by Staci Hart
The cops looked into the kitchen, and one of them asked, “Is there somewhere that we could speak in private?”
Jimmy looked in at the boys. “Go on. Go play in your room.” He jerked his chin toward their bedroom, and they slid out of their seats and back into their room. Dillon left the door cracked and watched.
The policeman who seemed to be in charge took off his hat and smoothed a hand over his dark hair. “You may want to sit down, sir.”
Jimmy sat on the couch with his hands in his lap, and the dark haired cop sat down in an arm chair next to him.
“Sir, something has happened to your wife. She was found early this morning near where she works. Mr. Malloy, I’m sorry … ”
“Moira’s dead?”
Dillon struggled to breathe as he listened to the words he already knew.
“Yes, sir. She was beaten very badly, her face … she’s almost unrecognizable. We found her wallet and ID. They cleaned it out, but left her license.”
Jimmy sat stock still. “Who did this?”
The officer shook his head. “We don’t know. The rain washed away any evidence that we may have been able to collect.” He ran his hand over his mouth. “We’ll do our best to find who did this to her.”
Dillon wanted to scream, to run to the police and tell them. Tell them he killed her. But if they didn’t believe him, there would be no hiding from Jimmy.
“I understand,” Jimmy said calmly. “Can I see her?”
To the police, Jimmy just sounded like he was in shock, but Dillon knew him. He could hear the murderer lying low in his voice.
“Yes, sir. We’ll need you to come with us to identify her. Is there someone who can watch your boys?”
“Aye. I’ll take them to the neighbor’s. You’ll excuse me while I care for me sons?”
“Certainly, we’ll wait for you outside.”
When the officers stood to leave, Dillon jumped to sit next to Owen, who sat playing with Hot Wheels on the floor.
The door swung open, and Jimmy stepped in, subdued, and his words held a strange, restrained calm. “Somethin’s happened to your ma. I’m to go with the police. You’ll go to Mrs. MacMahon’s until I’m back. I’ll come for you then.”
Owen’s eyes bounced to Dillon. “Can I bring my cars?”
Dillon looked down at his brother, who had no idea what was going on. It was a small relief.
“Sure, buddy.”
Jimmy’s glare was like flint. “Don’t be makin’ trouble at MacMahon’s, or you’ll have me to answer to when I’m back.”
The boys stood. Dillon watched Owen, whose arms were full of cars, wishing that he could find comfort in something so simple. Their mother was gone, and she was the only one who had ever given Dillon comfort. Somehow, he knew that he wouldn’t have it again. Not for a long time. He had to keep Owen safe, or die trying.
When Dillon looked up, the members of the therapy group were dispersing, some talking by the table of cookies and coffee, others collecting their things. Dr. Lovell stayed behind and moved over a few chairs to sit next to Dillon.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to speak to you one-on-one before you go.”
Dillon shook his head. “I don’t mind.”
“I understand that you’re concerned about dating someone. You’ve been coming to this group for years, and this is the first time you’ve ever brought up a woman, other than your mother.” Dr. Lovell leaned forward and peered at Dillon. “You’re looking for what everyone is looking for. You want to find someone to share your life with. You want to find love, but you won’t find love if you don’t ever let it in.”
“Brian just said that very thing to me, yesterday.”
Dr. Lovell smiled. “You have wise friends. Dillon, let me ask you something. Did your father ever admit he had a problem?”
“Never.”
“Did he ever go to therapy? Find an outlet for his anger that was constructive?”
“No.”
“But you have. Give yourself credit for that. It might be time that you take a chance.” Dr. Lovell stood and squeezed Dillon’s shoulder before leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He wondered if he could take a chance. He wanted to try. He’d see her for the race tonight, and it was his chance. He would apologize. He would try to earn her trust, her respect, but that was all he could do. The rest was up to her.
Dillon pulled onto a virtually abandoned street flanked by tall warehouses. The river stretched out in front of them, the city reflecting off its surface like twinkling lights.
