by Staci Hart
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 may be able to get them in the same city, eventually at least. Katsu wants her near, and I have a feeling that he’ll get his way.”
“He doesn’t seem like a typical gangster,” Perry said.
“He’s not. He’s much more kindhearted and caring than men in his position usually are, but that doesn’t make him less effective. 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 asked her.” Dita stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. “I wonder how things are going to go 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 come around. Or at least I hope he has. 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 attraction. Plus, when you add her fears about Eric … I don’t know. She’s just got a lot of baggage.” She 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 would get some weird looks.”
Daphne crumpled up her wrapper and swallowed her last bite. “Couldn’t we just make our own clothes?”
Dita grinned mischievously. “We could, but where’s the fun in that?”
Ares paced his apartment, trying to come up with a plan.
The race had not gone like he thought it would, and he wasn’t sure what his next move would be. He didn’t want to ask Hera, not until he had some semblance of a plan formed, but he needed help figuring out how to put a wedge between the players.
He stopped halfway across the room. Eris. His sister Eris was the goddess of discord. She’d have some advice, he was sure.
Ares stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor, one of the common apartment floors where the lesser gods lived, and made his way down the long hallway to her apartment. All of the doors on the floor were red, but she had painted hers black.
He knocked on the door with his big fist, and when it opened, Eris leaned on the frame, looking bored. Her long, dark hair hung in her stark face, and there were several rings through her pouting, black bottom lip. Her black hoodie was up around her face, and her deep brown eyes, lined with kohl, assessed him.
“What’s up?” She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets.
“Hey, Eris. Got a minute?”
“Ares, call me Strife. How many times do I have to ask you?”
He rolled his eyes and pushed past her. “Probably a million, Strife, because I think that name is stupid.”
Eris huffed and closed the door behind him. “That’s what it 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.”
She eyeballed him, and he smiled slyly. Needling any and everyone was a genetic trait they shared, no doubt.
Ares walked into her living room and sat down on her rococo couch with bronze clawed feet. He propped his boots on her black leather ottoman and crossed his arms. “I could use some advice.”
“Yeah, you could. Your player is totally all ‘lover boy’ right now.” She flopped down in a worn, blood-red velvet wing-back and crossed her legs, the act making a confusing line of her black and white striped tights. “Way to go on that.”
“He was supposed to rage out when he lost that race.” He caught himself pouting slightly and straightened his face back out.
“So much for that. I have a bad feeling once she sees him fight, you’re in deep shit.”
Ares leaned forward. “I’ve got to do something, stir the pot. I figured I’d ask you. You’re the best pot stirrer I know.”
She smiled, if one could call the slight change in her mouth a smile. “I mean, I did start the Trojan war, so I’d hope I won that title.”
“Gods, Eris, that was pure genius.”
She folded her arms and scowled, any hint of a smile gone. “I have never been so pissed off. If Zeus hadn’t stopped me from being allowed into Peleus and Thetis’s wedding, everything would have been fine.”
“To be fair, you’re kind of a downer.”
“Fuck that. Did Zeus really think I wouldn’t retaliate?” Eris shrugged. “It was an easy one to wreck. The vainest bitches ever were in attendance. Throw a golden apple in the mix labeled ‘To the Fairest,’ and voila. Watch Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena all go ape-shit.”
Ares leaned back and laughed. “Gods, they fought about that apple forever. They were like toddlers fighting over a Barbie doll.”
“I know. It was so great to watch Zeus squirm while they tried to get him to choose. I wish he would have sacked up and chosen the winner like they asked him to instead of passing the buck to Paris. Zeus is such a pussy.” Eris rolled her eyes.
“I laughed so hard when those haughty bitches all stripped down naked and propositioned Paris with promises of land and fame and prowess to get him to give them that stupid apple. But I knew Dita would win. She promised him Helen of Troy.” He sighed. Helen was the closest that a human had ever come to being as beautiful as Dita.
