numb lips and danger ringing in his ears with his pulse. “Freeze.”

The sliver of light from the door opened into a wide rectangle, and their father’s shadow stretched long in the center. Dillon heard the footsteps on the hardwood, and he closed his eyes gently as he tried to slow his racing breath, tried to melt his face into a mask feigning sleep. The smell of whiskey grew as Jimmy came closer, his breathing loud in the silent room, towering over the bed for what felt like an eternity.

“Fecking queers,” he spat. He turned to leave, closing the door solidly behind him.

Only then did Dillon take his first real breath since his father had walked through the door. And the gravity of it all pulled him down into himself, dragged down by the weight of fear and premonition.

Something had shifted, and his life would never be the same.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Owen whispered.

Dillon hugged his small body, pulling it into his chest. “Course, buddy. Just try to get some sleep.”

After a little while, Owen’s breathing slowed, his body relaxed and heavy, his face soft with the peace of innocence. But sleep never found Dillon. He lay in bed and stared at the square of twilight on the rug until it turned from blue to purple to yellow, wishing for things he’d never have, holding onto the one thing he always would with both arms and his entire soul.

The world was silent until Owen woke, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“Sleep okay?” Dillon asked with a rough voice.

Owen nodded. “M’hungry.”

“All right,” he said, wishing they could stay locked in their room all day, terrified of what leaving would bring, what it would mean. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Dillon kept Owen behind him, quietly slipping out of their room, his eyes scanning and ears alert.

Jimmy sat in his armchair, staring at the wall, in fresh clothes, his hair neatly combed. He didn’t register the boys as they walked through the room and to the kitchen, but Dillon was so aware of him that every sense focused on his father. He was a predator, and they were his prey, weak and exposed and at his mercy.

Dillon climbed onto the counter for the bowls and cereal and busied himself with the task of making them both breakfast, though he didn’t think he could eat — his stomach was a wasteland. But he made it all the same, taking a seat next to his brother with his eyes on his father, who hadn’t moved other than the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The doorbell rang just as Owen took his first bite, his eyes darting to Dillon’s. Their father stood, unfazed, as if he was expecting someone.

When he opened the door, it was to two policemen.

“James Malloy?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“May we come in for a moment?”

Jimmy nodded once and moved aside. Dillon’s heart beat faster. He was otherwise perfectly motionless.

The cops glanced around, their eyes landing on the boys.

One of them asked, “Is there somewhere we could speak in private?”

Jimmy acknowledged them for the first time that morning. “Go on. Go play in your room.”

He jerked his chin toward their bedroom, and they slid out of their seats and away, though Dillon didn’t close the door all the way. Instead, he stood in the spot where he’d been last night, watching and listening.

The policeman who seemed to be in charge took off his hat and smoothed a hand over his dark hair. “You might want to sit down, sir.”

Jimmy sat obediently with his hands in his lap, and the dark-haired cop took a seat in the chair next to him.

“Did you hear from your wife after she left work last night, sir?”

He shook his head, offering nothing else.

The cop took a breath and let it out. “She was assaulted last night on her way home. It happened near where she worked. Sir, I’m sorry to bring you this burden, but when we found her, she was already gone.”

Dillon’s world spun away from him until it was small and far away, like he’d looked through the wrong end of a telescope.

“Moira’s dead?” his father asked in vain.

“Yes, sir. We found her ID in her wallet — it was cleaned out, but they left her license. She was … she was beaten very badly. We’ll know more within a few days.”

Jimmy was eerily still. “Who did this?”

You did! Dillon’s mind screamed. Sweat dotted his brow, fingers clutching the doorframe.

The officer shook his head. “We don’t know. The rain washed away any evidence we might have been able to collect.” He ran a hand over his mouth, the dark shadows under his eyes deep. “We’ll do our best to find who did this to her. Be sure of that, Mr. Malloy.”

“Thank you,” he answered calmly. “Can I see her?”

To the police, Jimmy sounded like he was stunned, in shock. But Dillon knew him. He could hear the murderer lying in the low spaces of his voice.

“Yes, sir. We’ll need you to come with us to identify her and to answer a few questions. Is there someone who could watch your boys?”

“Aye. I’ll take them to the neighbor’s. You’ll excuse me while I care for me sons?”

He nodded. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

When the officers stood to leave, Dillon darted to Owen’s side, sitting next to him where he played with Hot Wheels on the floor between their beds.

The door swung open, and Jimmy stepped in, subdued. “Somethin’s happened to your ma. I’m to go with the police. You’ll go to Mrs. Killion’s until I’m back. I’ll come for you then.” His words held a strange, restrained calm.

Owen’s eyes bounced to Dillon. “Can I bring my cars?”

Dillon watched his brother for a breath, torn between relief that Owen had no clue what was going on and desire to tell him, to share the burden.

But instead, he said, “Sure, buddy.”

Jimmy’s glare was like flint as Owen gathered his cars into his arms. “Don’t be makin’ trouble or you’ll have me to answer to.”

The boys stood, and Dillon guided his brother out, wishing he could find comfort in something as simple as toys or an afternoon in a safe place. Their mother was gone, gone forever, the one who had always given him comfort when all seemed lost, the one who had loved him without condition, without question. The one who had protected them from their father. And somehow even as a child, Dillon knew he’d never find it again. Never would he be protected.

Now he would be the protector. Because Owen was all he had left, and he would guard that love or die trying.

When Dillon looked up, the group was dispersing. Some talked by the table of cookies and coffee as others collected their things.

Dr. Lovell moved over a few chairs to sit next to Dillon. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to speak to you alone before you go.”

Dillon shook his head, unsure of what was left to say. “I don’t mind.”

He watched Dillon for a moment. “I know how important Owen is to you and how much your relationship has shaped you. And I know how much you lean on him. Have you really let yourself consider what will happen when he’s gone?”

“No,” Dillon answered honestly. “It’s always been us, him and me. And I know it’ll happen. I know the time will come. I’ve just always hoped it will work itself out. That I’ll somehow be ready.”

“Standing in his way will separate you even more than distance or relationships. I’m not saying the girl he’s seeing is the girl. But some day, he’ll be gone. If it’s not a relationship, it will be his job, or some other desire will pull him away. And if you give him the room to breathe, he’ll only grow more. It’ll only strengthen your bond. In the meantime, cultivate the relationships around you. Grow them, feed them just like you would your garden. Trust that what you have to offer will be enough, and the trust you build will be your salvation in the end.”

“And what about this part of me I can’t control? What if I care about someone and let them in only to hurt them? I don’t want to end up like my father. I can’t.” Panic rose in his chest. He pressed it down.

“Your father never admitted he was part of the problem. He never sought help. He gave in, and you overcame. He wasn’t aware, and he didn’t care. You do. That alone sets you apart.”

Dillon couldn’t find any words, and none were required. Dr. Lovell stood and squeezed Dillon’s shoulder before leaving him.

Trust. Salvation. Words that only meant something to him within the context of his brother.

The fact remained that he didn’t trust himself. And with Kat, if he got angry, she would fight right back. That was the root of his concerns. How could he stop himself when provoked? He couldn’t stop himself when he was left to his own devices. She’d be gasoline to his fire, not a salve to put the fire out.

He was intrigued by her, by the mystery of her, by her fire and spark, but he didn’t know if he could afford to be.

Maybe she would be his downfall. Maybe she was the only one strong enough to face him.

The very least he could do was apologize; he owed her that. He was the problem, and he could be the solution. He was about to face her in a race, and he had to find a way to stop himself from blowing up everything over and over again. Because it fell on his shoulders. Not hers, not Owen’s. His alone.

So he’d try to make that right. It was all he could do. And in doing that, he could make his brother happy too. Win-win.

And with that, there was nothing more to be done but prepare himself to lose. He just hoped the track was the only place it would happen.

The street was virtually abandoned. Warehouses flanked Kat’s car, and the river lay in front of her, the city reflecting off its surface like stars. The Brooklyn Bridge arched away from her to Manhattan, and music played quietly from her speakers with her windows down, the dash illuminated. She glanced in her rearview, seeing the slice of Kiki and Owen sitting on her trunk, their shadows leaning into each other. Despite herself, she smiled.

Kat had spent the afternoon tuning her car, lowering the pressure in her tires for traction, prepping herself for a fight and a race and a confrontation. One thing she’d never admit aloud — and barely even to herself — was that she was nervous. She didn’t want to see Dillon; she wanted to beat him and bounce.

All she did know was that she would win. The specs on his car were enough to convince her of that certainty, and he should have known it too, should have known better than to dare her to prove it.

Her father had given her the car on her sixteenth birthday, and she’d never forget the feeling of turning the key in the ignition for the very first time. Katsu loved cars, muscle cars especially. When Kat had been a little girl, she had fallen in love with them too, from the romanticized visions of badasses and cars to the regular parade on the strip of hot rods with bright colors and crazy paint jobs. When she’d gotten older, he’d taught her the ins and outs of an engine by rebuilding a ’69 Impala with her — a car that had become her day car, a car that had killed her to leave in Vegas — and the chance to be with her father, to share his hobby with her and only her, was one of the highlights of her childhood.

And when she’d started racing, that was when it had all clicked into place, her feet firmly planted on the path that would carry her through life.

Her first race had ended with her gun pulled on a motherfucker, and it wasn’t the last. They men she raced tried to swindle, cheat, berate, belittle her. All they’d accomplished was making her work harder. Her mother had asked her so many times why she didn’t just quit.

Kat would answer, Because that’s what they want.

The truth was, she loved to race more than anything. No one would take that joy from her just because they were threatened. Because they lost. Because they couldn’t get a visible rise out of her. It was something she shared with her father, and it was something she was good at. The fact that they wanted her to fail just fed her desire to win.

Headlights shone behind her, illuminating the silhouette of her sister and Owen, the thundering engine growing louder until Dillon pulled to a stop next to her, hanging his arm out the window. His face was lit by the glowing dash, planes and shadows and eyes that sought hers in the dark.

Everything about him was different. The soft curve of his lips. The line of his jaw, still hard but without the sharpness she’d seen there before. The lines of his shoulders and arms. Even the air between them.

She had expected a lot of things that night, but the surge of desire was at the bottom of the list.

So she put on a cocky smile and said with a husky voice, “You ready to get your ass kicked?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” His voice was gravelly too, deep and rumbling like his engine, hot like exhaust, and she almost wanted to keep him talking just to hear it more.

Owen and Kiki slid off her car and walked between them, his arm hanging on her shoulder and hers wound around his waist.

“Good luck with that,” Owen said with a look at Dillon bordering on pity.

Kat laughed, revving her engine and peeling out.

Her heart thumped steadily against her ribs as she pulled up to the light, and a second late, he rolled to a stop next to her. She revved her engine again, watching him with a smile she didn’t want to have. Not that she wanted a fight, but she didn’t want this either. This was dangerous. Because goddamn if he didn’t look good in that shiny black GTO and leather jacket that she bet smelled like heaven with that smile on his face and that look in his eyes.

Dillon was so one-eighty from the man she’d come to know, she felt dizzy.

She looked up at the light just as it turned green, her body shifting as she hit the accelerator and shot out in front of him, leaving behind any chance he’d thought he might have at the starting line. Within seconds, he was far enough behind her, she could see his headlights in her rearview. She smiled, and when she shifted gears, she pulled away once and for all, speeding under the last light with two car lengths between them.

Kat pulled her car over at the edge of the water, and he stopped his car next to er and got out, glancing back at Owen and Kiki walking toward them in the distance.

Dillon made his way around his car, stopping to lean against his passenger door, and Kat lazily draped her elbow from her window, wondering if she looked as smug as she felt.

But he wasn’t mad. He wasn’t combative or defensive.

He was smiling, not with teeth and joy, but with his wide lips closed and a secret behind them.

“Seems I owe you an apology or two.”

“Seems so.”

“I was wrong about you.”

She shrugged and turned her eyes to the river. “Wouldn’t be the first time I was underestimated.”

Dillon was quiet, and when she snuck a glance back at him, his eyes were on his combat boots crossed in front of him. He folded his arms with a nod.

“Well then,” he said as he met her eyes. “I’m sorry for being another asshole at the end of a long line.”

She smiled — this time, not cocky at all. This time, it was soft with a secret of its own. “That’s one apology.”

He laughed, the sound taking her back to that first night, that fleeting moment when she’d found herself in his space like it was the first and last place she’d ever want to be.

“I’m sorry, Kat. I was been a prick, and believe it or not, I didn’t mean to be. You didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you, to be spoken to the way I spoke to you.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Another nod. “When I’m mad, when I’m on unsteady ground, my mouth takes over.”

His admissions and honesty had all but disarmed her completely. “I get that. And you weren’t the only one out of line. I was too, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.” His voice was so deep and strong, a voice that could command or calm or carry her away.

“So are you.”

They watched each other, the silence between them heavy, their thoughts almost tangible in the space between them.

On that list of her expectations, an apology wasn’t even at the bottom. It hadn’t even made the list at all. She wondered what had happened, what had changed, and how she was supposed to react, what she was supposed to say.

Her body reacted on its own — heart speeding up with his eyes on her like they were, her breath coming a little faster, a little shorter. She scanned his face, which wore a mixture of amusement and humbleness, wondering if this version of Dillon was temporary, if something new would set him off and put them back where they’d been. And she found herself curious and conflicted by a glimmer of hope she felt compelled to keep in the dark.

Dillon broke the quiet between them, his lips tilting into a smirk. “So I feel like I need redemption from … whatever that was. Let’s not call it a race.”

Kat laughed, and his smirk stretched wider.

“Come to a fight.”

“How come?” she asked, playing like she didn’t care. “Wait, did we just become friends?”

“Pretty sure.” He unfolded his arms and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’ve seen you in your element. Come see me in mine.”

Her eyes ran over his messy golden hair, and her fingers itched to touch it. She wondered if it was silky and soft like she imagined.

The silence had gone on too long, and she fumbled for a way to salvage it, hooking her last thought as the color rose in her cheeks.

“I don’t know, Dillon,” she said, looking off toward the river. “I might need to wash my hair.”

“Should I beg? Hands and knees? I’m not above it.”

She pictured him on the pavement and tried not to laugh. “I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you get your ass kicked in the ring.”

Dillon pushed off his car and closed the space between them, resting his arms on her roof. He hung down, leaning into her window — their faces were inches apart, so close she thought he might be able to hear her heartbeat as it pumped like a piston in her ribcage. She fought for composure, the scent of him, the feel of him, the charge between them drawing her closer.

“I don’t lose, Kat. Ever.”

Her eyes rested on his lips as she said, very softly, “You just did. To me.”

“Not at my game, I don’t.” His gaze was locked on her eyes; she could feel them tethering her. “The fight’s in a couple of days. Owen knows where it is.”

She was ruled by her nerves and her heart, both screaming for him. “All right. I’ll be there.”

They stared at each other in silence, and with a breath, he drew her closer, millimeter by millimeter, her lids fluttering closed and lips on a track for his.

Kiki sneezed, and they both turned to the sound. Her hand rested on her mouth, her eyes wide with apology, and Owen stifled a smile, clearing his throat as he walked toward his brother, who stood.

Kat sat back in her seat and took a deep breath, catching her reflection in her rearview. Her cheeks were pink, her lids heavy and green eyes dilated. No amount of deep breathing could calm her.

“Wow, Dillon. The race was really … something,” Owen said with a laugh.

Dillon chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’ll be the last time I talk shit.”

Kat hung out her window and threw on her hardass, though she felt about as hard as cellophane. “I seriously doubt that.” She waved at Kiki, who smiled with understanding. “See you at home.” Her eyes met Dillon’s again, sending a riot of butterflies through her chest. “And I’ll see you later.”

He smiled down at his shoes but stole a glance back up at her, their eyes meeting for a long moment before she sat back in her seat and sped away as if she could leave thoughts of Dillon behind her.

But they followed her all the same.

The fire crackled at Dita’s side, the sheepskin under her soft and silky, and she toyed with the creamy strands as she flipped the page of her book. The Viking king, Jolgeir, had the kidnapped Hilde captive in the quarters on the ship. He’d just given her a trunk of fancy dresses to wear as an offering — the first sign that he wasn’t a complete brute — which she obviously and obstinately refused.

Dita shook her head.

It was only a matter of time until Hilde gave in, and they all knew it. Every woman was a Hilde to some degree. And the brutish men were always harder to refuse, particularly when they showed their soft underbellies. Like Dillon had.

His hackles were smooth and flat, and he’d lain down at Kat’s feet. And Kat’s heart had softened just a little, just enough.

Dita could relate. When Ares had first come of age, she couldn’t take him seriously. He was a brute too, plain and simple, demanding and commanding and ordering her about, which everyone knew was the absolute worst way to get her to do anything. But the older he had grown, the more he’d affected her, and the more he’d pressed, the harder it had become to refuse the God of War, born of the King of Gods, built of stone and iron and single-minded resolve. For what he desired most was her.

He had pursued her with doggedness unmatched by any god or man she’d known in her long life. There was something to be said for his persistence — he had seen the desire in her as plainly as she saw it in him, and like Hilde, there was no denying it. But she would resist. She would make him wait, make him pursue her in a game that she knew she would lose, a game with no rules.

It was a game they had played for eons, but she still remembered that first night more clearly than the thousands that came after.

Lanterns swayed in the currents of a gentle breeze, strung across the open space of the wide hall from pillar to ivy-ringed pillar in zigs and zags. The room was golden and the hour late as Aphrodite sipped wine from her chalice with Persephone at her side, the two resting their feet after too long dancing.

Satyrs played music as they danced around the room, the gods dancing with them in a whirl of robes and fur and laughter. A few of the half-goat immortals played flutes and drums, stomping their hooves and bobbing their heads as their tiny horns moved in time to the music.

Even Hera seemed to be enjoying herself. She linked arms with a nymph and spun around, her royal-blue robes swirling around her and her head tilted back in laughter, blond curls bouncing to the beat of a satyr’s hooves on the marble floor.

The alcoves were dark, filled with kissing couples, and she smiled to herself, her work said and done.

Persephone hiccuped and rested her head on Aphrodite’s shoulder. “I love you, Aphrodite. Have I told you?”

Aphrodite laughed. “Many times.”

Persephone lifted her head, the black diamonds in her diadem winking in the candlelight. Her dark hair had been braided and twisted up, and ringlets framed her small, pale face. One eye closed as she pointed at Aphrodite with the index finger of the hand holding her chalice.

“Good,” she said. “Do not forget that.” She jabbed a finger at Aphrodite, who smiled, eyeing the deep red wine as it sloshed violently in the cup.

Hades appeared next to her and took her drink, saving Aphrodite’s robes from certain wreckage. They shared a smile as he set the goblet on a small gilded table before slipping one arm around his wife’s waist and one under the bend of her knees, lifting her easily.

“Well, hello, darling.” Persephone wrapped her arms around his neck.

He kissed her forehead. “Come, love. Let’s get you to bed.”

Persephone giggled, hiccuped, and nuzzled into his neck. “Mmm, bed sounds wonderful.”

With a chuckle and a nod to Aphrodite, he turned to go, leaving her all alone.

She sighed and took another sip of her wine, glancing around the room. Her eyes rested on a nymph and a centaur kissing ardently in one of the dark recesses, and she watched them with her head tilted, trying to make sense of the hands and arms, contemplating the mechanics of the act that would likely follow — and soon, if she were to wager.

From the shadows of the arches that led to the gardens, Ares appeared, and her eyes snapped to his. They were shrouded in the low light, but she could feel them on her, feel the thread that connected her to him so tight and real, as if she could pluck and it would thrum a note that spoke to her very soul.

His was a force she could not deny, no matter how she tried.

She was warm from the wine, her cheeks flushed as he walked toward her with his jaw set. He wore his golden armor; he hadn’t been seen without it since it left the forge. He sat next to her, lips set in a determined smile, and she found she could not break her gaze from his.

Aphrodite blinked and took a breath before setting her lips in a flat, apathetic line. “You should take off that helmet. You look ridiculous.”

She took a sip of her wine, waiting for him to react, which he did. He always did.

His eyes flashed, but otherwise, he betrayed nothing. The two of them always needled each other, but rather than making the other angry, it sparked something essential in them, something vital. They were fire and tinder, hot and destructive, dangerous and comforting.

Ares pulled off his helmet and set it next to him, and when his eyes bore into hers, she gripped the stem of her chalice.

“You play these games,” he said, trailing the backs of his fingers down her bare arm, her skin pricking with gooseflesh in their wake as he looked down at her. “Perhaps I do not wish to play any longer.”

Closer he leaned until her nerves sizzled and hummed in anticipation, and he said against her lips, “Come with me.”

A chill rippled down her spine, and she answered with her voice barely above a whisper, “Yes.”

He stood in a rush of wind and skin and fabric, taking her hand to tow her through the candlelit hallways in the small hours of the morning. To keep up, she had to trot, her robes billowing after her, and when they reached her chambers, he pulled her into the room. She pressed her palm to her stomach, her breath fast and shallow, waiting for him while he closed the doors in the dim room, lit only in firelight.

Aphrodite had no time to think, no time to wonder; the moment the door was closed, he rushed to her, slipping his hand into her hair and pressing his lips to hers in a single motion, a single breath.

She was overcome, overwhelmed, his power and hers winding in a union beyond their wants and wishes, driven by a force unexplained, twisting them together until there was no space between them. Their arms and hands held and touched, lips and tongues sealed and tangled, and it was more than she could bear.

He broke away, still holding her or she would have fallen. With steady fingers, he trailed heat down her neck and to her shoulders, slipping them out of her robes. They fell to the ground in a heap, and he released her, stepping away to drag his eyes over the length of her body.

When his gaze finally came to rest on her eyes, he moved with decision and lifted her up, carrying her to her bed inside sheer curtains. And as he stood at the foot of the bed, she took in the sight of the God of War, eyes burning for her alone, the candlelight twinkling off his armor like distant suns. Deft hands unclasped his red cloak, letting it fall to the ground in a flutter. His chest plate followed, the shimmering gold gone to leave him in his robes, which he untied with a tug. And when they fell away, when he was left naked and exposed, the vision stole a piece of her that would never be returned.

He was trim and lean, the curves and ridges of his body pronounced by the shadows of night. And when he climbed up to meet her, it was only they who existed.

Ares pressed her into the bed with his body, taking her face in his hands, taking her mouth with unexpected tenderness, with reverence and care, with knowing she felt from the tip of her nose, brushing the bridge of his, down to her toes as they brushed against his legs. He touched her as if he’d touched her a thousand times, with sure hands and lips that said without speaking that all he wished for and all he wanted was in his arms.

With a trail of kisses, he moved down her neck, between her breasts, taking his time with the curve in his palm and his lips and tongue against her peaked nipple. Down further he went, past the soft swells of her stomach and to the bend of her hip, hooking her thighs over his shoulders. And when he kissed her again, he took her, burned through her, and she was helpless, a slave to his touch.

Time seemed to slow, marked only by the sweeping of his tongue and the stroke of his hand, the sway of her hips and the whispers of desire.

When he broke away to kiss up her body once more, she reached for his face, meeting his lips with her own, pulling him down on her until he settled his body between her legs, the length of him pressed against her, sending her hips rolling, her back arching, seeking him, all of him. His crown rested only a hair’s breadth from her aching core, and she angled to force him in. But he kept her wanting — close enough to feel him but without the relief of connection.

She felt his smiling lips against the skin of her neck, and she whimpered, frenzied and frantic.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Say it,” he commanded, his crown grazing her hot center once more.

She raked her nails across his back, twisting her hips.

“My name. Say it.” It was a groan and a growl, an undeniable demand.

And when she did, he gave her what she’d asked for.

With a flex of his hips, he slid into her, filling her up, and the sigh that passed her lips was heavy and long and sated. When their bodies were a seam, he paused, meeting her eyes and holding them. And then he moved.

He moved with grace and force, with resolution and purpose. That purpose was to claim her, and she could not resist. He took what he wanted as he gave her everything. With every wave of his body, her own hummed his song, and when she reached the edge, she was lost, more lost than she could ever know in that moment.

Ares was right behind her with a thrust that sent a shock up her spine, her body pulsing around his, his pulsing inside of her, the two of them joined, their bond forged in the stars. And as they slowed, he kissed her lips again so sweetly that years later, she would look back on the moment and wonder if it had been real or imagined.

And so it had gone on for years and decades and millennia until Adonis was killed. His death had damaged Dita, torn the fabric of her soul, and she’d never been able to mend it. Suspicion was high, though there was no proof that Ares had been involved, and so she’d thrown herself into Adonis, spending her time and energy with him in Elysium so she could avoid Ares.

It didn’t always work, but it helped.

Guilt niggled at her. She’d caved so easily to Ares this time, and now that the gates were open, there would be no closing them. Hilde wouldn’t be able to either once she got started, and neither would Kat.

There was no reversing gravity.

The elevator dinged, and a moment later, Ares stormed into her library with a ticking jaw and hot eyes.

He’d seen the race too.

Her smile was anything but innocent. “Come to tell me how brilliant I am?”

“Hardly. I know you think you’ve got this on lock,” he said as he walked around the couch, fists tight, the veins in his hands catching her attention. They were such strong hands. “But you have no idea what I’ve got planned. Don’t get comfortable.”

She rolled onto her back and held his eyes, shifting her thighs, bending her waist in a seductive curve. Her dress was short and gauzy, and she knew just what he could see and what he couldn’t.

“But Ares, I do so love to be comfortable.”

That was all it took. With a growl, he descended on her with hard lips and rough hands. There was no care, no tender touch, no devotion or reverence. He took what he wanted, caring little for what she wished for or desired.

This was the Ares she knew.

But she didn’t need anything more than his attention and his body, taking what she needed from him in kind, offering nothing but her body in return. Not that he required an offer. He was a thief and a savage. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

They burned until their bodies were spent and the fire was reduced to glowing embers. She lay tucked into his side, her head resting on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart like a war drum against her ear, feeling sated and sentimental.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the sound distorted, half through her ear against his chest, half through the air between them.

She laughed softly and propped her chin on her hand. “That has to be the most cliché post-coital question in the history of the world.”

“True.” He folded his arm behind his head to smile at her. “But I’ve known you long enough. I can almost read your mind. Just wondering if I’m right.”

“I was just thinking back to our first time.”

“Mmm.” He brushed her hair from her face. “I wasn’t going to wait another night for you. Not then, not now.”

Her heart skipped and squeezed. She couldn’t say she was glad he hadn’t waited — not then and not now — but she couldn’t say she was mad about it either. He’d given her love, given her himself, given her children and companionship. But he’d also hurt her, damaged her, caused her pain and trouble and frustration.

There was no middle ground with him. There never would be.

So she smiled at him and sighed.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He didn’t speak right away but watched her face, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. “Why did you choose him?”

The question with no answer, the question he’d asked so many times. But she had no comfort to offer.

“We’ve both had mortal lovers,” she said. “Why does Adonis matter so much to you?”

“Because he matters so much to you.” His voice was soft and low with hurt and futility in the undercurrent. “And when he died, you left me.”

She stiffened and sat, drawing her knees to her chest with her back to him, as if she could hide. “I don’t want to talk about him, Ares.”

He moved, and she felt his rough fingers trailing down the soft skin of her back. “All right.”

Ares pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and the emotion that rose in her chest came from nowhere, carrying sadness and wishes and misspent hope.

She turned — he was propped on his hand, curved around her body, and she mirrored him like a nesting doll. With one hand, she cupped his face.

With her eyes and voice and words, she begged, “I don’t want to talk about tomorrow or yesterday. I just want to think about now. Can you give that to me?”

“I can,” he answered, turning to press a kiss into her palm. “I’ll give you anything.”

And the hardest thing about it all, the thing that broke her heart when she kissed his lips, was that she knew it was true.

But he’d take it all, too.

DAY 5

The sun crept toward the horizon as the city began to stir around Dillon, painting the sky in pinks and blues and yellows of dawn. He leaned on the table, legs crossed on the floor pillow he sat on, flipping the hood of his sweatshirt against the sharp winter air.

After his quarter mile of shame the night before, he’d come home surprisingly calm and slept surprisingly well, waking before the sun with Kat on his mind. He was struck by the vision of her behind the wheel of her car, more comfortable and at ease than he could have imagined, so much in the place she belonged that the machine seemed to be an extension of her.

Dillon sensed he’d mended things and wondered how she felt, wondered if she was thinking about him. She’d been predictably wary at first, but softened, warmed up enough that he found himself warm too, the desire to be closer bringing him to the edge of nearly kissing her.

And she’d almost let him.

He shook his head in disbelief and picked up his coffee. God, he’d wanted to kiss her so badly. All he’d had to do all along was cool his heels and everything had changed. The shift between them was so complete it overwhelmed him, dragged him under like a riptide. It had been so long since he felt desire like that, and it had been so easy to fall into it, into her.

And here he’d thought she’d never want to speak to him again.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself, taking a sip of his coffee, looking ahead to the night she would see him fight, wondering if she would find him as alluring as he’d found her the night before.

Owen crossed his mind, as he so often did. Dillon spent so much time, so much energy securing Owen’s happiness, thinking little of what would happen once that future was realized and Owen was gone. Maybe it was time Dillon let him go.

The thought shot through him with a streak of pain in its wake. Because Dillon was lonely — that was a truth he couldn’t deny — but he didn’t know how to be truly alone. He’d always had his brother, and that was all he needed. He’d never wanted anything more for himself, only for Owen.

After protecting Owen for nearly his entire life, the thought of letting go left him hobbled and unsteady.

The door slid open behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Owen with a notebook under his arm and a cup of coffee of his own. He took the seat next to Dillon, folding his long legs under the table with a whistle, his eyes trained across the river at Manhattan as the sun rose against their backs.

“Man, that’s a good one,” Owen said in wonder.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“I smelled the coffee, and you know, they say that’s the best part of waking up.” He took a sip to demonstrate. “I have an exam. Figured I could get a little extra study time in.”

“You always were the responsible one.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Owen answered.

The brothers shared a heavy smile.

Dillon picked up his mug. “What class is the exam for?”

“Anatomy. We’re working on cadavers.”

Dillon’s nose wrinkled. “Sounds fun.”

Owen shrugged. “It’s more fun than you’d think.” Dillon winced, and Owen corrected himself. “Okay, maybe fun isn’t the right word. The insides aren’t what’s disturbing — they’re alien, foreign, without context of humanity. It’s what’s familiar that’s hard. Like noticing the calluses on their hands and wondering what they did to earn them. Seeing the white strip of skin where their wedding band used to rest, wondering how many years it was there before they died.”

Owen was a thousand miles away, his eyes fixed on the city, and they fell into silence, lost in their thoughts.

Dillon’s eyes slipped out of focus, considering all the years since their mother had died. Owen had grown, thrived, excelled, fulfilling all of Dillon’s dreams and wishes. Before long, he’d take his last medical exam, and then he’d apply for residency and graduate from med school. He was self-sufficient, accomplished, capable.

But still Dillon didn’t know how to let go. In putting someone else before himself for so long, as noble as it was, he’d lost himself. He didn’t know how to change something that was innate, intrinsic, automatic. But Owen had taken care of him, too. He’d given his devotion and love to Dillon without question, remaining just as alone as Dillon was, seemingly out of solidarity. Owen had given Dillon love when no one else in the world did.

And Dillon looked after Owen, and Owen looked after Dillon. It had always been so.

The boys huddled together on the scratchy couch watching television one night, a few months after their mother died, left alone once again. Almost every night, Jimmy would go to the pub, not bothering to feed them or put them to sleep or make sure they bathed. Dillon took care of that himself. They’d been living on a diet of cereal and peanut butter sandwiches and absolute serenity because they’d been left alone.

Except when they weren’t.

When Jimmy was home, the boys were silent, disappearing as much as they could. But his eyes sought Owen whenever they could, watching the boy with hate in his eyes. It was a look Dillon knew, one he understood as plainly as if the words had been said aloud, and the tension was wound so tight, so high, it was ready to snap — and Jimmy along with it.

He’d killed their mother. Killing Owen would be so much less, so much easier. One hit, one long squeeze, and Owen’s life would be snuffed like a candle.

But Dillon couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know if he could stop it, but without Owen, there was nothing left, no brightness in the world, no love. No future.

The front door opened and slammed shut, and the boys jumped, their faces turning toward the sound.

Jimmy staggered in, clothes rumpled and shirt half-tucked into his pants, glassy eyes scanning the room. But Dillon kept his eyes on the television screen as Owen leaned into him. They should have already gone to bed. Dillon should have known not to agree to one more show and cursed himself, praying Jimmy would stumble to his room and pass out.

“Hey, shitehead.”

Dillon turned to his father with narrow eyes, but Jimmy wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Owen, who was tucked into Dillon’s side.

Jimmy sniffed and ran the back of his hand across his nose. “Hey, boyo, I’m talkin’ to you.”

Owen’s face went chalk white. “Da —”

Fury passed over Jimmy’s face. “I’m not your da, dickbrain. Get up.”

Owen’s dark eyes darted to Dillon, his chin quivering as he moved to get up, but Dillon laid a hand on Owen’s and stood to face his father, putting himself between them with hands balled into fists and heart fluttering like bird wings.

“Da —”

Jimmy’s eyes were flint, his jaw hard. “Shut the fuck up and get out of the way.” He looked around Dillon to his brother. “Owen, come here. Now!” The words boomed, his finger pointed at the ground in front of him, lips in a sneer straight from hell itself.

The hair on the back of Dillon’s neck stood on end, his reflexes screaming at him to run, to hide. But he didn’t move. Instead, he clenched his jaw and steeled himself.

“Leave Owen be.”

Jimmy laughed, the sound mocking and cruel. “Ooh, smartarse. You’ll try to save him, will you? He ain’t worth the trouble. He’s just the bastard son of your dead ma.” He spat the words with his smile twisting like a gash. “He’s nothin’. He’s nobody. And there ain’t no one who can save him from me, not even you.”

Dillon glanced back at his brother and flicked his eyes toward the back door. Owen shook his head, and Dillon did it again, his lips pinched in a line, begging him to run.

Jimmy’s voice was low and much closer than it should have been. “You can’t hide from me, wee Owen.”

Dillon turned back to his father, finding him only a few paces away and closing the space. “I said, leave him be, Da.”

His face flashed with anger, his neck red and straining. “You’ll not tell me what to do, boy. I’m your da — that’s certain — and givin’ you licks is my god-earned right. A right you know I’ll take.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

Jimmy bent into Dillon’s face, his breath stinking. “And you’ll stop me, will you?”

He lifted his chin to meet his father’s eyes. “I’ll die trying,” he shot, shoulders square and body tight as a spring.

With a meaty hand, Jimmy grabbed a handful of Dillon’s shirt and twisted. “Your ma said the same and look how she ended up. Careful what you wish for.”

Dillon’s anger and fear spilled over the top, and with a flash of movement, he cocked his arm back, putting all his weight behind his small fist when he swung, connecting with his father’s eye.

The smack of skin on skin rang in the room, and Jimmy let Dillon go, stepping back in surprise.

His hand pressed his eye, pulling it away for inspection with a smile that set every alarm ringing in Dillon’s ears. “Oh-ho, boy. That was a mistake you’re not like to make again.”

And that smile was the last thing Dillon saw before his world went black.

It’d happened that way so many times, and Dillon would wake wherever he’d fallen — the kitchen, the living room, once even half under his bed — frantic for Owen. There were places Owen would hide — an alcove in the garage, the crawl space in the basement, the linen closet in the bathroom. Somehow, Jimmy would satisfy the sadist in him on Dillon and forget about Owen until the next night, or a few days later when he was lucky.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Dillon looked over at Owen, who pored over his notebook, considering just how far they’d come, how much they’d left behind. How miraculous it was that they had survived and that Owen had made so much of himself. Dillon had too, though in ways that meant little to him, like the money.

He could add and total his true accomplishments into the boy next to him, the boy who had grown into a man.

Dillon’s work was done, and realization of his loss of purpose was staggering.

Owen set down his mug, meeting Dillon’s eyes. “You okay?”

His smile was sincere and a lie. “Yeah. You and Kiki have fun last night?”

Owen’s eyes lit up, his face bright in a millisecond of mentioning her name. “The movie sucked, but we had fun anyway. We watched the whole thing and added bucket of chicken to everything stupid they’d said.”

Dillon laughed.

“We can’t let him defeat us — with a bucket of chicken. I only want you — with a bucket of chicken. If we don’t leave now, he’ll kill us — with a bucket of chicken.” Owen’s cheeks were high as he laughed too. “Seriously, if you’re ever stuck in a shitty movie, you have to try it. We couldn’t stop laughing. I thought they were going to kick us out.”

“Well, I’m glad you found a way to enjoy the pain. Although I feel like you should have known that an action flick with Miley Cyrus as the star was going to be a letdown.”

Owen shrugged. “That was half the fun. Sometimes, gambles pay off in unforeseen ways. And anyway, I was just glad Kat let her out of the house.”

“So she’s a little overprotective. I get that.”

He chuffed. “You would. I can’t believe she’s coming to the fight. I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t see that coming. How’d you convince her?”

“All I had to do was ask.”

“Well, we’ll all be there.” Owen raked a hand through his dark hair. “You’re lucky I love you; you know how I feel about watching you fight. I’ve seen enough of you being beaten to last me a lifetime.”

“I know,” Dillon said quietly. “I never would have asked.”

“Fortunately you didn’t have to. I offered,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll take full credit for the suggestion, too.”

But Dillon only felt gratitude. “Thank you, Owen.” For this. For surviving. For existing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Owen smiled into his coffee before taking a sip.

And the brothers turned to watch the sun as it hit the tops of the buildings across the river, falling down their long walls to illuminate the city.

The morning sun slowly tracked its way onto Kat’s face, waking her. A shuffling only gave her deliverance for a moment; there was nowhere the light hadn’t taken over. So she cracked a hesitant eye and reached for her phone.

It was only seven thirty.

She sighed and buried herself in pillows, but sleep never graced her again as she rolled over the things she had to do that day and the things that had happened the night before.

Like Dillon.

How they’d gone from hating each other to almost kissing was so unexpected, she was surprised the sky hadn’t opened up and rained blood. And all he’d had to do was not be an aggressive, hawkish jackass.

Of course, in the end, there was nothing to be done about Dillon. They could be friends, which was a relief, since hanging out with Owen seemed to be inevitable, and the brothers were a pair, a set that wouldn’t be separated any more than she and Kiki would.

Kat smelled coffee faintly at first, but within a minute, she fully realized the futility of waiting for sleep. So she climbed out of bed and wandered down the stairs to the kitchen, yawning as she plopped onto a barstool.

Kiki handed her a cup of coffee, which she took gratefully.

“Mmm. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She hopped onto the counter. “You awake yet?”

Kat groaned.

“Eggs?”

Kat smiled.

“Bacon?”

“Oh God. Yes.”

Kiki chuckled as she slid off the counter to gather supplies and lay them out on the counter. She unpeeled the bacon, lining it up in the cast iron skillet, while Kat silently sipped her coffee. Before long, it was popping and sizzling and filling the room with the familiar smell of breakfast.

“What are you doing today?” Kiki asked as she pushed the bacon around with a wooden spatula.

“Going to lunch with Dad. Are you coming?” Kat twisted her hair up in a knot and yawned again.

“I can’t. I’m meeting Owen for lunch, though I have no idea how he’ll be hungry. They’re cutting open cadavers today.”

Kat made a face. “Gross. It’s a little early for that.”

“Sorry.” She lifted the pan so Kat could see the fleshy, uncooked bacon. “Mmm!”

Kat wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, you’re going to ruin it for me.”

She set the pan back on the burner, smiling. “Congrats on smoking Dillon last night, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“And he didn’t act like a baby or a jerk. Bonus, huh?”

“That was a pleasant surprise,” she admitted.

Kiki looked over her shoulder. “That wasn’t the only pleasant surprise. You almost let him kiss you. I’ve never wanted to stop myself from sneezing so bad in my whole life.”

Kat’s brain wasn’t working well enough to come up with anything witty to fire back with. “We made a truce, that’s all.”

“Didn’t look like that was all,” Kiki mumbled.

“I’m not getting involved with Dillon, okay? He’s not a complete asshole, which is great since you and Owen have already named your grandchildren.”

“Ha, ha. You like him. Don’t bullshit.”