Kiki and Owen stood at the back of Kat’s car, leaning against the trunk. Owen gave him a small wave, and Dillon nodded his head as he pulled to a stop next to Kat.
He looked in at her through his car window. Her face tilted down, illuminated by the lights of her dashboard. He memorized the line of her profile, the glow of her skin, the wave of her hair as it tumbled over her shoulder.
She turned to him, and he jumped. Kat laughed, and he could hear the sound clearly, even though she was muted by the glass.
Dillon stretched across the seat to crank down the window. Kat’s slid down in answer, and she hung an elbow out the window, leering in a way that was somehow still attractive.
“You ready to get your ass kicked?” Her voice was husky, and he almost wanted to keep her talking just to hear it more.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
She smiled, then revved her engine and peeled out, stopping at the light in front of them.
Owen leaned into Dillon’s window and gave him a look bordering on pity. “Good luck with that.” He smirked and backed out of the opening, then hung his arm on Kiki’s shoulders as Dillon pulled away.
Dillon stopped next to Kat, and she revved again, watching him with twinkling cat eyes and a cocky smile on her face. He’d never seen anything so sexy, not in his whole life.
The light turned green, and he slammed his foot to the floorboard. She shot out in front of him, and he left any chance he thought he might have at the starting line.
He shifted into second, but she was far enough in front of him that he could almost see her tail lights. He caught sight of her reflection in her side mirror, and when he missed shifting, his car lurched.
“Fuck,” he yelled at himself as he threw the car into third, but she was long gone with almost a car length between them.
When he reached the end of the quarter-mile of shame, he pulled up next to her and got out, glancing at Owen and Kiki walking toward them in the distance.
He walked around to lean against the passenger door of his car, and Kat lazily draped her elbow out of her window, looking smug.
He smiled. “Seems I owe you an apology or two.”
“Seems so.”
“Kat, that was impressive.”
She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been underestimated.”
Dillon looked down at his combat boots crossed in front of him. Of course it wouldn’t, he thought, feeling like an ass, then looked back up at her. “Well, then, I’m sorry for being another idiot at the end of a long line.”
Her lips bent into a smile. “That’s one apology.”
He laughed and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry, Kat. I’ve been a prick, and believe it or not, I didn’t mean to be. You didn’t deserve to be talked to that way.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s just that when I get pissed, my mouth takes over.”
“I get it. Mine does too. It’s a curse.” She bit her lip, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her mouth. “You weren’t the only one who was out of line. I was too, and I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“So are you.”
They watched each other, and a million questions rolled through Kat’s mind. She hadn’t expected him to apologize, or to be so charming about it, and she wondered what brought on the big change. And how was she supposed to react? Her heart sped up as she wat
ched him watch her. She ran her eyes over his face that wore a mixture of amusement and humbleness. Would he stop being an asshole? Or was his attitude just temporary until something new set him off? She was curious and conflicted, and a little hopeful.
Dillon watched her green eyes as she looked him over. The silence was heavy, their thoughts practically tangible in the space between them. He wondered what she was thinking, hoping that he had mended things, sensing that he had. She didn’t seem like the type that would trust him until he had earned it, but he wanted to earn it. His eyes rested on her lips, soft and parted, and his own lips tingled, aching at the thought of her touch. He shook his head to chase the thought away. How could he earn her trust, her respect, without patience?
Dillon broke the silence, masking his feelings with a joke. “I feel like I need redemption from … what just happened. Let’s not call that a race.” Kat laughed, and Dillon smiled. “Come to a fight.”
“How come?” She played like she didn’t care, even though she did. “Wait. Did we just become best friends?”
“I’m pretty sure that just happened.” He unfolded his arms and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’ve seen you in your element. Come see me in mine.”
