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 looke
d 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.