“I’m not interested. I’ve got enough shit to worry about.” Kat picked up her coffee and took a drink.

“Eric isn’t coming,” Kiki said firmly, as if saying it would make it true.

“It’s a little early for that, too.” She eyeballed Kiki’s ponytail.

The sisters were quiet while Kiki unloaded the bacon onto a plate lined with a paper towel, and after a minute, Kiki mercifully changed the subject. Kat needed at least one cup of coffee before a conversation about Eric.

“So where are you and Dad going for lunch?”

“Katsu.”

“Ha. You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I might even order chicken Katsu.”

Kiki laughed. “That’s so meta.” She cracked an egg, and it hit the bacon grease with a hiss. “Have you talked to Mom?”

“Not in a couple of days.” Kat brought a knee up. “She’s been busy with some of the new choreographers in her studio.”

“How’s she doing otherwise?”

“Lonely, by the sound of it. Dad’s supposed to go back in a few weeks to see her, but …” She reached for her mug, cupping it. “We just left her there alone without so much as a real goodbye.”

“She understands, Kat.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.”

Kiki didn’t say anything for a second, just stirred the eggs around. “What if we decide to stay in New York?”

It was Kat’s turn for silence. “You don’t want to go back?”

“There’s nothing there for me besides Mom.”

Kat rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “We don’t both have to go back, I guess.”

Kiki spun around. “You’d go back without me?”

“Mom’s all alone, Kiki. I don’t know. It’s like we’ve all abandoned her.”

“Maybe Dad will bring her out here,” she said hopefully.

“It’s too complicated,” Kat said, not wanting to talk about Yuki. “Anyway, Mom won’t leave her studio.”

Kiki picked up the pan and divvied out eggs for her sister along with a handful of bacon and handed the plate across the bar. “I’ll call her and check on her, and we can talk about the rest later. I don’t know if I want to stay without you.”

Kat straightened up. “Shit, Kiki. I forgot to tell you … I told her about Owen.”

“Dammit, Kat.” Kiki’s jaw was set, her brows furrowed.

“What?” Kat said around a mouthful of bacon. “I only told her good things. That’s all there is to tell. Untwist your knickers.”

“She’s going to grill me.”

“Probably. But I told her not to worry. She listens to me.”

“Everybody listens to you.” Kiki pointed at Kat’s plate with narrowed eyes. “Eat your breakfast, tattle-tale.”

Kat did as she had been told, and when Kiki turned to the sink to wash the pan, silence fell over them.

Kat’s mind turned everything over. She hadn’t thought much about what they’d do down the line or where they’d go. She’d just assumed once things cooled down, they’d go back home. Not that she wouldn’t love to stay. She’d lived in Vegas her entire life, rarely leaving other than a few trips to LA. The heat, the desert, the strip — it had been her home. But New York was like a drug. It was filthy and beautiful and gritty and perfect. So expansive, she knew she could live there her whole life and still find new corners and spaces of the city to fall in love with.

Not to mention her father. Being near him was the best part of New York. They had seen him in Vegas a lot; he was out at least once a month. But it was different having him so accessible that they could meet up for lunch on a whim.

But the real realization was that if Kiki was thinking about staying, her feelings for Owen had something to do with it. Normally, Kat would shake her head and lament over her sister’s ability to fall so easily in love. But with Owen, it was even scarier. With Owen, it could be real.

It was stupid to even consider. They’d only known each other for a few days. But she couldn’t deny there was something more to it. Maybe it was just that Owen was the kind of guy Kat had always wanted her with, someone to temper her, ground her, cherish her. Of course, it was also possible they’d just run their course, and the affair would end like it had begun, quickly and painlessly. And then the sisters could just leave New York without a second thought.

Maybe things could go back to the way they had been.

That thought was dismissed with a sadness she couldn’t describe. There would be no going back to the way things had been. Too much had changed.

Kat’s thoughts wandered to Dillon. The brothers were night and day: Owen’s even-keeled nature the exact opposite of Dillon’s revolving door of emotions, Owen’s tall and dark and smiling to Dillon’s tall and light and brooding.

She found herself still surprised at how she’d let him charm her so easily the night before, and he had definitely charmed her. Part of her wanted something more, which alarmed her more than anything, and she wondered absently if he would come to the bar with Owen tonight to see her. In fact, she imagined it, imagined him walking through the door in that leather jacket with his hair tousled and that nose and jaw and those lips and eyes.

Butterflies took off in her stomach, and it heaved in absolute dread.

She shouldn’t be thinking about Dillon, couldn’t even entertain the idea of him. Not with so much at stake. Kat didn’t have the luxury of Kiki’s naïveté about men or love, particularly when it came to Eric.

Maybe Eric would stay put in Vegas and maybe he wouldn’t. But there was only one way out if he did come for them, and Kat would have to be ready.

Dillon would be a distraction she couldn’t afford.

It was hard enough having Kiki with Owen and not being with her all the time. But if she found herself with Dillon in any context? That would require a level of coordination to manage she wasn’t sure she possessed.

The timing was wrong, and even considering him was stupid and dangerous, especially since he’d only been a decent human for ten minutes. Ten whole minutes, and she was ready to throw her panties at him.

She reprimanded herself and tucked into her eggs with determination, pushing Dillon from her mind with enough force to almost get rid of him entirely.

Later that afternoon, Kat opened the door of the empty restaurant, sending the little bell over the door tinging through the quiet space. The enforcers at the door nodded to her when she passed them. The restaurant was a yakuza joint, closed for their meal. It was the only way her father could be out so publicly.

Her father stood from his seat at a table in the center of the room, smoothing a hand down the front of his slate-gray suit, smiling wide. “Ah, Katsumi.”

He opened his arms when she approached, and she filled them.

“Hi, Papa.”

He kissed the top of her head and let her go. “Come and sit, masume.” He pulled out her chair. “I ordered your favorite.”

Kat couldn’t even be mad that he had ordered for her, especially since he’d been thoughtful enough to order something he knew she’d love. He didn’t mean to be a control freak. Neither did she.

“Thanks, Papa,” she said as she sat.

Katsu walked around the table to take his seat again, leaning back, resting one hand on the table and the other in his lap, his body the picture of power and authority, even in something as mundane as sitting at a table. “How are you?”

“I’m well.” Kat’s eyes were on her napkin as she unfolded it and set it in her lap.

When she met his eyes, she found them assessing her, though one corner of his lips lifted just a hair.

“I know you too well for lies, my daughter.”

But she lied anyway, not missing a beat, her best poker face affixed firmly in place. “I’m just worried about Mom. Have you talked to her?”

He acquiesced with a nod that said he knew better, but he let it go all the same. “Every day.”

“She sounds lonely. I hate leaving her there.”

“Being without us has been hard for her, but she will be fine. She has endured much. One of the many things I love about her is her strength.”

“Me too.”

“And she would not keep you and Keiko from what you want, what makes you happy.”

She kept her face straight, not wanting to give him any cause for concern, not wanting to give him a hint as to why they were in New York. Because he was watching her and baiting her like he was on a mission.

“Maybe we can fly her out soon,” Kat said nonchalantly.

“I could bring her back with me. Or you and Keiko could come with me to see her.”

It was a challenge, and she knew it, but she wasn’t biting. He hadn’t pushed her so hard since they first came to New York. “Kiki and I have work, and Kiki is busy with her boyfriend.”

He didn’t take the bait, his focus on his warpath to crack her. “But not racing. You are not busy with that at all.” He was still smiling almost imperceptibly, his eyes deep and brown and sparking with intelligence.

“I needed a break.”

He watched her for a beat. “Tell me about this Owen.”

She hadn’t told him Owen’s name, and she found herself smiling genuinely, knowing he’d known. He couldn’t even help himself from rooting around for information, especially when it came to her, Kiki, and Kim. God help any man or beast who entered any of their lives.

“Well, he’s in med school, but I guess you probably already knew that.”

He smiled an affirmative.

She shook her head. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

Katsu shrugged. “That all depends on where you sit.”

“He’s sweet, Papa. He likes Kiki, and I trust him. He’s considerate and smart. I like him.”

“Tell me about his brother.”

Her cheeks flushed, only in part because of the mention of Dillon, the rest in frustration. Her father was the only person who could break her like that.

“He’s a fighter, but I’m guessing you knew that too. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

“I have. He has won me quite a lot of money over the years. But I wish to know what kind of man he is.”

“I don’t know, Papa. I don’t know him very well.”

Kat kept her hands still in her lap, playing cat and mouse with her father, wondering what his angle was, wondering how he knew her so well as to be able to read her mind. He had to know something about Dillon, something he wanted to know if she knew, and she wondered what the hell it could be as she gazed at him with a challenge of his own.

“Let me know if that changes.” He pulled in a slow breath through his nose, let it out, and smiled. “And you are the best judge of Owen. If you approve, then I offer my blessing. Keiko has not had a single boyfriend you have approved of, and so if you accept him, I have faith in his character.”

Kat smiled back at him, relaxing too soon.

“Speaking of boyfriends, are you going to tell me why you came to New York?”

Bastard.

Her eyes widened just marginally with her guard down, and he saw it. “Tell me what you know, Papa.”

“Not very much. You have covered your tracks very well.”

In that moment, she was compelled to tell him and wished for the relief of passing the burden to someone else. It would be so easy, just a few words. Just one really — Eric. Lying to her father was misery, but betraying her sister would be unforgivable. She would be as responsible for Eric’s death as Kiki.

Kiki would see it as Kat holding the gun.

She was suddenly exhausted. “Maybe, one day, I can tell you. But don’t worry. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“Worry? About you?” He shook his head, his eyes soft. “I never worry about you, Katsumi. I trust you. And, if you call, I will be waiting.”

The chef walked around the sushi bar and placed plates lined with rows of nigiri in front of them, and Kat laughed. He had cut Kabuki masks out of seaweed and laid them out on her sushi. The faces eyes were crossed, frowns exaggerated, eyebrows arched and tongues wagging. She picked up a particularly angry one with silver chopsticks, bringing it to her lips as Katsu made tiny screaming noises. And their laughter chased the tension and worry away — for the time at least.

Perry’s hair was in a messy knot on top of her head, bottom lip between her teeth as she sat on the floor of Dita’s bathroom, painting her toenails a shade of maroon so deep, it was almost black.

“How are you doing, Daphne?” Perry asked, not taking her eyes from her task.

Daphne’s eyes were narrow, and the tip of her tongue stuck out while she painstakingly dabbed a translucent pink onto her toenails. “Mmm, all right.”

“I am so ready for summer,” Dita said with her head cocked to the side, inspecting her opaque coral nails.

“Not me,” Perry said with her mouth open in concentration. “Demeter and Hades always fight over me through spring and summer.”

Daphne didn’t take her eyes off her toes. “Do you not have to spend half the year in Hades anymore?”

“Not since the Renaissance when we devised the paintings that hold Elysium and Tartarus. Now that the underworld is more … portable, we can live in Olympus, which means I can see my mother whenever I want. But old habits die hard. She hates that she doesn’t get full rights to me for half the year. I saw her more then. Given the choice, it’s Hades every time.”

Daphne shook her head. “But how? Living with him must be awful.”

“It’s not at all,” Perry said simply. “I love him.”

Daphne cast a sidelong glance at Perry. “Truly?”

Perry laughed and wiped a bit of polish off her toe. “It took a long time, believe me. I’m sure it’s hard to imagine forgiving someone who kidnapped you, tricked you, forced you to marry him, and raped you to consummate. Some days, I’m surprised myself.”

Daphne stared at her with big, sad eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know as well as anyone, that’s how things were done. In fact, I’d bet you’d be far more shocked by what happens these days.”

Dita screwed the lid back on her polish and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Speaking of these days, we should have another lesson. What do you want to hear about today, Daphne?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Perry cut her off, her hazel eyes sparking. “Oh, we should take a field trip! Central Park? I could go for a street dog. A real street dog.”

Daphne’s mouth turned down. “Why would you want a stray dog?”

Dita chuckled. “No, a hot dog. Like a sausage link in bread with sauces and onions on it.” She glanced at Perry. “I’m not sure she’s ready to walk around Earth.”

Perry arched over her knees to blow on her toes. Between breaths, she said, “She’ll be fine. Are you finished with your toes?”

Daphne assessed her work. “I think so.”

“Think you’re ready to hit the ground?”

Daphne smiled and nodded, turning to Dita. “Persephone and I have been watching the Entertainment Network.”

Dita leaned back on her elbows and chuffed at Perry. “I don’t know how educational or realistic that is, but okay. I could use a breather anyway.”

Perry snickered. “Yeah, I bet you can. Plus, I want to hear what’s going on with Ares.”

“And Kat and Dillon too. Man, they’re a beautiful mess,” Dita added.

With a satisfied smile, Daphne flexed her feet to display her toes. “Did I do well?”

“Daphne, I’m quite impressed,” Dita said as she leaned over to inspect the nymph’s toes. When she checked her watch, she glanced at her toes again. “Oh, screw it. I don’t want to wait for these to dry.” She snapped her fingers, and their toes were dry. “That’s better.”

Dita strolled into her massive closet and stopped in front of the shelves of shoes, choosing a pair of tan boots before turning to sit on her bench to pull them on.

“I, uh … I don’t actually have any shoes of my own, besides sandals.”

She looked up to find an uncertain Daphne, fingers threaded in front of her, and smiled as she pulled a boot on. “Pick out whatever you like.”

Daphne glanced at the shoes. “I’m not exactly sure …”

Dita pushed her heel into her other boot and stood, hooking an arm with Daphne. “I’ve got you. Let’s see …”

She took a look at Daphne’s peach dress, the simple cut modern and Grecian with subtle ruffles down to mid thigh. She was stunning.

“It’s cold, so you’ll want to wear these.” Dita handed her a pair of cream tights and scanned her shoes. “Ah, and these.” She picked up a pair of gray suede ankle boots and handed them to Daphne, who looked at the tights warily as she sat on the cushioned bench. “Just put them on like pants.”

Daphne pouted. “I have to wear pants even when I’m in a dress?”

“Only in the winter,” Dita said with a laugh. She moved to her coats, choosing a leather jacket for herself and a gray peacoat for Daphne. “Perry, you good?”

“I’m good.” Perry flipped the tops of her combat boots and stood to pull on her military jacket. Her black tee screen printed with a Victorian etching of a skeleton bride and groom holding hands on the front.

“I love that shirt,” Dita said.

“Queen of the Underworld. Gotta represent.” She pounded her chest.

“You haven’t been wearing your glasses lately. You over them?”

“For now. Plus, it’s not like I actually need them. Although maybe today?” Perry winked, and her black Buddy Holly glasses appeared in her hand. She slid them onto her tiny nose.

“Perfect.”

Daphne met them in the bathroom, and Dita extended her hands, closing her eyes when Perry and Daphne clasped them. When she opened them, the three stood inside a copse of trees in Central Park with rose petals around their feet.

Daphne’s mouth popped open in wonder. She closed her eyes, smiling and tilting her face to the sun. “Oh, how I have missed Earth,” she breathed.

Dita chuckled, but as she began to walk away, Perry grabbed her arm.

“Wait, we can’t go out there like this.”

Daphne looked confused. “Like what?”

“Like goddesses,” Dita answered. “We could burn out some human eyeballs with our hotness.”

Perry laughed, and Dita passed her palm in front of Perry’s face, then Daphne’s, and then her own. Their features softened and morphed into something a little less perfect and a little more human.

“That’s better.” Dita dusted her hands. “Now at least we won’t explode any brains.” She linked arms with her friends, and they walked down a small hill to the sidewalk that led to the Central Park Mall, following their noses.

The first street vendor they came to was an older man with a newsboy cap on his head and a scarf around his neck, his vest and slacks and shirtsleeves comfortably worn and rumpled — a little old-fashioned, which added to his charm. Kind eyes sparkled under his overgrown gray eyebrows, and his crooked nose hung over a lively smile.

“Ah, hello, beautiful ladies,” he said cheerfully. “You have come to Demitri’s for lunch, yes?”

Dita beamed. “You’re Greek.”

He lit up at her observation. “I am, yes. Have you been there?”

They all laughed.

“A time or two,” Perry answered.

“Ah, wonderful. Have you been to Mykonos?” He thumped his puffed out chest and smiled with pride. “That is where I am from.”

Dita smiled. “I’ve been there a few times with a friend. He loves to party there.” She wondered if he would believe her if she told him her friend was Dionysus.

“Tch.” He bashfully waved his hand. “To be young again. Well, my pretty girls, will you be having a hot dog?”

Perry practically pushed Dita out of the way and said quite seriously, “Three dogs, please, with onions and mustard.”

He nodded with esteem and shook a pair of tongs in her direction. “I love a woman who knows what she wants.” He winked and constructed three steaming hot dogs in paper trays, handing them over one at a time.

Dita reached into her back pocket, and a hundred materialized between her fingers. But when she tried to hand it over, he raised his hands.

“No, my beauty. This is my pleasure.”

“Sweet Demitri, the pleasure is mine. Thank you.” She stuffed the Benjamin into his tip jar and walked behind the cart to press a kiss to his smiling cheek.

He turned an amusing shade of red. “You will come see me again, yes?”

“We will,” she answered.

And they turned to walk away, waving over their shoulders.

He stood a little taller, smoothing a hand over his paunch, watching the goddesses until he could see them no more.

They walked until they found a bench and sat, silently digging into their hot dogs, interrupted occasionally with groans from Perry.

“How come this is so much better than when I turn ambrosia into a hot dog?” she asked around a mouthful.

Dita wiped mustard from the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. “It’s not. It’s just different eating on Earth. It’s the experience.”

Perry reverently closed her eyes, her mouth still full. “I want to eat every meal here forever.”

“It’s a shame we can’t live on human food.” Daphne took a very large bite of her hot dog.

“Ugh, human food is so much work though,” Dita said. “You have to buy it, cook it, clean up after … it takes too much time. Ambrosia is easy. Plus it makes us live forever, so there’s that.”

She pushed the last bite into her mouth and wiped her messy fingers with a napkin before sitting back, tipping her chin to follow the branches of the trees up to the sky. “I love Earth. We should move back.”

Perry snorted and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Good luck convincing Zeus.”

“What a wet blanket. He always makes everything harder than it has to be.” Dita crossed her legs and shifted in her seat.

“Speaking of always hard, how’s Ares?” She took a bite of her hot dog, her eyes laughing at Dita even if her mouth was full.

“Ha, ha. Harder than ever. Thanks for asking,” Dita answered cheerfully.

“You guys are so weird,” she said before swallowing. “I’ll never understand it. How can you compete against him so seriously and still fuck his brains out?”

Daphne choked on a bite of hot dog, and Perry patted her on the back.

“Sorry, Daphne.”

Dita shrugged and answered, “It’s what we do. The competition kind of fuels the fucking.”

“How are you planning on winning? Dillon can be a real asshole.” Perry turned back to her hot dog.

“He can be. I think he’s hit a turning point though. If he can keep his shit together and his mouth shut, this will be over sooner than later. I owe him a win in the love department anyway.”

Perry gave her a stern look. “Dita, what did you do?”

Daphne swallowed the dislodged hot dog and wiped a tear away, her voice husky. “What do you owe him?”

“Happiness. I might have inadvertently screwed his life up.” Perry opened her mouth to speak, but Dita cut her off. “It wasn’t a curse, okay? Just hear me out.”

Perry looked at her last bite sadly and wrapped it in the paper, seeming to have lost her appetite. “Go on.”

Dita turned her gaze to a passerby. “Moira was so beautiful and alive when she met Jimmy and fell in love, but within a few years of them moving to America, his drinking spun out of control. That was when he started hitting her. She lost a baby before she had Dillon because he’d beaten her so badly.”

“Oh gods,” Daphne breathed, her fingertips touching her lips.

“It was … it was awful. No one should live like that, but she wouldn’t leave Dillon with Jimmy, and she couldn’t take him with her. There was no way she could support him on her salary. There was nothing I could do to make her leave.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, there were some things I could have done, but I didn’t want to leave Dillon with Jimmy either. I did grant her some happiness though. I matched her with a handsome dark-haired man with deep brown eyes who worked with her. She was so lonely that betraying her vows for human contact barely fazed her, even though it was never enough for her to leave Jimmy and Dillon.”

“Dita … ” Perry said softly.

Dita fixed her gaze on a murder of crows perched in a massive oak tree, not wanting to meet her eyes. “Hera was pissed. She hates me — and with good reason since I’ve been making an ass out of her for eons — but she’s always looking for a way to return the favor. She took it as a personal affront on her marital turf that Moira had cheated. Her revenge was to make Moira get pregnant. With Owen.”

“That bitch,” Perry whispered as she sat back against the bench.

Dita nodded. “When Owen was born with dark hair and brown eyes from a family of fair blonds, Jimmy knew. When the beatings got worse, Moira convinced her lover to leave New York. Because, if Jimmy figured it out, if he went after the man … well, he would be killed. So he left.”

“How could he leave her?” Perry’s mouth hung open.

“He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t convince her to come with him. She believed Jimmy would never let her go, that he would find her, find all of them. Jimmy would have killed them all if he had figured it out. Hera had big plans; she wanted Moira’s lover dead and was furious when he got away. So she paid Ares in tokens to work up Jimmy’s anger, his jealousy, his suspicion. And then he pushed Jimmy over the edge. Jimmy waited for her to get off of work. He pulled her into an alley, and he beat her until her heart stopped, beat her long after she was dead.”

The three all sat in silence, staring off.

“Her lover came back for her when he could, but she was already gone.” Dita shook her head and continued. “Dillon always protected Owen from Jimmy. And that sacrifice made Dillon who he is. I owe him a real love.”

“What about Kat?” Daphne picked up her hot dog, which had been momentarily abandoned in her lap.

Dita smiled. “I love her mother and father. Their love story is a good one.” She settled back in the bench. “So, Katsu had an arranged marriage to another gang leader’s daughter, Yuki, who happens to be a psycho bitch. Katsu never loved her, though he’d tried, thought he could. But Hera is constantly whispering in her ear, always trying to push her, to guide her, to change her fate. No one takes Yuki seriously anymore — she’s too much of a shrew. She could have had a chance at happiness, but Hera ruined her.”

Perry chuffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Sounds about right.”

“Exactly. Katsu could never love her — he has too much self-respect — and Yuki’s pride has kept her a universe away from him. He was so unhappy, so I led him to Kim. They’re perfect for each other, but they can never really be together.”

Daphne’s eyes were big. “That is so very sad. Poor Kim.”

“They have each other, and they’re content with that. Kim accepted her situation long ago, and I think I might be able to get them in the same city — eventually at least. Katsu wants her near, and I have a feeling he’ll get his way.”

“He doesn’t seem like a typical gangster,” Perry said.

“He’s not. He’s got a … softness, a kindness about him that men in his position don’t usually possess — though mostly just with the girls and Kim — but that doesn’t make him less terrifying. The man knows when to flip the switch, and when he does, you should look out. He can be ruthless.”

“Sounds like a badass.” Perry’s glasses slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up.

“He is. That’s where Kat gets it. If she were a man, she would have a place in the yakuza. She would do it too, if Katsu were allowed to ask her.” Dita stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. “I wonder how things are going to end up with her and Dillon.”

Daphne’s eyes were on her hot dog as she adjusted her grip on it. “He hasn’t been very kind to her, but at least he apologized.”

“I think he’s coming around. Or at least, I hope he is. Ares picked a good one this time.”

Perry chuckled. “Kat was swooning after the race. Holy cow.”

Dita crossed her ankles in front of her. “She’s got it bad, but it’s going to take a lot to get her to commit to something deeper than the physical. Plus, when you add her fears about Eric … I don’t know. She’s just got baggage. Of course, so does he.”

“You’ll work it out,” Perry said with confidence. “You always do.”

“I have reason to hope.” Dita stood and turned to her friends. “Let’s go shopping after our walk. Fifth Avenue?”

“Sounds good to me. We can continue Daphne’s first-class education in modern Earth and get her a modern wardrobe while we’re at it. I’m pretty sure wearing a strophion around Midtown would get some weird looks.”

Daphne crumpled up her wrapper and swallowed her last bite. “Couldn’t we just create our own clothes?”

Dita smirked and hooked arms with Daphne when she stood. “We could, but where’s the fun in that?”

Ares needed a plan.

He paced the length of his apartment, the state of the competition sizzling in his mind like a live wire. The race the night before had not gone as he’d planned, and he wasn’t sure what his next move would be.

What he’d planned was for Dillon to have his ego bruised badly enough to trigger a fight. What had happened was a weak showing of skill and a weaker display of self-respect. He’d tucked tail when he shouldn’t have. And now, Ares could feel the competition slipping away from him, leaving him with no options to turn it around.

What he did know was that he’d exhausted the paths he could see, and he needed help to uncover the paths he couldn’t. Hera was the obvious option, but he hated asking her for favors. She made him feel like a child, helpless and incapable. He didn’t have many other allies, none who were astute or cunning enough to help him with this.

Except Eris.

He stopped halfway across the room and smiled. His sister Eris was the Goddess of Discord. She would know how to drive a wedge between Kat and Dillon better than anyone.

Ares headed to his elevator, taking it down to the fourth floor, one of the common apartment floors for the lesser gods, relieved to have someone else on his side, someone who could actually help. When he stepped off the elevator, he made his way down to her apartment.

All the doors on that floor were red, but she’d painted hers black.

With his big fist, he rapped on the door, and when it opened to Eris, looking bored, he shook his head, amused. Her hair was long and black, her skin creamy and white. Two gold rings pierced her lip on one side, and a bull ring hung from her septum — appropriate because she was one of the most stubborn gods he’d ever known. Her black hoodie was up, and her deep brown eyes, lined with kohl, assessed him.

“What’s up?” She leaned on the doorframe and shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket.

“Hey, Eris. Got a minute?”

She rolled her eyes and said flatly, “My name is Strife. How many times do I have to say it?”

Ares brushed past her. “Probably a million, Strife, because that name is fucking stupid.”

Eris huffed and closed the door behind him. “That’s what Eris means in English, so I don’t see how it’s different.”

“Because Strife sounds like some lame emo-goth … oh, wait. It all makes perfect sense.”

Her face was unamused and as flat as a pancake, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

The living room was all damask and velvet in reds and blacks.

“It looks like a fucking vampire lives here,” he said as he flopped onto her couch, which had bronze claw feet, and propped his boots on her coffee table, an elaborate French monstrosity.

“Well, your apartment looks like a frat house, so to each their own.” She dropped into a blood-red velvet wingback armchair and crossed her legs in black-and-cream-striped leggings. They looked like an Escher painting. “So what’s going on? Besides you losing. Again.”

He ignored the jab, folding his arms across his chest. “I could use some advice.”

“Yeah, you could. Your player’s in a bad way over Kat. Way to go, champ.”

“He was supposed to lose his shit when he lost that race.” Ares caught himself pouting and straightened his face back out.

“So much for that. I have a bad feeling once she sees him fight, you’ll be in seriously deep shit.”

“I’ve got to do something to stir the pot, and you’re the best pot-stirrer I know.”

She smiled, if one could call the slight change in the shape of her lips a smile. “I mean, I did start the Trojan War, so …”

“Pure genius. You created a war from nothing, plucked it from the air and made it be.”

Eris folded her arms and scowled, any hint of a smile gone, just like that. “I have never been so pissed in my life. If Zeus hadn’t stopped my entry into Peleus and Thetis’s wedding, everything would have been fine. But nooooo.” Her scowl deepened.

“To be fair, you’re kind of a downer.”

“Fuck that. Did he really think I would walk away from that insult?” She shrugged. “It was so easy to wreck that whole party. The vainest bitches ever were in attendance. Throw a golden apple in the mix labeled To the Fairest and voilà. Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena go apeshit.”

Ares laughed. “Gods, they fought over that apple forever, like toddlers over a toy.”

“The best was watching Zeus squirm when they tried to force him to settle it.” Eris tucked in her legs. “Anyway, you didn’t come over to stroll down memory lane. How can I help with Kat and Dillon?”

Ares ruffled his hair and sighed. “I don’t know. The only play I have is Eric, but I’m trying to win without using him.”

“Why in Hades would you do that?” she asked, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

Maybe he had.

He glared back. “It’s complicated.”

One black brow rose. “Aphrodite?”

“What’s it matter?” He crossed his arms.

She crossed her arms right back at him. “Do you want my help or not?”

Ares scowled. “I can get her back; I know it. But not if Eric flips his shit and goes homicidal.”

Eris shook her head. “Dude, you are such a sucker for her. What’s Eric’s deal?”

“He’s sick and completely twisted. It’s brilliant. Check it out.”

And they turned their attention to Eric, who was frantically pacing in his bedroom in Las Vegas, thinking about Kiki.

Eric madly combed his hands through his hair, twisting his fingers until his scalp burned.

He could see Kiki in his mind, smell her, taste her, the loss of her haunting him. Every lead he’d found ended with no answers. It was like she’d disappeared.

Except she hadn’t. She was somewhere, and he was going to find her.

Eric stopped pacing, his eyes fixing on the box beside his bed where he kept her things, and he sat down, pulling it into his lap. With big fingers, he reached inside to run them over a T-shirt she’d left there.

No, he hadn’t stopped looking. He’d barely slept, barely eaten. He only sat in this room with his thoughts, his mind on fire.

No one was talking. No one seemed to know where they sisters had gone, as if they’d just disappeared. He didn’t know how that was possible.

Someone had to know.

Her coworkers at the bar said she’d quit showing up and never called to explain why. Kat’s friends and the people they both knew didn’t have a clue where they’d gone. He’d watched her social media through one of his buddy’s accounts — she’d blocked him, that bitch — and they were all dead silent, which was odd in itself because Kiki was never quiet. Her cunt sister had probably forced her to stay off of them.

Eric picked up her toothbrush from the box, and ran his thumb over the bristles, and touched the stem, thinking of it passing her perfect lips.

Kiki was the only one who had ever loved him, and she’d loved him sweetly, kindly. He only wanted to love her back. He just had to get her to see that they belonged together. And if he couldn’t, there was only one way out. Because no man would touch her. No man would have her. And she would love no one but him.

The worst part of trying to find her was that he couldn’t actually look. If he put any pressure on anyone, the chances of Tanaka Katsu finding out would multiply. And the minute Tanaka found out he’d laid a finger on Kiki, Eric would be dead.

But Eric found himself very much alive, which meant Tanaka didn’t know, and if they hadn’t told Tanaka by now, they probably weren’t going to.

If only he could get to Kiki’s mom without Tanaka knowing, he could convince her to tell him where Kiki was. He had two effective tools for information retrieval.

Eric smiled down at his fists.

He reached into the box again for her brush, winding a stray hair around the bristles so it wouldn’t get lost. Her hair always smelled like honeysuckle, and his fingers tingled; he could almost feel the silky black strands on his fingertips.

Kiki wasn’t in Vegas; he knew that for certain. She could be in New York, which made the most sense, given that Tanaka was there. Of course, she could be anywhere in between — from a motel in Iowa to the suburbs of Chicago. There was no way to know and no trail to follow.

Over the years as a bouncer, he’d made a lot of bookie friends, friends he’d been using to listen out for Kat. If she were in a major city and raced, it would get back to him. And when it did, he would find her, and he’d find Kiki by proxy.

But every loss he felt, every moment of pain, was because of Kat. She had taken Kiki away. He could have kept Kiki, convinced her to stay, but Kat had gotten in the way. And if she ever decided to tell her father about what he’d done … well, he couldn’t have that. He had to find her.

Eric packed up the box again, trailing his fingers over her shirt one last time before sliding the box under his bed.

He would find them, and he would kill Kat for his trouble.

But Kiki, he would keep.

Eris whistled, shaking her head. “Man, he is a fantastic weapon. That guy is bat-shit fucking crazy. I cannot believe you’re not going to use him.”

Ares smiled. “Scary, huh? He’s nuts. I’ve driven him nuts, and he’s so close to the edge, a mild breeze would push him into full-blown insanity.”

“For a second there, I thought he was going to do something creepy with that brush.”

“Sometimes, he does.”

Eris shuddered. “What a freak.” She played with the knot of her hoodie string. “What’s Dita up to?”

“She’s using Kiki and Owen to keep Kat and Dillon in each other’s space.”

She nodded. “So break them up.”

“That’s what Hera said. She’s got a pack of groupies who are obsessed with Dillon, and she thinks she can use them.”

“I like it. A little misunderstanding could only help you; it’s the easiest way to get between people. So much of relationships is perception, and perception is subjective. Too bad I can’t actually interfere since I’m not in the Pantheon. Fucking snobs.”

Ares chuckled. “It’s all right. I just came down here to get your advice. So you really don’t have anything for me besides Hera’s plan? I’ve got her tokens, but I hate using them. Too many strings.”

“I know, but honestly, that sounds like your best bet. See what she can do. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

“I don’t know. Her plans have a tendency to backfire.” Ares shuffled in his seat. “Hera thinks she knows better than everyone, thinks she’s got the answers, but she’s just as clueless as any of us. At least the rest of us own our failures. She’ll swear until the end of time that her shit doesn’t smell like anything less than Chanel.”

“And Eric is your only other move?”

“He’s the only one I can plan for. Everything else will have to happen spontaneously.”

“Just the way you like it. Well, give Hera a shot. Throw everything you can at Dita. Kitchen sink, Hail Mary, noodles, whatever you can scrounge up.”

“See if anything sticks?” Ares stood and stretched with a sigh.

“Exactly,” she said with a flat smile.

“Thanks, Eris.” Ares grabbed her head through her hoodie when he walked by and rubbed it around to mess up her hair.

She ducked, blindly batting at him. “Ugh, Ares! Fuck!”

“Later,” he called, laughing as he closed the door to the sight of her middle finger over the top of her chair.

Dita held on to her squirming Pomeranian as she stepped out of the elevator and into Heff’s entryway. Polished cement floors stretched across the room, the furniture masculine and industrial, everything in the place built by Heff.

She’d always loved his apartment and loved watching him create with nothing but his mind, his hands, and the tools at his disposal. No magic, no tricks or shortcuts. Just the honesty of his hands.

Bisoux barked, and the sound echoed as she walked through the apartment, calling his name. But there was no answer, no sign of him in his open living room or kitchen, not in his office or bedroom. His rustic platform bed was neatly made, dark bedding simple and tucked under the pillows. Bisoux barked again, the sound exactly the same tone and length as the one before, and she looked down at him wiggling in her arms with a sigh.

She trotted down the spiral stairs that led to his workshop, her shoes thumping on the steel as she descended. When she reached the bottom, she walked into the massive garage lined with workbenches and machinery and metal cases of drawers. Tools hung all over the walls, and larger machines — she had no idea what any of them did — stood in their designated spots around the room. Stairs in the back led down to his forge. She could almost feel the heat from where she stood.

Heff stood at a table, welding hood over his face. Sparks flew, casting light and shadows across his big arms, smudged with grease and glistening with sweat, and when he looked up and saw her, he paused, the soldering iron quieting.

He flipped up his hood. His tan face was smudged with ash, his hair and beard so dark that his eyes were as blue as the Aegean Sea in the summertime, crisp and clear and beckoning.

She hadn’t noticed she’d stopped walking until Bisoux barked again, and Heff smiled at her like he knew exactly why she was standing dead still in the middle of the room.

“Hello, Dita.” His voice was velvety and low, his smile warm.

She realized just how much she’d missed seeing him since the competition began.

“Hello, Heff,” she said as she started walking again, heading for him.

Bisoux barked again.

“He okay?” With one brow up, Heff nodded to the dog.

“No, watch this.” She set Bisoux down, and he ran in a perfect circle, chasing his tail. Every thirty seconds or so, he’d bark, and the sound was always exactly the same. “He’s been doing this for about an hour.”

Heff chuckled and picked the dog up before limping across the room to a worktable, his gait uneven but still somehow graceful. He held the running dog in his big arms like a baby, measured two fingertips under his sternum, and pressed softly.

Bisoux went limp, and a small panel popped open. Heff laid him on the table, picked up a delicate tool, and went to work. Dita took a seat on a worn leather stool across from him, resting her elbows on the edge of the table.

“I’ve missed seeing you. Where’ve you been hiding?” she teased.

He glanced at her and back to his task. “Around. I’ve been working on few projects down here.”

“Well, you’ve been missing the drama,” she said, smiling and excited. “The competition is well underway. I think Kat’s coming around, but she’s really been fighting it. Not that I can blame her. Ares’s player is such a hothead. Go figure, right?” She laughed to herself, rambling on. “They just raced the other night — oh! Did you see her car? You love those old muscle cars.”

Heff didn’t look up, just murmured, “Mmhmm.”

“Well, she’s going to see Dillon fight tomorrow night, and I’m not sure she’ll be able to resist him after that. She’s perfect for Dillon.” Heff kept working while she prattled on, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “Dillon can sense it, the rightness of it, you know? But he doesn’t know what to do about it. And who knows what Ares is going to throw at me? I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.” She sighed. “I love and hate competing with him.”

Heff burned his thumb, hissing a swear word and shaking it out before sticking it in his mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked with a little gasp.

His brow furrowed, his eyes meeting hers, hot and heavy. “Honestly, Dita. I’d rather not talk about Ares.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. Of course her husband didn’t want to talk about her lover. Their rivalry was one of Ares’s many and one of Heff’s few. And she’d been caught in the middle all along.

“I … I’m sorry, Heff,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean —”

“It’s fine.” His face softened when he saw her embarrassment. “Really, it’s been going on for thousands of years. I’d just rather keep my head down and stay out of the way until it’s over.”

He turned his attention back to Bisoux, and silence fell between them.

She watched him work, his hands steady and eyes down. He really did seem fine, which made her feel even worse. No wonder he’d been staying out of the way.

It was no secret that he loved her, and in her way, she loved him too. Other than Perry, he was her best friend, her confidant. He had protected her and cared for her, and she’d done the same, just not the same way. She’d been with Ares and Adonis for so long — forever, it seemed — and when she’d been forced to marry Heff, she’d made a vow never to love him, never to give herself to him.

Now that vow seemed stupid and petty. But marriage was neither her desire nor her domain, and the arrangement had felt like a prison, one she rejected with all of her actions.

She didn’t plan on loving him anyway, even if it wasn’t the way he wanted. But that wouldn’t have ever stopped him from loving her, she knew. The fact only made her love him more. He was the epitome of selflessness, even now as he fixed her automaton and listened to her speak of the things that hurt him.

It crossed Dita’s mind, as it had so many times, that she didn’t deserve his love and never would.

Heff slid the panel closed, pressing it in place with a click, and Bisoux blinked his tiny black eyes and flipped over. He stretched and stood, trotting over to Dita, his nails clicking on the surface of the table.

She scooped him up and stood, her eyes on Heff and his on hers. “Thank you,” she said, but all she could think was that she was sorry.

He smiled, lips together, eyes forgiving. “You’re welcome. Let me know if it happens again.” He looked to his hands as they began to put away his tools. “You might want to feed him. He’s a little low on fuel after all that running around.”

“I will. I’ll see you later, Heff.”

She turned to walk away, looking back at him when she reached the stairs, catching sight of him with his palms on the surface of the table and his bright eyes laden with sadness as he watched her. And when he smiled, it told her a thousand things, but mostly that he was sorry too, and for things he could never change.

Dillon had been thinking about Kat all day.

He had thought about her in the gym, sweat on his brow and muscles aching, imagining the fight she be attending through her eyes. He’d thought about her as he cooked lunch for himself and Owen, wondering if she’d ever see the inside of his apartment. He’d thought about her while he got ready to go to the bar, changing his clothes more times than he’d admit. He’d worried in the car on the way to MacLennan’s that, somehow, the night before had been a fluke or a dream.

He worried, gripping the brass handle of the bar door, that he’d fuck up the tenuous balance he’d found with her.

Unfamiliar nerves flitted through him as he pulled the door open and stepped inside with Owen at his back. Dillon scanned for her, finding her so easily, she could have been the North Star.

She leaned against the long wall of liquor, illuminated from above by the bar lights, her long hair braided loosely and hanging over one shoulder. Her cheeks were high as she talked to her sister, and when she laughed, her face was so bright that he found himself smiling too.

Owen stepped around him, and Kiki turned like she’d sensed him. And then Kat met his eyes, catching him and pulling him over.

