by Staci Hart
Dillon shrugged. “Things have changed. I was wrong.”
Kat raised her eyebrows. “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 over his face, and Kat’s breath hitched. She laid her hand over his on the glossy wooden surface of the bar.
“You and me, both.”
———— Olympus ————
Ares laid his head in his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Hera cleared her throat, and he sat back on the couch.
“Well played, Hera,” he shot at her and knew she was cowed when she didn’t correct him for not calling her Mom.
She looked away. “I told you it was a long shot.”
He folded his big arms across his chest and glared at her. “No, you didn’t. But I figured it was anyway.”
“There may be more that we can try. I’m sure the groupies—”
“Gods, Hera. Did you see Dillon? The groupies are officially out of the game.”
She tilted her head. “Not necessarily. You’ve seen Jessica. I’m sure we can find another task for her.”
His voice raised a hair. “Are you kidding? She was scared shitless. There’s no way she’ll go near him again.”
She kept on pushing. “But, if you pay another token, I could build her up, bring her around to try for him again—”
“ENOUGH.” He leaned forward, his jaw set. “Leave. Now.”
“Ares, I—”
“I said, NOW,” he boomed, and Hera jumped in her seat, freezing for a moment with wide, blue eyes, her lips sealed. Her hands shook as she gathered her clutch and stood, her heels clipping quickly through his entryway, echoing off the walls as she left his apartment.
Ares rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Dita was going to give him shit. His stomach turned at the thought. He didn’t want to get mad at her. The less angry he got with her, the better his chances at turning her away from Adonis for good. And that was a prospect that could make his humiliation worthwhile.
Day 6
KAT’S CAMARO RUMBLED AS SHE drove through Brooklyn with Kiki on their way to pick up Owen. Kat had spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready, much to the amusement of Kiki, while she tried to convince herself the fight wasn’t a big deal. She glanced in her rearview at her cat-eyed liner. She had curled her hair, and it tumbled over the shoulders of her black leather jacket. She gave it a fluff and wondered what the fuck had gotten into her.
She looked over at Kiki and turned the radio down. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay about the drama from last night?”
“Yeah. I feel bad for flipping out without listening to him. That bitch is crazy, huh?” Kiki shook her head.
“Seriously. I wonder if she’ll be at the fight?”
“I hope not. I will beat her ass.” Kiki scowled.
Kat’s lips quirked into a half smile as she teased her typically pacifist sister. “Wow, Kiki, so ballsy. Maybe you should leave your earrings in the car, just in case you need to ‘throw down.’”
Kiki giggled. “I’m really glad you decided to come, Kat.” Kiki unzipped her bag and dug around inside, pretending to be nonchalant.
“You and Owen have been working overtime to get this going, huh?”
“Mmm, it wasn’t all that hard. Not as hard as you might think, at least.”
Kat snorted. “You guys are the least sneaky matchmakers ever. Were you already going to the fight tonight?”
“No … Owen doesn’t really like to watch Dillon fight. I think it brings up too many memories for him. Plus, it’s not like this is exactly legal. There are, apparently, a number of unsavory characters that go to these things.”
“Nothing I’m not used to.” She thought through what Dillon told her about what to expect and hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to watch. A knot twisted in her stomach when she thought about Dillon getting hit, hurt, beaten. She caught herself again. This is not a big deal. You aren’t interested. It’s just a fight, and you’ll be home in bed by ten.
“Wait,” Kat paused when she pulled up to a light and glanced over at Kiki. “You said a second ago Owen doesn’t go to fights? ‘Too many memories?’ What does that mean?”
Kiki nibbled her lip. “Promise to act surprised if he tells you?”
Kat looked over at her sister, curious. “I promise.”
She stared down at her hands as they flipped her phone over and over again in her lap. “Dillon’s dad used to beat him. It’s how he started fighting. He’s been fighting since he was a kid, for his life and Owen’s.”
“Wow.” Her heart broke for him. She pictured him, small and determined, defending himself and his brother against a grown man, and it made her sick. She took a deep breath.
“So, anyway,” Kiki shook her head to clear it, “don’t be too hard on him, okay? He’s had it rough.”
They pulled up in front of Dillon’s, and Owen trotted out. Kiki opened her door and stepped onto the curb to wrap her arms around Owen’s neck as she kissed him. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” He smiled down at her.
Owen slipped into the back seat, and Kiki took the bucket seat before they thundered off into the night, toward what, Kat didn’t know. But she felt like something big was coming and couldn’t help but be scared shitless.
Dillon sat in the back of the warehouse, winding a wrap around his left wrist and palm. It was second nature, a rhythmic routine that quieted his thoughts. He wound the fabric around wrist, around palm, back again, leaving his knuckles exposed.
The room fell away as his eyes focused on the motions of his hand. His mind was still and quiet, and he was solitary inside as he moved to his right hand and began the dance again.
The world stopped as he retreated into his head, and he let the beast out of its cage on a thick, heavy chain. It roared under the surface of his skin, his control on it always paper thin. It bulged and strained against him, pacing and watching. Waiting.