“What man wouldn’t have chosen that as their prize? Especially Paris. That simpleton was being raised by shepherds, so I’m sure a hot chick sounded way better to hook up with than sheep. I bet he smelled like sheep shit.”
“And probably human shit too, once they told him that he was the Prince of Troy.”
Eris snorted. “Best laid plans of humans, failing again. The King and Queen’s big plans to hide their son with the sheep mongers to stop him from destroying Troy blew up in their faces. Humans never learn. You can’t stop a prophecy. Idiots.”
“Hera was so mad.”
Eris snickered. “Dearest mother lost the apple. Not like she really had a chance.”
“She was equally mad that Dita broke up Helen’s marriage to that Spartan dickface, Menelaus. She lost her shit when Paris kidnapped her.”
“Dita definitely delivered Helen to Paris. Or, rather, Eros did. I’m pretty sure his love arrow hit her between her stupid eyes. But, you’ve got to hand it to Dita. She knows how to stage a criminally romantic kidnapping.” Eris tucked in her legs. “Anyway, you didn’t come up here to take a walk down memory lane. I’m guessing you wanted to talk about the competition. What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to win without using Eric, but I don’t know if it’s possible.”
“Why would you do that?” She looked at him like he was crazy.
He glared back. “It’s complicated.”
She raised a black eyebrow. “Dita?”
“None of your business, Eris.”
“Do you want my help, or not?”
He scowled. “I can get her back, I know it. But not if Eric flips his shit and commits homicide on her player.”
She shook her head. “You are such a sucker, dude. What’s Eric’s story?”
Ares smirked. “Check it out.”
Eric paced in his bedroom, madly scrubbing his hands through his hair. Kiki was on his mind. Again.
He followed every lead that he’d dug up, but it was like she had disappeared. Except, she hadn’t. She was somewhere, and he was going to find her.
He walked over to the box beside his bed where he kept her things and sat down
with it. He pulled out a T-shirt that she’d left once and rubbed the fabric between his fingers.
Eric hadn’t stopped looking for them, but no one was talking. Someone had to know something. The people at the bar where Kiki worked said she never showed up, and she hadn’t called to say why. He asked Kat’s friends and the people that they both knew, but no one seemed to have a clue where they had gone. He watched Kiki’s Facebook and Instagram, which she was usually all over, but there were no signs. Her bitch sister had probably forced her to stay off of them.
He picked up her toothbrush out of the box and ran his thumb over the bristles, then touched the stem, thinking of it passing her perfect lips.
The most frustrating thing about the whole situation was that he couldn’t press anyone for information. He had to play it cool. The minute Tanaka Katsu found out what he had done, Eric was dead. But since he was very much alive, they couldn’t have told him, and if they hadn’t told Tanaka by now, they probably weren’t going to. He had to watch his ass, though. He didn’t want to be the one to tip Tanaka off.
If only he could get a hold of their mom, he knew he could convince her. He had effective tools for information retrieval. He smiled down at his fists.
He pulled out her brush from the box and wound a stray hair around the bristles so it wouldn’t get lost. Her hair always smelled like honeysuckle. He could almost feel the black, silky strands on his fingertips.
Kiki wasn’t in Vegas. He was sure of that. She could be in New York, which would make sense, since her dad lived there. Or she could be anywhere in between.
Over the years as a bouncer, he’d made a lot of bookie friends, friends that he was using to prod for information. If Kat was in a major city and raced, it would eventually get back to him. And when it did, he would find her and kill her.
Kat took Kiki away. It was all her fault. He could have kept Kiki, could have convinced her to stay. But Kat got in the way. And if she ever decided to tell her father … well, he couldn’t have that.
He packed the box again, and trailed his fingers across the shirt one last time before he slid the box under his bed.
He would find them, and he would kill Kat. But Kiki he would keep.
“Man, he is such a good weapon, Ares. He is bat-shit fucking crazy. I can’t believe you’re not going to use him.”
“Yeah, the guy is scary, huh?”
Eris’ lip curled. “I thought for a second there that he was going to do something creepy with that brush.”