Kiki trotted around the bar and to Owen, slipping her arms into his jacket and around his waist, lifting her chin to kiss Owen hello, and Dillon just kept on smiling, aware only distantly of the sense of peace and rightness of the moment.

Mostly, he was consumed by the nearness of her as he sat at the bar, their eyes locked from the moment they’d met and for a long stretch across the bar, the two still and silent.

The song on the jukebox changed, and Kat blinked, cheeks flushing. She looked down at a stack of cocktail napkins and tossed one in front of him. Her tiny freckles peppered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose like little stars.

“Glass of water?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes again, watching her hand as she reached for a glass instead.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You okay?”

She looked up then, the hint of a frown she’d had on fading. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He smirked, not buying it at all. In fact, he had a strong intuition that she was just as hung up on him as he was on her and a followup thought that she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it.

Kat seemed to read his expression just as well and playfully rolled her eyes, the flush on her cheeks deepening just enough to betray her. She filled his glass. “Ready for your fight?”

He shrugged. “Once I get into the ring, my brain clicks into this zone; it’s always been automatic. So I don’t get bent by nerves. I just trust that it’ll work like it always does.”

She smiled down at the drink for a moment before looking at him with almond-shaped eyes. “I feel the same way about racing.” She set the water on the coaster and leaned on the bar. “How long have you been fighting?”

“A long time,” he answered, not wanting to say too much, compelled to tell her more than he should. “Brian and I were friends in high school, and Owen and I roomed with him after we moved out.” After I almost killed Jimmy. After I couldn’t take it anymore. After, after, after.

He took a drink, and she waited, seeming to understand he wanted to say more. So he did.

“I used to fight a lot when I was a kid and in high school. Brian knew some people in the underground fighting scene and landed me my first prizefight. I’d never been formally trained, but that didn’t stop me from beating the shit out of the guy.” He spun the glass around slowly. “The more I won, the more people paid attention, and the higher the stakes. The money was good … good enough that I could support me and Owen and open the gym with Brian, so I kept fighting. How about you?” he asked, changing the subject. “How long have you been racing?”

“Since I was eighteen,” she answered, offering nothing more, though her face was softer than he’d seen it.

“Owen said you’re from Vegas?”

She chimed, “Born and raised.”

“And how was that?”

“Hot.”

He laughed at that, and her answering smile could have thawed an iceberg.

“Vegas is … well, it’s Vegas. Lots of tourists, lots of partying, but it’s mostly just a normal city, if you stay off the strip. But that’s always the trick, isn’t it?”

“Too true. Ever been to a fight?”

She shook her head. “Never. I’m not quite sure what to expect, but flashes of Rocky keep popping into my head.”

Dillon chuffed. “Yeah, it’s not like that. The biggest difference is that what I do isn’t exactly legal. It’s noisy and dark everywhere but the ring, and when the fight is on, it’s … intense. There’s an electricity in the air, full of anxiety and anticipation and the sick sort of hope that something really fucked up will happen. But the good news is that it’s way less gory bare-knuckle than with gloves.”

Kat laughed. “No way.”

He nodded, leaning on the bar and toward her. “Really. People think the gloves are for protection, but it’s actually to make the fight bloodier. Think about it. Every punch has an extra twelve to sixteen ounces of weight behind it when you’ve got gloves on. Bare-knuckle is less gruesome, and there’s more skill involved. You can’t just whale on the other guy. Hits to the face have to be perfectly timed and placed, or you risk these.” He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.

He saw respect in her eyes, and it made him feel like a king.

“There’s not so much skill involved in racing. It’s twenty percent knowing your car and eighty percent instinct. Some people have it, some don’t.”

“Makes sense,” he said, understanding completely. “Your car is bitchin’ by the way.”

A laugh burst out of her, the sound and sight of her hitting him in the ribcage. “Bitchin’? You just sounded like McConaughey in Dazed and Confused.”

“We’re talkin’ some fuckin’ muscle,” he said in his best Southern accent.

“Oh my God,” she said on a laugh, angling in a little closer. “By the way, your car is pretty bitchin’ too. Just not quite as bitchin’ as mine.”

“Fair.”

A moment passed, and he scrambled to keep the conversation going, not ready to let her walk away. Not yet.

“Have you always been into cars?”

“Since I was a kid.”

“Me too, and always vintage cars. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“Sure don’t. Now it’s all plastic and cheap parts. My dad and I rebuilt a 69’ Impala engine when I was twelve, and I’ve been hooked ever since.”

“What’d you do with the Impala?”

“Kept it. It was my day car. My dad gave me the Camaro on my sixteenth birthday, and I started racing at eighteen. But God, I hated to leave the Impala in Vegas. We were just—” In such a hurry to leave. She caught herself. “There’s nowhere to park one car here, never mind two.”

A patron called Kat’s name from the other end of the bar, but when they looked toward the sound, they caught Kiki and Owen whispering from a ways down.

Kiki hopped to and smiled. “I’ve got it!”

Owen offered an awkward wave and pointed toward the bathroom.

“They would make terrible spies,” Dillon said.

“The worst. And I’m pretty sure giving Kiki gadgets that blew things up would not end well.”

He chuckled, picking up his drink again. “I’m glad you’re coming to the fight, really. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about the need to even the score on my shameful display from last night.”

“Sorry to embarrass you,” she said with a mostly straight face. Then, she laughed. “That’s actually a lie. You deserved it.”

He shot her a cocky smile, and she shot him one right back. But it faltered for a second, and so did his.

“You okay?”

And with her smile firmly back in place, she answered, “I’m good. And we’re good.”

It was the best news he’d gotten in ages.

Ares watched Kat and Dillon staring at each other across the bar, their noses too close, their eyes too soft.

He glanced at Hera, who sat ramrod straight in an armchair by his side with her eyes on him. With a tic of his jaw, he reached into his pocket, and when his hand emerged, it was with a small glass orb. Inside curled the tip of a peacock feather, its golden eye peering at him from behind the glass.

She took it with a smile that was sinister and shrewd and deposited it in her bag.

The door of the bar swung open, and Kat’s eyes cut to the motion just as the jukebox switched to a gritty blues song. A girl walked through the door, a girl she remembered from the night of the fight when she’d first met the brothers, a girl with hair a little too blond and skin a little too tan. Two of her friends flanked her, all three of them with laser-focused eyes and hips that swung in time with each other. They looked like fembots, too synchronized, almost synthetic. Her eyes were on Dillon, and when she reached him, she ran her hand across his shoulders.

He stiffened.

The only acknowledgment she offered Kat was a glance and a sneer that almost immediately slid into a seductive smile.

“Hey, Dillon. Fancy running into you here and twice in one week.” Her words were like honey, sticky and thick.

“What are you doing here, Jessica?” he asked with an edge that mirrored his posture.

She laughed. “Last I checked, it’s a public bar. Is it really so strange that I’d wander in?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she’d already turned to Kat.

“How about getting me a drink? Appletini for me and whatever they want.” Jessica waved a hand at her friends, who ordered the same.

Kat did her best not to laugh, but her smile had a mind of its own. “Uh, sure. Three Appletinis, coming right up.” She moved to make the drinks, watching the exchange out of her periphery, amused.

Jessica was so out of her league, and she had no idea just how far. Everything about Dillon said no. It didn’t seem to faze her.

She linked her hands around his biceps, leaning into him possessively. “How are you?”

“I was fine.” He pried her fingers apart and removed them from his arm. “Did you need something?”

Her pretty lips pouted. “A girl can’t say hello to a guy without needing something?”

Dillon’s brows dropped until his eyes were nearly slits. “Drop the act. I’m not interested. I can’t say it any more plainly than that.”

Kat’s hands stilled. Jessica stared at him blankly just as a slight breeze brushed against her skin — as if someone had walked by, but no one had moved. She thought she heard whispers riding the wind, sending the hairs on the back of her neck to attention.

When Jessica blinked, everything changed. Her body tightened with her voice, her face hard and eyes glinting. “I don’t think you understand what you’re missing.”

He leaned in and bit out, “I’m pretty sure I do, and I’m taking a hard, final pass.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “Oh, you don’t. But you will.”

Before anyone could react, she spun around and marched over to Owen, who sat, watching from a few seats away ,waiting for Kiki to come back from the stockroom. Jessica gripped his arm, spun him in the stool, grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, and tried to eat his face.

Or at least, that was what it looked like from where Kat sat, and apparently, Dillon thought so too. He burst out laughing, and Kat couldn’t help herself from joining in.

Owen scrambled, his arms flailing just a little before they got their act together and moved to her shoulders to push her away. He seemed to need to push harder than he should have, considering he was much bigger than her, but she wouldn’t budge.

By that point, it was too late.

Kiki had walked out of the back room to Owen’s back and a tall blond gnawing his face off from the other side. It took her all of a second to figure out what was going on, and then she lost her shit.

She stormed around the bar with tears in her eyes. By the time she reached his side, the very smug Jessica had released him, and he sat there gaping at her angrily, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.

He didn’t see Kiki until her open hand was on a track for his cheek. The smack of skin sent a shock through Kat.

Kiki’s face was twisted and red, her tears rolling down her face. “I thought you were different,” she said, quaking. “But you’re just like every other fucking asshole. Get out of here.”

He didn’t move, stunned silent.

“Get the fuck out!”

Owen reached for her. “Kiki, wait. I can explain —”

“I don’t give a fuck! Get out! Go!” She spun on her heel and shouted at Kat, “Make him leave, please, for the love of Christ!” And then she stormed out, pushing the swinging door open with enough force to slam it against the wall with a bang.

Kat’s mouth hung open, and she, Dillon, and Owen stared at each other, dumbfounded. Dillon snapped out of it first.

He turned on Jessica, whose hands were on her hips like she’d won something. Dillon grabbed her by the arm hard enough that his fingers dug into her skin.

Only then did she seem to realize what she’d done.

She looked down at his hand, then up to his eyes, her face falling and eyes widening. One of her friends tugged Dillon’s free arm, but he shook it loose and shot her a look that sent her backing away.

“What the fuck?” he spat at Jessica, dragging her toward the door, her feet barely able to keep up. “We’re done here. Do you understand me? Done. I don’t ever want to see your face again. If you fucked something up for Owen, you will never see the inside of a fight again. Do you hear me?”

She leaned away, nodding mutely. He dropped her arm, and her hand covered the place where his fingers had been as her friends flocked to her and rushed her out the door.

Dillon was already on his way back to the bar, his face softening as he took in his brother, sitting on the barstool, slope-shouldered.

“I am so sorry,” he said, as if it were all his fault.

But Owen didn’t respond, only turned to Kat with pleading eyes. “You have to talk to her. Will you talk to her? You know I didn’t — I’d never—”

“I know,” she said, utterly confident in her ability to explain the truth to Kiki.

Dillon raked a hand through his hair. “This is all my fault. She was trying to make me jealous.”

Kat had to laugh. “That worked out so well for her.” She handed Owen a green martini. “Drink this shitty drink, and I’ll be right back.”

He nodded his answer to the glass, and as she headed to the back, she offered a smile to Dillon, hoping she looked reassuring.

Kat pushed open the door to the stockroom and found Kiki on the same stack of beer that Kat had sat on a few days before.

Kiki sniffled.

Kat sat down on a stack next to her. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay.” She sniffled again.

Kat reached over to pick up a roll of toilet paper from a shelf stocked with napkins and paper towels. The wrapper was crisp and noisy as she unfurled it and handed the roll over to Kiki, who ripped off a strip and dabbed her nose with it.

“I saw the whole thing, Kiki, and he didn’t ask for that, nor did he want it. She wasn’t after him. She was after Dillon.”

Kiki’s nose honked as she blew it with the one-ply before turning her wet, confused eyes to Kat. “What?”

“She was trying to make Dillon jealous.”

Kiki blinked. “Why didn’t he push her away?”

“It looked to me like he was trying to. Either she’s crazy strong or Owen’s a wuss.”

That earned a little laugh, followed by a hopeful gaze. “Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“I’m absolutely positive. But you should talk to Owen about it.”

Kiki looked down at her hands, twisting the tissue.

“Do you really think he’d hurt you like that?” she asked gently.

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t think he would.”

Kat wrapped an arm around her sister. “I don’t think he would either. Talk to him. He’s still here.”

She reluctantly stood and walked toward the door, stopping in front of the small mirror on the wall, swiping under her eyes to wipe the mascara away. “Oh God. I look like shit.”

“You look fine,” Kat soothed. “And either way, he doesn’t care.”

Kiki smiled small and grateful. Then, she took a deep breath and walked back into the bar.

Kat followed her out, smiling again at Dillon that it was going to be okay, and he breathed a sigh.

The second Kiki was in earshot, Owen was out of his seat and rambling. “Kiki, God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what that was. I mean, I know what it was, but I don’t know why she did it. She’s been after Dillon forever, not me, and I was so surprised that I didn’t even know what to do. I tried to push her away, but I couldn’t break her grip. I couldn’t even move my head away from hers. She’s nuts, Kiki. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

He waited for a beat, watching her, while she twisted her fingers behind her back and nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Say something, please. Anything,” he begged with eyes big and brown and sad.

“Do you promise?”

He relaxed and reached for her, running his hand down her arm, and she unclasped her hands, winding her arms around his waist.

“I promise. I’d never do something like that to you.”

He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm.

“Just be honest with me.”

Owen pressed his forehead to hers and said, “Always.”

They kissed sweetly, and the few patrons left in the bar clapped and cheered. Kat found herself cheering too, shaking her head as she made her way over to Dillon.

“That was almost a disaster,” he said, his voice full of relief and residual guilt.

She watched him, smiling. “You know, this is a big change of heart from the first time I met you.”

Dillon shrugged, though his eyes were serious. “Things have changed. I was wrong.”

Kat raised her eyebrows to hide the warmth she felt for him in that moment. “Once you have time to cool off, you’re not such a bad guy. You know that?”

“It’s just the part where I get hot that I have to work on, I guess.”

A shadow passed behind his eyes and was gone just as quickly — a darkness she recognized and knew well.

She leaned over the bar and laid her hand over his where it rested on the glossy surface of the bar and said, “You and me both.”

Ares laid his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

Disaster.

He never should have asked for her help.

“Well played, Hera,” he spat, knowing she was cowed when she didn’t correct him for not calling her Mom.

She cleared her throat, and when he sat back on the couch, defeated, she looked away. “I told you it was a long shot.”

He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her with all the disappointment he could muster, which was easy. “No, you didn’t. But I figured it was anyway.”

“There might be another angle to try. I’m sure I can get Jessica to —”

“Did you hear him? The groupies are officially out of the game.”

She bobbled her head. “Not necessarily. You’ve seen her. I’m sure we can find another way to use her.”

His anger was barely tethered, the string taut and strained. “You’ve got to be kidding. The girl was scared shitless. She won’t go near him again. She’s not that stupid.”

But Hera kept pushing, her voice cajoling but her body on edge, her eyes searching, scrambling. “If you pay another token, I could build her up, bring her around to—”

“Enough!” He leaned toward her, and she leaned back to keep the space between them. “Leave. Now.”

“Ares, I —”

“I said, now!”

His voice echoed, reverberating, larger than physics should have allowed it, and Hera jumped in her seat, before sitting stock-still for a moment, blue eyes wide, lips sealed. Her hands trembled as she gathered her clutch and stood, her heels clipping quickly through his entryway as she left his apartment.

His sigh weighed the world, and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

Dita would never let him hear the end of this. His stomach turned at the thought. If she needled, if she pushed, he’d get mad. And if he got mad, they would both be in trouble.

Because he wouldn’t win her that way, and he was determined to win her, determined enough to endure the humiliation.

It would all be worth it in the end. Or so he would tell himself, hoping all the while he could convince himself of the fact.

DAY 6

The amount of time it had taken Kat to get ready for the fight bordered on outrageous.

She glanced in the rearview as she drove through Brooklyn with Kiki to pick up Owen, her green eyes brighter than usual, lined with black, winged on the ends.

Kiki had found it amusing, to put it mildly. She’d sat on Kat’s bed as she tried on no less than four outfits, grinning and cracking jokes. She’d then sat on the counter in the bathroom, needling Kat as she curled her hair in big, loose waves. And now she sat in the passenger seat, her eyes twinkling with all her hopes for Kat and Dillon on her face as plainly as her nose.

“You’re excited,” she said.

Kat rolled her eyes again. She’d rolled them enough that night that she was surprised she hadn’t sprained anything.

“No, I’m not. Tonight’s not a big deal.”

“Right, right. Sure.”

“I’m only going because it’s only fair to see him fight after I beat him so badly the other night. So,” Kat said, steering the conversation away from herself, “are you feeling better about the drama from last night?”

Kiki sighed, shaking her head. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have flipped out like I did. I’m just … I don’t know. He’s too good to be true, and I feel like I’m just waiting for something bad to happen.”

“I don’t think Owen could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s not in his nature.”

“I know. That’s the crazy part.” She didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t have to.

“I wonder if that crazy bitch will be at the fight.”

“I hope not.” Kiki scowled, folding her arms. “I will beat her ass.”

Kat’s lips quirked. “So ballsy. Maybe you should leave your earrings in the car, just in case you need to throw down.”

“Nah, I’ll just have you hold them for me,” she volleyed on a laugh. “I’m really glad you decided to come tonight.”

“You and Owen have been working overtime on us, huh?”

“It wasn’t all that hard. Really, we didn’t do much of anything. No amount of plotting can override Dillon’s dickishness.”

Kat laughed. “Too real. Were you and Owen already going to the fight tonight?”

“No. Owen doesn’t like to watch Dillon fight. I think it brings up too many memories. Plus — it’s not exactly legal. There are apparently quite a few unsavory characters at these things.”

“Nothing I’m not used to.”

That didn’t stop her mind from wandering to what Dillon had said about the fight and hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to watch. A knot twisted in her stomach at the thought of Dillon getting hit, hurt, beaten.

She stopped herself.

This is not a big deal. You aren’t interested. It’s just a fight, and you’ll be home and in bed by ten. Eleven, tops.

It was strange that Owen didn’t go to Dillon’s fights, as close as they were, and she wondered why, thinking back to something Kiki had said as she pulled up to a light.

“What did you mean when you said there were too many memories for Owen?”

“Promise to act surprised if he tells you?”

She glanced at her sister, curious. “I promise.”

Kiki looked down at her hands as they flipped her phone over and over again in her lap. “Dillon’s dad used to beat him. It’s how he got started fighting. He’d been fighting since he was a kid, for his life and Owen’s.”

Someone honked behind her, and she realized the light had changed, her mind still turning over what Kiki had said. With that bit of information, the separate pieces of Dillon clicked together, and the picture finally made sense.

She imagined him as a boy, those eyes like icy-hot fire, his body small and determined and coiled, fists up to defend himself against a grown man.

The vision made her feel sick.

She took a deep breath but couldn’t dismiss the image. She couldn’t feel anything but sadness for him and wrongness for judging him, not knowing where he’d been, what he’d endured.

“Makes you look at him differently, knowing,” Kiki said, her eyes out the window as they pulled onto Dillon’s street.

“I can’t even begin to understand what that was like.”

“Me either. All we know is love and devotion from our parents. Owen and Dillon lived in fear every day from the moment their mother died until they moved out on their own. And Dillon bore the brunt of it. It’s no wonder he’s broken.”

Kat had no words to respond, and fortunately she didn’t have to. They pulled up to the curb, and Owen trotted out to meet them. When Kiki opened the door, she stepped into him for a kiss, and then they were climbing into the car — Owen in the back, Kiki in the bucket.

And just like that, they were thundering toward the warehouse and into the arms of the dark of night to the place where Dillon waited to use the sins of his father as currency for survival.

The warehouse was dark and quiet where Dillon sat, winding a wrap around his wrist and palm, the strip of fabric slipping through his fingers, mimicking a hum he felt in every cell, every atom. It was second nature, a rhythmic routine that quieted his thoughts, brought the world down to a pinhole, small and distant.

Around the fabric went, around wrist, around palm, back again, leaving his knuckles exposed.

He watched his hands weave the fabric in a dance, thinking of nothing else with a still, quiet mind. Further he slipped into his mind, to the cage.

He let the beast out on its thick, heavy chain, and it roared its freedom under the surface of his skin. His control was paper-thin as always, his hand on the chain owning only the illusion that it was strong enough to hold on.

And the beast paced and watched.

Kat’s palms were damp, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket, the sound of her heels clicking on the cement warehouse floor ominous, garishly loud, like a death march. Kiki and Owen were ahead of her, moving from light to dark to light again under the industrial bulbs that hung from the ceiling in cages.

The tension was almost unbearable.

She could feel the anxious energy from the crowd at the end of the tunnel, carried on the buzz of their voices.

It agitated her. She knew the energy well enough, but always when she could temper it with confidence and trust of her skill. Here, she was at the mercy of Dillon without knowing he would overcome, without the assurance and understanding of his skill.

She wanted him to win. She wanted him to win so badly, the thought of him losing made her want to crawl out of her skin.

The tunnel opened up to a warehouse space filled with people clustered in the darkness around the ring. Floodlights on posts were the only lights in the warehouse, and they shone so bright, so intensely, everything in their beams looked white, blown out, overexposed. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the ring wasn’t white at all but blue with red ropes. Folding chairs sat in opposing corners. She wondered which would be Dillon’s.

As they approached the edge of the crowd, Owen cast a furtive glance at Kiki before pulling her into his side. Kiki passed the look back to Kat, reaching for her hand. And then they were part of the throng, weaving their way through as faces turned to watch her and Kiki pass with shark smiles and dark eyes.

They came to a stop near the edge of the ring, standing close to each other as Kat’s anxiety mounted. She’d brought her gun — it rested in the back of her jeans, hidden by her jacket — only out of habit, sure it wasn’t necessary.

She was certain now she’d been wrong.

The noise grew as the time came closer to the fight, and Kat scanned the walls, looking for entrances, wondering where Dillon was, where he would come from.

Owen leaned between the girls’ ears. “He’ll be on this side. You okay?”

They nodded, and he did the same, his face drawn as he pressed a kiss into Kiki’s hair and turned to the ring.

Cheers rose like a tidal wave when Dillon emerged from a passage on the far side of the room, moving like a cat, emerging from the darkness and into the blinding lights of the ring. His hair shone, his broad, naked chest glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes were points of ice under the eaves of his low brows, his lips flat, jaw square. She followed the curves of his arms, her eyes catching on the tattoo winding its way around his biceps and to his forearm.

A diamondback snake twisted around the thick cords of muscle, the rattle near his shoulder and head on his forearm, mouth open to strike.

He was terrifying. Terrifying and magnificent and as deadly as the snake on his arm.

Dillon moved to the corner near the chair, hopping in place, stretching his neck from side to side, while Brian looked on. Kat did too. Her eyes were locked on Dillon, but he didn’t see her. He didn’t seem to see anyone at all.

A referee stepped into the ring, and from across the room, another fighter emerged. He was huge, a mass of muscles, his face scarred in a tear down one side. Every step he took was menacing, the curl of his lip and glint in his eye telegraphing intent to destroy. When he ducked under the ropes and into the ring, the din of the crowd climbed higher.

He was bigger than Dillon, which was crazy in itself because Dillon was a beast. Dillon had said he never lost, but as he stood in the ring with that giant, she wasn’t sure if his streak would last. Because all streaks had an end; it was a law of nature.

Owen’s voice was in her ear. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t lost in years.”

She jumped, smoothing her face. “I wasn’t worried.”

He laughed and stepped back behind Kiki.

The referee waved both men over and spoke to them, though she couldn’t hear. Through the speech, Dillon and the giant, whom she’d learned was named Boon, stared each other down, shaking hands with no friendship between them.

And then the fight was on.

They circled each other with focus so intense, a bomb could detonate nearby and they’d never know.

Boon made the first move. He swung heavy, the arch of his hand through the air fast, but not fast enough. Dillon leaned back and out of the way with absolute sureness, and Boon’s fist sliced through the air and into nothing.

Dillon moved almost too quickly for her to see, stepping into him with a hook to the kidney. Spittle flew out of Boon’s mouth, and when they circled again, she saw his skin from the blow was already an alarming shade of red-violet.

Around they went, Dillon’s fists near his jaw, dancing around Boon, who couldn’t seem to land a punch. His fists swung big and slow — no, not slow. It was just that Dillon moved so fast, everything else seemed to be in slow motion. With every swing, Dillon ducked and bobbed out of the way, anticipating every move. And every time Boon’s fist flew past, Dillon would throw a punch in the rebound, fast as lightning.

Boon shook his head, blood flowing freely from his cut-up face, and when he narrowed his eyes, Kat’s stomach dropped. He feigned a punch, and when Dillon dodged, Boon’s other fist flew, connecting with Dillon’s nose. He wheeled back, the crowd screaming and whistling and whooping, but Dillon almost instantly caught his balance, spinning around to face Boon, unfazed, even with blood spilling down his face.

But it was Boon’s turn to anticipate with another punch, an uppercut that sent Dillon arching backward from the force.

He staggered back — Kat wasn’t breathing, couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away — and when he caught himself, when he turned again, he was determined. He was raging. He was murderous.

His body tensed, coiled and indomitable, lips bent in a sneer as he stepped into Boon, stepped into a punch perfectly timed, perfectly placed into his temple.

The giant spun a hundred and eighty degrees and fell like Goliath, landing flat on his stomach.

He didn’t get up.

He didn’t even move.

The crowd’s roar was deafening.

Dillon paced around him in a circle, stalking him like an animal, his eyes never breaking the connection to the man on the ground as Boon’s manager and the referee closed ranks, checking the man’s pulse. No one seemed alarmed. They just rolled him over and waved a few people over to help. And then the referee snatched Dillon’s fist and held it up in the air.

Kat took her first real breath since he’d stepped into the ring. When she glanced at Kiki, her sister’s mouth was hanging open like a fish, and Owen’s face was tight, lips flat, brows knit together. And then she looked back to Dillon.

But he was gone.

For a millisecond, she thought it had all been a dream. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd, catching sight of his wide back as he made his way through the crowd across the ring from them, Brian on his heels.

The crowd around them quieted down as they began exchanging money, with bursts of occasional obscenities or names shouted and eruptions of raucous laughter. A group of men broke into a fight near them, and Owen grabbed the sisters, hauling them toward the back of the warehouse and away.

Dillon’s ears rang.

He was back in the room where he’d started, feeling like he’d lost time, though he remembered everything. The lights, blinding. The smell, acrid and bitter. Every swing. Every hit.

He ran his towel over his face, distantly surprised when he saw it was smeared with his own blood. Then he was at the sink, running his hands under the cool water, splashing it on his face.

When he looked in the mirror, he saw only the beast, like he was watching himself from a long way away, tugging on that chain to put him back in his cage, to come back. But he dabbed at his face out of habit, wiping away the mess, making him look a little more like himself.

In appearance at least.

He stripped down and redressed automatically, pulling on his shirt last.

Footsteps behind him. A burst of adrenaline.

He swung around, his body an arch, fists clenched, eyes savage.

But Owen stood in front of him with a cheerful face and worried eyes, his body tight and ready to move just as well as Dillon’s.

“Hey, buddy.”

Those words. His brother’s voice. A tentative hand on his shoulder.

And the beast turned and walked into the cage on his own.

“Let’s see your nose,” Owen said, relaxing as Dillon relaxed, his adrenaline thinning out with every heavy heartbeat. “Broken?”

“No.” He tilted his chin, moving his face to display his profile from both angles.

Kat stood behind Owen. Dillon hadn’t seen her, but when he did, when he finally did, she was all he could see. Everything was in high relief — the tiny freckles on her nose, the curve of her lips, the sound of her breath, as if he could hear it from across the room. But it was her eyes that held him — jade green, dotted with flecks of moss — as she watched him like a cat, a black cat swathed in leather and warning and wild, regal silence.

She was a beast in her own right.

He grabbed his bag without looking away from her — her eyes, those eyes — and moved to her side, closing his hand around hers, not surprised when she didn’t pull away.

“Come with me,” he said, a command that wouldn’t be ignored.

And she didn’t. She followed him out into the night where they belonged.

They sped through the streets in silence.

Kat’s heart thumped hard enough to send tremors through the fabric of her shirt as she listened to the hum of Dillon’s GTO. She could feel when he was about to shift every time, up and down, finding herself satisfied when he did just as she would. There was something poetic about the way he moved — from the ball of his gearshift to his wheel, the motion of his feet. The way he touched that GTO like he was seducing it, like he was worshipping it, and she wondered if he would tune to her as he did his car, if he would know just when to shift, if he would speed her away into the night.

The streetlights lit his face, only to pass it back into darkness every few seconds. Her eyes traced his profile against the black night outside the window — disheveled blond hair; the bridge of his long nose, bent slightly where it had once been broken; the angles and curves of his lips; his square chin, and the line of his jaw smattered with stubble.

He was more than a man, in a league and a class something all its own, and no man could ever hold the raw power and command as the one sitting next to her.

Dillon pulled into his garage, killed the engine, and turned to her, the leather of his seat squeaking quietly.

His lips turned in the smallest of smiles. “I told you I didn’t lose.”

She found she couldn’t quite breathe with him looking at her like that, with him leaning toward her like he was.

“Dillon, I’ve never seen anything like you in my life.”

His eyes, so sharp, so hot. “I could say the same about you. Even if you did doubt me.”

“Respect earned,” she said softly.

“That means a lot, coming from you.” He leaned closer, his eyes on her lips.

“Does it?”

“More than you know.”

He slipped his hand into her hair, stopping her heart, her lids fluttering closed as he pulled her toward him —

Kat’s car rumbled up to the curb behind them, sending the two away from each other and nearly out of their seats, heads swiveling to look through the back window.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

He offered a smile as they turned to open their doors, and Kat sucked in a deep breath, adjusting her leather jacket as she climbed out.

Owen and Kiki were walking up the drive, his arm slung around her shoulders, his other hand in his jacket pocket.

“Hey, you crazy kids. I think it’s about time for the obligatory celebratory drink.” He slapped Dillon on the shoulder when they walked past to the stairs. “Say that three times fast,” he called over his shoulder.

Kat and Dillon smiled at each other over the roof of the car, and they walked around it together, arms touching when they met, the two only parting when they had to.

Owen stood in a beautiful kitchen, gathering supplies for drinks, and Kiki took a seat at the island bar. Everything in the place was brand-new. The hardwood floors gleamed, the cabinets and counters were modern and sleek, and the furniture was expensive and simple. He had money and plenty of it, not particularly surprising if he hadn’t lost in years. Plural. She wondered if he bet on himself. She would if she were him.

It seemed they had winning in common; that much was certain.

Kat took the stool next to Kiki, but Dillon hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“We’ll try to hold back,” Owen said as he poured Jameson over ice into three glasses. “You ladies need a mixer?”

“Yes, please,” Kiki answered sweetly.

“I’m good,” Kat said.

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.”

He offered her a glass, and she took it with an accepting nod.

Owen popped open a can of root beer and poured it into Kiki’s glass.

She eyed him. “You’re kidding, right?”

He handed it over. “Nope.”

Kiki took the glass, and when she tentatively sipped it, her eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Wow.”

“You’re welcome.” He winked and turned to Kat. “So what’d you think about tonight?”

Kat sipped her whiskey, thinking about Dillon’s lips. “It was … surprising.”

“It’s weird, huh? I always say it’s one of those things you can’t quite explain until you see it.”

“It was intense. The energy was just so much, overwhelming. And the moment when Boon hit Dillon … I don’t even know. I can’t believe he could just take that. And the way he moved — is it strange to say it was beautiful?”

Owen chuckled. “No, I get that. It’s horribly, gracefully beautiful. A symphony of violence.”

“I didn’t think I’d find it as exciting as I did.”

“Yeah, well, Dillon is good at what he does,” Owen said as Dillon entered the room again. “Speak of the devil.” He picked up his drink and headed for the stairs. “Let’s go to the roof.”

Dillon was first up the stairs, and Kat followed, but when they rounded the landing to take the next flight, Owen said, “Kiki, hang on. I forgot, I have a surprise for you.”

Kat looked back and raised an eyebrow. Owen wrapped his hand around Kiki’s and urged her down the stairs with a none-too-innocent smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said when he caught Kat’s expression. “We’ll be up in a few.”

She narrowed her eyes but turned to follow Dillon up the stairs, and when she stepped onto the deck, she drew a breath.

Low lights mounted on the beams of the railing around the roof illuminated the edges of the space with the softest of light, and the planks of the wooden flooring stretched from corner to corner. Floor pillows were spread around a low table in the middle, like the perfect place to read a book or drink a beer after a long day.

But that wasn’t what she couldn’t stop staring at.

It was the Brooklyn Bridge off in the distance, stretching away in arches of strings that looked like a loom, looked as if it were pliable, not made of steel and concrete. The river shone, the city climbing the sky in towers of lights to meet the stars.

She hadn’t realized she’d walked all the way to the rail until Dillon joined her. She turned her face to his, her heart full of wonder.

But he smiled, laying his hand — it was strong, sturdy, solid, real — on the small of her back.

“Dillon, this place is amazing.”

“Thanks,” he said, smirking. “Getting punched in the face on a regular basis has its perks.”

“Not to be crass, but I had no idea you could make this kind of money.”

He laughed at that. “I’m sure you don’t do so bad. Do you bet on yourself?”

“Every time. I wondered the same about you.”

“Every time.”

He was looking at her like that again, like he was going to kiss her, and she looked back to the city.

“So where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Dillon turned, leaning on the railing next to her, gazing at the horizon. “My dad.”

Her stomach flipped when she remembered too late what Kiki had told her. “Oh?” was all she could think to say.

“Although that makes it sound like he taught me. Unless you count him whaling on me as teaching, in which case I had a formal education.”

Kat was glad she’d already known so she could shake that off. “Mine taught me how to race and gave me a gun and a car when I turned sixteen. Violent beginnings all around, huh?”

Dillon seemed relieved she hadn’t pressed the topic of his father or shown him pity. “You have a gun?” He gave her a look that edged incredulous.

“Please tell me you’re not shocked. Is it all that shocking that I would own a gun and know how to use it?”

He chuckled. “No, actually. Not at all.”

“You have your fists to protect you in your line of work. In mine … there’s no way I could survive on brute strength. And in my line of work, when you’re a woman who wins, it’s not always taken well. Three cheers for the underdog.” She shrugged. “They always seem surprised, even the ones I’ve beaten more than once, like it was a fluke. You’d think I would have carved out a place for myself, and in some ways, I guess I have. But in others … well, there’s just no winning. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m cursed or something,” she said with a laugh and a sip of her drink.

“Well, they’re fools if they can’t respect what you do.”

She smiled.

“So, do I even want to know what your dad does to keep you so well stocked in race cars and firearms?”

“No, you probably don’t.”

He laughed again, and she realized she’d heard him laugh more that night than she’d heard before.

“I wanted to tell you again that I really am sorry about … well, about how I acted. At first, you know,” he rambled. “I’ve always looked out for Owen, and if I can save him pain, I’ll do whatever I have to. But I was wrong about Kiki. And I was wrong about you.”

She looked down at her drink and back up at him. “I get that. Kiki just got out of a bad relationship. A really bad one. I wasn’t ready to see her with anyone else, but it wasn’t about me. It just took me a minute to realize.”

He turned and leaned against the rail, putting his back to the city. “Seems we have more in common than either of us wanted to admit.”

“Seems that way.”

She turned too, resting her elbow on the rail, stepping closer, and he tucked her hair behind her ear, the smallest thing, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. And then he reeled her in again, the space between them shrinking, her breath still and lips tingling.

A car rumbled beneath them, and Dillon’s eyes went wide.

“That’s my fucking car.”

They shot down the stairs, passing the kitchen counter where Kat’s keys lay, and into the empty garage to confirm that Owen and Kiki were in fact gone. The two stared out into the alley in silence.

“I think we’ve been ditched,” she said flatly.

“It would seem.”

She turned to face him, glancing sidelong at the door back into the house. “You know, I really should go,” she said. She didn’t mean it.

Dillon took a step into her and cupped her neck, his thumbs on her cheeks and body nearly touching hers. She could feel him like the gap had been closed already.

“Stay,” he breathed into her mouth.

And she swallowed the word, the decision made.

One shift. That was all it took.

Their lips connected with a brush, then a crash, made a seam, opened up. His tongue slipped into her mouth at the same moment his fingers tightened, pulling her into him, pushing deeper into her. And she let him in with relief and surprise, with want she hadn’t realized fully, not until that kiss. The kiss. The kiss that would never end, just kept going on and on with roaming hands and bodies twisting around each other like ivy.

His hands were in her hair, up and down her back, on her face, tilting it to give him more room, to let him in deeper, deeper still. The sound of her heart beating coupled with their breath in rhythm, from nose to cheek and back again. Because even their breaths had twisted together, as if the base, elemental pieces of them sought each other just as intently as the rest of them.

He broke the kiss with the downward tilt of his chin, eyes closed, forehead against hers. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t say no, didn’t want to. Not anymore. Not now that he’d earned her respect and respected her in kind.

Maybe he was strong enough for her. Maybe he could be the one to temper her.

Maybe she could temper him, too.

“Tell me you still want to leave,” he whispered, trailing the tip of his nose against the bridge of hers.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything at all. So she kissed him instead.

It was softer than she’d intended, more tender than she’d meant, telling him more than she wanted to say. It was an admission to more than he’d asked.

He breathed her in, kissed her slowly, matched her. Accepted her admission and gave his own.

The kiss never sped, but it deepened as kisses do, her body arching into his, his arching over hers, his lips — strong and demanding and knowing lips — moving with hers, telegraphing what he wanted, what he wished for.

Her.

He reached down to grab her and hitch her up, guiding her legs around his waist, the kiss continuing. Maybe it would go on forever, maybe she’d live there, in his arms and hands and mouth, until the end. His hands were on her ass, his chin lifted, her hair spilling around them like a curtain. He was so strong, she didn’t have to hang on. She cupped his jaw and kissed him on and on as he carried her inside, up the stairs, to his dark room.

The world tipped on its side when he laid her in his bed and his hand moved up her thigh, hips pinning her, the weight of him against her heavy and right, and the kiss lived on and on.

He was the one to break away again, the one to look down at her with heavy lids and swollen lips. She watched him as his eyes moved over her face, as his thumb brushed the curve of her bottom lip.

He was a man of multitudes, of hardness and softness, of venom and tenderness. He was a man of power but not as powerful as he knew and more vulnerable than he’d admit. She knew this. She knew this because she was this.

And when he met her eyes, he saw her. Not for what she showed him, but for what she didn’t.

His name was a whisper on her lips, his hair silken strands between her twisting fingers as she pulled him down, meeting him halfway.

Undressing her became his sole purpose, sliding his big hand into her leather jacket, lingering for a moment on her breast, holding the swell of it in his palm, his thumb grazing her nipple, tight and unconcealed by the thin lace of her bra or the loose cotton tank. He slipped the jacket off one shoulder, and she lifted up to sit — more kissing … God, the kissing — shrugging out of her jacket and moving her hands under his shit, feeling the hardness of his body, the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

His fingers pushed the straps of her tank over the curves of her shoulders until it pooled around her waist. Next were her bra straps, first one, then the other. His eyes were on his hands as he pushed the lace aside, took her breast in his hand and felt the weight of it, admired the curve of it, lowered his lips to her nipple to take it into his mouth, to taste her.

She watched him through lids nearly closed, legs around his waist, fingers in his hair.

He moved up her body when he was through to kiss her again, though his hand stayed where it was. Her palms rested against his chest, skated down the hardness of his body and to the hem of his shirt and under, the softness of his skin against her fingertips like silk. The hiss through his teeth when she dipped her fingers into the band of his jeans was a sound she wanted to hear again and again.

But before she could make him, he broke away and climbed off the end of the bed, reaching behind him to pull off his shirt before extending his hand.

She took it, confused as he pulled her to stand at the foot of the bed, wondering why he wasn’t kissing her still, wondering why his shirt was gone and her hands weren’t on him.

But when she slowed down her mind enough to meet his eyes and really look, she understood.

Dillon stood before her, a man painted in shadows and moonlight with eyes heavy with worship and possession. One hand reached for her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, the tips of his fingers grazing her cheek so lightly, she wondered if she’d imagined it. Those fingers skimmed her shoulder, pushing her hair back so he could see her. They moved down her neck, across her collarbone, down and around the swell of her breast and between them to her heart that thumped wildly with anticipation.