Kat stuffed her hands into her leather jacket, and the sound of her heels clicking on the warehouse floor echoed off the concrete walls. She walked behind Kiki and Owen down the corridor, moving from light to dark to light again under the industrial lights that hung from the ceiling in cages. She could hear the noise up ahead, growing louder as the hallway opened into a wide warehouse.
The huge crowd gathered around a makeshift boxing ring built in the open space with bright lights pointed down into the center. The energy of the crowd was heavy, buzzing and humming with anticipation, and Kat’s nerves were set on end.
She scanned the ring, the crowd, the walls as she looked for entrances, wondering where Dillon was, which direction he would come from. Owen wrapped an arm around Kiki, who clutched Kat’s hand, towing her through the crowd as they made their way to a corner of the ring where an empty stool sat.
Owen leaned in between the girls’ ears. “He’ll be on this side. You guys okay?”
They nodded, and Owen pressed a kiss into Kiki’s hair, then turned to the ring with his face drawn.
The crowd began to cheer when Dillon emerged from a passage on the far side of the room. His mussed, blond hair shone, his broad, naked chest shining under the lights. She followed the lines of his arms, and her eyes stopped on the tattoo that wound its way around his right arm to his wrapped wrist. A Diamondback snake twisted around his bicep, the head of the snake on his forearm, its mouth open to strike. His blue eyes sparked electric in his tense face, and he looked more terrifying than she had ever seen him, and more magnificent. She saw the power in him, waiting under the surface, as deadly as the snake on his arm.
He ducked under the ropes as he climbed into the ring. Brian stood in the corner, and Dillon hopped in place, stretching his neck from side to side. Kat’s eyes were locked on him, but he didn’t see her. He didn’t seem to see anyone at all.
A referee stepped into the ring, and from across the room anothe
r fighter emerged. He was huge, a mass of muscle with a scarred face. His heavy, dark brow dropped low, his jaw set, his lip curled, and every move he made was menacing. Kat’s stomach clenched when he ducked under the ropes and into the ring. The din of the crowd slowly climbed as the seconds ticked by.
Kat jumped when Owen spoke into her ear. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t lost in years.”
She relaxed her face. “I wasn’t worried.”
He laughed and stepped back behind Kiki.
The referee waved both men over and spoke to them, going over the rules. Dillon looked his competitor, Victor, in the eye and shook his hand before they stepped away and began to circle each other. Victor made the first move. He swung heavy, but Dillon saw it coming and leaned back. Victor’s fist sliced through the air in front of Dillon, who responded almost too quickly for Kat to see, stepping into Victor with a hook that pounded him in the kidney. Spit flew out of Victor’s mouth, and his skin turned a strange shade of purple-red almost immediately.
Dillon’s fists were near his jaw as he danced around Victor, who couldn’t seem to land a punch. His fists swung heavily, but Dillon ducked and bobbed out of the way, anticipating every move. And every time Victor’s fist flew past, Dillon would slam a fist into him when he rebounded, as fast as lightning.
Victor shook his head as blood flowed freely from his cut face, and his eyes narrowed. He feigned a punch, and when Dillon dodged, Victor’s other fist flew out, connecting with Dillon’s nose, wheeling Dillon back. He spun, then turned to face Victor, unfazed as blood spilled down his face. Victor connected another punch, an uppercut, and Dillon’s head jerked back, his hair flying out in an arch from the force. Dillon took a few steps back, and when he regained his balance, his face was full of rage and decision. His body tensed, his mouth bent in a sneer as his fist shot out and connected with Victor’s temple. The massive man spun on his heel and landed flat on his stomach. He didn’t get up. He didn’t even move.
Dillon paced in a circle, stalking like a cat, his eyes never leaving the man on the ground. Victor’s manager ducked into the ring and took the fallen man’s pulse. He didn’t seem alarmed, just rolled Victor over and waved a few men over to help him. The referee snatched Dillon’s fist and held it up in the air.
The crowd went bananas.
Kat realized she had been holding her breath and let it out, relieved. She looked over at Kiki, whose mouth hung open, then at Owen, whose face was tight, and then back to Dillon. He wasn’t in the ring, and she craned her neck, catching sight of his wide back as he ducked under the ropes and headed back to the hallway that he came from, Brian at his heels. The crowd exchanged money and yelled, and when a couple of men broke out into a fight near them, Owen pulled the sisters toward the back of the warehouse.
Dillon’s body hummed as he yanked on his shirt. He ran a towel over his face, his senses on high, and when he heard footsteps, he spun around, his body tight, his jaw set.
Owen stood in front of him, smiling cheerfully, but the rest of him was cautious. “Hey, buddy.” His voice was reassuring, and Dillon felt his body relax. Adrenaline still pumped through him with his heavy heartbeat. “Let’s see your nose. Broken?”
“No.” Dillon tilted his chin and moved his face to show Owen his profile from both angles.
Kat stood behind Owen with Kiki. Everything was in sharp focus when his eyes found hers. The deep green flecks in the lighter jade behind a curtain of dark lashes, the tiny freckles across her cheeks and nose. The room disappeared, and only they stood there, alone.