Her eyes ran over his messy golden hair, and her fingers tightened at the thought of running through them. She wondered what had gotten into her. The silence while he waited on her answer had gone on too long, and she fumbled with what to say. “I don’t know, Dillon. I might need to wash my hair,” she said, her brain catching her most recent thought, and she felt her cheeks warm up.
“Should I beg? Hands and knees? I’m not above it.”
She pictured him on the pavement and had to laugh. “I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you get your ass kicked.”
He pushed off his car and walked over to rest his arms on the roof of hers. He hung down, leaning into her window, their faces inches apart, and she thought he would be able to hear her heartbeat as it pumped like a piston in her chest.
“I don’t lose, Kat. Ever.”
She fought to keep her cool, but her eyes locked on his lips as she said softly, “You just did. To me.”
His eyes never left hers. “Not at my game, I don’t. The fight’s in a couple of days. Owen knows where it is.”
Her brain stopped working, and her senses screamed for him. “All right, I’ll be there,” she said quietly.
They stared at each other in silence, and Kat felt herself move toward him. The world fell away as her eyes slowly closed.
The moment their lips were about to brush, Kiki sneezed, and they both turned to the sound. Kiki’s hand rested on her mouth, her eyes wide. Owen stifled a smile, clearing his throat as he walked toward Dillon, who stood to meet him.
She sat back in her seat and took a deep breath, catching her reflection in her rear view mirror. Her cheeks were pink, and her lids were heavy, her green eyes sparkling behind her dark lashes. What the fuck? She tried to clear her head and took a few heavy breaths as her wits slowly came back to her.
“Wow, Dillon that race was really … something,” Owen said, smirking.
Dillon chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’ll be the last time I talk shit.”
Kat hung out her window and threw on her hardass, though she felt about as hardass as a sheet of tissue paper. “I seriously doubt that.” She waved at Kiki, who smiled with understanding. “See you at home.” Her eyes met Dillon’s again, and her heart banged in her chest. “And I’ll see you later.”
He smiled down at his shoes, then stole a glance back up at her, their eyes meeting for a long moment before she sat back in her seat and sped away.
———— Olympus ————
Ares stepped into the elevator and punched B1. He had been sure that Dillon would get pissed when he lost that drag race, and that he’d be a dick to Kat. But no. He had to go all noble, and she had to go all weak in the knees.
Humans.
He pursed his lips, staring at the seam in the door while he waited for the elevator to ping, then walked into Dita’s foyer. He scanned the empty room looking for her, then blew into her library. She lay on the floor in a short, gauzy, white lace dress, stretched out on the sheepskin in front of the fire.
She looked up when he entered and flipped her book closed. A smirk crept onto her face. “Come to tell me how amazing I am?”
His blood boiled, and he clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together. “Hardly. I just came to remind you that you shouldn’t get overly comfortable.”
Her eyes twinkled as she rolled onto her back on the sheepskin, her golden hair spread all around her, her legs slightly parted. She arched to the side, her waist twisting in a seductive curve, and her eyes held his own. “Oh, but Ares, I do so love to be comfortable.”
He growled as he descended on her, kissing her hard, taking what he wanted until she called his name.
Dita rolled off of him and onto her side to catch her breath. She rested her head on her hand, her eyes tracing the ridges of his profile as he lay next to her on the floor, his face dark against the orange flames of the fire. His arm bent as he tucked his hand under his head, the shadows pronouncing the muscles of his arm.
She never let anyone take her the way that Ares did. He was the only being that had ever come close to dominating her, and her only defense against him was to limit their relationship to the bedroom. She could never, ever let him fully into her heart because she knew that if she did, she would be lost. He would take everything, chewing through her like a beast until there was nothing left.
She had known as much from the beginning and feigned annoyance and indifference to keep him away, but she couldn’t deny their attraction for very long. Ares was persistent, and although they bickered, she was curious about him. He was powerful, strong, determined, and those were traits that she wanted in a partner. A smile passed across her lips as she thought back to the first night they were together.