Every move was controlled, every motion a signature of his body on hers, as if to say, This is mine, all that I see, all that I touch.

Her tank and bra hung around her ribs, and he hooked his fingers in them and pulled them over her head, her hair spilling over her naked shoulders and breasts. He knelt before her, his eyes following his hands as they skated down the curves of her body. And then his fingers moved to the button of her jeans, popping it open, and when he unzipped her pants with agonizing slowness, when he dragged her pants down the length of her long legs, it was all she could do not to drop to her knees so she could touch him. But it wasn’t her turn. Not yet.

She’d get her chance.

He looked up her body, the picture of calm, the picture of restraint, the picture of command and demand and acquiescence.

Yes, he was a man of multitudes, and he would give himself to her just as readily as he would take her.

Take me, take me, take me.

And as if he’d heard her benediction, he did.

His eyes moved down her body as his hands found her thighs, cupped her ass, squeezed. His lids closed, and his lips found the soft skin so low on her belly, low enough that she gasped at the contact. His hot mouth demanded her attention even more than his hands that kneaded and squeezed, more than his fingers that tugged her panties over the swell of her ass and down. That mouth took more flesh, his hand guiding her thigh to rest on his shoulder, his fingers spreading her open.

Shallow breaths, the anticipation too much, her eyes knowing what they saw, her brain knowing what would happen, her hands in his hair, her heart tight, her core tight, so tight, and then there was nothing but his mouth closing over her center.

She sucked in a breath with a snap of her lungs, hanging on, her leg on his shoulder flexing, holding him closer. A rumbling moan against her core, a whimpering moan from her lips, his hands on her ass again, pressing her against his mouth.

It had been too long, so long. So long since she’d been wanted like this, been touched like this. Too soon, too soon she was too close, her body pulsing once, her hips rocking against him, not wanting to stop, but wishing she were full, wishing to be filled with him.

She pulsed again.

His lips disappeared, leaving her cold, leaving her aching.

He stood, his eyes promising her he’d give her what she needed, his hands moving deftly to rid him of his jeans. And then his hands were in her hair, his lips on hers again, and the length of his body was against hers. And then he laid her down, kissing her as desperately as she was kissing him, breaking only to stretch for the nightstand in an arch of muscle as she panted, waiting.

Another kiss, too brief, and then he was kneeling between her legs, eyes pinning her down as he ripped the packet open and gripped his shaft, rolling the condom on, stroking himself once, twice as she watched.

He nestled between her thighs, nudging them open wider, pressing his crown against her slick center, lowering his lips to hers. Her hips rolled and arched, needing him, needing the weight of him. And when she whispered a plea, he took a breath that stopped hers and flexed his hips, filling her up.

For a second — for one long, glorious second — neither of them moved other than the gentle motion of their brushing noses, of their sweeping lips, their bodies a seam. And when he moved, it was with power and grace, with resolve and release. He took from her what he wanted, but he gave himself to her. Give and take. Flex and release, wave after wave, rocking into her, until she let go, let herself go with a cry and a shudder, gripping his body with hers.

Another pump of his hips, then another, and he came with a sound low in his throat and hands twisted in her hair hard enough to hurt, caged in his arms.

Caged. And she didn’t want to escape.

Perry fanned herself, cheeks pink, eyes on Kat and Dillon. “I love them. Absolutely love.” At seemingly nothing, she shot up in her seat. “Wait, did you just win?”

Dita laughed from the couch next to her. “Oh no. One night won’t do it, but it would be a record if I won so quickly. It’s not love, not just yet.”

Perry dropped back into the seat, folding her arms. “Well, nuts. Could you imagine the look on Ares’s face if you’d won just now?”

“Yes, actually. I live for that look. It’s my favorite part of competing with him. Cherry on the sundae.”

“Pretty sure I know what the ice cream is.”

“I’m pretty sure you do too,” Dita said on a laugh.

“Gods, when you two first got together, you were inseparable. Literally. Like those National Geographic specials on animals that mate for an inordinate amount of time.”

“I couldn’t help myself. He took me by surprise in the best way.”

“You’ve mentioned this.” Perry paused, watching Dita through the silence. “Have you been to Elysium?”

Her smile faded. “No.”

“Will you go back?”

Dita sighed. If only. “I suppose I will at some point. But why waste my time? That argument was proof that things won’t be easily mended. Plus, it’s giving me an ulcer.”

“You can’t get an ulcer,” Perry corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Another stretch of silence passed by. “And you’re not really alone, are you?”

“I am, and I’m not,” Dita said, the words hollow in the middle. “It’s been a long time since Ares and I have been together. Ages.”

“Seems to me like you’re making up for all that lost time. Horndoggies.”

“Ha, ha. Three times in six days isn’t even close to the record.”

Perry snorted. “How is he?”

“Same as always, but …” She looked down at her nails. “Better. He’s softer, more open. Affectionate. And his admissions—” She sighed. “Something has changed, and I wonder what Adonis has to do with it. The rift between us benefits Ares, and he’s taking the opening. I think he’s playing for keeps.”

“He always has where you’re concerned.”

Dita met Perry’s eyes and asked quietly, suddenly, “Do you think Ares killed Adonis?”

The question seemed to catch Perry off guard. “I don’t know. But it seems likely.”

Dita swallowed her fears. “Apollo wouldn’t have gone so far. I don’t know how I know, but I do, and I think I always have. But there’s no proof. All I have is Apollo’s admission, and I’ve clung to it for thousands of years because it’s easier than the alternative.”

“You’re sure?”

Dita exhaled, but the vise on her heart remained. “No.”

“If Ares killed Adonis,” she asked delicately, “do you really want to know?”

“Of course,” she answered without thinking, realizing the moment she’d said it that she didn’t. She didn’t want to know at all. “No,” she added, resigned. “I don’t. If he did, if I knew without a doubt that he’d murdered Adonis, that he’d been lying to me all this time, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know what it would mean or how I’d ever recover.”

Perry assessed her before nodding. “Well, think about whether or not you really want the answer. And if you do, we’ll figure it out once and for all.”

Dita looked down at Bisoux sleeping in her lap, but her eyes saw nothing.

The last weeks without Adonis were the first in thousands of years, and with that separation, with the time to herself and her thoughts, she’d found her perspective had changed. He was petulant, even more than she had really known, and the longer he avoided her, the longer he refused to consider her side, the further she drifted away from him.

Everything had changed. Adonis was gone. Apollo was her friend. And Ares …

If Ares had killed Adonis, everything she knew to be truth between them had been built on lies. The betrayal was more than she could fathom, but somehow, it seemed to be the only answer. The only one that made sense anyway.

Though she couldn’t blame him for keeping it from her. She’d sworn she would never forgive him.

And she didn’t break her promises.

DAY 7

Kat dreamed she was a bird.

Her face was to the sun, the wind rushing over her as she flew over green hills, over sapphire oceans, up and up, on and on, until she came to rest on a cloud.

It wrapped itself around her, folding over her with a cool mist, but she wasn’t afraid. Because she felt peaceful. She felt happy.

She stirred, but she couldn’t move. Something heavy and warm curled around her, and she found herself in her body once more. Her eyes opened only a crack, her mind confused.

And then she remembered, and a jolt of shock zipped down her spine.

Dillon’s big arm hung over her bare waist, holding her body close to his, her back to his front. He was curved around her, his chest rising and falling slowly, his warmth passing through her skin, transferring to her.

She felt safe, she realized. Safe and warm and cared for. Even in sleep, he hadn’t turned or rolled away but curled around her like a cat, his nose in her hair and breath against the back of her neck. A sigh gathered from somewhere deep down in her chest and slipped out of her.

The night before worked its way through her mind in whispers. Falling asleep in his arms. His lips, those lips so close to her neck even now, lips that had brushed curves of her body, writing his name with his breath against her skin. The sweetness of his admissions, the truth of his character, which she saw now was not what had been impressed upon her in the beginning.

He was so much more.

And she wanted to know all of him.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she glanced at it, not wanting to move. But then it buzzed again. Then, again.

Dread was a living thing, and it slid through her veins like a snake as she stretched for her phone, not wanting to wake Dillon. Her fingers grazed it, moving it toward her until it was close enough to grab, and she hit her Home button.

The screen flashed with alerts stacked up like bricks. Dozens of phone calls and texts from two friends of hers in Vegas whom she’d asked to watch Eric.

She scanned them all, her heart stopping in her chest when she read this:

Saw Eric tonight at a party, and he was acting weird. He wouldn’t stop talking about Kiki and almost got in a fight with a bookie he was pumping for info on you. Thought you should know.

Panic set in, her mind razor-sharp for the first time in what felt like days.

Eric hadn’t forgotten about them like they’d hoped. And she’d left Kiki alone.

Guilt spurred the panic until her heart pounded, mind racing. She’d fucked up, fucked up so royally, let her guard down completely. She hadn’t thought twice about staying the night with Dillon. In fact, she hadn’t thought about Kiki at all.

It was stupid, so stupid. So reckless.

Her thoughts ran in circles, but the loudest was that she had to get to Kiki.

Could she slip out without waking him?

What if he woke?

What would she say?

She imagined telling him the truth, telling him about Eric, about Kiki, about their past. A stupid, cavalier part of her almost did right then, right there.

But telling him would only put him in danger.

There was no way out. Not without hurting him.

Not without hurting herself.

Because the truth in her heart was that she wanted him. And the fact was that she couldn’t have him. Not now. Not until the danger passed.

If it would ever pass.

Tears burned her eyes, stinging her nose as she glanced around the room for something to save her, deciding on a pillow that was within reach. She moved slowly, pulling it close, gingerly lifting his arm so she could slide out from under it, slipping the pillow in her place.

He stirred, squeezing it to his chest with a sigh, and she watched, still as stone, waiting for him to wake. But his only movement was the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, and her only choice was to walk away.

And she hated every fucking thing about it.

Kat pulled on her clothes, watching him sleep, trying to hurry. She would call him and try to explain without explaining. She’d come up with some plan, some sort of plan.

She only hoped he would understand.

Kat picked up her shoes and took a last look at Dillon, his golden hair shining in the morning sunlight, his arms gripping that pillow that he thought was her. Her throat tightened, eyes brimming as she turned to leave, walking away as softly as she could, down the stairs. And then she scooped up her keys and trotted out the door, wishing she could reconfigure the stars that seemed so hell-bent on keeping her from what she wished for.

Dillon woke with a start when a car engine rumbled outside, wondering why he was hugging a pillow, sleepily glancing around the room.

And then he remembered.

Kat.

She was gone.

He bolted out of bed, snatching a pair of sweats that he hastily pulled on before pacing through the silent house, through the empty kitchen.

Brow furrowed, he ran a hand through his hair, wondering why, wondering what he’d done wrong, replaying the night in his mind. Everything had felt right. He’d convinced her to stay without needing to do much convincing at all. And she’d been more, so much more than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined a lot. He’d imagined the two of them as an explosion, imagined fire and heat, a fast, hot flash of skin against skin.

That was how it always was, and that was what he’d expected a woman like Kat to expect from him.

But that wasn’t what she’d wanted or what she’d given. It wasn’t what he’d given.

He couldn’t convince himself that he’d read her wrong. There was no way she’d just been caught in the moment. That moment was too real to stumble into and out of.

The thought that she’d only wanted a one-night stand twisted in his mind, twisted his lips into a frown, twisted his heart into a knot.

Maybe there was a more reasonable excuse. Maybe she had somewhere to be. He could call her, ask her, but that seemed wrong, seemed desperate.

Owen would know what to do.

Dillon trotted into his bedroom and to his phone, trying not to look at the bed they’d shared, the traces of her body in the curves of the rumpled sheets.

Kat just took off. She didn’t say goodbye, just left. Are you at her place?

A second later, his phone buzzed. Yeah. But what do you mean? Like before you were up?

Yeah, IDK. I want to think there’s a reason, but I don’t feel good about this.

His phone buzzed again. Don’t assume anything, asshole. Call her. Heading that way in a few.

Dillon stared at his phone for a second in indecision, his stomach a den of snakes that he ignored as he pulled up her name to find out for sure what the hell was going on.

What the fuck am I going to do?

It was the only question in Kat’s head as she raced through Brooklyn toward her house, her mind turning around with her wheels.

She had to get her head straight. That was the first nonnegotiable task, made impossible by her panic over Eric, made worse by the scent of Dillon on her, the memory of the night before slipping in and out of her thoughts like smoke.

Her fears had been confirmed, and she didn’t feel the least bit smug about it.

Eric.

Her stomach turned at even the thought of his name, sour bile climbing up her esophagus as she bit back tears. The vise in her chest tightened with every second as she imagined all the ways he could find them without giving them time for a warning. He could fly. He could stop asking and just leave town. He could have already left, could already be on his way.

If he’d taken a red-eye, he’d already be there.

She pushed the accelerator to the limit of what she could handle.

Her phone rang from her passenger seat, and she reached for it, eyes on the road, nearly dropping it when she saw it was Dillon.

She should throw it back in her seat, but that stupid, cavalier part of her took over and answered.

“Hey,” she said without a clue what she was doing.

Dillon was silent for a moment. “You left,” he saids simply.

“I … I—” I’m sorry. I want you. It’s not my fault. Excuses piled up in her throat.

“If you didn’t want me, you should have just said so.” The words were hard, his assumptions perfectly clear.

She bristled. “Dillon—”

“I thought you were different. I thought that last night …” He paused. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say, the only explanation she could offer. “I can’t do this right now.”

“It’s not you, it’s me, right? Is that the next line?”

She breathed through the pain. “Something like that.”

Another pause. “Well, I guess that’s that.”

“I’m sor—”

“I’ll see you around, Kat.”

The line disconnected.

She threw her phone in the seat next to her, swallowing her tears as she turned into her alley.

The rejection in his voice, the sadness and anger and hurt, rang in her ears. She understood. He wanted her. And she wanted him, but she couldn’t have him.

If only Kiki hadn’t ever gotten wrapped up in Eric. If only she’d let Kat pull the trigger. If she’d just called their father, it would have been over. All of it. Her pain, her prison, her fear — all gone. Things would have been so different, if only.

But everything was fucked up and sideways, and she was caught in the middle, caught in the trap.

The loss of her life and dreams burned in her chest until the embers of resentment were all that were left.

It was all because of Kiki.

Family is everything.

She loved her sister more than anything, and because of that love, she’d do what she had to do.

But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

Dillon stared at his phone in his hand, chest split open.

Kat didn’t care about him like he did her. She didn’t want him like he wanted her. He’d thought it had been unspoken, a promise whispered between them without a word.

He’d thought he’d known.

She’d snuck out like she was ashamed, and it left him ashamed, humiliated, rejected. Heartbroken.

Dillon buried his face in his hands, trying to grasp the situation, trying to get ahold of his emotions, trying to understand what had gone wrong, what he’d done. But there were no answers.

It was probably for the best.

His heart flung itself at his ribs in protest.

Dillon stood, his hands shaking as he shot a text to Owen and tossed his phone on the bed. He threw on sneakers and ran down the stairs, emotion rolling and boiling in his ribcage, slamming the door behind him hard enough, the windows rattled. And he took off in a dead sprint toward the gym with every footfall singing his regret.

Kat stormed into the house, tossing her keys on the bar before stomping up the stairs and into the living room.

Relief on finding her sister in one piece, sitting safely on the couch with a cup of coffee, did very little to temper her.

Because Kiki was the reason for her hurt, her pain. So she focused every bit of it into a fuming laser beam and trained it on her sister.

Kiki’s brows were drawn in concern. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Where’s Owen?” she asked, glancing toward the stairs.

“He just left.”

They waited in silence — Kiki watching Kat like she was crazy, Kat enraged and ready for a fight. Any fight would do.

“So,” Kiki started, breaking the silence, “what happened?”

“What do you think happened?” she snapped.

“Well, apparently what I think happened is wrong. What are you so bent about?”

Kat clenched her teeth and her fists at the same time. “You never should have pushed me into him.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. And nothing is going to come of it, so just swear to me you’re going to give it the fuck up.”

Kiki watched her. “I think maybe you’re freaking out just a little, Kat.”

“Don’t act like you know what I’m thinking,” Kat shot. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“I’d be willing to bet that you don’t either.”

And that was the detonator. Kat blew.

“I’m thinking about you!” she yelled. “That’s all I ever do — think about you. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe, but you don’t give a shit about that. All you want to do is find yet another fucking guy, which is so far beyond stupid after what we’ve been through. The part where you conspired to get me to fuck his brother is new though. Wish granted. Does the backfire burn? ‘Cause it fucking feels great from where I’m standing.”

“Jesus Christ, Kat.”

“What, Kiki? What?” Kat shouted, throwing her hands up.

Kiki set her coffee on an end table and stood, leveling Kat with a glare. “I am sick and fucking tired of you using me as an excuse not to live your life.”

“I’m living my life,” she volleyed.

“No, you’re not, and you never have. You’re running from your life.”

“Fuck you, Kiki.” She turned for the stairs, the words too close to the truth.

But Kiki wasn’t through. “Don’t you fucking blame me because you’re too afraid to go after what you want.”

Kat turned on her sister, hands in fists. “I’m not afraid of anything. But let me ask you this; who’s responsible if Eric comes for you?”

“Fuck, Kat!” she cried, frustrated. “He’s not coming! Are you ever going to move on?”

“Move on?” Her eyes narrowed, voice low. “You should have let me kill that motherfucker. But no. You wanted him to live, so now it’s on me.” Kat touched her chest. “And until he’s dead, I will wonder if he’s going to show up. Because if he does, you’re not getting out of it with a heartbeat, and you know it. You wanted him alive — fine. But I’m the one who has to hide it from Dad because, if he finds out, Eric won’t just be dead. He’ll be tortured, his death long and slow and gruesome. And you know it.” She folded her arms across her chest as Kiki seethed. “Not that I give a shit. Part of me would love to see that prick in fifty pieces and two trash bags. Because there’s no moving on. Not from this. So should I go ahead and call Dad then? Or should I just go back to Vegas and kill him myself?”

Kiki said nothing.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Kat turned again and walked toward the stairs, and that time, Kiki let her go.

Kat marched up and slammed the bathroom door, opening the glass door to turn on the shower. She peeled off her clothes — the smell of Dillon sent memories flashing through her mind — and stepped into the steaming stream, closing her eyes as she raised her face to the water, letting it run over her face. And her thoughts collided, careening into each other, exploding on impact.

But there wasn’t a single answer to be found.

She had to honor her promise to her sister. She had to bear the burden. Family was everything, all she had.

And the day she learned the lesson that would dictated so much of her future, her choice had been set in stone.

Kat drew another swoop with her sidewalk chalk on the driveway near the side of the house and stood to admire her work. The garden she’d drawn was pretty good — for a nine-year-old, she figured. The rose was swirly in the middle for the layers, and the blades of grass had taken her forever. She’d almost gotten sloppy at the end, ready to be done with it, but she was glad she hadn’t.

She couldn’t wait to show her mom.

Kiki’s sweet little voice drifted over as she played under the shade of the tree with her Barbies. They were all laid out on a blanket other than Ken and Barbie, who were on a date in their pink Corvette.

Grace popped her head out of the screen door. “Lunch is in a bit, girls. Five more minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” the girls sang in unison.

All three of them laughed as Grace closed the door.

The sound of an engine moving too fast caught Kat’s attention, and she looked up the street, her smile falling when she saw a black Mercedes zooming toward them. It pulled up to the curb in front of Kiki. By the time Kat realized something might be wrong, she’d only made it a few steps and stopped, hidden behind the shrubs and out of sight.

Two men stepped out, both wearing Hawaiian-print shirts that hung over their paunches. The driver waited with his arms resting on the roof of the running car and his eyes scanning the streets. The passenger left his door open and knelt on the sidewalk in front of Kiki with his elbows on his knees and fat hands hanging between his thighs.

A warning rang in Kat’s mind. These men were dangerous. These men knew her father.

“Hey, little girl. Whatcha playin’? Barbies?” he asked in a thick New York accent.

Kiki eyed him and nodded.

He smiled. “Oh, my little girl loves Barbies. You know, she just got one of them Dreamhouses. You know the kind? With the elevator?”

Kiki’s face lit up. ”I’ve been asking my papa for one! He said maybe for my birthday,” she added with a pout.

“Well,” he said with a smile too sweet, “how’d you like to come play with my little girl? She’s about your age. I think you’d be good friends.”

Kiki bit her lip as she watched him warily, wanting to trust him. “Can my sister come?”

The driver glanced down the street. “Manny, come on.” A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

Something in the air changed, a quiver, a waver, the tension thickening. Kat glanced around for a weapon. An aluminum baseball bat stood propped against the house. She wrapped her fingers around it, and her eyes locked on the man on his knees in front of her sister.

Manny was losing his patience, his eyes darting up and down the street. “No, honey. Your sister can’t come. If you wanna play with the Dreamhouse, we gotta go. Now. Come on.”

He reached for her, but Kiki shrank back.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, all pretense of nicety gone. “I didn’t want to have to do this.”

She screamed when he grabbed her, kicking and thrashing in his arms as he turned for the car.

Kat didn’t think. She just ran, bolting to the car, the bat in her sweaty hand, cocking it back to swing at the moment just before she’d have lost him. The force shot up her arms, the ting of the bat and the sick crack of his knee in her ears, his scream right behind it. He fell to the ground, dropping Kiki, who scrambled away and behind Kat.

Tires squealed in the distance, the climb of an engine, and Kat cranked her bat back, ready to take another swing. He picked himself up, sputtering and growling at her. His meaty hand reached for her, but he swung his head around when the driver slapped the roof of the car and dipped inside.

“We gotta go! Now!”

“Goddammit,” he shouted as he scrambled for the car, slamming the door behind him.

They peeled out and sped off just as another black car pulled up.

Two yakuza enforcers stepped out of the backseat, and the car drove off with a chirp of the tires the second the doors were closed.

Their faces were tight as one scooped up a sobbing Kiki and carried her inside. The other pried the bat from Kat’s fingers and walked her inside with a grip on her shoulder that told her he was just as afraid as she had been.

Grace sat on the couch, white as a sheet, Kiki in her arms. She opened an arm to Kat with shaking hands, and it wasn’t until then, until that moment, that the realization of what had happened could touch her. And she leaned into Grace’s side, arms around her neck, though she didn’t cry. She was too afraid to cry.

A half hour later, Kim burst through the door with bloodshot, swollen eyes, gathering her daughters up, clutching them to her chest. Katsu walked in behind her, still and cold and calm and deadly, not moving much past the door.

His four enforcers entered behind him, eyes on the ground, as he spoke Japanese, his tone like nothing she’d ever heard before. She picked up a word here and there as her mother rocked them, whispering that they were okay, that everything was okay.

But when she heard an enforcer say “Yubitsume,” every hair on her arms stood on end.

Even at nine, she knew what that was. Some of her father’s men were missing fingers, and one had told her — careless enough, as he could have lost another for it — what it meant. It was a sacrifice of atonement carried out by their own choice and volition when they’d dishonored their boss, an offering they would provide or would suffer a punishment far worse, doled by the hand of the boss they’d disgraced.

Kim heard the word too. She stopped rocking, her eyes darting to them, though her face was soft, comforting for her daughters’ sake.

“Come on, babies. Want to take a bath in Mommy’s tub?”

Kiki sniffled and nodded, and Kim moved the girls to her room where they took a bath in her giant jet-soaker tub. They spent the rest of the afternoon and that night in their mother’s bed eating, junk food.

At some point, Kat fell asleep, but she didn’t remember when or how, only that she woke up that morning in her own bed.

Voices carried into her room, and she threw off her covers, creeping out into the hallway in the still and quiet of the early morning. When she peeked around the corner of the kitchen, she saw Katsu leaning against the counter. His naked arms and chest were covered in tattoos — dragon scales and snakes, clouds and water, so many tattoos that she could only see a sliver of bare skin that cut through the center of his chest.

Kim stood at the sink, scrubbing a pot furiously enough that Kat thought it might have been clean some time ago. “I know we keep going around and around about this, but I just can’t get over it.” She put the pot down in the sink and wiped her hands. When she turned to him, her eyes were full of tears. “They almost took our baby. From our front yard. From our own home.”

He pushed off the counter and crossed the few feet between them, reaching for her. His arms wound around her, pulling her into him, and when she buried her face in his chest, he held her there with his hand in her hair, his voice hushed as he muttered something to her that Kat couldn’t hear.

“What are we going to do?” Kim asked softly, defeated.

“Please, believe me. You are safe. This should never have happened, and it will not happen again. Next time, no one will have enough time to get so close to any of you. I promise you that. A debt will be paid, a lesson learned. It will not happen again.”

A shudder rolled through Kim that Kat saw from across the room. “I don’t want to know.”

He leaned back to cup her cheek and kissed her gently, tenderly. “No one will harm you. No one will harm our daughters. On my life.” The words quavered.

Kim looked up at him with faith and devotion. “I believe you,” she whispered.

Kat shifted, and Kim’s eyes darted to her.

“Kat, come here, baby. You hungry?”

She nodded, eyes down, and walked to her mother, nestling silently into her side.

“How about pancakes? With chocolate chips?”

Kat’s fear dissipated just a little. “And whipped cream?”

“Extra whipped cream,” she said with a smile, smoothing Kat’s hair before scooting her off to the table.

Kat watched her mother walk to the pantry, laying a kiss on Katsu’s shoulder as she walked by.

He caught Kat watching and smiled, joining her. But then his smile slipped away, his eyes searching her face as he took the seat next to her.

“Katsumi, do you know who those men were? The men who tried to take Keiko?”

“Bad guys,” she answered quietly.

“Yes, they were bad guys. But you were very smart and very brave. And you saved your sister.”

Her lips pinched, brows drawn in determination. “They were gonna take her, Papa.”

“They were going to try. But you protected her. We always protect our family. Even when it is hard. Even when we are afraid. Even when we think we cannot. When you are older, I will teach you how to protect yourself, and your mama and Keiko too.” He lowered his face to look her in the eyes, his own soft as he brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “You are strong, my Katsumi. Stronger than you know. And I am proud.”

Owen pulled up in front of the gym, ducking down to look through the front window for Dillon. He hadn’t been home when Owen had got there, and he’d left his phone at home.

It meant he wanted to be left alone, but Owen knew his brother better than he knew himself.

Kat was different, and how Dillon felt about her was different. It was easy enough to deduce that something had gone wrong, and though he knew Dillon needed to think, he also knew Dillon’s mind would lead him to places of guilt, a downward spiral of blame and deprecation. And so Owen hoped to be the voice of reason, hoped his brother would hear him from the darkness of his mind.

He cut the engine when he caught sight of Dillon, shirtless and dripping with sweat as he beat the shit out of a punching bag.

Owen’s eyes were on Dillon the whole way into the gym, breaking only for a glance at Brian, who jerked his chin in Dillon’s direction. Owen nodded back, his feet still on a track to his brother. But Dillon couldn’t be interrupted. He needed to see himself through the moment he was lost in, never looking up, never slowing.

So Owen sat on a stool just out of the way, his eyes tracking an X of duct tape stuck to the side of the bag, the smiley face in the center swinging and jolting in time to Dillon’s fists as he punished the bag of leather and sand.

Dillon’s focus was intense and singular, his breath hissing with every swing, his body wound tight, sweat rolling and dripping from his body. The snake around his arm coiled and sprang, coiled and sprang, striking over and over, the balls of his feet pivoting, his abs twisting, the thump of his gloves popping, leather on leather, like music.

And Owen waited. He waited and watched. He thought, and he hoped. He wished for things neither of them could have.

It was quite some time before he finally wore himself out, slowing down, stopping. He rested his forehead against the bag, hanging his forearm in the space above, eyes closed, chest heaving.

Owen stood, picking up a towel from a nearby stack as he passed by, on his way to Dillon. Owen touched his arm.

Dillon’s eyes opened, widening in surprise at seeing Owen there, hardening just as quickly. He took the towel without speaking and ran it over his face.

Owen didn’t take offense, just took his seat once more and crossed his ankles in front of him, and waited.

When Dillon spoke, his voice was rough and exhausted. “Thanks for the help last night with Kat.”

The dig didn’t faze him; he knew his brother too well to believe it was meant to inflict pain. “I’m sorry, Dillon.”

Dillon reached for his water and took a long pull in a pause. When he swallowed, he pressed the pads of his fingers into his eyes, voice full of defeat. “I thought she was different.”

“She is different. I think we can all see that. There’s got to be something else to it.”

And then the defeat was gone, and anger took its place, the pendulum swinging again. “She doesn’t want me. If she did, she wouldn’t have left. There wouldn’t be a choice to be made.”

He fumed, hands on his hips, and Owen thought he looked like a child. A big, angry child.

“She doesn’t want me, and I was a fool for thinking she ever could.”

“She said that? She said she didn’t want you?”

“Not in so many words.”

“If she didn’t say it, you don’t know for sure. Maybe it was too fast. Maybe she’s scared. If you want to see her, if you want to be with her, don’t you think you should fight for her?”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Dillon barked. “After she turned me down, walked out on me, told me she didn’t want to see me? I have a feeling she wouldn’t take to that real well.”

Owen sighed. “No, you’re probably right about that.”

Dillon ran a hand through his hair and lied to both of them. “It’s for the best. I’m not playing games, and I’m not taking a chance just so she can fuck with me. Why should I? She hasn’t shown me anything but disdain since the minute I met her.”

“You’re right,” Owen said dryly. “She’s a loner, protective, independent, fiercely loyal, mouthy, angry, and she has a huge chip on her shoulder. I can’t think of anyone else I know like that.”

Dillon narrowed his eyes. “Fuck off, Owen.”

But Owen uncrossed his ankles and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, giving Dillon time to take a breath.

Because the truth of the matter was right there. Dillon just had to get everything else out of his way so he could see it.

“What are you going to do?” Owen asked after a moment.

“Nothing.” Dillon pulled off his gloves, the finality in his voice closing the subject.

And Owen knew there was nothing else to say, not now at least. Maybe he’d cool down and think about it. Maybe he’d come around, and maybe Kat would too. Maybe there was a way for him and Kiki to help them find a way back to each other, back to where they’d been the night before.

Maybe.

He stood and offered Dillon his keys. “Come on. Want to drive?”

Dillon shook his head, his eyes hard and hurt and angry still. “I’m going to run. I’ll meet you at home later.”

He closed his hand around the keys and dropped his fist. “Sure.” And with one last long look at his brother, unwrapping his wrists and back in his own mind, Owen turned to go.

Brian raised an eyebrow at him from across the room, but Owen shook his head, pushing through the door and onto the sidewalk.

When he was back in the driver’s seat of the GTO, he pulled out his phone and called Kiki. The phone rang once.

“Hey.”

Her sigh in his ear gave him no hope.

“Hi. Did she make it home?”

“Yeah, she’s in the shower, and she’s pissed.”

“So is he.” Owen glanced back in the window, watching Dillon watching the ground like he’d find answers written there. “I’ve never seen him like this over a girl before, and I think that can only mean one thing. He cares about her, and whatever happened between them means he can’t have her.”

“Kat too. But instead of telling me what happened, she picked a fight with me. A huge fight.”

“What?” he asked stupidly. He’d heard her just fine.

Another sigh. “It’s complicated, but I don’t think the fight was really what we fought about, if that makes any sense. But she’s decided she can’t be with Dillon, and once she decides, there’s no going back, regardless of how she really feels. Instead, she’ll shove it down into the dark recesses of her heart and pretend like it never happened and doesn’t exist.”

“They’re so much alike, and that might be their end. Because if neither of them will bend, they’ll break.”

Silence stretched, both of them lost in their thoughts.

“Dillon has sacrificed everything for me — his happiness, his future, his life. He wants her, and he cares. I know it. If there’s any way to help smooth this over, I want to. I need to. We can’t let it end like this.”

“What should we do?”

He leaned back, resting his head on the leather. “Once he cools off, he’ll listen. But she’s the one who left this morning and told him she didn’t want him. It’s got to be her to come around.”

“Let’s give them a couple of days to miss each other, and in the meantime, we’ll keep trying to get them to come around. We’ll come up with a plan. I have faith.”

“Then I do too.” He turned the keys in the ignition with a sigh. “In more exciting news, I have an exam today, so I’ll be out early. Can I pick you up for dinner before you have to work?”

He could hear her smiling on the other end of the line.

“That would make my day so much better.”

And he smiled back as he pulled away from the curb, thankful for her, thankful for her sunshine and heart and the way he made her feel.

But he only said, “Mine too.”

Ares couldn’t help but smile as he sauntered through the kitchen, snagging a handful of fries from Dionysus’s plate, ignoring the obscenities shouted at him.

The look on Dita’s face when he pointed out his victory did that to him — made him blissfully happy.

Underestimated. Maybe for the last time, if he played it right.

Of course, when he walked into the game room and found his twin sons playing God of War, his smile hit the floor, and he stormed to the PlayStation and pulled the power cable out of the back.

Phobos shot off the couch, his blue eyes hard, hands thrown up in the air. “What the fuck, Ares?”

Ares folded his arms and glared. “That game is blasphemous fucking garbage.”

Deimos snickered. “You’re just mad because they wrote Kratos murdering you.”

“I’m immortal, asshole. I can’t die. And if I could, it certainly wouldn’t be by the hand of a fucking demigod.”

He was sneering and didn’t care. What he did care about was teaching the little shits a lesson in gaming. So he plugged the PlayStation back in, took God of War out, snapped it in half, and put in something else instead.

Ares tossed a controller to Deimos and grabbed one for himself, settling into the couch between them, which forced them both to move with a huff.

The boys — well, they weren’t so much boys anymore, but he couldn’t help but think of them that way — had his dark hair, though they wore theirs longer, and they were nearly as tall as he, though leaner. Their bright eyes, blue and bigger, like Dita’s, gave them an air of innocence, but the glint spoke of mischief and mayhem, their dark brows heavy, cunning. They looked so much like him, behaved so much the same, his sons who had ridden into battle with him. Fear and terror. Phobos and Deimos.

They might look innocent, but they were not.

Phobos propped his feet up on the coffee table as the game began, each of them on their own TV. “So Kat took off, just like I said she would.”

One corner of Ares’s lips rose. “You were right, but you don’t get credit. I set up the Vegas texts about Eric after sending him on a little rampage last night.”

Deimos shook his head. “I dunno. I still say it was a dumbass move. You’ve tipped her off.”

Ares slapped Deimos upside the head.

“Ow.” Deimos furrowed his brow, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“Don’t talk shit. I split them up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and Kat made a real shitshow of it,” Phobos said. “We’ve been fucking with those two forever. I seriously don’t know why Dita chose her. Seems pretty dumb, if you ask me.”

Ares turned and looked at him squarely. “Your mother is smart, and she’s got an advantage. Kat and Dillon are perfect for each other; that’s the whole fucking point. And when she picks a match, they’re almost unstoppable. We’re all fools for even thinking we can compete.”

The twins wore equally cowed expressions, only looking back to the screen when he sat back in his seat.

His sons blew up a barricade, and he smiled. As much as Eros was Dita’s, Phobos and Deimos were his own.

On the day they were born, Ares had held her hand while she labored, beside himself with helplessness at her pain. He was a doer, but there was nothing to be done but be idle and watch, two things he’d never excelled at. Her hair had been plastered to her face, legs split open as she panted and pushed and cried and screamed. And then a smaller cry rang out over hers, and Phobos was born.

The moment Ares had held him the first time — the tiny, squirming thing with thick, dark hair, red little mouth in an O as he cried — he couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t understand the magic that had made this child of his blood and hers. And then a second cry, a push, and Artemis had held another in her hands. Deimos.

But the moment he cherished above all was Aphrodite’s face, full of wonder and tears as they’d lain in her bed together, their babies between them, watching them as they greeted the world.

The boys had been raised by Hera, as neither he nor Dita had the disposition required to raise children. Hera had gladly accepted, though Ares had known Dita wasn’t pleased at the prospect. But she also knew the boys were more Ares than her, and although Persephone had raised Eros, Dita didn’t think laying a set of mischievous twins on her best friend was a responsibility she was willing to give.

Hera had undoubtedly spoiled the boys, shaping them to be more like Ares than they might have been otherwise.

Eris entered the room, breaking him from his thoughts. She nibbled on red licorice, one hand stuffed in her hoodie pouch as she walked around the couch to sit on the floor, back against the couch, stretching her striped legs in front of her, boots crossed.

“Hey, Eris,” Ares said absently as he mashed buttons on his controller.

“Strife.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“Is that any way to thank me for my influence on your players? They’re a couple of my favorite bickerers.” She took a bite of licorice. “I’ve had men challenging Kat since she was in a training bra. Although she used to be more fun to needle than she is now.”

Ares snorted. “Of course that was you.”

She shrugged. “Not like it was hard. The guys she races are real assholes, most of them.” She picked at her chipped black nail polish. “I even got one to call her a nickname she hates. It makes her crazy. It’s made her stronger though. The last few years, she’s learned to let shit roll off her back. Good for her. Sucks for me.”

Ares kept his eyes on the TV. “Too bad it’s all for naught. As much as I’d love to win, the odds aren’t really in my favor even though all of us have influence on them. She’s just too good. So she’ll probably cream me.”

“Yeah, she will. If she hasn’t already,” Deimos said.

Ares ignored them, hitting the X button wildly with his thumb, and they all cheered when he blew up the encampment.

“And that,” Ares said as he stood and tossed the controller in his place, “is how you do it.” He stuck his finger in the twins’ faces. “Don’t let me catch you losers playing that stupid game again — or else.” As he walked out of the room, he said over his shoulder, not at all joking, “And if I catch you talking shit about your mom again, I’ll kick your fucking teeth in.”

The sheepskin rug was springy and soft on Dita’s feet as she stepped out of the shower and reached for a fluffy white towel, solemn and unsmiling as she dried her arms, legs, hair before dropping the towel to the ground.

Everything felt wrong.

She walked naked into her closet, sorting through her thoughts one by one in the hopes that it would help her make sense of them. Kat and Dillon had come together and burst apart like shrapnel. The high from last night had come down with a crash. Another fight, a fight that would be harder to overcome than before.

She wondered if it was possible for things to get easier or if this was just a pattern they’d find themselves in over and over again.

It was a pattern she understood intimately.

Not seeing much of anything, she reached into a drawer, retrieving an oversize gray sweater that she tugged on, though it hung off one shoulder. A cold droplet of water slid slowly down her neck, speeding up as it rolled down the length of her spine, sending a shiver through her.

Adonis was on her mind, as he so often was, the loss still fresh and raw and painful, her hope that he’d come around dwindling with every day. She only wanted it to be over.

She just didn’t know if it would ever end.

Dita stepped through the threshold and to the keypad, punching a series of numbers, and when the room on the other side whirred, she watched and waited. Room after room flew past like a flip book, ages of clothes and jewelry and keepsakes from eras long past and forgotten, the force of the motion sending goosebumps across her skin and stirring her hair, heavy with water.

When it stopped, her sadness deepened and took root.

She stepped into the soft spring grass that carpeted the room to every corner, every wall lined with shelves inset in stone with myrtle trees growing between each, always in bloom, caught in a perpetual spring. The domed ceiling seemed to go on forever, colored in the golden hues of sunset.

It was Adonis’s room.

The shelves held so many memories, so much history. Black clay pots painted with the story of their doomed love. Scrolls and books told the story in words and song, spoke of their unending love. Paintings in gilded frames hung above the shelves, more propped on the floor, all of her and her mortal lover. She stopped in front of her favorite, Waterhouse’s The Awakening of Adonis. She bent down to peer at it, her heart tight at the sight of the two figures, forever anticipating a kiss.

It had always hit a little close to home.

Then, there were her own keepsakes. His spear, dagger, and swords were on display. She ran the pad of her finger along the edge of the blade. His leather belt and sandals lay on the grass, as if he would be back for them at any moment. Flowers he’d once given her on a summer afternoon she’d never forget bloomed eternally in a vase.

She picked up a little wooden dove he’d carved for her out of cypress and closed her hands around it, turning her back to those memories in search of another.

In the center of the room was her pride — a statue carved of marble, milky white and lit from above, anemone flowers dotting the grass at his feet. He looked down at her, his hand extended, love in his eyes, beckoning her to join him. It was his exact likeness, so shockingly real that she felt him inside, could almost hear him breathing. But it was only stone, cold to the touch.