The rest of the room came back into focus, and Dillon shook his head. He bent down and picked up his bag, slinging it across his chest. He moved to her and closed his hand around hers, somehow not surprised when she didn’t move away. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, and pulled her out into the night.
They sped through the streets in silence. Kat stole glances at Dillon as the street lights lit his face, only to pass it back into darkness every few seconds. Her eyes traced his profile against the black night outside of the window. His blond hair was disheveled in the best way, the bridge of his long nose bent slightly where it had once been broken. Her eyes followed the angle of his lips, down to his square chin, up the line of his jaw smattered with stubble.
And then she really realized it. She was so fucked. Shutting down how she felt had become impossible. She could barely keep her hands to herself.
Kat listened to the hum of the engine, feeling when he was about to shift, satisfied when he made the motions just when she would have. There was something poetic about the fluid way he moved, and she wondered if he would tune to her as he did his car, if he would know just when to shift, if he would speed her away through the night.
He pulled into his garage, killed the engine, and turned to her, the leather of his seat squeaking quietly. “I told you I didn’t lose on my turf.”
She shook her head, amazed. “Dillon, I’ve never seen anything like you before.”
“I’m shocked you doubted me.”
“Respect earned,” she said softly.
“That means a lot, coming from you.” His eyes were on her mouth as they leaned toward each other.
“Does it?” She whispered the words as her eyes closed.
“Mmmhmm,” he murmured, and when he slipped his hand into her hair, her heart stopped beating.
They jumped when Kat’s rumbling car pulled up to the curb, heads swiveling to look through the back window as Owen and Kiki opened their doors. Kat’s heart jumpstarted again when she turned to Dillon, his eyes burning for her. But then he blinked, and the moment was gone. She leaned away to open her door, sucking in a deep breath as she climbed out.
Owen slung his arm on Kiki’s shoulder and stuffed his other hand in his jacket pocket. “Hey, you crazy kids. I think it’s about time for the obligatory celebratory drink.” He slapped Dillon on the shoulder when they walked past and climbed the stairs into the apartment. “Say that three times fast,” he said over his shoulder.
Kat looked at Dillon over the roof of the car and smiled, and they walked together, arms touching as they made their way upstairs.
Owen was in the kitchen gathering supplies for drink making, and Kiki took a seat at the bar. Kat took in the amazing apartment. Everything was brand new. The hard wood floors gleamed, the cabinets and counters were modern and sleek. She realized just how good he must be to have such a beautiful place. Did he bet on himself? She would, if she were him. It seemed they had winning in common, to be sure.
Kat chose a stool next to Kiki, but Dillon hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“We’ll try to hold back,” Owen said as he poured Jameson over ice into three glasses. “You ladies need a mixer?”
“Yes, please,” Kiki said sweetly.
“I’m good,” answered Kat.
Owen raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He offered her a glass, and she took it with an accepting nod. He popped open a root beer and poured it in another glass as Kiki eyed him.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. I’m pretty sure you’ll love this.”
Kiki reached for the glass and took a tentative sip. Her eyes opened in surprise. “Wow.”
“You’re welcome.” Owen winked and turned to Kat. “So, what did you think of all that?”
Kat sipped her whiskey, thinking about Dillon’s lips so close to her own. “It was … surprising.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
She shook her head when she realized he was talking about the fight. “Um, yeah.” She righted herself, sitting up a bit straighter. “That was intense. When Victor hit Dillon … that was crazy. Is it weird to say that the fight was kind of beautiful?”
Owen chuckled. “No, I get that. It’s horribly, gracefully beautiful. A symphony of violence.”
“I didn’t think I would enjoy it as much as I did.”
Dillon walked up the stairs, and Kat followed, but when they rounded the landing to take the next set up, Owen said from behind her, “Kiki, hang on. I forgot — I have a surprise for you.”
Kat looked back and raised an eyebrow. Owen wrapped his hand around Kiki’s and pulled her down the stairs. “Don’t worry, we’ll be up in a few.”
She narrowed her eyes but turned to follow Dillon up the stairs. When they walked onto the deck, she drew in a breath.
Low lights mounted on the beams of the railing around the roof put out a soft glow around the open patio. Wooden planking spread to the corners of the space, and floor pillows were spread around a low table in the middle of the large patio. In the distance, she could see the Brooklyn Bridge, and across the river, the city spread out, a beacon against the night. Dillon stood next to her, watching her watch the city as they reached the rail.
She tilted her face up to his, full of wonder. His eyes passed over the tiny freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, across her lips, and he took a deep breath as he laid his hand on the small of her back. “Let’s sit down.”
They sat, and she set her drink on the coffee table. “Dillon, this place … it’s amazing.”
“Thanks. Getting punched in the face on a regular basis has its perks.”
She looked over the space again, her eyes coming to rest on the city. “I mean, I had no idea that you could make this kind of money.”
“Well, I’m sure you don’t do so bad, either. Do you bet on yourself?”
“Every time. I wondered the same about you,” she said.
“Every time.”
She took a sip of her drink. “So, where’d you learn to fight like that?”
He leaned back with his hands behind him and looked out over the city. “My dad.”