Aphrodite sat with Persephone on a lush, cushioned bench, sipping wine. Satyrs played music and danced around the room, the gods dancing with them in a whirl of robes and fur. A few of the half-goat immortals played flutes and drums, stomping their hooves and bobbing their heads as their tiny horns moving in time to their music. Even Hera seemed to be enjoying herself as she linked arms with a satyr and spun around, her royal blue robes swirling around her. Her head tilted back in laughter, and her blond curls bounced to the beat of the satyr’s hooves on the marble floor.
Couples kissed in dark corners of the room, and Aphrodite smiled. She loved her work.
Persephone hiccuped and laid her head on Aphrodite’s shoulder. “I love you, Aphrodite. Did I ever tell you that?”
Aphrodite laughed. “Yes, dear. Many times.”
Persephone lifted her head, and the diadem in her hair, set with black diamonds, twinkled in the candlelight. Her dark hair was braided and twisted up, and ringlets framed her small, pale face. One eye closed as she pointed at Aphrodite with the index finger of the hand holding her goblet. “Good,” she said, slurring. “Do not forget that.” She jabbed her finger at Aphrodite, who eyed the deep red wine that sloshed violently in the cup.
Hades appeared next to Persephone and took her drink, thus stopping the wine from creating certain wreckage of Aphrodite’s white robes. They shared a teasing smile as Hades set her drink down. He slipped an arm around Persephone’s waist and lifted her easily.
“Well, hello, darling,” Persephone said suggestively.
He kissed her forehead. “Come, love. Let’s get you to bed.”
Persephone giggled, hiccuped, and nuzzled into Hades neck. “Mmmm, bed sounds wonderful.”
Hades nodded to Aphrodite, amused, and turned to go.
Aphrodite sighed as she leaned back and slid down on the bench. She took another sip of her wine and looked around the room, her eyes resting on a nymph and a centaur kissing ardently in a dark recess. She watched them with her head tilted, trying to make out hands and a
rms, contemplating the mechanics of the act that would likely follow, and soon, if she were guessing right.
Out of the shadows stepped Ares, towering and sure. His eyes were shrouded in the low light, but she could feel them on her, could feel the bond that connected her to him as if it were a tangible thing.
Ares had pursued her ever since he had the first thought to. He was petty and self-absorbed, but he was also strong, beautiful, and skilled in battle. She had seen him fight, and it was a sight to behold — Ares, sweating and nearly naked, teeth bared and sword flashing, with every muscle carved as if from stone. It was a sight that she enjoyed more than she’d admit aloud. His was a force that she couldn’t deny, no matter how she tried.
Aphrodite was warm from the wine, cheeks were hot as Ares walked toward her with his jaw set. His lips wore a determined smile as he sat down next to her, and her eyes could not break away. She blinked and took a deep breath, then turned to him with her lips in a flat, apathetic line.
“You should take off that helmet. You look ridiculous.” She took a sip of her wine, waiting for him to respond.
His eyes flashed, but his face otherwise betrayed nothing. They needled each other, but rather than making either of them angry, it sparked something essential in them, something that pulled them together. They were fire and tinder, hot and destructive, dangerous and comforting.
Ares pulled off his helmet and set it down next to him, and she gripped her goblet stem as his eyes bore into hers. She stopped breathing when he ran the back of his fingers down her bare arm, her skin pricking gooseflesh in their wake as he looked down at her. Her lids grew heavy, and her lips parted, waiting for him to take them.
He brought his mouth close to hers, so close that every nerve screamed, but instead of kissing her, he moved past her cheek and to her ear.
“Come with me, Aphrodite.”
His breath on her ear sent a chill down her spine. She closed her eyes and answered, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yes.”
Ares walked briskly, towing her through the candlelit hallways in the small hours of the morning. She trotted behind him to keep up, her robes billowing after her. He pulled her into her chambers, and she laid her hand on her stomach as she caught her breath, waiting for him as he closed the doors in the dim room, golden in the firelight.