She knew, for she’d touched it often, believing she might find it warm and real.

Centuries before, during the Renaissance, she had approached Michelangelo just after he completed the statue of David. The artist was Apollo’s star, and as much as she’d hated Apollo at the time, she’d found the artist to be brilliant, as all the gods did.

Inspiration went all ways.

She’d commissioned the piece from him, paying him handsomely for his secrecy, though he’d tried to refuse. He had not been a man for fame or fortune, but a slave to his work and vision. But she’d insisted — she could be quite convincing — and he had ultimately acquiesced.

For hours, she’d sat with him as he sketched, recounting every detail of Adonis’s face and body, the lines of which she knew better than even her own. And, four years later, he had been delivered to her, a glory even the artist himself said in his letter was beyond his knowing or understanding.

She placed her hand on the cheek of the cold stone, tracing the crease of his lips with her thumb as a tear rolled down her face.

Her hand fell away, and she sat in the grass, hooking her elbows around bent knees, her face turned up to his as he looked down at hers, reaching for her.

But the truth touched her heart, as cold as the stone of his figure before her.

She had never had him at all. He couldn’t give himself to her because he only cared for himself.

Never had he sacrificed. Never had he taken her counsel.

He cared for her as he cared for a thing owed to him, a comfort he sought by right. He’d been given all he wanted and wished for the moment it left his lips, never denied. And when it had come time for him to make a stand, he’d refused. He had not fought for her when Persephone kept him locked in the underworld, though she had journeyed through Hades to get him back. And even then, he would not choose.

He would never fight for her unless the end benefited him. Because he’d never loved her, not in the way she loved him. Not in the way that meant she could stay.

Her tears touched the grass, rolling down the blades and into the soil, birthing anemones, small and fragile and fleeting and final.

No, he didn’t love her. And he never would.

And she could no longer tell herself otherwise.

DAY 8

Sweat poured down Dillon’s body as he ran through the streets near the East River, the cold biting his wet skin.

He hadn’t heard from Kat and didn’t know if he would. But he’d thought about her. He couldn’t stop.

More than a few times, he’d picked up his phone, thinking maybe if he called her, maybe she’d answer. Maybe she’d apologize. Maybe he would too. Maybe there was a way back, some way to fix things.

It was hard to imagine fixing something when you didn’t know how it had broken in the first place.

But for the time being, he was too wounded, too hurt, too busy licking his wounds. Too busy trying to make himself stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about that night when everything had been right and good.

But that night was gone, taking the hope of anything more with it.

His arms pumped faster as he took off down a hill, the river at the bottom, the city beyond. He hated what he was, who he was, hated that he was so full of pride and pain. He wondered just how much of that was genetic and how much was from getting boxed in the ears for eight years after his mother died. Before he took Owen from that place so they could start fresh together, safe for the first time since they’d been left alone with the devil himself.

Moira had protected them. She had been the only thing that could. And when she died, someone had to fill her place. It was Dillon or Owen. And if it had been Owen, Owen would be dead.

If Jimmy’d had his way, that would have been the first and last choice. But Dillon wouldn’t let that happen.

It had been simple, really. All Dillon had to do was learn which button to press, which note to sing, and the attention would be on him and off his brother. Owen was too young and gentle-natured to fight. But Dillon had his father in him. That was certain.

Eight years of pain. Eight years of survival. Eight years until it was finally over.

It was two weeks before his eighteenth birthday, two weeks until he could finally get a place of his own and get Owen away, the culmination of years of wishing and hoping and saving.

They’d be free of Jimmy.

Dillon pulled into the driveway of the sad, sinking home where he’d lived his life and stepped out of his car. He’d been working two jobs all summer to save enough to move out. He would have had more, but it had taken him a year to save up enough to buy a car and another six months to fix up the vintage GTO enough so it was drivable. In the end, he regretted being so selfish as to do that before saving to move, but he couldn’t get an apartment until he was eighteen, so he’d mapped out the time and put in the work, and they were almost there.

Soon enough, Jimmy would be a distant memory. They’d survived for eight years. A few more months would be nothing.

He tromped up the cracked drive and walkway lined with weeds, pulling open the screen door, stepping inside. But the second he crossed the threshold, he knew.

He couldn’t say how he knew. Maybe it was years of anticipating the shift in the air that signaled a fight. It could have been that his ears listened for the moments when the sounds folded in on itself and disappeared, sucking the noise from a room. But in any case, the hairs rose on his neck, his nostrils flaring, adrenaline pumping at the trigger he didn’t recognize but knew so fully, so wholly.

He charged through the house, calling his brother’s name.

“In here,” Owen called from the bathroom.

When Dillon stepped into the doorframe and saw Owen, it took everything he had not to roar, to smash the mirror, to find his father and separate his head from his body.

Owen was gangly at thirteen, dabbing at his bleeding face with a towel. His nose had been popped, his lips and chin covered in gore, his cheek and eye purple and heading for black, swollen nearly closed. There were bruises on his arms too, and Dillon was willing to bet that his ribs and back had them too.

“What the fuck did he do to you?” It was a low and rumbling growl, his hands tingling, his composure slipping.

He ducked his head, angling to hide part of his face. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” The words were muffled, the word fine coming out closer to fide.

But Dillon stepped into him and grabbed his face, turning it to inspect. His nose was broken, the blood on the bottom half of his face the darkest of reds. Dillon’s vision dimmed in the same shade.

The screen door closed with a slap, and Owen’s undamaged eye went wide.

Dillon spun around and blew into the kitchen where Jimmy stood, setting a bottle of liquor on the counter.

He glanced over his shoulder with one brow up, his tone taunting and cruel. “Don’t look so angry, Dillon.”

“Fuck you, Da.”

Jimmy turned, head cocked and smile savage. “Poor wee Owen got a little taste, and you think you’ll be the one to do something about it, hmm?” His smile twisted. “Every time you stick up for that bastard, it makes me sick. He’s not even your true brother.”

Dillon’s teeth were clenched so tight, he could barely speak. “He’s more my brother than you ever were my father.”

He stalked to his son, shoulders square. “You don’t know shite, Dillon. You think you know how the world works, but you don’t know shite.” His lips pulled back, his nose inches from Dillon’s. “Your ma didn’t either.”

Dillon didn’t fall over the edge. He jumped with all his strength, nostrils flaring, aching through heart and hand as the room dimmed, curling around the edges of his vision.

All he could see was Jimmy’s weathered face. The face of the man who had murdered his mother. The man who had stolen his life.

A swing and a pop — Jimmy’s nose crunched under his fist, blood spilling down his shirt. Jimmy was unfazed, jaw set and fist swinging. But Dillon ducked easily, rebounding with a shot to Jimmy’s ribs.

Her face in his mind — he cracked Jimmy in the jaw. Her blood on his hands — he connected with his father’s eye. Owen, small and gentle, rejected by the only father he’d ever known — Jimmy hit the ground.

And Dillon descended.

He’d never know what had happened during the time he lost, though he reached for it, sought it in the depths of his mind. But there was nothing, only the blank space between that moment and the second he heard his brother’s voice.

It was his name, his name through a fog, small hands on his shoulders, pulling him out of the dark.

Dillon looked down at his hands, turning them over, trying to make sense of the crimson blood glazing them like gloves, wondering for a moment if it was his blood or someone else’s. He realized he was sitting on his father’s chest and looked into the man’s inhuman face, what was left of it, as he floated somewhere else, separate and detached. And then he turned to his brother, whose face was wrenched in horror.

Jimmy coughed weakly beneath him, and Dillon stood, stumbling as he backed away.

Owen dragged his brother to the sink and washed his hands as Dillon watched from somewhere very far away, thinking that this was the spot his father had washed his mother’s blood down the drain. And then he was shepherded into their room where Owen sat him on his bed, the same bed the brothers had shared that night, so many nights, afraid and alone and unsure they’d live to see another sunrise.

“Dillon,” he said firmly as he tossed clothes into a duffel bag, “we need to pack. We can’t wait. Do you understand? Do you have a place where we can go?”

Go? Leave. They had to leave. He fumbled around in his thoughts, Brian’s face surfacing through the murky madness of his mind. Brian was older and had an apartment already; they’d known each other a long time, and he knew about Jimmy. He’d put them up.

“Brian.” The word was sawdust against his tongue.

Owen nodded and kept shoving things into that bag — a picture of their mother, clothes, not much else. They’d never had much. But Dillon couldn’t move, and Owen quit trying, packing a bag for his brother too.

It was minutes or hours — he wasn’t sure — but by the time they’d gotten him out of his bloody clothes and packed his car, he found himself. Only a piece of himself, but it was enough.

Before they walked out of that house for the last time, Dillon stopped in the kitchen and stood over his father, watching the slow, wheezing breaths of the broken man on the kitchen floor.

Dillon swallowed, his voice raw and cracked and absolutely deadly. “If you come after us, I’ll kill you.”

Jimmy turned his head toward the sound, the movement so slight, it was almost imperceptible.

“Do you understand me?” he asked with calm summoned from somewhere unknown as he knelt down. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you now and save us both the trouble.”

Jimmy held his eyes for a long moment, the only defiance he could offer, though he knew the truth of his son’s words.

So he nodded once.

And when Dillon walked away, he didn’t look back.

Kat was racing again.

It wasn’t something she was proud of. In fact, she was disgusted and disappointed. She’d get them caught.

But she had to. Just once. Once would be enough.

It would be enough to erase the pain and loneliness. It would be enough to fill her with purpose instead of resentment. It would set her right, make her forget about Eric, about Kiki, about Dillon. It would shake the defeat that followed her, pressed itself against her, pinned her down.

The second she pulled up to the light for the race, she felt better. There was one place she could always win, and it was at the finish line.

She gripped the wheel, gripped her gearshift. The pedals under her feet and the rumble of her car all around her brought her back to center, back to the ground, back to herself.

When the light turned green, she was released, flying down the street, her hand shifting gears in perfect time to her foot on the clutch, the hum of her engine felt all the way to her heart.

She won by a margin large enough to be indisputable and pulled up to the meet spot, the Brooklyn Bridge looming and East River licking at the banks, stuffing her Sig in the back of her jeans out of habit.

When she stepped out, the cool air skated off the water and across her face. She felt relaxed for the first time since she’d left Dillon’s the day before.

Charlie, the promoter, walked up with a smile on his face and pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket. “Another one bites the dust.” He turned his back to the small crowd and glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, listen, watch out for this guy. He thinks his balls are huge. I say it’s just his mouth is all, but you can never be sure.”

She smiled at him and looked over at Mr. Big Balls. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ll keep an eye out.”

The man in question slammed his fists on his dash before stepping out of the car. “She fucking cheated,” he said as he hurried over, punctuating the sentence with the jab of his finger.

Kat hung a hand on her hip. “You checked my car out yourself.”

“There’s no way you just beat me! It makes no fucking sense unless you cheated, lied, something.”

“Well, there must be a way because here we are. But you seem awfully sure of yourself. Something you’re not telling us?”

He sputtered, face red. “The fuck are you accusing me of?”

She couldn’t even be smug. He was lying. He’d done something; that was suddenly very clear.

So instead she said nothing, narrowing her eyes as she slipped into her car and popped the hood, opening it to check her engine.

“What the fuck is this?” he blathered. “I don’t have to put up with this shit.”

“Hang on to him, Charlie,” she said.

A couple of guys grabbed him, and he jerked and thrashed against them.

Kat held a little flashlight in her mouth as she scanned for something amiss. Everything looked fine, except …

She reached for a hose that looked off, pulling it to see it had been disconnected.

And then she laughed, holding the end of it up in display.

“You pulled the wrong one, dipshit.”

But Charlie wasn’t laughing, and neither was Big Balls.

“You done fucked that up, Roy. Should have let it go, and now you’ve gotten yourself banned. We race fair, and I don’t deal with liars or snitches.”

“Come on, Charlie,” Roy wailed, neck flushed and straining. “I’ve known you ten years, and you’re gonna take this little bitch’s word over mine? I didn’t fucking do that!”

Charlie stepped into his space. “I told you, I don’t deal with liars, and I know them when I see them. They’ve got a certain way about them. Wouldn’t you agree, Kat?”

“Something in the eyes,” she added helpfully.

“This gonna be a problem, Roy?”

But Roy seemed to know he was through, shaking the guys off and standing on his own. “Not for you. But for you, I got no promises. This shit ain’t over.”

She said nothing, just watched him with steely eyes. She wasn’t afraid of the big, bad wolf.

His nostrils flared — the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. For a second, she thought his eyes were glowing, but then he blinked, and they were normal again.

“I said it’s not over, and I mean it.”

He turned and walked away, and the ranks closed around her, congratulating her, offering her stories about Roy and how full of shit he was. It was strange. Everyone usually disappeared like smoke, but they’d rallied around her until Roy was gone.

That alone had her more worried than anything.

When the excitement died down, she walked around her car, stopping when she heard her name.

Her surprise when she turned around sent off an SOS in her mind.

It was Louie, who was either no one of consequence or a linchpin who would bring her whole plan down, depending on where you were standing. Which, for Kat, was right in the middle.

The old bookie from Vegas donned a Cuban guayabera shirt that hugged his paunch a little too tight. He squinted at her in disbelief, running a hand through his silver hair.

She strutted over to him, trying to play it cool, though her heart thumped painfully against her ribs, her thoughts speeding and tangling together. “Hey, Louie. What the hell are you doing all the way out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Kitty Kat.”

She smiled at him, her teeth grinding together behind her lips at the use of her nickname. For a while, she’d tried to get everyone to stop, but it only seemed to encourage them.

Kat shoved her hands in her pockets and dropped her shoulders. “Just looking for a change of scenery.”

“I wondered why I hadn’t seen you around. I saw your car and thought, Nah, it couldn’t be Kat. But here you are.” He jingled his change in his pocket. “I’m here on a little vacation. Heading back to Vegas in a couple of days.”

“What else are you betting on? Just races?”

“No, had some high-stakes poker tourneys to go to and a few fights. There’s a kid out here everybody’s talking about. People are coming from all over to see him fight. They call him Diamond Dillon, you heard of him? He’s got a tattoo of a diamondback wound round his arm, and when he punches, it looks like it’s hungry for dinner.” Louie shadowboxed and made hissing noises through his teeth.

Her heart hitched. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard of him. Guess I’m not surprised you’d know him too. Every bookie loves a sure thing.”

“That we do, rare as it is. Throw money in, and the sure thing’s never so sure. Everybody’s got a price. But that kid can’t lose. And he’d better not — at least not until I’m back in Vegas,” he said on a chuckle.

The conversation lulled, and she thought to ask him to keep seeing her on the low. But then again, she didn’t want to tip him off. If she acted off and he mentioned it to anyone, it could get back to Eric. But if she said nothing, he would definitely mention it to someone, especially if people were wondering where she’d been.

She had to speak up. So she did. “Listen, do me a favor, will you?”

“Yeah, sure, kid.”

“Don’t mention you saw me. Sometimes a girl needs a fresh start, you know?”

He seemed to respect that, smiling amiably. “Yeah, sure. I get it.”

She smiled back, breathing a little easier. “It’s good seeing you.”

“You too, Kitty Kat. I’ll see you around.”

Kat walked back to her car and started her engine with trembling hands, wishing the night — which had started off normal enough — hadn’t taken such a weird turn. Everything felt off again, the effects of the race gone with a whisper, a threat, her name from the lips of someone who could push the first domino.

But there was nothing to be done. Nothing but wait.

She drove away, soul-worn and dejected, deciding halfway home that she needed a drink. So she turned corners too tight and drove a little too fast until she turned into the alley behind MacLennan’s.

The bar wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t dead. Jerry, the owner, stood behind the bar with his stocky arms propped on its surface, smiling at her from behind his shaggy gray beard. He ran a hand through his longish silver hair as he walked to where she sat near the end of the bar.

“Hey, Kat. What are you doin’ in here on your night off?”

“I could really use a drink.”

He raised a gray eyebrow. “Well, all right then. What’s your pleasure?”

“Shot of tequila.”

“I see you mean business.” Jerry grabbed a bottle of Herradura and poured a shot.

She kicked it back as he reached for a lime, his fingers falling back to the bar.

“Want to talk about it?”

Wouldn’t it be nice, she wondered, to talk to someone? To tell someone the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. To admit it all — from Eric to Dillon to that moment and everywhere in between. To lighten the burden just by knowing she wasn’t alone in carrying the knowledge.

But it was hers alone. For the time at least. She wished for the end and dreaded it, knowing it wouldn’t be easy.

Endings never were.

“It’ll be all right. Thanks, Jerry.” She slid the shot glass across the bar along with a twenty.

He waved her off. “It’s on me.” With a wink, he left her alone, moving down the bar to take orders.

Kat sat for a moment, staring at the rows of liquor in front of the mirrored wall, surprised when she caught her reflection. Dark half-moons nestled against dull eyes, and her skin was washed out like rice paper.

She looked exhausted.

It was all too much, the isolation. It was as if the secret were eating her up from the inside, chewing through her soul. Maybe there’d be nothing left by the time it was over. Maybe it wouldn’t be over until she was dead.

She pushed away from the bar, not at all ready to get home to her sister. But she’d been gone long enough.

Jerry waved at her as she walked away. “See ya, kid.”

Kat smiled and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, pushing the door open with her back. The temperature had dropped in the short time she was in the bar, and as she walked toward the alley, her eyes widened, mouth opening slowly in wonderment.

Fat, heavy snowflakes fell, spread out at first, but within seconds, they were so thick, the sound whirred in her ears as they rushed down.

In seconds, they dusted the pavement, covering it almost completely.

Snow was a thing of myth and fable where she had grown up in Las Vegas. She’d seen it a few times but nothing like this.

She stood, mesmerized, on the sidewalk, face tilted up for a moment, and then she opened her hand and watched the flakes as they shrank in the warmth they found there.

Kat giggled, all of a sudden five years old again with no worries, no cares, no troubles. And the only thing she wanted in the whole world was to share the moment with her sister.

She trotted around the building and into the alley, her boots crunching the fallen snow as she made her way down the narrow passage to her car. But as she slipped her key into the lock and turned, a hand covered her mouth and pulled her into his chest.

There was no time to scream, and she wouldn’t have dared. Not with his knife pressed to the soft hollow under her jaw.

“I told you it wasn’t over.”

Roy.

“Let’s start with the money.”

Her nostrils flared, his hand damp against her lips, her heart jackhammering as one hand reached for her pocket where she’d put the cash as the other moved for her gun, still in the band of her jeans. He was too stupid to focus on anything but the money.

His mistake.

She pulled the gun, angling her hips away from him to give herself room to turn the nose up and press it into his belly, her wrist screaming in protest.

He’d nicked her, either from her movement or from his surprise. A drop of blood rolled down her neck. She didn’t feel the cut at all.

Not that it mattered.

It wasn’t until she unlocked the safety that his hands disappeared.

Kat pivoted to face him, gun trained on his right eye. “You stupid motherfucker. You picked the wrong girl to fuck with.”

His hands were up in surrender, and he backed away, the snow falling around them like a tipped over snow globe. Every step he took back, she matched, keeping the distance between them at status quo.

“Stay away. Do one smart thing in your life and stay away. Because if you don’t, I will fuck you up beyond all recognition.” She kept his pace still. “If I ever hear you tried to fuck somebody out of what they’d rightfully won from you, I’ll hunt you down.” He stumbled as he backed away. She didn’t stop. “And just in case you’re as stupid as I think you are, you should know you that my father is Tanaka Katsu.”

His eyes went wide.

“Good. I see you’ve heard of him. So I won’t bother explaining what he would do to you if you lost your fucking senses again.” She lowered her gun. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

And Roy cut and ran, slipping on the snowy pavement in his haste, leaving handprints in the snow.

Kat set the safety and climbed into her car, gun in her lap. She caught sight of her reflection in the rearview — a slice of black hair spotted with snowflakes, pupils so big she could barely see the color of her irises, cheeks red from the cold and adrenaline.

With trembling hands, she slid her key into the ignition and drove to her apartment like hell itself was on her heels, the snow all but forgotten.

By the time she got to the apartment, she was calmer, only by a degree. The apartment was dark and quiet, and she made her way inside, hanging her key on the hook and shrugging off her jacket. She hung it on a chair, though not before she retrieved the envelope. She thumbed the bills inside. It was enough to take care of them for a month or more.

That race hadn’t been worth the trouble.

“I thought you weren’t racing?”

Kat jumped, finding Kiki leaning on the bar in the dark. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“What’s with the cash?” she asked quietly.

Kat stuffed the envelope into her back pocket, not at all in the mood to talk. “Not now.”

“You make an awfully big deal about Eric, even to the point that you blow off a guy you obviously care about, and then you go race and open yourself — and me, since you seem to be so worried about me — up to getting found out. Just a little contradictory, that’s all.”

“I said, don’t,” Kat warned. “Just drop it.”

But Kiki just crossed her arms.

“Need to get something off your chest?” Kat snapped.

Still no response.

So she took a deep breath and let it out, storming to the dining room table, mouth twisted in a scowl. She sat at the head, crossing her arms right back at her sister with her lips drawn in a scowl and switchblades for eyes.

“Go ahead and unload then since it’s all about you.”

Kiki marched over to stand in front of her. “God, you are such a pain in the ass, you know that? You act like you’re so fucking tough. You act like I’m a burden.”

Kat opened her mouth to protest, but Kiki put a hand out.

“You told me to unload. Don’t interrupt me.”

Kat closed her mouth, lips flat.

“You love to say you’re worried about Eric, but you’ve got everybody back home watching him. Thirty people would call you if he left town. You say you’re worried about Dad, but he doesn’t know shit because, if he did, we would know. We would all know. I saw you with Dillon, I know you care about him. So, tell me. Why? Why did you blow him off? And don’t you dare tell me you’re not into him, because we all know that’s a fucking lie.”

Kat laughed, the sound dry and hot as the desert in August. “You still think this is about Dillon.” With a still-trembling hand, she scrubbed her face.

Kiki’s face quirked in frustration and confusion. “Well, what the fuck else would we be talking about?”

“Eric.”

“But he’s not that stupid. God, I don’t know why you’re such a psycho about this. He hit me. We left. It’s over.”

“It’s not over,” Kat shot. “It’s not fucking over because Eric is not through. You want to know why I left Dillon’s? Why I told him I couldn’t do this? When I woke, my phone had blown up with messages that he was asking around, acting crazy. You’re naive if you think he’s given up. He’s just biding his time. And if he shows up when I’m with Dillon? Where are you? Who’s taking care of you? Who will save you from Eric? Because if he finds you with Owen, he will kill you both.”

Kiki sank into a chair with her hands on her lips. “Oh my God.”

“You’ve been so worried about Eric’s life, but what about Owen’s? Because just by being with him, you’re putting him in danger too. This isn’t about Dillon, for fuck’s sake. It’s about you.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes shining with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kat shook her head, deflated and stretched out and exhausted. “Because I wanted to see if there was merit to any of it. I didn’t want to worry you if there wasn’t just cause.”

“Was there? Just cause?”

Kat nodded. “There was enough.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked softly. In that moment, she looked very small.

“I don’t know.” The words were empty, hollow.

Kiki watched her hands resting on the table through a long minute. “What if I told Dad?”

Kat stared at her, unmoving. “That would change everything.”

“Owen would be safe,” she said, still not meeting Kat’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Don’t do this for me.”

“Not just for you. For all of us. Even me. I’ll call Dad. I’ll tell him everything.” Kiki’s eyes brimmed with tears, and when she blinked, they fell without touching her cheeks. “This is all my fault. I thought … I really thought …” Her breath shuddered.

Kat moved to her side and knelt, resting her hand over her sister’s. “It’s not your fault. It’s Eric’s fault. And it’s going to be over soon. Dad will take care of it. Just think of it like Eric’s going to go away. Poof.”

“I’m not six, Kat. I know what’s going to happen to him, and I know it has to happen. I just don’t want to know how or when. I just want it to be over.”

They sat in silence for a moment, long enough for a sliver of hope and relief to creep in.

It was going to end, really end. No more lies. No more hiding. She could race. She could talk to her father and tell him everything she’d been through.

She could be with Dillon after all. If he’d take her back.

“When do you think you’ll call Dad?” Kat asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. Soon. I don’t want to risk much more time, but I just … I need a minute.” She paused. “So you didn’t leave Dillon’s because you don’t want to be with him?”

Kat let out a breath. “No. I would have stayed as long as he let me. I was just scared but not of him. For you.”

“You have to tell him. You’ve got to tell him why. You’ve got to try.”

“I want to,” Kat said, feeling the depth of the words in her heart. “But why do you care so much?”

“I don’t really know. It just feels like you’re supposed to. Doesn’t it?”

Kat nodded. “If he even wants to speak to me after how I treated him. It was a real bitch move.”

“At least you know it was a bitch move.”

“I’m nothing if not honest.”

“Right. And moody and contrary,” Kiki added.

Kat laughed, though it dwindled out quickly, and she threaded her fingers in Kiki’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you and that it happened at all. I’m just … I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For not listening to you, for not trusting you. I’ll make it right. I promise.”

And Kat could say no more, holding her sister instead, touched by hope she worried might be placed too soon.

The ceiling looked the same as it had twenty minutes before, and Ares was just as annoyed as the moment he’d turned his eyes up to stare at it.

The medallion flipped over and over with the motion of his fingers.

Flip.

His thumb against the ridges of golden scales.

Flip.

The mouth of one snake eating the other.

Flip.

The trinket never warmed, no matter how long he held it.

Flip.

Ebony and ivory, an infinite circle, twisting and knotted in a dance of death, traced over and over again by his fingers.

Nothing was in his control — not the game, not Dita, not his heart, not his choices. He was a slave to the demands of others.

This was not something he found himself able to endure gracefully.

Flip.

He’d thought he was so clever to fire Eric up, as temporary as it had to be, a way to use him, diluted. Not that it couldn’t still work, but if Kat came around, if she apologized, he didn’t think Dillon would refuse her. And with Kiki in her ear, she was bound to.

Flip.

He’d thought he derailed her again with Roy, a shot at taking her down, maybe even out. But Roy was even dumber than Ares had realized. He’d literally brought a knife to a gunfight.

Hera’s play had been just as weak and ineffective. And as his options dwindled, one remained — Eric.

Flip.

He’d win the competition, but he’d lose Dita. If he won her in the end, losing the competition wouldn’t matter.

Flip.

He could throw the competition, but she’d know it was a lie, a farce.

Ares closed his fist over the medallion, out of options.

There was another factor not in his control in the game of Dita’s heart — Adonis.

Adonis had been absent, but that had never proven to be a permanent state through their spats over the centuries. And if that dead fucking human found a way to ruin Ares’s plans from beyond the grave, he would never let it go.

Of all the things to be in his way, a ghost was the most infuriating. That the ghost had been interfering for thousands of years had pushed the limits of what he could withstand.

From the moment Adonis had entered manhood, Ares had to share her. She’d begun slipping through his fingers the very second she set her eyes on him. She’d watched the man obsessively, meeting him in secret, fighting through Hades for him, even feuding with her best friend, her closest ally, over his love and favor.

Madness. It had driven him to madness. Because he was not a god who cared to share. Especially when it came to her.

As she’d carried on her affair, Ares had watched, waited, planning and plotting, all while keeping his rage on a leash. He had been aware at least that the situation required caution.

And then, she’d laid her trap for Ares and her threat along with it. He would lose her forever should he lay a finger on the human.

There had been nothing to do but agree to her terms. He’d had fewer options then than he had even now.

Never could he have thought that a fight with Apollo would open the door to rid him of Adonis once and for all. And so he had.

Or so he’d thought he had.

The day Persephone had blessed Dita with a doorway to Elysium, Ares could no longer abide, could no longer tolerate his rage. So he had ridden the wings of his wrath to Earth, whispering into the ears of men, driving them mad. An entire village — from the eldest man to the smallest child — had held knife or stick or rock or used their bare hands to kill until no heartbeat remained. And Ares had relished in their blood, watched their lives drain away.

He imagined Adonis, imagined killing him over and over, remembered the hot blood against his skin and the feel of his heartbeat as it faded. But he could never rid himself of the mortal man whom Aphrodite had chosen over him. Ares. The God of War.

And he would never let it go. He would never let her go. Not for all eternity.

“You keep telling me nothing’s wrong, but you’re lying in the middle of my rug like a crazy person.” Perry took another bite of a gigantic brownie and chewed with a hint of worry on her brow.

Dita sighed, eyes on the ceiling, which was such a pristine shade of white, she couldn’t seem to distinguish the edge of the surface. “I’ve come to realize that my love life is so fucked up that even I don’t know how to fix it. And I’m the Goddess of Love.”

Perry snorted a laugh.

Dita’s eyes never left the ceiling. “It’s not funny.”

“Forest for the trees and all that. It’s always harder to figure out your own mess than it is to sort everyone else’s out.” She took another bite.

“Nothing’s what I thought it was.” Her voice was flat, empty.

“Ares?”

“Adonis. But probably Ares, too.”

“Did you see Adonis?” she asked gently.

“Not in the flesh, but I fear I’ve seen his soul. And there’s no place for me there. His heart only has room for himself.”

Perry said nothing for a moment. “What will you do?”

“I don’t believe there’s much I can do. And so I mourn. And then I will think on how to move forward.”

“And what of Ares? Have you decided if you want to know the truth?”

Dita’s eyes were still up, hair fanned around her. “It’s like flipping a coin. It might be that he’s telling the truth, and it could be that he’s lying. I won’t believe any denials that leave his lips because he is a snake, false and cunning, and I’ve been caught by him for so long that I don’t know I am being eaten alive.”

“It makes me think of the story in the news a while back about a woman who had a pet python that slept in bed with her.”

Dita almost smiled. “So this is a smart woman we’re talking about?”

Perry laughed, dusting crumbs off the front of her muscle shirt featuring a giant sugar skull wearing hipster glasses. “So her snake started acting weird. He stopped eating and would stretch out really long next to her and flatten out while she slept. And when she took it to the vet, they told her they had to euthanize it.”

Dita looked over at Perry, her brow quirked.

Perry leaned forward. “It was stretching out to figure out how long she was so it could eat her.”

Dita groaned. “That’s horrifying. And I guess what she earned by going to bed with a snake. I could take a tip from her.”

Cerberus trotted up, tongues lolling. She scratched behind the ears of the hellhounds three heads one by one.

“Have you ever considered asking Apollo what happened?” Perry set the brownie in her lap, forgetting Bisoux was at her feet. He hopped into her lap, panting, but she moved it just in time.

“We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms over the last three thousand years or so.”

“Seems like you’re close enough now though, don’t you think?”

Dita frowned just a little at the burst of possibilities. “Yes, it’s just …”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“No, I don’t. But I need to know.”

“Well, I’ll say this only once, and then I’ll leave it alone. Not knowing is driving you crazy, and if you can find out the truth — either way — it’ll end. Maybe Ares is telling the truth. Maybe you could try to be with him again, if that’s what you want.”

Hope and dread spread in hot tendrils through her chest. It must have been on her face too, because Perry pressed the opening.

“Just ask Apollo. Maybe nothing will change. Maybe everything will. But don’t be afraid of the truth because you need answers. You just do. It’s your nature.”

“You’re right,” Dita conceded as she sat up.

Alarm colored Perry’s face. “Wait, you’re not going now, are you?”

“No time like the present, right?”

Perry eyed her.

“If I don’t go now, I might never.” She stood and reached for her dog, who barked in protest of being taken away from the brownie.

“All right. I’m here.”

And Dita smiled with fear in her heart. “I know.”

Apollo turned to the sound of his elevator dinging, surprised to find Dita walking in with a warm smile on her lips and her little dog in the crook of her arm.

“Dita, how are you?”

Her smile faltered for a millisecond. “I’m all right,” she said as she sat next to him on the couch, folding her legs under her.

She pet her dog, looking a little nervous, which was unusual and disconcerting.

“You okay?”

“I don’t really know. But I need to ask you something, and I’m not even sure you’ll be able to answer me.”

Apollo slowly sat back, alert and apprehensive. Because he had a feeling he knew her question, a question he really couldn’t answer. It was beyond his power.

“Okay. Shoot.”

Bisoux trotted to Apollo and licked his hand. But Apollo watched Dita twist the hem of her sweater, peering at him through thick lashes with worried eyes.

“We’ve never talked about Adonis. Argued a lot but never just talked.”

He nodded, his heart beating a warning.

“I was there as well as you were, and in the moment, I believed you. I believed you’d killed him. But as the years wore on, the more I thought about it, the less it made sense.”

Apollo sat very, very still and waited for her to continue.

“You told me you did it, and Ares said he didn’t. I held onto your admission because I had to; I needed someone to blame. Adonis needed someone to blame. But I never asked you. All these years and centuries, and I never asked you. So I want to know. Did you?”

He swallowed, though the hard knot in his throat remained. “You’ll have to be specific, Dita.”

“Did you kill Adonis?”

But he could say nothing. His mouth wouldn’t open, not with the admission of truth waiting just behind his lips. Because he wanted to tell her, felt compelled to. She had given him Daphne, overlooking a feud that had been centuries old.

But the oath forbade it. The magic was the most powerful bond two gods could make, its command beyond all of them.

It must have been his eyes, some look on his face that told her he was sorry, that he’d been part of a charade, a game, a lie he’d been trapped into by Ares. Because she knew. He could see it in her eyes and hear it in her trembling words.

“Is there something you’re not allowed to say?”

He took a breath, an aching breath, his lips locked together and eyes begging her to understand.

And she did. She understood all too well.

“I knew it.” The words were a curse and a promise. “It wasn’t you.”

He reached for her hand, covering it with his own, and she squeezed the tips of his fingers hooked in her palm.

“It’s all right. I’ll find out another way.”

Dita scooped up her dog, offering him comfort in a smile as small and sad as he’d seen on her lips, and then she turned to leave.

She would find a way; she always did.

And on that day, all Hades would pay.

DAY 9

Owen ran his fingers through Kiki’s long, silky hair as she lay sprawled across his chest. There was so much of it, that hair, black and thick and soft, smelling of honeysuckle, fanning out on her bare shoulders and across his arm. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the feeling of her hair, such a strange thing to remember, but he found that he loved it just as much as he loved the sound of her laugh in a crowded room or her sigh when she nestled into his side in her sleep. Just as much as he loved her.

It was crazy; he knew that. He knew there was a chance that someday they’d part ways, that it wasn’t forever. But he’d known the minute that he saw her that he would love her, and he hadn’t been wrong.

He’d never admit it, not yet. Not until time had passed. Only after more afternoons like this, afternoons of Kiki’s smile and fingertips and lips and that glorious hair he couldn’t keep his hands out of.

“Can I stay here forever?” she asked, her voice sleepy and far away.

“As long as you want. Forever. Indefinitely.” He gathered her hair and swept it to the side and drew slow circles on her back.

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest, padded by her hand. “God, I wish I didn’t have to work tonight.”

“Me too. I’ll come with you, if you want.”

“I want,” she said with a smile.

“Then you’ll get.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face and propped himself up with a pillow so he could see her better. “How’s Kat?”

“She’s okay. I think she might have had a change of heart, but we’ll see. All I know is that the window’s cracked, and I’m climbing in. Hopefully I can persuade her. How’s Dillon?”

“It’s been rough. He’s been avoiding me, silent when he is around. I think he’s too caught up in his head to even know how to find his way back out. The fact that he won’t even take my councel is worrisome in itself.” Owen sighed, and Kiki rose and fell with his chest. “I’ve never seen him like this, and he’s been with a lot of women. You’ve seen him. Girls have been throwing themselves at him since as far back as I can remember.”

She shrugged. “I dunno. He’s not really my type. Not anymore at least.”

“Thank God for small miracles.”

Kiki chuckled and pressed a kiss to his bare chest.

God, she was lovely.

“I mean, I can see the appeal,” she joked. “He’s pretty manly.”

“Hey,” Owen said with a mock look of hurt on his face.

She giggled.

“Really, though, when women watch him fight, it’s all they can do to stay away from him. I guess being emotionally unavailable adds to the appeal.”

“Even Kat couldn’t resist. I wonder if she’s ever had a reaction to a man like that before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve never seen her act like this over a guy. Not even just the last few days, but even before — at the fight or at the race. Something is different, deeper. Chemistry maybe. I don’t know. Kat is … she’s difficult, you know this. But it’s more than that. She’s been hurt, and she’s been backed into a corner. And she’s been defending that corner for a very long time. I think she’s just exhausted, and I think she and Dillon are very much alike. The beast in her recognizes the beast in him.”

“Namaste, motherfucker.”

Another little giggle. “I dunno. I can see them together, and I feel like I’m supposed to help figure it out.”

“That’s so weird. I feel the same way. Like I have to help, and if I don’t, the world is going to fly off its axis and careen into the sun.”

“It really does feel that serious,” she said on a laugh, skimming her fingers along his collarbone. “Kat takes responsibility for everything. Like everything. And it gets in the way of her happiness. Me. Mom. Races. Money. Gravity. Quantum physics. And she treats me like I’m helpless, like if she doesn’t take care of me, I’ll end up in a gutter somewhere.”

“Not really fair to you, is it?”

“She’s just like Dad though, and I get that. They’ve always been inseparable. He’s different with her, like he knew from the start they were made of the same mettle. With me, he’s always been affectionate and sweet. With her … it was just different. He taught her about cars and racing and how to use a gun. He even bets on her when she races.”

“No pressure, right?”

“I don’t think he realizes what that responsibility does to her. Kat never learned how to cut loose and enjoy herself. She’s always been the serious one. Even as kids, she was a control freak, and she was always right. And she cannot stand to lose.”

“You make her sound like such a treasure. Ow!” he yelped when Kiki pinched him. But he was smiling, and so was she. “Your father scares the shit out of me by the way.”

“You should be scared. But only if I tell him you’ve been bad,” she teased.

But he was serious. “You mean like Eric?”

She tensed, but he just ran his fingers through her hair.

“Why don’t you tell your dad, Kiki?”

“That’s the thing. I’m going to.”

Owen’s hand paused, his voice solemn. “Why the change of heart?”

“Kat made a point yesterday I couldn’t argue. If he found me, he’d find you too. And he’d kill you.”

He cupped her face, his heart aching under her palm. “Kiki …”

“I’ve been stupid and selfish. I kept thinking maybe if he found me and Kat, things would end like they almost did the night we left. But if it’s me and you?” She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t risk you. I just can’t.”

Owen leaned into her, his lips soothing and thankful and humbled.

She swiped the tears from her cheeks and lay back down on his chest with a sniffle and a deep breath in and out.

All the gangster movies he’d ever seen combined into a gruesome highlight reel in his mind when he thought about what Tanaka Katsu would do to Eric.

“So Kat and I talked about Dillon last night. Eric is why she left, you know. Not because she didn’t want him.”

“But she said—”

“I know. When she’s mad, you can’t always believe what she says. She has a tendency to deflect.”

“I know the type.”

“Yeah, you do. And I think I can convince her to call him.”

Hope sprang. “Seriously?”

Kiki nodded, propping her chin on his chest again. “I’m going to work on her. I can be pretty relentless.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular hellcat,” he said.

She pinched him again.

“God,” Owen started, “if she called him and told him the truth, I know he’d go for it. He’s lonely, and he wants her. I can feel it. I just … I just want him to be happy. If it wasn’t for me, things would have been different. His whole life would have been different.”

“Different maybe,” she said gently, “but not better.”

Owen thumbed her cheek. “If we can get them together, he could be happy.”

“We have to. I think they’re supposed to be together.”

“Me too.” Owen paused, thinking through the question with caution before asking, “When are you going to call your dad?”

She sighed, the simple sound heavy with sadness. “Soon. I just need a minute to wrap my head around it. We’re talking about murder after all.” Her voice was tight.

He squeezed her. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, we stay close by and listen to Kat. She’ll keep us safe.” Kiki stretched to kiss him. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

But he held her face and asked against her lips, “Five more minutes?”

And she smiled and said, “Anything you want.”

Kat glanced up from the bar, all warm and gooey at the sight of Kiki tucked in Owen’s side.

Owen took the seat in front of her as Kiki walked around the bar and to the stockroom to deposit her bag.

“The usual?” Kat asked, smiling.

“Wow, am I a regular?”

