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.