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 fac
e 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 po
p, 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.”