“You’ve been in here every night we’ve worked for the last week, so I’d say yes.” She tossed a scoop of ice into the lowball glass and poured a finger of Glenlivet.

Kiki walked up, tying on her black apron. “So, I really think you should call Dillon.”

“Where did that come from?” Kat’s brow rose.

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about it all, about why you left Dillon. I … you sacrificed what you wanted for me, and I want to help you get it back. Get him back.”

Kat drew a long breath and let it out. “I appreciate that. I do. But there’s still too much … up in the air,” she said, her eyes moving to Owen and back to her sister’s with deliberate slowness.

Kiki’s bottom lip found its way between her teeth. “Owen knows about Eric. About Dad. Everything.”

Kat leveled Kiki with a gaze as sharp as broken glass. “Kiki—”

“We can trust him. You know we can.”

She couldn’t deny it, but she swiveled her head to level Owen next. “If you breathe a word, I swear to God—”

His lips flattened, his tone somber. “I’d never hurt Kiki.”

The truth was plain as day in his eyes. There was nothing she could do regardless. Her face remained stern. “You can’t tell Dillon. No one else can know. Too many people are involved as it is.”

“I haven’t, and I won’t. But I want you to know you can trust him too. He would understand you wanting to protect your sister, and I think he’d want to help, if he could.”

Help. The truth. Words that built that hope like a house of sand at low tide.

“I don’t know why he’d even want to talk to me. Not after how I left him.” It was the painful truth she’d been carrying around for days.

“Dillon is hard and angry, but when he cares, he cares with fierceness and faithfulness that I’ve never seen. And he cares about you. He’ll listen. I know it.”

But could she tell him? Could she bring another person into the mess?

In a way, she supposed he was involved whether he liked it or not. And it would all be over soon, maybe even within hours of Kiki calling their father.

If Kat were to call Dillon, the only way to explain would be to tell him everything. Because she knew Owen was right. He would understand her why, her reasons for leaving. She suspected he’d have done the same.

But what if he only wanted to fight? What if the conversation combusted, as it had so often? Would he see reason? Would he listen, or would her words fall on unwilling ears?

The thought was almost worse than not knowing. She wanted to go back, back to the night of the fight and that moment of rightness and possibility.

Kiki watched her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid, Kat.”

“I kind of am.” It was a quiet admission, heavy and thick.

But Kiki took her hand and met her eyes. “That just tells me you care about him. And if you care about him, you have to try.”

And in that moment, Kat couldn’t think of a single argument.

Perry sat on Dita’s couch with a DumDum in her mouth, using her powers to twist the lollipop’s wrapper into origami. It floated in the air above her, folding in on itself until it was the shape of a horse, galloping in a circle.

And Dita paced.

House music bumped from her speakers as she turned, fingers to her lips and brows knitted together.

“There has to be a way to find out, Perry. It’s got to be an oath. You should have seen Apollo’s face; it looked like he was trying to swallow a mouthful of garbage. And if Apollo can’t speak of it, Ares can’t either.” She turned and headed back for the couch. “I can’t confront him, not until I have proof. I don’t even want to see his face.”

Perry made a sucking sound as she pulled the lollipop out of her mouth. She pointed it at the wrapper horse and closed one eye as it unfolded and refolded itself into a bird. “Well, let’s think. How else can we find out what happened?”

Dita turned again, starting back across the room. “Adonis doesn’t remember what happened, but I’m not sure he’d know the difference between Ares and Apollo in animal form. No one else was there.”

Perry shot up off the couch, and the wrapper bird flew into her shoulder. “Oh my gods, Dita.”

Dita stopped dead. “What?”

“No one else was there, but that doesn’t matter. Because Mnemosyne has the memory. She has every memory of every god and man, and she’s under my jurisdiction. The river where the memories are held used to flow through the underworld before we redirected it to her apartment.”

“Perry, you’re a genius,” Dita breathed as a smile spread across her face.

But Perry wasn’t smiling. “Slight problem …”

“Don’t say that. I hate when you say that.”

“Zeus gave her explicit instructions to never share them. Too much can be exploited with the knowledge in that river, and if she could be bought, it would mean ruin of epic proportions. Just think if Hera had access.”

Dita did, and a shudder worked through her.

“The penalty would be great for Mnemosyne, especially when it comes to Zeus’s favor. You know how she loves him.”

“Yes, I do. She owes me a favor, and that favor trumps Zeus’s ruling.”

“Gods, that’s right.” Perry shook her head. “We’ve lived too long and have gone through too much shit to keep it all straight.”

Dita laughed, grabbing Perry’s hand to pull her to the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor, one of the common floors for the lesser gods. Down the hall they went, stopping in front of her door, and Dita knocked under the numbers 3003.

The door swung open to Mnemosyne, keeper of memories.

The Titaness, older than even Zeus himself, was not so gigantic as one might think. She was a willowy woman with a gorgeous mane of wild auburn hair, a leather cord tied around her forehead and chiffon robes hanging from her shoulders — straight out of 1969. Her face was round, her chin a little point, her pale gray eyes big and wide, lips in a surprised little O at the goddesses standing on her threshold.

“Why, hello. Whatever can I do for you?”

“May we come in, Nemi?” Perry asked gently.

“Of course, Persephone.” She tipped her head in a bow and stepped aside.

Dita entered first, making her way through the dark hallway lined with ornately framed mirrors arranged as to cover the length of the wall. The living room was lit by candlelight even though it was the middle of the day, and the heavy scent of patchouli floated in the air, hanging in a light fog from the incense burning from the center of the room.

Mnemosyne had lived for millenniums in the depths and caves of the underworld, and her apartment was a reminiscence Dita understood.

Going from darkness to light was never easy.

A large glass case of mirrored shelves held rows and rows of small vessels, each different — some tall and slender, some short and fat, some glass, some pottery, all corked. Dita peered inside, wondering what Nemi had placed there.

She stepped to Dita’s side, peering inside with a wistful smile. “These are my own cherished memories. I keep them here where I can see them. They’re a reminder of the best of my very long life.”

Dita could relate. She had an infinite closet full of her treasures. At least Mnemosyne’s all fit in a case.

Nemi took a seat on the velvet pillows around a low-sitting round coffee table. “To what do I owe this rare visit? You all are usually a bit too busy to be overly social.”

“I’ve come to ask for your help.” Dita sat across from her, stiff and straight on a large silk pillow, another smaller pillow in her lap. She fidgeted with the tassel. “I have reason to believe that Apollo did not murder Adonis. I believe it was someone else entirely, someone who has been lying to me for eons, and I have come to find out if I’m right.”

Nemi watched her, her gray eyes so wide, so large, so heavy with the weight of so much knowledge. “The memories lie within me and in the waters that share my name. But I have been tasked with guarding them as well. It is forbidden.”

Dita leaned in, dug in. “I know Zeus has tasked you with guarding them, and I know the word forbidden in this instance is not as inflexible as it implies. You have long owed me a favor, and I’ve never asked for anything in return. Not until now.”

The Titaness drew a long breath and gave a slow nod in acknowledgment. “Nine nights with Zeus you gave, and nine daughters he gave. Nine muses the world received for your favor. I owe you much, Aphrodite.” Her hands threaded together in her lap. “I should like to tell you the truth, but I know you well enough to know that you must see to believe.”

She stood, beckoning the goddesses.

They followed Mnemosyne down a dim hallway that opened into a dark, expansive room. Columns lined a pathway, made by the joining of stalactites and stalagmites, the ground beneath their feet smooth, rippled stone. Dita couldn’t see the walls on either side of her or the ceiling above. The room was so dark, it seemed to go on forever and be closing in on her all at once.

The only light in the room came from a pool at the base of a slate stone wall. Broad leaves and mushrooms grew from the crags and around the edge of the water, glowing palely, casting blue and green light about the darkness. The water was shimmering blackness, or so she thought until a large, luminescent fish rose to the surface to inspect them, opening his mouth once and closing it again in greeting and farewell before turning back toward the depths.

Mnemosyne knelt at the pool’s edge, the trickle of water running down the wall and into the pool, the sound echoing against the stones of the cave. In her hand was a small glass vessel, the cork easily removed, and she poised above the water, closing her eyes.

Her free hand hovered inches from the water, her lips muttering softly in the old language. And beneath her palm, the pool began to glow bright and blue. Whispers filled the air. The vial dipped below the surface. And the air stirred, then rushed, the voices louder and louder, spinning around them in a cyclone of wind and words.

The moment the cork sealed the vessel, the wind died, the whispers gone, the pool black again, the only sound the gentle trickle of water once more.

Mnemosyne stood and turned, pacing reverently to the goddesses. She reached for Dita’s hand and turned up her palm, pressing the glowing vessel into it.

“Drink this and learn the truth. But know this; you can never go back.”

Dita knew the truth of her words, and met the Titaness’s eyes. “Thank you, Mnemosyne.” And she pressed her cheek to her savior’s and closed her eyes.

She knew she wasn’t ready to drink the contents of the vessel clutched in her sweating hand. Because she was certain her fears would be confirmed, more certain than ever. She had the answer, and she would learn the truth.

DAY 10

Four days ago, Dillon had been filled with hope at the prospect of being with Kat.

Now, his hope was all but lost.

The silence was heavy and still, hanging in the air over him. He sat on his couch, phone in his hand, heart in a vise, wishing he could call her, wishing she wanted him. He’d thought of every moment they’d shared, each up and every down, the words spoken and what had been left unsaid. He’d counted the ways he’d been wrong and listed all he’d lost.

It was nothing compared to the list of his regrets. But there was no going back.

He pulled up her name and stared at it, her name echoing in his thoughts, whispered in his dreams.

The phone rang in his hand, her name at the top of the screen, disbelief and uncertainty striking him still (Had he hit the button by accident? Was he dreaming?).

But he didn’t think twice about answering.

“Hey,” was his answer, a rough word, sticky in his dry mouth.

“Thank God you answered,” she said, relieved, her voice smoky.

He straightened up. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “No, I mean, everything’s fine, except me.”

Dillon relaxed, finding himself with a ghost of a smile on his lips at her stammering. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again,” he admitted.

“I know. I’m sorry I … I’m sorry for a lot. Do you have a minute?”

“I do.”

She took a deep breath, and he took one of his own.

“I owe you an explanation and an apology for leaving you that morning. I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She paused.

“I’m here. I’m listening.”

Another breath. “I told you about Kiki’s ex, but I didn’t tell you everything.”

Something in her voice sent nerves crawling down his back.

“We left Vegas because he’d beaten the shit out of her when she tried to break up with him. I came home in the middle of it. She was on the ground, bloodied, bruised, and he was there. I …” She took another breath, this one unsteady. “I would have killed him. Right there, I would have killed him. But she stopped me. I didn’t know what he’d do to us, to her, so we left town to get away from him.”

He swallowed, gripping his phone, understanding so much more than she could know.

“When I woke up at your place, it was to dozens of messages about him. He’s been looking for us. He said he wouldn’t let her go. He said it wasn’t over, and it’s not. I’ve got to protect her. And you … you were a distraction. I left her alone to be with you, and the fact that I didn’t even think twice about it scared me. So, I left.”

Dillon had no words, none at all, partly because his brain was firing with a thousand thoughts and questions and memories of his own.

“I wasn’t wrong, but I was. I should have told you then, but I was too shocked, too afraid to see reason. But everything has changed. It’s all going to be over soon.”

When he didn’t respond again, she took it as a bad sign and began to ramble, uncertain and hurried. “I should have told you, but I was afraid if you told anyone, anyone at all, Eric could find out, find us. I thought I could handle it all — I always do — but I was wrong. And I know I don’t have any right to your forgiveness, but I’m sorry. You were everything I needed.”

Relief. Relief and hope and happiness washed over him. “Kat—”

“But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same—”

“No, Kat, I—”

“Really. I was horrible to you, and I don’t deserve a second chance.”

“Kat, will you stop for just a second?” The question was a little too loud, and she went dead silent. And when he spoke again, it was with softness and thankfulness. “I wish you’d told me sooner—”

“I know. I—”

“Kat,” he said on a laugh.

She piped down again.

“I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me. You aren’t the only one who was wrong, and I understand why you didn’t tell me, why you didn’t trust me. If the tables hwere turned and Owen were in danger, nothing would stop me from protecting him. I get it. It’s okay. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you and for not calling you and for …” He ran his hand through his hair. “For being me.”

“Please don’t apologize for that, for being you. Who you are changed me.”

He heard the words, rolled them around in his heart, trying to convince himself they were real.

“Can we try again?” she asked, her voice painfully unsure, beautifully vulnerable.

And he said the only thing he could. “God, yes.”

She laughed with more relief than humor before saying with a rough voice, “Tonight. We’re working, but come with Owen. The last four days have been hell, and I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“I don’t either. I’ll be there.”

The silence was simple and smiling. But there was another point to be discussed.

“Now, tell me about Eric.”

And so she did.

Kat inspected her reflection, tugging at her shorts and checking her hair in the mirror as Kiki laughed from her perch on Kat’s bed.

She was nervous; the territory she found herself in was so uncharted, she could have been fucking Magellan.

Kiki gave her a reassuring smile, climbing off the bed. “You look fine. What are you worried about? He’s already seen you naked.”

Kat’s fingers wandered to her necklace and twiddled the pearl. “Don’t make fun of me. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Stop thinking so much about it and just go with it.”

She took a breath, eyeing her reflection again but thinking about Dillon. For the first time, they could be together without anything between them. There were no lies, no secrets, no worries. It was liberating and terrifying, a free fall straight into his arms. She only hoped he’d catch her.

Kiki popped her on the butt. “Come on. It’s game time. You’ve got this.”

Kat must not have looked convinced because Kiki frowned.

“Do you need a cheer?”

“Oh God. No. Please.”

Kiki’s face was animated, complete with a cheesy grin and high eyebrows, and she clapped her hands like a cheerleader.

“Go, Kat, go! Don’t be a … ho! You’ve got this! Just don’t blow … it.” She shrugged, still smiling as Kat laughed. “Whatever, you get it. Now let’s go get your man.”

As her sister dragged her out the door, she realized what she felt was happiness. And that was something she hadn’t been afforded in a very long time.

Dillon walked into the noisy, packed bar behind Owen, scanning for Kat. All day, he’d waited for this, for her. All week. Maybe always.

Kiki spotted them before the door had closed, waving them over to two empty stools. But he kept looking for Kat, as if he could summon her by his will alone.

And then the door to the back opened, and their eyes connected.

It was a rush, the way he felt, boundless, fearless. Like he could have the world, like he could be better. Like he would do anything for her. And her smile echoed his.

We’re going to do this.

It was all he could ask for, all that he wanted.

He took the seat next to his brother, and they smiled at each other, the din too loud to carry on a conversation but not so loud that it dulled the feeling of endless possibility and optimism. The sisters poured drinks for the waiting crowd, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Kat, his heart and mind full of the things he wanted to say. He wanted to reassure her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to promise her things he didn’t know he could deliver. But he would promise her and do everything in his power to honor every word he spoke.

And the second the bar closed, he would do just that.

Kat poured Owen a scotch and Dillon a glass of water, setting them down with a smile that hit him in the heart before turning back to the crowd. Kiki blew by a minute later, stretching over the bar to plant a kiss on Owen’s waiting lips.

And they were all high on the feeling, drunk from hope.

Ares strode down the sidewalk, toward the bar, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, mind on his plan. Hera trotted to keep up, her heels clicking on the pavement next to him.

Both wore smiles, black and sinister.

Things were working out a shade too nicely.

Time to shake it up.

He paused in front of the door and pressed Hera’s token into her palm, which she deposited into her clutch.

When she snapped her fingers, she glowed, then shimmered, then faded into an apparition.

Ares opened the door, and they stepped inside.

Kat and her sister bustled around behind the crowded bar. The brothers laughed, backs to him, but he could hear the sound as if the bar were empty.

His face tightened.

Hera appeared behind Kiki, still hidden in glamour, nodding as she smiled wickedly.

Ares scanned the crowd, noting every face and what he could use them for. And when he spotted Jeremy, his smile matched his mother’s.

Jeremy was a lousy drunk whose pastimes included avoiding showers, spending time in jail, and getting into fights with strangers. He was also incredibly stupid, and most importantly, he was standing just behind Owen.

He signaled Hera with a nod, who bent to Kiki’s ear as he wound his way through the crowd, toward Jeremy.

The drunk swayed, drink rocking in his hand. It only took a nudge. And then he was reeling, listing heavily before he fell into Owen, spilling his drink down Owen’s back.

The drunkard righted himself and opened his mouth, and the chips fell exactly where they were meant to.

“Fuck you, prick,” some drunk guy slurred.

Dillon glanced over just as he shoved Owen in the shoulder.

Owen turned, brows drawn. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

The drunk leaned into Owen’s face with one eye squinted. “My problem? Fuck’s your problem?”

Dillon was out of his seat and moving between them, teeth clenched so hard, his jaw hurt.

“Don’t,” Owen said with a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. He’s just a sloppy drunk.”

The guy tried to reach around Dillon to shove Owen again, but Dillon’s hands shot out and slammed him in the shoulders. He flew back, arms pinwheeling. But when he found his footing, he looked into Dillon’s eyes, his own red, glowing, his smile disturbing. And when he swung, it was with certainty and strength no man that drunk could possess.

The hit landed squarely in Dillon’s jaw. He hadn’t even seen it coming, it had been so fast, so unexpected from the swerving man who’d stood before him a second before. He barely had time to get his hands up before another punch flew, catching him in the mouth. The tang of blood didn’t faze Dillon, and when he caught himself, when he found his focus, it was singular.

Dillon’s fists were a blur — a shot to the face, the stomach, the kidney — on autopilot. And the drunk took every punch, smiling at him with bloodied teeth as he charged, catching Dillon around the middle.

They tumbled to the ground. First the drunk was on top, swing after swing to Dillon’s face. Then, Dillon rolled him over, his vision dimming, and it wasn’t the drunk under him; it was his father, laughing at him with a smile like a bloody ax wound.

And then there was only darkness.

Kat stood behind the bar, rooted to the ground. Chaos ensued. She’d seen Dillon fight in the ring, seen the barbarism of fists and blood, but this wasn’t that.

Dillon was beyond control, his face blank rage, teeth bared. He was terror and rage embodied and out for blood. And she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend what was happening as the marrow of her bones ran cold.

Through the noise, she heard whispers, whispers on empty wind. Kiki’s face was blank. And then it wasn’t. It was twisted in horror and fear.

She flew at Kat. “You have to do something! You have to stop him!”

Kat snapped back into her head, hands numb. It had to be her.

I have to stop him.

She snapped into action, climbing up to vault over the bar, pushing through the people until she was right behind him. But what could she do? How could she stop him?

He cocked his fist.

Kat saw an opening.

She ran full force, tackling him from the side. He roared, grabbing her like she was nothing, less than nothing, and he flipped her around, pinning her to the floor.

The force knocked the air from her lungs. She couldn’t move, mouth slack and gasping, her eyes on his fist, helpless, defenseless. Because that fist wouldn’t stop for her. His eyes didn’t see her. They showed no recognition, no humanity, no trace of him.

“Dillon, stop!” she cried, the sound rough and raw and almost too late.

Her hands finally heard her brain’s command and flew to his chest, his muscles hot stone under her palms.

And the second she spoke, the moment she touched him, he came back to himself.

He didn’t understand where he was; it was clear on his face as he looked down at her hands on his chest, the horror on her face. His eyes locked on to hers.

And then he knew. His face broke, as if a mirror of his soul, and her heart shattered along with it.

He tried to cover her hand with his own, but she yanked it away, clutched it to her chest as if she could stop the pain, the hemorrhaging pain that bled into her ribcage. It was betrayal and fear and shock; he saw and recognized it.

Only then did he release her from his hold.

Kat skittered away from him, her voice cracked and dry. “Get out.”

She stood, and so did he, her hands shaking as she turned to Owen.

“Get him the fuck out of here.”

Owen reached for him, soothing him. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go. Come on.”

But his eyes never left Kat’s, those tortured eyes, anguished and pleading and repentant, as Owen dragged him through the crowd.

The minute they were through the bar, she pushed through the stunned crowd and to the back, stepping into the small walk-in cooler. The heavy metal door closed behind her with a thump, and she shivered — not from the cold of the freezer, but from the image of Dillon’s twisted face, fist in the air, his eyes targeting her.

She pictured Eric standing over Kiki, wearing the same expression.

Kat buried her face in her palms, her breath like sand in her lungs. She never should have tried to stop him. Because he was unstoppable.

Kiki burst in with tears in her eyes. “Oh my God.”

And then Kat cried. She cried with her sister’s arms around her and her face buried in her hair. She cried for her fears and for her losses. She cried for her mistakes and for what could never be.

She cried until there was nothing left, and she was empty.

Dillon left what remained of his soul in that bar.

Owen rushed him out and to the car, putting him in the passenger seat where he sat, staring down at his cut-up, bloody hands. He’d stare at those hands for hours and days and never understand.

His greatest fear had been realized, the premonition real. He could still feel her under him, feel her hands on his chest.

But the look in her eyes was what he would never forget, not as long as he lived.

Dillon had seen fear, and he’d lived it. But he’d never, not in his whole life or the hundreds of fights, had someone looked at him with that fear in their eyes.

He wondered if there were any chance he would have brought his fist down.

Bile rushed up his throat, and he opened the door just in time to empty the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk.

With a trembling hand, he wiped his lips, closing his eyes.

There was only one consolation. Kat had brought him back. When he slipped into that place, that place of darkness, that murderous place, he couldn’t stop, and he couldn’t come back on his own. It had only happened twice. Owen had saved Jimmy. Kat had saved herself.

His father’s face filled his thoughts. He’d seen Jimmy in the drunk man, and he’d lost his self-control, however thin it had been.

She’d brought him back, holding the same power over him as Owen had. But he’d lost her.

And he’d never get her back.

“You dirty fucking son of a bitch.”

Dita stood, fuming, in the doorway of Ares’s bedroom, hair whipping around her, eyes shining blue, her wrath bubbling up and over.

Ares shrugged off his jacket and threw it across an armchair in the corner of his room, still amping from the fight, the blood, the chaos.

He smiled, a joyless stretched of his lips. “I told you not to get comfortable.”

“He could have killed her.”

“Not my problem,” he said, feigning apathy. “Did you think I’d sit there and wait while you won? You know me better than that.”

“It would have been your problem if he’d killed her,” she snarled.

Ares cocked his head. So sure of herself, even now. “And you’d have made it a problem for me?”

She sidestepped to circle him. “You know I would.”

“I’d like to see that.” He began closing the gap between them. “I’m sure it’d be adorable.”

Dita’s hands shot out, teeth bared, white-hot power in her palms, but before she could hit him, he grabbed her wrists and pushed her against the wall, pinning her with his body. He was too rough.

He didn’t care.

She thrashed under him, the smell of her filling him up. He leaned in to her, rolling his hips, pressing them into hers.

“Don’t fight me. Why do you always want to fight? We could get along. We could get along so well if you’d just give in.”

“Fuck you,” she spat before sinking her teeth into his neck.

He roared, clamping her wrists in one of his hands, squeezing her face with the other, almost hard enough to hurt her.

He crushed her mouth with his, seeking entry. But she bucked her hips, putting just enough space between them to head-butt him.

Ares staggered back, releasing her, touching his forehead and inspecting his bloody fingers. And then he laughed. The sound was cruel and cold, mocking and sick, a sound that sent her hurtling into him, shoving him with all her weight, lips curled and savage. He barely moved, only kept laughing. And when she charged again, it was with power in her hands.

The force pushed them onto his bed. She climbed onto his chest, her hair falling all around her when she slapped him.

But he just kept laughing. So she stopped him the only way she could — with a kiss.

There was nothing tender in the way her lips moved, nothing sweet in the blood she drew from his lip. Only the salty taste of metal and pain.

And she gave in to the lust of her blood and his body.

Submission was all he’d ever wanted from her. All he’d ever want.

He rumbled, rolling her over, pinning her arms, spreading her legs with his. And she welcomed him, didn’t fight, just opened her lips and body and let him in, let him invade and overcome her.

Her dress rested at her hips, her panties gone with a tug. And she was calling for him, calling his name with love and hate and pain on her lips.

He flipped her over, hitched her hips in the air, exposed her ass, kneeling behind her as he unbuttoned his pants.

One hand on his shaft, the other pushing her dress up higher. His hand around the back of her neck, pressing, squeezing. The tip of his crown against the hot center of her.

And with a flex, he filled her, filled her until he disappeared, filled her until her thighs trembled, filled her until they were joined.

He circled her ass with his palm once it was free, still holding her down with the other, flexing his hips to pull out of her slowly. With a breath and a thrust and a pop, he slammed into her and spanked her.

“Yes?” he growled.

“Yes,” she moaned.

Another pop of her flesh, red under his palm, supple under his clenched fingers. And she tightened around him, drawing him in.

His hips sped.

His name on her lips.

And then she was gone, squeezing the length of him with her core. And he followed, letting go with a roar.

No, there was no tenderness. There was too much hurt to be tender.

It had always been this way.

Her legs gave out, and as she caught her breath, he laid kisses up her back, between her shoulder blades. And for a moment, she let him.

And then the moment was gone.

She slipped off the bed and stood, righting her dress, saying nothing.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, the hurt apparent even though he’d tried to hide it.

“Don’t be needy,” she said flatly, a lie of indifference. “I’m just tired.”

So was he, but sleep wouldn’t help.

And with that, she was gone, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping away from him too quickly for him to hang on.

Apollo woke.

His eyes flew wide, back snapping straight, breath gone, lungs empty and burning, the vision still burning in his mind.

Daphne stirred, curling into him once he settled back into bed. He pulled her close, his heart galloping, squeezing his eyes shut, as if she could save him. In a way, he supposed she already had.

“Are you all right?” Her worried voice was thick from sleep.

“I’m fine.” He kissed her forehead, not at all feeling fine. “I had a vision.”

Her brows drew together. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to shift so he could rest his head against her breast, his arms tight around her as she toyed with his hair.

“Eric is going to come for the girls.”

Her hand stilled. “What will you do?”

“Tell Dita. There must be a way to stop him. I’ll help, if I can, if she’ll pay a token.”

“How will he find them?”

Apollo nestled into her, grateful for her warmth, her comfort on nights. He had endured so many alone. “I don’t know. Likely Ares.”

“Should you wake her? How long does she have?”

“She has time. And if I wake her now, she won’t sleep, and she’s going to need all her strength. I’ll tell her first thing in the morning.”

Daphne said nothing for a heartbeat which he heard through her chest. “She’ll stop him. I know she will.”

The conviction in her voice almost gave him hope against the horror he’d seen. And he only wished there was a way.

There had to be a way.

Sleep did not find him again.

DAY 11

Dita floated in the swimming pool, hair suspended in the water around her, sounds trickling and muffled and thick in her ears. Her eyes were fixed on the mural covering the ceiling of the bright natatorium, framed with ornate molding and copper ceiling tiles. Chandeliers hung above the patio around the pool, brass candelabras glowing between windows.

It had always reminded her of the old Roman bathhouses but with a Victorian flair, ornate and opulent and familiar.

The fresco on the ceiling was majestic and ridiculous, a scene of the Olympians in robes and diadems floating in the clouds.

She scanned it for anything out of place. Dionysus had been given a mustache like Captain Morgan, which he’d probably given himself. Someone had crossed Hera’s eyes and made one a little bigger than the other, warped her smile, and erased her lipstick. The last point alone would send her into a blind rage when she saw it. Hera didn’t even go to bed without lipstick on.

Ares stood in his chariot with Eris, Phobos, and Deimos, and when she looked closely, she noted that his pupils were vertical, like a snake’s. His skin had a reptilian texture. Subtle. She found it too appropriate to touch.

Her own likeness looked fine at first until she saw that someone had put her in pants and given her a gratuitous camel toe. She scowled and pointed at it with a dripping finger, setting herself right in flowing robes, sans awkward twat wedgie.

She scanned the scene once again, wondering what she should change, and she settled on Zeus, which was predictable, but she didn’t care. She made a finger gun, closed one eye, and fired with a pew.

His robes shrank and turned into a pink leotard, his gray chest hair springing from the top. A pink tutu with sparkles appeared around his waist, and a tiny tiara winked with crystals in his hair. He wore the expression of an angry Russian arms dealer, which had seemed regal before. Now he just looked downright petulant.

Satisfied, she closed her eyes and exhaled, sinking into the warm water. She kicked off toward the end of the pool and swam a few laps underwater, never coming up for breath, emerging at the edge where Perry’s feet dangled in the water.

Perry smirked as Dita folded her arms on the concrete ledge. “Zeus? So obvious. He’s going to see it the second he walks in here.”

Dita shrugged. “That’s the whole point. It’s unmissable and will utterly humiliate him, which makes it quite perfect, thank you very much.”

“What happened after … Dillon?” she asked.

Dita got the feeling she didn’t want to know.

“I went after Ares. How could I not after that? It might have even been what he’d wanted.” Sadness, shame, sickness were slick on her soul. “I shouldn’t have gone there. We fought with words and fists and claws and teeth, and we fucked with the same.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Perry offered, and the words held sincerity and sadness of her own.

“I can’t keep going on like this. I’ve got to drink Mnemosyne’s waters. I know it’s the only answer; I know it in my heart and soul. But I still hesitate. Why? Why can’t I just pull the trigger?”

“Because you know that when you do, part of you will die. You can’t come back from the dead. You can’t undo the knowledge, unring the bell. You’re afraid. And you should be.”

“But I have to. I can’t pretend anymore. And I still hold out the hope that I’m wrong, that he had nothing to do with it. That he’s innocent.”

Perry snorted and said dryly, “And maybe Pegasus will fly out of my ass.”

Dita splashed Perry, who held out her hands.

She watched Dita for a moment. “The only way you’ll know for certain is to drink it.”

“I know. And I will.”

Perry sighed and changed the subject. “What are you going to do about Dillon?”

“I honestly don’t know. That was so unexpected, so cruel. Right now, there’s nothing to be done. They need a minute, and so do I.”

“Well, you have more than two weeks left to figure it out before you’re out of time.”

“That’s the only reason I’m not flipping out right now. I’ll figure it out.”

The French doors behind Perry flew open, and Apollo rushed in, wide-eyed.

“Gods, Dita. I’ve been looking for you all morning. Where have you been?” He was almost accusing.

Her face quirked in confusion. “I’ve been here. What’s wrong?”

Apollo grabbed a towel from the table and handed it to her. “You need to be sitting down for this.”

She pulled herself out of the pool and took the offered towel, wrapping it around herself with dread snaking through her. And then she took a seat and braced herself.

Apollo sat next to her, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees, his eyes apologetic and heavy with concern. “I had a vision.”

Her skin prickled. “Tell me.”

His hand brushed his lips as he stalled for only a moment before admitting what she’d feared. “Eric will come for the girls. Very soon.”

It was a coldness born from deep in her chest, slipping through her veins. It would mean the end, the end of so many things.

“What can we do?” Perry asked.

Dita stood, hands shaking and nerves bubbling. She couldn’t sit still. So she paced, wet feet patting against the concrete, dripping hair stuck to her back.

“There’s nothing to be done today, nothing I can do. It’s too soon; too much passed between them last night. I’m not sure any amount of time would be enough to undo what was done. But the most dangerous thing is this; Kat is alone. She’s left Kiki with Owen to try to process what’s happened, how she feels. To try to mend her own heart. If he comes now, when they’re separated, it will be deadly.”

Perry chewed her thumbnail. “What about Owen?”

Dita paced back toward them, her brain hooking a plan. “If Owen knows Eric is coming …” She slowed. Then, she sped up, turning to pace away again. “Yes. If Owen knows, he can get Dillon to help. If Dillon’s there, Eric won’t stand a chance. And if Dillon saves the girls, Kat will forgive him. I’ve just got to figure out how to get Owen to Kiki and keep him with her. I need as of them together as possible until Kat finds her way back.”

“I think it could work,” Apollo said. “And maybe Kiki will call Katsu. Maybe there’s a way to stop it still.”

Dita was filled with gratitude and knelt before Apollo. “Thank you for this, for telling me. You might have saved their lives.”

“It’s the very least I could do and the only thing I could do.”

Perry’s face was tight. “If Kat dies and Ares didn’t kill her himself, you’ll lose.”

“I don’t care about losing. I have to keep those girls alive because it’s right. I have to protect them from Eric. From Ares. Because he doesn’t care of their suffering. Their lives mean nothing to him beyond being a tool to pin me with.” The thought of Ares controlling her any longer stripped her heart. The imaginings of what Eric would do to them if he found them were too much to bear. “I’m going to have to watch and watch closely. And when the hammer falls, I’ve got to be ready. And I will be.”

She’d never meant anything more.

The city was behind Kat, the coast to the east, the winter clouds high and gray and distant. The sun was too small, too far away to warm the air, Kat’s skin, her heart.

Her car sped around the winds and curves of the shore, and she shifted up and down, racing away from the city, her past, herself.

Kiki had called Jerry once they’d collected themselves, and he’d come to the bar to take over, sending them home. A hot shower had erased nothing from Kat’s soul, and she’d crawled into her bed with her sister where they talked and cried and talked some more. Kiki had fallen asleep sometime very late or very early, depending on where you were standing. But Kat had only drifted, finding only seconds of sleep before Dillon would invade, swallowing her whole.

As the sun had risen, she’d slipped away, leaving a note for Kiki with instructions to go to Owen’s and stay there. She’d said she was going for a drive, that she needed to think. And when Kiki had woken, she’d texted Kat, who reassured her sister she was fine.

She wasn’t.

The moment had been frozen and replayed, the span of perhaps only a second or two that had seemed to stretch out for minutes at the time, and had been looped over and over again in her mind for hours and hours, like a skipping record at a funeral. She could still feel the sting of the jolt when he’d thrown her to the ground. She could feel the coldness, the madness in his eyes as they speared her, possessed. She’d run through all the possibilities, all the outcomes had he not stopped.

A tear slipped down her cheek, her bloodshot eyes never seeming to run out of tears. Maybe it was the stock she’d been saving for years, finally let free.

Somehow, he had stopped, and she wasn’t sure how. He hadn’t been in his head, and then he was. She had touched him, spoken his name, but could never have physically stopped him. He was a runaway train, careening to the edge, the tracks run out and nothing but air to welcome him.

She’d never been afraid of a man the way she’d been afraid of Dillon. Because she always had resources, her faculties, and could get herself out of anything. But no man she’d cared for put her in the position he’d put her in the night before. And there was no way to let herself pretend that it was by chance or by accident.

His behavior had been learned.

It would happen again. And then what?

Kat pulled into a turnout overlooking the winter sea, churning, gray, angry. Her hand clasped the cold handle and opened the door.

She stepped out and around her car to sit on the hood as the waves crashed, frothing and hissing against the rocks below. The colorless winter sky pressed down on her, the ocean wind blowing her hair across her face like a shroud. And she held herself together with her arms but to no avail and with no relief.

Because there was nothing else to be done, no choice to be made other than to walk away.

“I could have killed her.” Dillon’s eyes were down, staring at his hands as he had all night long, all morning, as he would forever.

The group was silent.

Dr. Lovell’s lips were pursed. “Have you spoken to her?”

Dillon shook his head, his voice haggard. “There’s nothing I can say, no way to apologize for what I did.”

“Tell me more about when she stopped you.” Dr. Lovell’s head tipped down to his pad as he wrote.

“I … I threw her. I didn’t even know it was her. I climbed on top of her, but I didn’t see her. All I saw was him.” Jimmy. Even the thought of his name made Dillon’s stomach pitch. “Until she touched me. She spoke my name, and I came back. Owen’s the only one who can bring me back when I’m that far gone.”

“You don’t know how she feels now though. You haven’t asked her.”

“I know how I would feel. I’d never want to see my face again. I’ve already betrayed her, already crossed the line. Calling her would just violate her even more. I have no right.”

“I can understand that. But she knows very little about your past, about what you went through, how far you’ve come. Does she know you come here?”

He glanced up at the doctor. “No. Why does that matter?”

“Because you’ve been seeking help. You’re aware. You’re working to overcome. You want more for yourself, and that’s more than most in your position would do. It’s more than your father did. If she knows everything, you’re giving her a chance to decide with all the details in hand. Only then will you know you did everything you could. It might not hurt less, but then you can move on.”

Move on, as if it were so simple as turning around or closing a door or crossing the street.

Dillon looked at his boots, wishing he could. But there was no way to make it right, no way to come back from the wrongs he’d done. He couldn’t ask for forgiveness.

Not when he couldn’t even forgive himself.

Kiki stared out the window of Owen’s quiet room, her back in the curve of his body, his arms around her, her heart split and chapped and cracked from weathering her worry for her sister, who’d disappeared before she woke.

“Thinking about Kat?” He read her mind, the question in her ear and rumbling through his chest.

“I just wish she’d call me.”

He kissed her hair. “I know. But she’s okay.”

“In the sense that she has a heartbeat and is breathing maybe, but … this feels so much bigger, so much more wrong than just that. For her to leave me alone with Eric unresolved scares me. It’s so unlike her, so far from who I know. That’s how I know just how bad it is. That itself frightens me.”

Owen was quiet for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay with being here? With Dillon?”

“I’m not afraid of Dillon. I know it might be stupid and naive, but it’s the truth.”

“That’s awfully brave, considering.”

Kiki turned to face him, looking into his velvety brown eyes that made her feel so safe, so cared for. “You trust him. And I trust you.” She curled into him, tucking her head under his chin. “I was going to call my dad today.”

He pulled her closer but said nothing.

“I can’t now though. Not with Kat gone. He’s going to have questions for her, and if she’s not with me, he’ll be upset with her. He’ll ask me where she is and if she’s okay, and I can’t lie. I’ve never been able to lie, especially not to him. And if I tell him what Dillon did …”

“No, that can’t happen. He can’t know.” Owen combed his fingers through her hair.

“But I’m going to call the second she’s back and well enough to handle Dad. I won’t risk you any longer than I have to.”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”

Something in his voice struck her. She leaned back so she could see him, cupping his jaw. “Everyone is. But this is all my fault. If I hadn’t gotten involved with Eric, if I had only ended things sooner. If I’d let Kat pull the trigger. Now everyone is in danger, all because of me.”

Owen turned his face, pressing a kiss to her palm. “If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have met you.”

“But you’d be safe.”

“Safe is an illusion, a lie we tell ourselves. The only way to gain is to risk. And if you hadn’t risked what you did, you wouldn’t be here with me. There is nothing in the world I would trade for that.”

She kissed him. It was all she could do, the only way she could explain how she felt.

They lay together, watching each other across the pillow they shared.

“Will you stay here tonight?” he asked.

“If Kat doesn’t need me. Jerry let us both off for the next two nights, but I don’t know. I hate that she’s alone. I hate that she carries the weight of her burdens without letting anyone help. So if she needs me, I’ll be there. But I don’t think she will.”

“You’re safe here. Dillon’s fighting tonight, but it’s just a few hours, and he’ll be back.”

She wanted to. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of Owen. She didn’t want to go back to their apartment. But she chewed her lip, torn.

Owen smiled, a small, tilted expression. “Sharing my bed can’t be all that bad, is it?”

And she smiled back, cheered by him despite it all. “Oh, no. That’s nothing short of wonderful.”

“Then, it’s settled. You’ll stay here, and we’ll make wild, passionate love all night to celebrate being alive.”

She giggled and kissed him and yielded just like her heart had asked.

Dillon barely remembered driving home from his session, preoccupied with his thoughts. He didn’t feel the stairs under his feet as he walked inside or the loss of warmth when he pulled off his jacket. He didn’t feel the relief of his body when he sat on the couch, but it was there all the same.

Owen stuck his head out of his room, and on seeing the look on Dillon’s face, he joined his brother, taking a seat on the other side of the couch.

“How was it?”

Dillon sighed. “Hard.”

Owen nodded and waited.

But Dillon didn’t really know what to say. “He suggested that I try to talk to her. That I tell her about Mom, about Jimmy, about therapy. But it feels like excuses. Weak excuses. She owes me nothing, not after what I did.”

“Honestly, it couldn’t make things any worse than they are.”

“She won’t speak to me, Owen.”

“Not right now, she won’t. She won’t speak to anyone. Kiki hasn’t even seen her since last night.”

Dillon rubbed his tired, weary eyes. “There’s nothing to be done. I’m too ashamed to even make that call. I just can’t believe …” He swallowed the stone in his throat, but it bobbed back up. “It’s my nightmare.”

“She needs time, and so do you.”

“I can’t ask her to trust me,” he said desperately. “But I think … I think she’s my antidote, just like you are. I think she can save me from myself. I want her, Owen. I just can’t have her, and I don’t deserve her.”

Kiki appeared in Owen’s doorway looking small and wary.

Dillon shot to his feet and moved away from her, ashamed and remorseful.

“I’m so sorry, Kiki.” His hands were up, palms out in surrender.

She clutched her wrist in front of her as she made her way in to sit next to Owen, who wrapped his arm around her.

“I should go,” Dillon muttered, eyes down as he turned to leave.

“No, Dillon. It’s okay,” she said.

“It’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

She shook her head. “Don’t leave. I saw what happened last night. I saw you. And I don’t believe you would ever hurt her, not on purpose.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her on purpose. I’d hurt her because I lost control.”

“Dillon, I know when someone can’t be stopped, and so does Kat. We’ve seen the difference.”

“Intent doesn’t matter, as much as I want to believe it does. How can I risk her? And how could I ever ask her for a chance to prove it?”

“I don’t know,” she answered sadly. “But if you try, then at least you’ll know you did everything you could.”

They were the same words he’d heard earlier, and they meant as much now as they had then. And he wanted to try. He wanted to throw himself at Kat’s feet and beg for her forgiveness. He wanted absolution. He wanted deliverance.

It was selfish.

It was delusional.

Yet it was all he wanted. But he shook his head and gave up the ghost just the same.

That night, Dillon sat in the back room of the warehouse, wrapping his wrists and hands, the muffled sound of the crowd humming through the corridor.

He had no idea how he was going to survive the fight, not when he’d already been defeated.

His mind was a maze of broken mirrors and dead ends. The beast lay in his cage, beaten silent, unmoving in the darkness. Dillon could summon it no easier than he could subdue it.

And there was no way to change a thing. So he sat, helpless and lost on a crate in the back of a dank and dusty warehouse, staring at his hands, those hands that had betrayed him, wondering how he could make it through the hour. The night. The rest of his life.

Brian walked in, but Dillon didn’t look up.

“It’s time.”

Dillon nodded.

Brian didn’t speak, only watched him for a moment. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’m going to get.”

He took a seat across from Dillon, leaning in to catch his eyes. “You didn’t hit her.”

“But I lost her.”

“Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. What are you going to do about it?”

Dillon ran a hand across his forehead and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”

Another pause. “Can you handle this fight?”

“I don’t know that either. But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“No, you really don’t.” Brian stood, extending a hand. “Come on. Just try not to get yourself killed.”

Dillon clasped his hand and stood, following his friend into the crowd, up to the ring, under the ropes.

If he hadn’t been numb, he’d have been afraid. Because in the state he was in, fighting was dangerous.

Deadly.

Eagan Kidd was anything but the child his moniker implied. The fighter stood across the ring from him, tall and lean, muscles like sinewy cords around bones that had been rattled and cracked for years in the ring. Kidd was a legend of his own, dominating the circuit before Dillon came up.

He eyed Dillon, spitting onto the floor of the ring, as if to say, Come and get me.

The referee waved them over. “Okay, boys, you know the rules. No holding, biting, kicking, scratching. Nothing below the belt. When your opponent is down, you back off. Got it?”

They nodded and shook hands.

And then the dance began.

Kidd bobbed around Dillon, fists up well before Dillon, who felt slow and thick, like he was underwater. And Kidd saw it.

His fist flew out, popping Dillon in the nose, and Dillon rebounded, giving his head a little shake, his attention caught.

Just not quite enough.

Ares stood in the crowd of screaming humans with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face as Dillon staggered around the ring. His plan was in place, the details all falling in line like little toy soldiers. All he had to do was march them home.

But first, blood will flow.

Kidd landed hit after hit, and Dillon took each one as if it were penance. Before long, Dillon’s face was bloody, the skin on his ribs and kidneys red and bruising. His eyes were dull, fatigue sloping his shoulders, defeat wafting off of him, and Kidd fed off the scent like a starving animal, swinging and connecting over and over.

Kidd could see the end of the fight, and with sharp eyes, he cocked his fist, body pivoting, putting all his weight behind a punch that connected with Dillon’s jaw.

Dillon spun around, hanging in the air for a moment before arching to the ground, landing on his back. The crowd roared, screaming for him to get up, to stay down, to fuck off, some just screaming. But Dillon didn’t seem to hear them or care what they thought, lying stunned on the ground for a breath, then another, and a third. He rolled over, propping himself on one arm, head hanging. A cough. A rivulet of blood stretching from his lips to the floor of the ring.

It was defeat, written in every shadow of his body, every curve, every struggling breath.

Ares knew it was over, felt the end, felt his own victory in Dillon’s defeat.

Until Dillon raised his eyes to meet Kidd’s.

The noise of the crowd climbed as Dillon picked himself up, eyes burning, the exhaustion gone, replaced with will and thirst and tenacity. Kidd approached, fists up and ready to put him back down. But Dillon didn’t bob. He didn’t juke or shift.

He stalked.

He stopped and swung in one motion, his body still and grounded other than the twist of his shoulders and arms, the viper on his arm striking. The hit connected with Kidd’s nose. Another swing, an uppercut with so much power, Kidd’s feet left the ground. He came down onto his back, out cold.

And when the ref grabbed Dillon’s fist and threw it up into the air, Ares disappeared in the crowd, disgusted with the game, with humans, with Dita. But not with himself.

Never himself.

DAY 12

Ares wanted answers.

He waited in the elevator, body tight, mind whirring. Everything was off. The game. Dita. Things looked fine, but they felt wrong.

But he didn’t know why.

It was what he intended to find out.

Something had changed between him and Dita, the air colder, her words shorter. She’d been avoiding him for days — even when they’d fucked the night before, it was brutal, quick and angry — and he wanted to know why. Was it Adonis? Was she waiting for the human to take her back, to forgive her? As if he were owed forgiveness.

He should be begging her favor, kissing her feet, wallowing. He should be thanking the fates for the gift he’d been given and beseeching her to take him back.

He should ben dead. But he wasn’t that either.

But Ares wasn’t sure Adonis was all that stood between them. It could be Apollo. It could be the oath. But that bond protected him, and it had for thousands of years. There was no way for her to know the truth.

No, it had to be Adonis.

Fucking humans.

She was slipping through his fingers, but he wouldn’t let go. He’d never let go.

Ares walked out of the elevator and into her foyer just as she walked out of her room, twisting her hair into a knot.

A flush crept onto her cheeks, her hands stilling when she saw him.

He strolled up, smiling easily, pressing a kiss into her hair when he reached her. She didn’t respond, only finished her bun and lowered her hands.

“Hey,” he said gently, a farce. “Where’ve you been?”

She stepped away from him and moved to the couch to sit, pulling a pillow into her lap. “Around.”

“What’s going on?”

The question was light, but the tension was thick and black. He sat next to her, and he thought she’d backed away, but the motion had been so slight, he didn’t know if he’d imagined it.

“I’ve just been trying to pick up the pieces from the mess you made with Dillon.”

He smiled playfully. “I think it might be smashed beyond repair. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you gave up.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she rolled her eyes. “When have I ever given up on anything?”

“Never. And when have I?”

She watched him a moment before answering with one level word. “Never.”

“And I’m not about to start now.” He shifted, leaning toward her, and she leaned back. Not imagined. “After all Adonis has put you through, are you going to keep waiting for him?”

Dita looked at him, confused for a moment before shaking her head, clutching the pillow in her lap a little tighter. “I don’t know.”

He pushed the opening. “I’ve always been here. I’ve waited for you. I’ve done as you asked. Aphrodite, I have given you everything, even when you give nothing in return.”

Conflict shone in her eyes, a war of emotion.

“Choose me,” he whispered, touching her face, begging her.

And for a moment, he thought she would submit.

But she jerked her face away. “I haven’t chosen for thousands of years. What makes you think I would do it now? And what makes you think I’d choose you?”

And his thin facade of patience was cast aside like the lie that it was. His face hardened with his heart. “Because we belong together. I thought you would see the fact clearly since Adonis is gone. We are fated, and if you would only see reason, we would be unstoppable. We could rule the world.”

Annoyance rolled off her in waves, pushing him away. “I’m not interested in ruling the world. And we can’t be together, not with all that’s come to pass between us. You’ll never have all of me. This is something you have always known. Always. But you won’t admit it. Why?”

He stiffened, leaning in until his nose was inches from hers, her head pressed into the couch. “What exactly has happened between us? Because I only see that I’ve bent to your will over and over again, and still you throw me away. I don’t wait for anything,” he growled. “But I have waited for you. And you are mine.” He snatched her wrist and twisted.

Dita ripped her hand away and slipped away from him to stand, her face hard and voice cold. “No one owns me, Ares.”

He stood and met her glare. “You have to choose, Aphrodite.”

The wind stirred around them, her eyes glowing. “You do not command me. Leave now, or I will choose, and you will not like my decision.”

Ares stepped into her, and her chin rose in defiance. “You will choose, and you will choose wisely. Because you cannot live without me, no matter what you might think.”

The urge to kiss her, to take her, was so strong, he hadn’t realized his lips were inches from hers. But he broke the spell as she’d bidden, looking at her for a long moment before turning to leave.

But he would answer to her no longer.

The moment Ares turned, Dita was released.

She sank onto the couch with trembling hands once the elevator doors were closed, the tether he had on her waning. Perhaps she couldn’t live without him. Because even under threat and menace, she still wanted him.

There was no way to break the hold. No way to free herself from his prison. And if he’d killed Adonis, she’d have to find a way. And forever.

Would it be enough to fortify her? Could she close the door on him if armed with the truth?

And if the truth were as he’d said for so long, would she stay? Could she stay with Ares, who had no regard for her wants or wishes, no desire for anything but the ownership of her body and soul?

She had a feeling the decision would be impossible to make if he were telling the truth. In that moment, she hoped he had killed Adonis after all. Because the crime and the lies that followed would be unforgivable and undeniable.

There would be no choice to be made.

It was painfully clear that the time for avoiding him was gone. He had reached the end of his patience, and so she would have to choose after all. But not in the way he wanted.

She would choose the truth.

Dita stood, breath shuddering as she walked into her library and to the small box of cypress on her shelf where the vial lay, waiting. And with the answer in her palm, she dropped onto the couch and watched the fire rage.

Dillon’s eyes were on the Brooklyn Bridge, as they had been for hours. He’d found refuge on his rooftop, the day bright but the chill in the air brisk, and it had helped burn away the fog of his mind.

It could have been the beating he’d taken, the evidence of that on his damaged face and bruised body. It could have been the sleep he’d found for the first time in days, his body giving in, too exhausted to fight it any longer.

But he’d woken with some clarity, quiet and crisp, and found himself sitting on the roof in the silence of the city as his companion.

Certain truths had formed in his mind, coalescing from the fog and calcifying. When he’d snapped, something had come over him, something triggered from deep inside his mind and heart. That something had come in the form of the face of the man who had stolen his joy, come to steal it once more like a ghost, a restless soul bound to seek revenge.

Dillon had realized without any lingering doubt that he would never hurt Kat. Because to hurt her, he would have to hurt himself. He found that he wanted to protect her just as much as he protected Owen or his heart.

But he had betrayed his own wishes, those innate beliefs, even if that betrayal was beyond his control.

He also knew that fact did not absolve him from his sins.

His comfort came in the understanding that she was his cure, the balm for his aching soul. That her touch held power, her voice reaching through like a lifeline, pulling him back from the dark.

And he knew one other thing, something he shouldn’t have even allowed himself to consider, but he did, acknowledging it and accepting it, though it didn’t help him let go.

He wanted her back. He wanted her back, and he didn’t deserve her. But he wanted her all the same. And at some point, someday, he was going to try to get her back.

The sliding door opened behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found Kiki.

She smiled, though it was colored with sadness, as was everything he’d touched and things he hadn’t.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked as she approached.

“Not at all,” he answered.

She took a seat, looking out at the city. “Feeling okay?”

“Other than a little beat up?”

Kiki chuckled at that.

“I’m better than I have been. You?”

“Same. A little worried about Kat, but I know she can take care of herself.”

“That, she can.”

A stretch of silence passed.

Kiki broke it with words he hadn’t expected. “I’m sorry.”

He met her eyes, not understanding.

“I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, not just now. Owen … Owen told me about your father.”

He turned to look at her and truly saw her. Her eyes, so much like Kat’s, were green and sincere, her lips a bow, her cheeks and nose peppered with freckles. But Kiki was water, fluid and bubbling and content, and Kat was fire, hot and roaring and hungry. Kiki suited Owen, and Kat suited him.

Dillon didn’t know how to respond.

She spoke on. “I wanted to thank you, too. Thank you for risking yourself for Owen. Thank you for saving him, for taking care of him, for showing him love.”

“There was no other choice, Kiki.”

“There’s always a choice. I know you feel like you’ve only done wrong, but it’s not true. I know you feel like you’ve only hurt Kat, but you haven’t. You’ve changed her. You’ve opened her up to the possibility of more. And I wanted to thank you for that too.”

He shook his head and looked away. “Don’t thank me for that. Not when I’ve hurt her. I’ve hurt her so badly. I don’t know that I’ll ever even see her face again.”

“I have to thank you. Because no one has reached into the fire like you have. No one has made it through, except you. She needed to feel that. She needed to know what it meant.”

“I wanted to give her more,” he said to the city, to the sun, and to the air. To himself.

“I don’t know that it’s too late.”

Dillon met her eyes again. “Please, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. I know right now this feels like the end. But I have faith, and you should too. I mean, you should have a healthy sense of fear, too. Let’s be honest. Kat’s scary,” she said with a smile.

He laughed, a small sound but surprising. It was a sound he hadn’t thought he’d hear again so soon. “I’ve got the fear part down. It’s the faith I struggle with.”

“I get that. I mean, not personally because I’m an optimist. But Kat’s been my sister my whole life; I know her as well as I know myself, and you are cut from the same cloth, as they say.”

Dillon nodded, eyes down.

“I had a thought, if you’d like it.”

“I’ll take anything I can get.”

“I think you should call her.”

Surprises seemed to be the theme of the day. “Like, today?”

“Like, now.”

He shook his head, not certain how to pull that off. “You’re going to have to explain that to me, Kiki.”

“She won’t answer. She hasn’t been answering my calls, so I can’t imagine that she’d pick up for you. But if you call, if you ask her to call you, she’ll know you want to talk. She’ll know you care. She’ll think about it. It’s a small step, but it’s a step. And if she comes around, she’ll know the door is open.”

He looked to the city again, the jutting buildings stacked on the skyline. “Do you really think there’s a chance?”

“I have to,” she said simply.

Dillon found hope like light through a prism, bending the light and twisting it, casting it wider. Hope was dangerous. But he did it all the same.

If there were a chance she would even listen to a message, he would try.

He would do anything.

And so he did.

Kat’s phone rang in her earbuds, and when she glanced at her phone and saw Dillon’s name, the shock was hot and cold, racing up her spine.

She sent the call to voice mail, hands shaking.

The music faded back in. It was a little chilly on the beach under the iconic bridge. The heels of her combat boots dug into the sand as she zipped up her leather jacket and stuffed her hands into the pockets.

He’d called — wanting what, she didn’t know.

An apology, she thought, her heart heaving at the prospect. Because she didn’t know if she could listen to him beg her for another chance, not without changing her mind. And she couldn’t change her mind.

She couldn’t be with a man who would hurt her, whether he intended to or not. And she knew he hadn’t intended to; somehow, she was certain. But whatever had taken him over was not something she could fight. It was the same sickness she’d seen in Eric, a disease that had no cure.

Kat was ready to leave the city and her memories there and go back to the life she’d known. And the minute Eric was out of the way, she’d do just that. But Kiki hadn’t told their father yet and wouldn’t until Kat was able to mediate.

Not that she was wrong for waiting. If Katsu so much as caught a hint of what had happened at the bar, what Dillon had done, there would be hell to pay.

A shiver rolled through her at the thought.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. He’d left a message. Her throat burned, eyes pricked. So she stood and walked away.

Walking away was the easiest and hardest thing she could do.

Kat made her way to the bridge, climbing the stairs to the pedestrian walkway, the cold wind whipping her hair around her face.

The time she’d taken was necessary and pointless. It was the only thing she had known to do, but she wasn’t any closer to answers than she had been the day before. Kiki was safe at Owen’s. And if anything went down, Dillon would be there.

Nothing would make it past Dillon. She’d seen that for herself.

Kat stopped at the top of the bridge, leaning over the rail, her fingers wandering to the pearl on her necklace.

Dillon had scared her, but for more reason than what had happened. The only man she’d ever had a lasting relationship with was her father. And Dillon had given her hope for more, hope for something real, hope in finding her equal. But it had slipped away from her, and there would be no getting it back.

The loss of her hope was acid burning through her heart, tearing holes and rips she didn’t know could be repaired.

She pushed off the rail and began her walk across the bridge, taking in the view of Manhattan in front of her. Her eyes ran up the bridge cables, chasing the illusion of crisscrossing wires that ran up to the stone archways. The beauty and history in the city topped Vegas, hands down. But she couldn’t stay. Not anymore.

It was time to move on.

On the other side, with her decision made, she walked down the stairs and to the water taxi that would take her back across the East River, back to the life she didn’t want anymore. On the ride across, she rested her arms on the boat rail and looked down at the water rushing by, the regret and sorrow for things she couldn’t have and couldn’t change sweeping over her like the cold wind. And she looked back at the city, memorizing it as she said goodbye.

Dita stared into the fire, her eyes unfocused, her hand clutching the vessel with the key to a three-thousand-year-old mystery inside.

When she looked away, she was startled to find Perry sitting silently in an armchair next to her, her face turned to the fire, waiting.

“How long have you been here?” Dita asked, her voice rough.

“Not long. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She nodded at Dita’s hand. “Are you planning on drinking that?”

“It’s time. I’ve waited too long as it is.” Dita looked down at the vial, glowing blue in the dim room. “Will you stay?”

“I will always stay,” she said as she moved to Dita’s side and took her hand.

Dita squeezed it once and released it. Fingers shaking, she pulled out the cork and tipped her head back, the warm water tasting of salt and skin and pain.

Everything went dark.

The blackness that pressed down on her was a tangible thing, a suffocating stillness so complete, there was no sound, no light.

There was nothing.

And then there was.

A small blue light in the distance didn’t beckon; it screamed freedom from the dark. And then it sped toward her, then it grew wider, and then it consumed her.

She slammed into the memories with a sick crack.

It unfolded like a nightmare. She saw herself in the meadow, hair flying, eyes glowing, hand splayed in the direction of Apollo’s son, the boy clawing at his blind eyes.

A flash of light, so bright she shielded her eyes. Apollo roaring, throwing open the doors to his chambers, cracking the marble walls. He’d learned what she’d done, and he’d make her pay.

A flash of light, and then she was in Ares’s chambers. Ares and Apollo, arms clasped, Ares smug, Apollo furious. The words of their oath. Ares would punish Adonis for Apollo. They would keep it from her. It was the only way.

A flash of light, a pulling of her heart, blind eyes, hands seeking.

She was in a clearing in the woods, and when she saw him, her knees gave out. Not Adonis, standing at the edge of the trees, spear drawn, his mortal face twisted with determination.

It was Ares.

He was a boar, colossal in size, hackles bristling, tusks swinging, hooves pounding, and she screamed, hands splayed. But she had no power here. She could not save him then or now. She could only watch Ares tear him open to the sound of the scream of her lover, the roar of her captor, the shrieking from her own throat.

She saw it all.

The light again, brighter, pulling her in, reaching in to turn her inside out.

Her eyes flew open, her lungs burning and empty as her back shot off the couch, snapping into an arch.

Perry smoothed her hair from her face, soothed her with words Dita couldn’t hear as she gasped.

Lies, lies, lies.

It was all lies. Centuries of lies. All they’d built was false. All she’d felt was pretend.

Because he had betrayed her.

He’d killed Adonis.

Her breath was ragged, her body cold and numb.

“It was Ares,” she whispered.

“No,” Perry breathed.

And she shattered.

Dita climbed into Perry’s lap and wept, her shock burning to despair and then to anger so white, so hot, so painful, she thought she might come apart.

Her power pulsed around her, in her palms, in the air stirring her hair, in her glistening tears as she stood and stumbled into her room, to her closet, leaning on the wall next to the keypad.

She stood, shivering in the threshold, holding herself together, and the device spun around and around until it came to rest on a room of blood red.

Perry reached for her — Dita hadn’t noticed her approach — but Dita’s head whipped around, meeting her friend’s eyes.

“Don’t,” was her only warning. And then she stepped into Ares’s room.

Her feet sank into the thick scarlet carpet as she walked under a crystal chandelier, crisp and white against the deep burgundy walls, the color of blood straight from the heart. The wind twisted around her with rose petals dancing in the current.

An ancient pot painted with a story of her and Ares caught her attention — a tale of lust, of woman and man, of the fated two who would spend an eternity caught in a game of love they would never win.

A scream climbed from the black of her heart, a scream that shook the heavens and tore a rent in her soul.

The chandelier exploded, shooting crystal shrapnel through the room.

And then she raged.

She shredded the scrolls, set the books on fire. Threw pots and statues, their white stone leaving chalky starbursts on the crimson walls.

And Persephone watched on, hands on her lips, the tears on her face her only protest as Aphrodite destroyed everything she could wrap her long white fingers around.

When nothing was left but shards and ashes, she stood in the center of the room, a wild thing, eyes glowing blue, chest heaving.

“It is time he paid.”

Aphrodite saw nothing but blood as she stormed to the elevator, but Persephone didn’t move.

She had to get help.

Zeus.

And as she rushed to find him, she only hoped they’d get there in time.

Dita’s hands trembled by her sides, and when the elevator doors opened, when she walked into the common room and saw Ares in the kitchen, her intentions could not be mistaken.

He froze when he caught sight of her, his expression shifting from shock to comprehension.

It was the only moment she gave him.

Her hands shot out, wind whipping around her, and with a twitch of her fingers, Ares flew out of his chair, slamming into the wall hard enough to burst the plaster with a thud, his chair in pieces at his feet.

“You.” She stalked toward him.

He picked himself up off the ground and dusted his shirt off. “What’s this, Dita?” He smiled, a sinister motion, his eyes splitting her open.

“Liar!” Another flick of her fingers, sending a pulse of energy that pushed him to the wall again and held him there.

Her hand rose until his feet were dangling from the ground.

“I don’t know what—”

She choked his words off, his face reddening, fingers moving to his throat as if he could stop the force.

“You lied to me, Ares. Everything was a lie.” A flick of her hands, and he jerked, feet scrabbling against the wall for purchase. “You killed him.”

Ares bared his teeth, his face red and twisted as he extended his hand, throwing her with powers of his own.

She was weightless, flying backward through the air, the world sideways. The crack of her body hitting the bookcase sounded like wood, but it was her bones, she realized distantly as she gasped from the ground, books still falling on her.

Ares had fallen to the ground, released, but when he stood, he prowled, chin down, eyes murderous.

She climbed to her feet, back against the wall, finding reserves of resolve in depths and cracks of her heart she hadn’t known existed. And she would not be beaten by him.

Not anymore.

She charged him, arms pumping.

Ares reached out to grab her, but she ducked, rolling under his arm, scrambling to her feet. And they circled.

“You’re crazy, Dita,” he said too calmly, too neatly. “Someone lied to you. Apollo told you himself it was him. He’s said it a thousand times.”

“The only one who has lied to me is you.”

“Who told you that?” he shouted, the veins and tendons in his neck bulging. “Tell me!”

And the wind circled with her rage, lifting her hair. “Mnemosyne.” She snapped her fingers, and a couch flew across the room, slamming into Ares.

The force was too much, too unexpected. He fell, landing on the ground with the couch on top of him.

He tossed it across the room and stood, chest heaving, turning on her again with eyes unforgiving and cruel. “Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t I?”

She swept her hands across the room, and knives flew from the cutting block to Ares. He dodged, but there were too many — one slipped between his ribs, and another grazed his temple, the combination taking him to the ground.

He pulled the knife from his torso with a roar so deep, so terrible, she was almost afraid.

Almost.

It wasn’t enough to see him hurt. She wanted her hands around his neck. She wanted to cause him pain with her bare hands, nose-to-nose so he could look into the eyes of the one he would never have again, and they could both know that she would be the source of his pain for the rest of his immortal life.

She flew to where he lay, screaming, teeth bared, clawing for him, but he grabbed her by the wrists and stood. She twisted against him, trying to wrench her hands from his grip, her bones and tendons on fire as he squeezed them.

He leaned into her face and hissed, “You should have chosen me.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed and kicked him as hard as she could, her shin connecting with the tender flesh between his legs.

He let her go and hit the ground. “You bitch. You stupid fucking bitch,” he coughed.

“Fuck you!” she howled and kicked him in the teeth.

Ares’s head flew back. It was a kick that should have landed him on his back, but he rebounded slowly, deliberately, before he spat out a gob of blood and stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes glowed red and paralyzing, his skin turning a shade of deep crimson, his hair black as pitch against it. Bigger, taller he grew with each breath, filling more space in the room than he’d had only a moment before.

He took a step toward her, and she stepped back in terror.

“He was a human. A mortal. How could he take my place?”

Ares stalked toward her, and her hand shot out again. Books flew at him from the shelves and floor, but they only bounced off of him, and he only laughed.

“And even when he abandoned you, you still chose him. I do not accept that. I will not accept that.” He didn’t stop coming at her, not until she was backed against the wall once more.

“Where will you go?” Ares asked, his wrath fully formed, his voice biting and controlled.

For the first time in her long life, she was truly frightened of him.

“You cannot hide from me, my dove.” Words slick and laced with contempt. “You are mine, no one else’s.”

Pride overcame her fear, filling her with false courage. “I will never be yours.”

And she pulled back and slapped him with all her strength.

Ares turned his face back to hers, his mouth a rip full of teeth. And then he pressed his lips to hers.

She screamed, the force of his mouth on her own so great, she tasted blood. With his hands, hands that had loved her, hands that had held her, he picked her up by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall.

Starbursts flashed in her eyes, her lungs burning.

“You will not deny me. I will not let you deny me.”

Another kiss, her hands scrabbling against his chest, scratching at his face, slapping him as she tried to push him away with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Another slam as he pounded her into the wall again, her head hitting the plaster with a thump. Then again, and her vision began to fade.

From what felt like a great distance, she heard him say, “You are mine, Aphrodite. You will always be mine.”

Apollo burst into the room, standing paralyzed when he saw Dita hanging limp against the wall, feet dangling, held in place by Ares, huge and red and bloodthirsty.

Perry ran in behind him, screaming Dita’s name as she moved for her.

Apollo grabbed her. “Persephone, no.”

Her frantic eyes were locked on Dita, and she struggled in Apollo’s arms.

Thunder cracked. The room dimmed.

Only then did Ares turn his head. “Hello, Zeus.”

“Ares.” The word reverberated through the room, a single word carrying rage and ruin. Lightning crackled between the King of Gods’s fingertips as he extended them at his son. “Release her.”

Ares lowered her, his eyes on his father. She fell to the ground in a heap, all but forgotten as Ares stepped away.

Apollo ran to her, pulling her limp body into his lap, Perry at his side, whispering to her. Aphrodite’s long lashes fluttered when Perry moved her hair from her face.

“She is mine, Zeus.” His fists clenched, voice low and challenging.

Zeus laughed, the sound a bitter thundering in the room. “She is not yours, and she never has been. It is time you recognize the simple fact that’s so clear to all who know her. Let her go.”

“I will not.”

“You will. And should you ever lay a finger on her again, there will be consequences.”

Ares’s color faded, his glaring eyes returning to electric blue. His broad chest rose and fell as he grew a shade smaller, but fury rippled from him still.

Zeus stepped toward him, fingertips pointed at Ares. “There is a place you’ve perhaps heard of. You see, your grandfather is there, as are all who would dared to disobey.” Lightning jumped from finger to finger, a web of light and power, stretching for Ares, as if it wanted to taste him.

Ares went pale, his eyes on his father’s hand.

“I will throw you in Tartarus with them. You will not harm her.”

Ares stared at the lightning still, unmoving.

“Say it!”

“I will not harm her.”

“Now, leave.”

Ares turned to look down at Aphrodite lying unconscious on the ground, lingering on her face, and then at Zeus, who waited for the smallest excuse to punish him. And then he walked away.

Zeus’s eyes did not leave his son until the doors of the elevator closed behind him.

His attention turned to Aphrodite in that moment, kneeling down to scan her face. “Will she be all right?”

Apollo nodded. “She needs rest and time, but she’ll be fine.”

“Take her to her chambers. Persephone, leave Cerberus with her, just in case.”

“Yes, Zeus.” Perry’s voice shuddered, her wide eyes brimming with tears.

And Apollo gathered Aphrodite in his arms and carried her away, hoping for all their sake that it was over.

Ares stormed into his apartment, shaking violently, nostrils flaring.

He needed to destroy.

His gaze fell on his couch, and he picked it up, howling as he threw it against the wall in a burst of wood and stuffing. A vase flew across the room to crash into the plaster. The coffee table split in two with his fist in the center. He threw it into the pile of ruin that wasn’t enough. He needed more, so much more.

It was never enough, and it never would be.

Fists balled at his sides, his thick neck and arms flared as every muscle flexed. And then he kicked his head back and screamed, a roar ripping from his lungs, shredding his throat. The sound of his fury shattered the wall of windows, the glass imploding into the room, shredding and splitting his skin.

Ares closed his eyes.

He’d lost her. She was gone. And she would never forgive him.

Never.

He was too angry to feel the loss as rage pumped through him, blood pumping from his wounds with every heartbeat.

She would pay. Zeus would pay. Apollo would pay.

He would deliver retribution to each of them, one by one.

Ares opened his eyes, everything in sharp focus. Every shard of glass on the ground sparkled, every fiber of the carpet around the pieces shone.

If he couldn’t have her, no one would.

He looked out the window at the black night.

Fuck the competition and fuck the players. He’d win now, make his play when she was down. Those girls would die, and Aphrodite’s punishment would begin.

An infomercial for spray-on hair yammered on the television screen, but Eric’s eyes were out of focus.

Kiki. It’s time.

His phone rang.

Eric blinked, his eyes snapping back into focus when he looked down at it buzzing in his hand.

“Yeah?” he answered.

Darren’s voice was high and excited, his words coming almost too fast to make sense. “Listen, I just ran into Louie—”

“What the fuck do you want, Darren?”

“Get this, man. He ran into Kat at a race. In New York.”

Eric leaned forward, a genuinely disturbing smile on his face.

She never should have raced if she didn’t want to be found.

It was all going to be over.

Soon.

“Are you still there?” Darren asked impatiently.

“Tell me everything.”

DAY 13

Branches slapped and swatted at Dita as she ran through Elysium, the trees looming and dark, the sun hidden behind twisting clouds. The trees and bushes slashed at her palms shielding her face, shredding her arms to ribbons as they reached for her, clung to her, tangled her robes in their craggy fingers until she could go no further. She was caught, paralyzed, and when she looked behind her, terror rose in her throat.

She could hear him crashing through the forest behind her, snorting and grunting, as she desperately pulled at the fabric, unable to get free.

The bundle of robes in her hands turned from white to blood red, the crimson spreading, climbing up her body like a living thing.

A boar burst through the brush, his eyes red and glowing, eyes that marked her. And she knew it was her end. He would kill her before he’d let her go.

He slashed his tusks and charged, descending on her with such heat, such rumbling, the forest itself trembled.

Dita shot up in bed, a scream caught in her throat, hair matted to her face, wrenched in pain and fear, eyes seeing nothing but his, red as blood, glowing like coals, looking for her.

She smelled smoke and fire, felt the warmth of Heff’s arms around her, so strong, so safe as he pulled her into his lap. And she curled into him like a child and cried.

She cried for her fears and her losses, cried for her pain and for the lies, so many lies. And she’d believed Ares.

Heff rocked her slowly, his thick fingers smoothing her hair, his lips whispering words of comfort. But there was no comfort to be found. Because Ares would never let her go.

Never.

Time passed as Heff held her — whether minutes or hours, she couldn’t say. But it was a very long time before she exhausted her tears, and she never left Heff’s arms, her face placid, her mind numb, cold as ice.

“Drink this,” he said after a while with a gentle rumble, handing her a glass of water.

She took it stupidly, sipping it as he peered at her, his eyes so blue, so full of worry.

When she handed the glass back, he set it down and wrapped her in his arms again.

The clock didn’t move until Perry entered the room.

Cerberus uncurled himself from where he lay, snuggled with Bisoux, trotting to Perry to snuffle into her hand. But she didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank the gods you’re awake.”

Perry looked to Heff for answers, but he only shook his head and rocked her a little more, his cheek resting against her crown.

She sat, tucking a lock of hair behind her friend’s ear. “What can we do?” she asked quietly.

Dita didn’t move, didn’t answer.

“Would you like to go to Cyprus?”

Her head rose, chin trembling. She nodded.

Perry smiled at Heff as black smoke encircled them until they were enclosed entirely, and when a gentle breeze passed over them, it carried the smoke away.

They sat on the white sands of a beach, the ocean blue as a jewel in the sunshine.

Dita unfolded herself from Heff’s lap, her limbs stiff and aching as she stood, eyes on the sea.

Petra tou Romiou.

The cluster of gigantic rocks, nicknamed Aphrodite’s Rock, jutted up from the water, tall and white. The stones of the rocky beach pressed into her feet, the sun warm on her skin, the salt on the air kissing her sweetly.

The ocean called to her, and she moved to it in answer, shedding her clothes in a trail until the icy water lapped at her feet.

She was home.

She waded into the still water and dived in, following the shallow slope of the earth down into the sea.

Massive rocks clustered before her, and she swam between them and around, past small schools of reef fish unfazed by her presence. An eel emerged from a crag and swam by, its body a continuous wave, its striped skin undulating and eerie eyes peering, mouth gaping as it found another crack to disappear into.

The rocks, covered in coral and kelp and anemones with dancing tentacles, bore cracks that each seemed to home to something — octopus and squid, cuttlefish and crab. And she swam on, casting her shadow on the ocean floor where starfish and sea snails crept.

She came to a clearing and released the last air from her lungs, sinking to the floor on her back, face tilted to the sun so far above, her hair hanging in the water around her.

The endless ocean cradled her, her smallness comforting, humbling, a reminder.

She was born in those waters. When she’d woken on that very beach, she was fully grown, fully aware from the moment she opened her eyes. Her father was Uranus, God of the Sky, murdered and castrated by Cronus, Zeus’s father. Cronus had thrown Uranus’s severed appendage into the sea, and she was born of the foam. The waters calmed her and healed her. They always had.

A school of jellyfish pumped their way past, long tentacles trailing behind them. And she wished to be free. She wished to be whole.

But Ares had stolen a part of her that would never be returned. She would never be truly whole again.

Lies. Deceit. Betrayal.

Such was their way.

She thought of all the times he’d tricked her. So many lies he’d told, too many to count over too many years to comprehend.

But the worst was that she’d accepted his lies. Because lies were easier than the truth.

Her anguish drained out of her with the current, and resolve took its place.

There was no time to mourn.

She had work to do.

To the surface she swam, taking a moment to float on her back, eyes closed, the sound of the ocean in her ears and the warmth of the sun on her face.

And then it was time.

She made her way back to the shore and onto the beach, wet hair hanging down her naked back as she walked toward Perry and Heff. His jeans were rolled up, arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes on her, hot and reverent and commanding her attention without asking a single thing of her, without demand. And her heart sought his for a long moment, selfishly wishing for his selflessness to heal her.

But she was too broken to love, the shattered pieces of her too sharp to touch.

Perry stood as Dita approached, handing her the clothes she’d shed.

“Better?” Perry asked.

“Much,” she answered as she dressed.

Dita embraced her friend, releasing her only to move to Heff, who stood, dusting off his pants to hide his eyes. But she found them anyway, silently thanking them as she slipped her small hand into his large one.

He looked down at her with love and concern and pain. “Tell me you’ll be all right.”

“I’ll be all right,” she lied and squeezed his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Ares ran his hand across his stubbled jaw, watching with bloodshot eyes while Eric talked to the owner of the bar where the girls worked.

Eric wore a winning smile as he chatted with Jerry, who eyed Eric with suspicion.

“Where did you say you came from?” Jerry’s arms were spread, palms resting on the edge of the bar.

“Vegas. They didn’t mention me?”

“Funny, but no. They didn’t.” The words were flat and harsh.

Eric’s smile fell. “I really need to find out where they are.”

“You mentioned that. Thing is, I don’t know you, but it occurs to me that they might not be so happy to see you. So, sorry, kid, but I can’t help you.”

Eric nodded, resigned as he stood, extending his hand. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”

Jerry grasped Eric’s hand with an affirming nod and a brief look of relief — until Eric yanked him forward, grabbed the back of his head, and slammed it into the bar with a sick thunk in a silent bar. Jerry slid behind the bar and to the floor.

Eric squared his shoulders and walked to the back of the bar and into the office. The laptop on the desk was open, everything he needed right there, easy as pie.

Just like the end of the sisters.

Dita twisted her hair up in a knot that smelled of salt and sunshine.

Perry and Heff sat with her in the silence of her living room, the three of them watching Eric, his face glowing from the light of the computer screen as he jotted down the girls’ address, scribbling furiously on a notepad.

Her thumbnail found itself between her teeth.

“This is it,” she said to no one, to herself. “He’s timed it perfectly. Kiki’s by herself at the apartment.”

Eric slipped the pad in his pocket, not even sparing a glance for the man lying in a heap behind the bar.

And Dita turned to Kiki and whispered a plea to the stars.

The television played quietly in the dark, but Kiki wasn’t watching. Her eyes were on her fingers as she filed her nails in blissful solitude, alone for the first time in days.

Owen hadn’t let her go easily.

They’d gotten into an argument about it, though she used the word lightly. Really it was just a slight pressing of opposing opinions, ending with a kiss and a promise she’d see him in two hours.

He’d maintained, as a final push, that Kat would kill him if she found out he’d let her leave. He wasn’t wrong.

But it wasn’t either of their decisions to make. She’d only wanted a moment to go home and pack a few things, and then she would call Owen to come get her. He’d tried to insist on driving her, but he would have stayed with her. So she had insisted that a ride home on the subway and a few minutes to herself wouldn’t be the end of the world.

He’d reluctantly agreed. And the train ride home with nothing but her music in her earbuds had brought her more peace than she’d had in days.

Kat wasn’t home, still absent, though they were set to talk at work. They’d call their father that night.

It would all be over soon.

She clicked off the television, throwing the room into darkness.

But something was wrong.

Gooseflesh broke out across her skin, fear seizing her. She reached over to turn on a lamp, creating an island of light.

Roses in the air, the smell overpowering, and a single thought possessed her.

Owen. I have to call Owen.

Kiki picked up her phone, tapped his name, and pressed the phone to her ear, eyes trained on the dark corners of the living room.

“Hey, you ready?” he answered cheerfully.

“Yes …”

The cheer was erased, replaced by alarm. “What’s the matter?”

“Something’s wrong. I … I don’t know what.” Her voice wavered, the terror climbing up her back, into her mind.

She could hear shuffling, the clinking of keys on the line. “Stay on the phone. We’re on our way.”

The front door boomed as a fist banged against it.

“Someone’s here,” she whispered.

“Don’t answer it.” Dillon’s car roared to life on the other end of the line.

“I know you’re in there, Kiki!” Eric yelled through the door.

And her blood ran cold. “It’s him.”

“Stay with me!” Owen yelled, desperate. “Dillon, go. Go!”

“Open the door.”

Thump, thump, thump went the door and her heart.

They wouldn’t make it. They couldn’t get there fast enough.

Eric wouldn’t wait.

“Open the fucking door!”

She jumped, the jolt jostling a tear from her brimming lids.

“Owen, I love you. I want you to know.”

“Kiki, no—” He was broken, the words crumbling.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” A sob shuddered through her.

“Don’t hang up, Kiki. Please, God, don’t hang up,” he begged. “I love you too. I love you. Don’t leave me.”

There was a scraping on the other side of the door, then a groan of wood, and the door popped open.

And there Eric stood with a crowbar, a slash of a smile, and eyes deeper than hell itself.

Kiki screamed.

Kat sighed, the wind blowing through her hair, her radio too loud, not too far from the house. She’d slept most of the day, leaving that afternoon to drive through the city, feeling more herself than she had in days.

Which was good. It was time for them all to move on and move forward. Put the past at their backs where it belonged.

She was ready to go home.

Her phone rang from the passenger seat, and she turned the radio down, reaching for it. Owen’s name was on the screen.

Her heart stopped.

“Owen?” she answered, pulse ticking.

“Kat, it’s Kiki,” he said, frantic and wild.

“What happened?”

“It’s Eric.”

The world spun away from her, the ground gone.

“She went home to get her things; she said she’d be okay. It was just for a minute, not enough time, but he found her. Ka,t he’s there. You’ve got to get to her. He was breaking the door down when I lost her.”

She let off the gas, downshifting as she turned with smoking tires. “Goddammit. You fucking let her leave.”

“I tried, I … I tried. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His breath hitched. “She needed some time. I just didn’t think…”

She pushed the accusation away. She’d left Kiki too, and for days. It was just as much her fault as his, and she wouldn’t blame him. Not for that.

“It’s not your fault,” was the extent of what she could say. There was no time. “Don’t call the cops. I’m calling my father.”

“All right. We’re on our way as fast as we can.”

Kat hung up and called her father, her breath shallow as it rang.

“Hai.”

“Papa …” Her voice quaked.

The worry in his words rang in her ears. “What has happened?”

“Kiki’s in trouble. He’s come after her, Papa. He’s got her in the house.”

“Eric?”

He’d known. He’d known all along, just not everything.

“Yes.”

“Chikusho,” he swore. “I will send help, Katsumi.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll keep her safe.”

“I know. Now, go.”

And she broke, a tear slipping from her eye. “I love you, Papa.”

He paused, his voice rough when he answered, “As I love you, masume.”

She hung up, tossing the phone in the seat and wiping her eyes before gripping her wheel and flying home.

Kat pulled up to the curb in front of the brownstone, reaching under her seat for her Sig, clutching it in both hands as she ran up the stairs, a tremor of fear shooting through her when the bullet clicked into the chamber.

She pulled open the outer door, standing motionless for a moment, taking in everything she could. The front door hung open, the wood reduced to splinters where it had been locked, and the room beyond was pitch-black except for a single lamp that lit only a small circle of the living room. Both hands held the grip of the pistol, her back against the wall.

And she closed her eyes and listened.

Her heartbeat in her ears. Her breath, shallow and quiet. The city hummed. A car thundered by, and when it was quiet again, she heard a muffled sob.

Her eyes flew open.

“Eric, let her go,” she called to him through the open door.

“And why would I do that, Kat?”

“Because if you’re too stupid to listen, you’re going to be in deeper shit than you already are.”

“Funny, because the gun I have against her temple would disagree.”

Kat froze. She’d stupidly believed he’d show up with only his fists to protect him. And in the dark, with a gun to Kiki’s head, there was no way she could get off a clean shot. She had no idea where in the room he even was.

Fuck.

She couldn’t do anything from where she was. So she took a breath and stepped into the dark room, pistol scanning the room.

“Ah, ah, ah.”

Eric emerged from the shadows. His massive arm gripped Kiki by the neck, her small hands hanging onto the thick bands of muscle, nails biting into his skin. As promised, the barrel of his gun was pressed to Kiki’s temple hard enough to bend her neck.

Kat trained the sight of her Sig between his eyebrows. “Let her go.”

“Put the gun down.” He released the safety.

Her heart stopped.

“Put it down, you stupid bitch.”

She lowered her hands, dropping the gun with a clunk.

“Get your hands up.”

She raised them again, palms out, mind racing.

There was no way out but one.

Keep him fucking talking.

Her voice was calm, her face a mask of composure. “So is this your grand plan?”

“I told you this wasn’t over. You shouldn’t have raced, you know that? If you really didn’t want me to find you, you should have just shut the fuck up. Not that it would have saved you. I would have just waited. I would have found her. I will always find her.”

“Now you’ve got her. And what about me?”

“Collateral damage and a debt owed. You should never have taken her from me.”

She kept still against every instinct. “Tanaka knows you’re here. If you kill us, he won’t stop until he finds you.”

“Then I’ll just have to disappear.” He looked down at Kiki, squeezing her neck a little tighter. “Change your mind. Tell me you want me.”

Kiki twisted to look at him, her face smooth, betrayed by a tear slipping down her cheek. “I want you. I shouldn’t have left.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”

He cupped the back of her head with the hand around her neck in a gesture that was sickly tender, the touch of a lover and a killer. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” she echoed, the sound hollow.

Eric’s face twisted in rage as he pressed the gun deeper into her temple, eliciting a scream.

“You fucking liar!” he howled. Then, he said softly, “You can’t lie to me, Kiki. You don’t know how bad it hurts when you lie.” And then Eric looked back to Kat, saying to Kiki, “Sleep, baby. It’s time me and your sister had a heart-to-heart.”

He flexed his arm, squeezing her airway as her mouth opened and closed in a silent scream, hands tearing at him, her legs kicking and thrashing, her tears slipping down purple cheeks.

And then she slowed, her eyes rolling back, her hands dropping from his arms to hang lifelessly at her sides. He gently dropped her to the ground.

Kat’s eyes were on her sister, quiet tears falling. She couldn’t look away. “What are you going to do with me, Eric?”

He pointed the gun at her. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Dillon pulled up next to Kat’s car, leaving it in the middle of the street with the door gaping, his adrenaline raging, his body shaking, his mind with one purpose.

Save them.

He took the stairs to the building two at a time, slowly pulling the door open, softly stepping in, stopping in front of the broken front door to listen. He held his hand out to stop Owen from moving past him, pressing a single finger to his lips.

“So, you’re just going to shoot me?” Kat sounded fearless, but he heard the edge in her words, the tightness of her throat.

Footsteps. Eric’s voice moving closer to the door. “What else can I do? I have no use for you.”

“And you’re not worried about attracting attention with a gunshot?”

He laughed, and the sound made Dillon’s skin crawl. “I’ll be long gone.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“Keep her. Convince her.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Well, there’s only one other way out. If she can’t see, if she can’t understand, there’s only one answer.”

A pause. “Tanaka’s not going to let you go. He knows you’re here, and he’s coming for you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kat,” Eric said, deadly calm on the other side of the door. “It’s over. It was always going to end this way. You should have shot me when you had the chance.”

And Dillon wouldn’t wait a second longer. He stepped into the doorway, finding Eric, back turned and just a few feet in front of him.

His gun was trained on Kat.

Her eyes darted to his in a moment of salvation and fear.

And Eric turned.

And everything flew into motion.

Dillon stepped into Eric with a swing that caught him in the eye, his arms flailing in surprise. The gun skittered across the room.

But Eric didn’t care about the gun — he had a new mark. His dark hair was wild, his lip curled as they circled. And in the darkness, he could see the dim red glow of Eric’s eyes, watching him.

And then Eric moved.

He moved with inhuman speed, landing a heavy punch to Dillon’s jaw that sent him reeling, the room spinning away from him. Two steps back, and Dillon sprang, charging Eric.

But Eric saw him coming, catching him in a hold, picking him up like he weighed nothing, slamming him into the ground, emptying his lungs. As Eric descended, Dillon gasped for breath, using his reserve strength to sweep his leg. Eric stumbled, and Dillon bounded into him, taking him down in a roll that ended with Dillon at an advantage.

Dillon pinned him with his knees and unleashed, swinging and swinging.

Kat fumbled with the gun, too shaken for composure, trying to track them, but they were too fast, it was too dark.

“Shoot him!” Owen yelled.

“I can’t get a clean shot!”

They rolled again, grappling for purchase until Dillon rolled away, and they rose from the ground. But it was only long enough for them to spring into motion again. Eric charged Dillon, who spun out of the way at the last minute, sending Eric careening into the wall. And the second he turned around, Dillon was waiting.

He put every ounce of his weight, every shred of who he was, behind his fist as he swung, feet rooted to the ground, body pivoting. And when it connected with Eric’s temple, Dillon heard the crack and knew.

Eric went down sideways and hit the ground with nothing to break his fall, his limbs as dead as his eyes. Eyes that stared across the room at where Kiki lay, as if he’d twisted his neck too far in an effort to get one last look.

Dillon stood over him, fists tight, mind tripping, chest rising and falling and rising.

And then he heard his name on her lips.

He turned to the sound, finding her there, gun hanging in her hands between the wide stance of her legs, her mouth slack and brows knit in shock and fear and relief. And he closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around her, whispering to her that it was over, that she was safe. Her knees gave out. He dropped to the ground with her.

Owen ran to Kiki, calling her name, touching her face, taking her pulse, whispering to her until her eyelids fluttered, and she stirred.

Kat clung to Dillon, his shirt fisted in her hands. “I called my father. Someone will be here soon. They’ll know what to do.”

Dillon frowned. “Your father? How …”

“He’s yakuza.”

His eyes widened, and he leaned back to meet her gaze. “As in Japanese Mafia?”

Kat nodded.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed. “Did you know?” he asked Owen, who rocked Kiki.

Owen nodded once, solemnly.

He looked back to Kat. “Are you hurt?” The words were soft. His hands were on her face, inspecting her.

She rested her hand on his. “I’m all right. You … you saved us.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I hurt you. He found you. You’re safe. You’re safe. His voice broke, his thumb on her cheek.

With shining eyes, she said, “Me too. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

“I hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, not ever.” A shaky whisper.

A tear from her eye.

“I know,” she breathed with forgiveness. “I know,” she whispered in thanks.

And then she kissed him, offering the absolution he’d wished for.

Ares’s head was in his hands, back against the wall, sitting in the wreckage of the room.

Game over.

Ares had lost. He realized he’d known all along that it was inevitable, ignoring the truth, as he always did, thinking he was above it, beyond it.

His anger had burned down to smoldering ashes, and he sat around the ruin and counted his losses, one by one.

The elevator doors opened, and one of those losses walked through them.

Dita’s eyes were bloodshot, her face tight, eyes sharp and cold as ice. Her arms wrapped around her middle as if to protect herself, and when she took a breath, it shuddered, trembling through her like a leaf against the wind.

She was afraid.

She should be afraid.

Heff walked up behind her, his limp controlled, as if he was trying to hide it from Ares. He postured himself, arms folded and body tight, a silent threat. The blaze in his eyes held a promise to implement that threat.

Dita let herself go, straightening up, looking down her nose at him, just like she always loved to.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she said with a wavering voice and eyes hard with hatred, “you cannot stop me. You will never stop me. You’ll never beat me. And you will never touch me again, under any context.” Another breath, this one steadier, as she closed her eyes. “Our bond is broken.” Her voice grew, too loud, too strong, a wind summoned and whipping. “Betrayal has severed the tie once made of love. It ends in hate. Never will it be mended, not as long as there are stars in the sky. Not in this life or the next. Of that, I promise you.”

The wind died down, her eyes opening, the incantation complete.

Perhaps she felt different, but he did not, no tug or pull, no shift between them. And she could promise for eternity; it would not change the truth.

She was his. He was hers. And he would show her.

For a long moment, she stood before him, their eyes connected. And then she turned and walked away.

But Heff did not.

“I will say this once and once only,” he said, his voice the calm center of a hurricane. “Should you ever lay a finger on her, I will hurt you. I will hurt you in ways you can’t imagine until you beg for Tartarus. Never again, Ares. Never will you hurt her. And if you do, no one will save you from me.”

His blue eyes cut into Ares for a long moment, brother to brother, and he knew Heff meant every word.

And then his brother was gone, and he was alone once more.

Ares opened his palm, the medallion resting there, black and white, the cool weight so familiar. He traced the knot from the mouth of one snake to the mouth of the other and closed his fist again.

The muscles in his jaw flexed with his arm, lip curling as he pulled back and threw it as hard as he could through the gaping window. And then he closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall, his wrists hanging on his knees as the cold night breeze ruffled his hair.

And he knew he’d lost it all.

But he’d be damned if he gave up.

DAY 14

The soft light of dawn broke through the windows in Dillon’s kitchen, and he found himself grateful that he’d lived to see it.

Kat’s father had instructed them to go to Dillon’s. The doctor Tanaka had sent to tend to Dillon and Kiki had come and gone, leaving the four sitting in silence. There had been no words. The night had been a long pause, a warp of time that had left none of them with any footing. They had been too shocked and stunned to do anything but sit, holding each other, their minds turned inward.

Dillon’s only comfort had been Kat in his arms, her head tucked under his chin.

She was alive and safe.

They all were.

It was a miracle or a nightmare; he couldn’t be sure which. He’d killed a man, and that had saved them.

Nothing in Dillon’s life had ever come easy, and the sweetness of survival was bruised, discolored by the death of another.

Not that there had been much of a choice.

Dillon glanced into the living room where Kiki lay on the couch, wrapped in a blanket in Owen’s lap. Owen’s bloodshot eyes were trained on his hand as he stroked her black hair.

Kat walked down the stairs, running her fingers through her hair, looking exhausted. Her eyes caught his, and she came into the kitchen to sit next to him at the bar.

They said nothing for a moment.

She turned her eyes on him, green and heavy and understanding. “I’m sorry.”

He opened his hands, looking over his palms, his weapons. “I’ve never killed anyone.” The words were hollow, distant.

“I haven’t either,” she said softly, “but I’ve come close.”

“So have I.” Jimmy’s face slipped into his mind and away again. “He was going to kill you.”

“Yes, he was.”

Neither of them had anything to say, but everything seemed to pass between them. I’m sorry. I need you. Forgive me.

“That night when I saw you last, I need … I want to tell you …”

She turned her face to his with eyes so sad, so hurt, but she said nothing.

“There’s nothing I can do to make that right, make that better. There’s nothing I can say that will undo what I did. But I want you to know everything. Because there’s no excuse, but there are reasons.”

She nodded.

“I told you my father beat me, but I didn’t tell you why.” Dillon took a breath that singed his lungs, hating the things he would say but saying them all the same. “Owen wasn’t his.”

Kat reached for his hand, her long fingers soft and comforting.

“When Jimmy drank, Jimmy would snap. And when Jimmy snapped, bad things would happen. I don’t blame my mother for finding comfort somewhere else. I only hope Owen’s father loved her.” He swallowed hard, his eyes on her hand in his, his thumb shifting against her index finger. “Instead of leaving my mother, he held her captive. He beat her often and with little warning. And one night, he found her walking to the subway after work and beat her to death.”

A gasp, just a small intake of breath from his side, but he couldn’t look at her.

“Once she was gone, there was no one to protect us. To protect Owen. No one but me. Owen was the manifestation of Jimmy’s failure, and Jimmy wanted to take payment in blood. And I knew it. So I learned two very important things — how to push Jimmy’s buttons and how to fight back. When he wanted to fight, I was right there to push him, and he’d wear himself out on me and leave Owen alone. For the most part. The last time he touched Owen, I almost beat him to death. We haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

Dillon looked into her wide green eyes.

“I’m not afraid of much of anything, besides myself. I am my father’s son. When I break, there’s no reasoning. When the beast takes over, I disappear. I’ve never been willing to risk a relationship because I will not live my father’s life. I will not hurt the ones I love, but I can’t be trusted. So I loved no one. It seemed easier that way. Until I met you.”

He took her hand and turned it over, held it, pressed his thumb into her palm.

“I wanted to try, believed I was strong enough. And if I wasn’t strong enough, you would be strong enough for both of us. But that night …” He paused, chest aching. “It was the realization of all my fears, the justification of my loneliness. It was my nightmare. I’ll never forgive myself for that, not as long as I’m breathing. And if it had ended at that, I would have walked away. I would have walked straight into hell itself. But it didn’t. Because there was hope. When you touched me, when you said my name, you brought me back. The only other person who can stop me when I’m that far gone is Owen. But you can too. You … you brought me back.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he wasn’t ready to be rejected, not until he was finished. So he stopped her, continuing.

“Kat, you are a gift, a gift I never believed the universe would grant me. From the very first moment I saw you, I knew you would change me, and I was right. I knew you were all I feared and everything I could wish for, and you are. When I broke your trust, I broke my own heart.” He took a breath, a shaky breath, and met her eyes. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll ask for it all the same. All I can offer is a promise. I will never stop trying to earn your faith. You have shown me what can be, and if you will give me a chance I know I’m not worthy of, I will prove to you that I can be the man you deserve. I can swear to you that I will never give up my hope in us. And I will cherish you as long as you’ll have me, if you’ll have me.”

She slid off the stool, and when he turned to face her, she moved between his knees.

“I believe you, and I believe in you. I trust you, and I trust in you. The minute you walked away from me, my heart broke. I didn’t think I could be with you. After what happened…” She paused, shaking her head. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again after that night. I thought I had to walk away. But I never wanted to. And then you … Dillon, you saved us. You ran into that room with single-minded focus and one objective — to protect us. And you did.”

She cupped his jaw, tears sparkling in her eyes as she searched his.

“I know the kind of men who hurts women, and you are not one of them. I don’t know what happened that night, in that moment, any more than you do, but I know that wasn’t you. When I looked into your eyes, I knew it wasn’t you. And I know I can bring you back. It happened again last night. It’s happened with Owen. And I know why.”

His brows quirked, and she smiled.

“It’s because you wouldn’t hurt someone you love because your father hurt those he wasn’t supposed to. You are not your father. You’re the man who saved us.”

He closed his eyes, lowering his chin as if in prayer. “Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered.

His eyes opened, his hands finding her cheeks. And he when he stood, he pulled her into him, tilting her face up to his, lowering his lips to hers.

The promise was spoken in the whisper of their breath, the sweetness of their lips, through their fingertips on skin so soft. And she leaned into him, and he held on to her, their lives slipping together with a click they felt deep in their hearts.

“Katsumi.”

Kat broke the kiss so quickly, it left him breathless.

She whipped her head to the sound, and Dillon looked over and froze.

“Papa,” she breathed and rushed into his arms.

Dillon realized he hadn’t locked the door after the yakuza had come and gone. But he didn’t have much time to consider it.

Tanaka Katsu was tall, made of stone, especially his eyes that bore into Dillon with enough weight to make him stand, as if being closer to his level would relieve the pressure of his gaze. The yakuza boss looked shockingly out of place standing in Dillon’s kitchen, wearing a black suit and a deadly look on his face at nearly six in the morning.

Kiki unwound herself from Owen and ran to him, burying her face in his chest.

Only then did he break his stare, and he did it with the closing of his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his daughters, holding them so hard, so close, his fingertips were white.

After a moment, he stepped back, his face completely changed. It was gentle and worried as he peered into Kiki’s eyes.

“Are you all right, Keiko? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, though her chin quivered.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked her into his chest again. “And you, Katsumi?” He cupped her face with his free hand, searching her face.

“I’m all right, Papa.”

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “I think it is time you told me why you came here.”

Kat took a breath and lifted her chin, telling him everything — from Eric beating Kiki in Vegas and up to that moment.

The tight line of his lips pulled flatter as he listened, pausing when she finished.

“You should have told me.” His words were laden with disappointment, and Kat turned her eyes to the ground.

Kiki spoke up. “Papa, Kat would have killed him in Vegas if I hadn’t stopped her. I didn’t believe he would follow us. I thought we would be safe here. I … I thought I had time.” She took a breath. “I was supposed to tell you, Papa. I was going to. But I waited too long. She was only honoring my wishes; the blame is mine.”

“I am not happy you kept this from me. You should never have asked this of your sister — you put yourself and Katsumi in danger.”

“I know,” Kiki said, her eyes down too.”

His face softened as he turned to Kat, lifting her chin. “You did well to protect her. And you kept your word to your sister. I am proud. But please, always come to me. I could not bear it if …” He trailed off, smoothing her hair, emotion breaking both of them. He drew her into a hug, rocking her, whispering, “Shh, daijoubu. Daijoubu.”

It was a long moment before they separated, and Katsu turned his attention on Dillon.

“You saved them.”

Dillon bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

Katsu stepped toward Dillon, his eyes assessing, lingering on Dillon’s tattoo. “You are the fighter I have heard so much about.”

Dillon nodded.

Katsu drew up to his full height, shoulders square, meeting Dillon’s eyes. “What you have given me cannot be repaid, not in a thousand lifetimes. Domo arigato gozaimashita.” And then he bowed more deeply than his status required.

Dillon bowed in return, solemnly, reverently.

The alarm went off in the theater room, but there was no celebration, no cheers or clapping or congratulations. The room was still and quiet.

Dita sat in the front row, feeling small, looking small, swallowed up by an oversize sweater, with Perry on one side and Heff on the other.

Ares leaned against the wall, lingering in the shadows at the back of the room. He uncrossed his ankles and pushed off the wall as the alarm went off — tiny mechanical birds flitted around her likeness, the statue modeled after Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, the water in the pool at her feet glowing green — but he paid it no mind as he walked down the steps and to the front row, stopping in front of her.

He watched her for a moment, a long, charged moment, before opening his big hand, revealing his token. He dropped it in her lap, pausing for only a breath longer before leaving the room without saying a word.

A tear slipped down her cheek, her fingers closing over the orb full of deep red blood, pulsing in her hand like a heartbeat.

The room was heavy with the awkward silence, and the gods began to disperse with a murmuring of voices. Perry wrapped an arm around Dita, who laid her head on her friend’s shoulder.

“Well,” Perry said lightly, “we have two whole weeks before your next competition. I say we go back to Greece before you compete with Artemis. You’re looking pale. And skinny.”

Dita chuckled, the sound muffled through her stuffy nose. “All right. But I need to tell Adonis the truth. Will you make sure he’s there?”

Perry pulled her closer and pressed a kiss into her hair. “I will.”

Katsu stayed for a while, sitting with his daughters, talking with them, drying their tears. But the last time the girls yawned, he kissed their heads and bid them to sleep. Dillon and Owen were offered bows and eyes that approved and consented, leaving his daughters in their care.

It was an honor Dillon would work to keep.

Owen knelt before Kiki, cupping her cheek. “Do you think you can sleep?”

She nodded and took his hand, and he pulled her close, pressing his cheek to her hair as they made their way to his bedroom and closed the door.

Kat stood and moved to Dillon, threading her fingers through his, her eyes inviting and certain, so sure.

All his life, he’d been looking for someone to give his heart to, someone to care for him, never believing he would find one strong enough. But she was strong enough. Strong enough to face him, to walk up to the beast without fear, to place her hand on his smooth coat and rake her hands through the fur.

She didn’t need him in chains to be safe. Because her love alone could tame the wild beast.

He followed her to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

The dark curtains were drawn, the room dim, safe, the world outside far away. Kat stepped away from him, stopping in the middle of the room. She turned to him, her face and eyes and heart opened up. And he was overcome, overwhelmed by the force of her, strong and unwavering, standing there before him.

He wanted to move, wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her and hold her and tell her he’d keep her safe. But she wanted him to stay where he was; he knew by the way she held herself, facing him so plainly, the set of her shoulders and the honesty in her eyes.

And so he did.

She crossed her arms and hooked her fingers in the hem of her shirt, pulling it off, black hair tumbling over her naked shoulders. Her pants were next, her eyes on his as she pushed them down her thighs and stepped out of them. Then, her bra, sliding down her long arms to join the rest of her clothes on the floor. Her panties were last, slipping down her legs with a whisper.

She stood before him, still and silent, an offering, an invitation. Only then did he move to her, not stopping until he could feel her breath on his lips and her hand over his heart. He covered it with his own, hooking his fingers in hers, holding her face with the other.

And with a tip of his head, he kissed her, telling her all of his wishes, all of his promises, giving her all of his heart.

She pulled away, eyes down, watching her hands as she undressed him tenderly until he was naked as she. When she lifted her eyes once more, they met his, and in what felt like a single motion, she wound her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body against his, stretching to meet his open mouth with her own.

He was lost in her hot mouth, lost in the softness of her skin, lost in the feel of her body. There was fire in her touch, fire in her heart, and it ignited his, lighting him up from the inside.

She broke the kiss and took his hand, turning for his shower. The night had been long and hard, his muscles aching and skin salty, his mind spotted with things he would never forget, things he’d wash away with the stream of hot water and the comfort of her arms.

Water ran in rivulets down their bodies, through her hair, against their lips as he kissed her, her flesh slick under his hands. She reached for the soap, lathering it in her hands, and then she touched him.

She touched him with hands intent on learning every inch. They cupped his jaw, skated down his neck, over his shoulders, across his chest, down his rippling abs with tender, deliberate care, taking her time. She washed his sins away, wiped his soul clean with her lips and hands and forgiveness.

His offered reverence and devotion, an invocation of fingertips and whispering sighs. Fingertips traced the length of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast, the peak of her nipple and down, down the gentle slopes of her stomach to the hot center of her.

He cupped her heat, slipping his finger into her warmth as his mouth opened wider, his tongue searching deeper. His hand flexed, and her core flexed in answer, winding her arms wound around his neck and leaning back into the cold tile wall.

Her hips bucked against his hand, her hands on a path for his length until her silken fingers wrapped around him, stroked him, thumb in the cleft of his crown.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers, their lips millimeters apart, water dripping from him to her and down her body in streams.

And he didn’t want to wait.

Neither did she.

He released her as she released him, his hands slipping around her waist, bringing their bodies flush, and she hooked her legs around his hips, pressing herself against him. There was no space, no air, as he carried her to bed and laid her down, hovered over her, memorizing the feeling of her body under his, the sight of her hair spread around her, the tiny droplets of water on her cheeks, her lashes long and wet, her eyes so deep. And he was drowning, drowning in the feeling of her, drowning in her.

He kissed her and never wanted to come up for air again. He’d drown happily, sink beneath the surface and hope he never hit the bottom.

He broke the kiss only to reach for his nightstand for a condom, and then he was kissing her again, as deeply as he could, his fingers wound in her hair, their wet bodies skimming against each other. He ripped the package open behind her head, never letting her go, sheathing himself.

Kat shifted, guiding him to his back with her palm against his chest, straddling his hips. His hands rested on her thighs, his eyes on her body, down to her hand as she gripped his base, to the center of her as she lowered her hips, pressing his crown to the heat of her. And with a sigh, he disappeared inside of her.

Their bodies met wholly, connected completely.

She braced herself with her hands on his chest and rocked her hips, head turned to the side, eyes closed, strands of wet hair stuck to her face. She rode him gently at first, breasts caged between her arms, lip pinned between her teeth. Faster she moved, his hands spurring her from where they gripped her hips. Harder she pressed, grinding, seeking.

When she opened her eyes, they were on fire.

He sat as she bent, their lips meeting, his arms finding their way around her body that rolled on and on in a never-ending wave. And when he broke away, when he looked into her eyes and spoke her name, she came to him, and he came to her, and with their bodies and with their breath, the chains fell away, and they were finally free.

It was dusk when Dillon woke, his room bathed in oranges and reds of fire and endings. But when he reached for her, she was gone.

He panicked, scanning the room, only breathing once he saw her things were still there, exhaling as he slipped out of bed, pulling on gray sweatpants, padding through the house to find her.

Kiki and Owen were in the living room, lying on the couch, watching television, Owen behind her with his head propped on his hand. Kiki looked like a doll, fast asleep in front of him.

Dillon smiled, and Owen mirrored him and pointed out.

He climbed the stairs and stepped onto the patio, slowing to a stop when he found her.

Kat leaned on the rail with her back to him, wearing his sweatshirt with the hood flipped up, her long legs naked. The darkness of her body stood solid and strong and real against the silhouette of the bridge and the city, the sky stretching over them, blazing with his heart.

He bid his feet to move, and they obeyed, walking him over to rest his hands on the rail on either side of her body.

She nestled into him, smiling.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “For a second, I thought you’d left me again.”

Kat turned in his arms and raised her gaze to his with eyes full of adoration and hope. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And when she kissed him, he knew it was true.

DAY 15

Perry handed Dita a plate with the tallest BLT she’d ever seen on it.

Dita laughed, sitting up as she took it. “How am I supposed to eat this delicious monstrosity?”

She shrugged. “Just give it a good smoosh.”

Dita took the plate and pressed the toasted top layer. There was a crunch of bacon and lettuce as the sandwich compressed to a more manageable size, so she wouldn’t have to unhinge her jaw.

She picked up a triangle and took a rude bite, closing her eyes. “Mmm. Das show goo.”

Perry looked pleased with herself as Bisoux hopped into her lap. “Bonjour, Bisoux.” He barked once before spotting Dita’s sandwich, but Perry grabbed him as he tried to wiggle away, crazy-eyed.

“So,” Perry began delicately, “wanna talk about Ares?”

The mouthful of sandwich felt like dirt in her mouth. She took a hard swallow and reached for her water. “Nope.”

Perry gave her a look.

“What? It’s over.”

“You honestly believe that?”

“Right now, it’s all I’m willing to believe. I spoke the words, did what I could to break the bond, or at least stretch it thin enough to dilute its power. I hope.” Dita took a breath, the tenuous hold on her emotions waning even at the mention of him. “I want to get away from here.”

“I know. We will. Finish your sandwich.”

Dita took another bite.

“We can talk about it in Greece. When you’re ready. If you’re ready.”

Dita nodded. It would be cathartic to be alone with Perry, out of Olympus, away from Ares. She would get it all out of her system, the whole ordeal.

She ate the middle out of the sandwich, leaving the crusts on the plate that she set on the coffee table. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Perry took a breath. “Adonis said he would meet you.”

Shock shot through Dita. “Don’t drag it out or anything. Just go ahead and blurt it right out.”

“Sorry. Is there really an easy way?”

“No.”

Perry stood to leave. “Your belly is full, and I think you could use a nap. We leave tomorrow; it’s now or never.”

“I’ll take never, please.”

Perry chuckled. “Go tell him the truth.”

The truth. There were so many truths, layers of truths peeled back to find truths she’d buried, truths she didn’t want to admit.

Perry bent down to kiss Dita’s cheek, whispering in her ear, “Good luck.”

And so Dita stretched out on her couch, blanket up to her chin and Bisoux nestled in her chest, watching a flickering candle on her coffee table as she drifted off to sleep.

She stood in the meadow in Elysium, the sun on her face, warming her hair. But it could not warm her heart.

Adonis stood when she appeared, his eyes uncertain as he strode toward her, stopping a few feet away.

There was no way to begin the end.

So she took a breath and spoke. “It was not Apollo who killed you. It was Ares.”

Cognition slipped from his face and away. “He couldn’t … but how?”

“An oath. Apollo’s vengeance for his son. Ares’s vengeance for his jealousy. But it was Ares who murdered you. Apollo only conspired.”

Adonis stepped back, reeling, and sank to the grass beneath the olive tree. “How did you come to know this?” he breathed.

“Mnemosyne.”

“So, Apollo—”

“Did not deserve the punishment he endured.”

He stared at the grass, stunned. “All this time, I have been wrong,” he muttered.

“We were both wrong.”

When he turned to meet her eyes, his face was soft, his smile gentle, relieved. “This changes everything.”

“This changes nothing.”

He moved to her, brow quirked, still smiling, reaching for her face. “Of course it does. Apollo has done me no wrong. He has Daphne. All is well and right.”

“Nothing is well, and nothing is right.” She turned her face away to release herself from his touch.

“I do not understand.” His smile fell as he realized the weight of her words.

“If you loved me, if you truly loved me, you would have listened to me. You would have respected my feelings, if nothing else than to speak to me. And through all that has come to pass, I have realized something very vital.” She held his eyes, looked into their depths, and peeled back another layer of truth. “I need your respect. I need your partnership. I need you. But you cannot give, not even your heart.”

“Aphrodite—”

“Please, I am not finished.” A breath did not steel her. Nothing could. “Ares betrayed me. You do not see me as your equal. And I am lost. The only way back to myself is without you.”

“You cannot mean…”

“No longer will I lay my heart in the hands of someone so willing to throw it away.”

“But I never believed this to be forever.” He begged her forgiveness with his eyes but never with his lips.

“And so you ignored me? Avoided me? Did you wish me to wait idly by for you to decide it didn’t matter to you? Do you realize that, in your leaving me, I discovered the truth of my feelings for you and yours for me? I was abandoned, and in solitude, I found perspective. I found truth. And I will no longer live a lie.”

He had nothing to say, sitting dazed before her, not even standing to face her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to fight for her, to fight for them. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t because he didn’t love her.

And with that understanding, her heart hardened until it was nothing more than cold stone in her chest.

“I have loved you for so long, but that love was a lie. I wanted you, but I have never truly known you, not as I should, not as I believed. And your love for me is not what you believe it to be. We have idolized one another, the distance making everything we feel seem more than it is. And it can’t go on.”

She knelt down, touching his face, looking into his eyes, eyes that had worshipped her, eyes that saw her for the first time. He had nothing to say, and neither did she, save one word.

So she kissed his lips, whispering it against his mouth before she walked away.

“Goodbye.”

DAY 16

Dita stood in her infinity closet, feeling more like herself than she had in months, her burdens lifted away and distant. She held up a very small bikini top, wondering if she should pack something more modest.

With a shrug, she tossed it into her leather bag. She probably wouldn’t wear a top anyway.

“Hey,” Perry said, the word heavy.

But Dita didn’t notice, turning to her with a smile, holding up two more tops. “Which one? This one?” She held it over her boobs. “Or this one?” She switched them.

Perry didn’t answer fast enough, so Dita threw both of them in.

“Both it is. Are you packed? Because I could really go for some baba ghanoush and a glass of wine right about now.”

Perry’s brows pinched, and she took a breath that was too deep to be anything but bad.

Dita hung a hand on her hip. “Please tell me we’re still going.”

“We’re still going. But I need to talk to you. You should sit.”

The burden she’d shed climbed back on her shoulders and dug in its heels.

She sat on the round bench in the middle of her closet and said, numb and distant, “Okay. Lay it on me.”

“Adonis came to me. He told me what happened.”

“But you already know what happened.”

“I know. But he asked me for something, and I need to tell you before I can see it through.”

“What, Perry? What could he possibly want?”

“He wants to drink from the river Lethe. He wants to forget. Everything.”

Dita’s breath hitched, her fingers grazing her lips. It was water from a river in the underworld, the river that erased the memories of the dead.

She couldn’t speak.

Perry sat next to her with glistening eyes. “He’s certain, and I will respect his wishes. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t do it without telling you.” The words trailed into a sob echoing the one in her own throat.

She was somehow shocked at the suddenness of the ache in her heart, surprised she had the capacity to feel more pain.

The way they had left things felt final, but there was a crack left open, a window she could climb in. But when he drank Waters of Lethe, there would be no turning back. The window would close. He would die a second time because of her.

He would be gone, completely and irrevocably.

And she would let him go.

A tear spilled down Dita’s cheek. “I can’t blame him for wanting to forget. It will hurt less. He will be free of his pain, free of his memories. Free of me. But I will not forget.” She swiped at the tear and turned to Perry. “Can I take it to him? Can I say goodbye?”

Perry pulled a small vial out of her pocket. “I thought you might want to.”

Dita held out her hand, and Perry placed the small, cool vessel into her palm.

And Aphrodite closed her eyes.

She walked into the meadow, the sunshine soft and buttery, dandelion dust floating through the air in lazy tracks with no end.

Adonis’s back was to hers, broad and strong, his hair shining in the golden sun.

When she touched his shoulder, he turned, face bent in grief and suffering.

She knelt before him. “Persephone told me. I have brought you what you seek.”

Her fingers uncurled, the vial in her palm, and his eyes lingered on it for a long moment before he took it, closing it in his fist.

“I did not believe you wished to see me again.” Adonis did not meet her eyes. Instead, he stared at his fate closed in his palm.

“I could not let you go without saying goodbye once more,” she said gently. “Once you drink, there will be no place for farewells or apologies.”

His eyes were so blue when they looked up, so brilliant and clear. “I cannot stay here. I cannot go on without you, for my whole life has been you. It has always been you, Aphrodite.”

The admission was too little, too late. But they were past the time for arguments and in the threshold of goodbye.

So she smiled through her tears, her hands resting over his. “I will remember. I will remember our love and your face and all the trials and eons we have known together. I will remember you, Adonis. I will love you until the stars fade from the sky.”

Aphrodite held his face in her hands, and he opened his arms, holding her for the last time. She breathed him in, his scent she would never forget, like spring grass and sunshine. He touched her cheek, shifted his thumb, leaned in. And he kissed her with lips she knew so well.

“I have always loved you, Aphrodite.”

Always, but not forever. Loved but not enough.

Adonis opened his fist and uncorked the vial. He paused, their eyes connected. And her tears fell, her fingers pressed to her lips, holding back the pain, holding back her heart as it climbed her throat.

And then he tipped his head back and poured the Waters of Lethe into his open mouth. And when he swallowed, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was gone.

Those eyes, the color of the ocean and the summer sky, were blank and clouded. He stood and walked away, never looking back, never seeing her fall to the ground, never hearing the sounds of her broken heart.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my husband, Jeff — Thank you for not divorcing me over the ridiculous piles of laundry and dishes that have accumulated during the conception of this book. Also, you’re amazing, and I couldn’t live without you.

To Lori Riggs — There is absolutely no way that this book would be what it is without you. Thank you for always being there when I needed to brainstorm, sentence shred, bitch, whine, moan, etc. And thank you for being so brilliant. There’s something magical about you and me and our imaginations. It’s kind of ridiculous, and I’m so glad that I have you. Also, finish your book or I’ll cut you.

To Vanessa Murphy — Every time I got stuck or wanted to throw my computer out the window, you were there to talk me down. The times I hated my characters and wanted to banish them all permanently to Tartarus, you helped me remember why I loved them and helped me see how they would grow. You, my instant bestie, are someone I couldn’t do without. Thank you, for everything. Also, finish your book too, or I will fly to where you live, slap you in the mouth, and then run like hell so you don’t kill me.

To Amanda Clark — You are my biggest cheerleader, and I can’t thank you enough. Your love for DAT helped keep me going every mf’ing day. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to share a line, a scene, a song with you and you not only get it, but get excited about it. Sharing my book with you and you being part of my life every day while I created it has meant more to me than I could every tell you with words. I imagine it’s something like a crack addict feels. You’re the crack in that scenario. Thank you. Also, Gary.

To Orry Benavidas — You have sacrificed so much time and energy to the completion of this book that it’s borderline ridiculous. I am so thankful to call you my friend, and I am honored that you believe so much in me. You are a literary genius, a wordsmith, like if Einstein and Vonnegut had a brainchild in an alternate universe, it would totes be you. Berks and Mandy Moore 4 ever.

To Nadine Colling — Not only are you a fantastic beta reader, but you’re another of my cheerleaders, and every day I’m grateful for everything you do for me, my books, my characters. You believe in them as much as I do, and that’s saying a lot. Thank you.

To Karla Sorensen — The ugh-0-meter was off the charts with this one. You deserve a statue in town square for the hours you’ve spent talking me through every minutia of this book. I will never be able to repay you, not as long as I live.

To Sasha, London, and Tina — Thank you for reading this second edition and for answering my never-ending questions.

To all of my beta readers: your reading, edits, and comments helped shape this book. Thank you for your time, energy, and devotion. Specifically, thanks to Sarah Venegas, Parrish Walsh, Emily Lewis, Nykki Caldwell, Lisa Bryk, and Parrish Hirasaki for going above and beyond the call of duty on this one.

To Lauren Perry — You have once again nailed another photoshoot. Thank the good Lord for you.

And to my fans, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It’s all for you.

ALSO BY STACI BRILLHART

Hearts and Arrows

Deer in Headlights (Book 1)

Snake in the Grass (Book 2)

What the Heart Wants (Novella 2.5)

Doe Eyes (Book 3)

Fool’s Gold (Novella 3.5)

Hearts and Arrows Box Set

Hardcore

With a Twist (Bad Habits)

Chaser (Bad Habits)

Last Call (Bad Habits)

Wasted Words

Tonic

A Thousand Letters - Feb 2017

Short Stories

Once

Desperate Measures

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life: a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom to three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, even though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey, and her favorite word starts with f, ends with k.

From roots in Houston, to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s gaming, cleaning, or designing graphics.

www.stacihartnovels.com

staci@stacihartnovels.com