Ares wrinkled his nose. “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 the siblings to help nudge the players together.”
“What about breaking the siblings up?”
Ares sighed. “Hera suggested the same thing. She’s got this pack of girls who are obsessed with Dillon that she thinks she can use.”
“I like it. A little misunderstanding could only help you. Too bad I can’t help you, since the game is on.”
“It’s all right, I just came down here to get your advice. So you think I should go with Hera’s plan? I’ve got her tokens.”
“Of course you do. See what Hera 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, thinks she’s got all the answers. But she’s just as clueless as any of us. At least the rest of us own our shit shows. She lives in denial as a general rule.”
“Do you have any other moves to make?”
“Nothing that I can plan in advance. Everything will have to happen spontaneously.”
“Just the way you like it. I would give Hera a shot. Throw everything you can at Dita.”
Ares stood and stretched. “And see if anything sticks?”
“Exactly.”
“Thanks, Eris.” Ares walked by her and grabbed her head through her hoodie, shuffling it around to mess up her hair.
“Ugh, Ares. Fuck!” She ducked and batted at him.
“Later, sis,” he called, and closed the door behind him, laughing at the sight of her middle finger over the top of the couch.
Dita held her squirming Pomeranian in her arms as she stepped out of the elevator and into Heff’s entryway. Bisoux barked, and the sound echoed off the polished concrete walls. She walked through his apartment but didn’t see him. She called his name with no answer. Bisoux barked again, the sound exactly the same as the bark before, and she looked down at him wiggling in her arms.
She made her way to the spiral stairs that led down to his workshop, and her shoes clicked on the steel as she descended. The space opened into a massive garage lined with work tables and shelves. Power tools hung everywhere, and larger machines stood in designated spots around the room. Metal cases full of tools lined the entire back wall.
Heff stood at a bench with his welding with a hood over his face. He paused when he saw her before flipping up his hood. His face was smudged with ash, she noticed as he took it off and laid it on the table.
She smiled at him. He looked good. His arms shone with a thin sheen of sweat, his gray V-neck pulled taut against his big chest. There was a little grime on his arms and neck, too, and his tan skin and dark hair were such a sharp contrast to his vivid blue eyes that her breath caught in her chest when they connected with hers.
Heff smiled back and ran his hands through his thick dark hair. “Hello, Dita.” Bisoux barked again. Heff’s eyebrow raised. “He okay?”
Her mouth quirked in concern. “No, watch this.” She set Bisoux down, and he ran in a 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 him up, then limped across the room to a table. He held the running dog like a baby and measured two fingers under his sternum, then pressed softly. Bisoux went limp, and a small panel popped open. Heff laid the dog down on the table, picked up his tools, and went to work.
Dita sat down on a worn leather stool and rolled up to rest her elbows on the edge of the metal table. “I haven’t seen you lately. Where’ve you been?”
He glanced at her, then back down at his task. “Around. Just working on a few projects down here.”
“Well, you’ve been missing the drama. The competition is well underway. I think Kat’s coming around, but she’s really been fighting it. They just raced, the other night—oh! Did you see her car? I know you’re into that.”
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 rambled on, twisting her finger around a strand of hair. “Dillon can sense it, 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 some tricks up his sleeves.” She sighed. “I love and hate to compete with him.”
Heff hissed a swear word and shook his thumb before sticking it in his mouth. His brow furrowed. “Honestly, Dita, I’d rather not talk about Ares.”
Dita blushed and stammered. Of course her husband didn’t want to talk about her lover. “I … I’m sorry, Heff. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” His face softened when he saw her embarrassment. “Really, Dita. It’s been going on for thousands of years. I’d rather just keep my head down and stay out of the way until it’s over.” He looked back to Bisoux.
Dita watched him work and chewed on her lip. He really did seem fine, and that made Dita feel even more like shit. They sat in silence for a moment while he finished up and slid the panel closed, pressing it in place with a click. Bisoux blinked his tiny black eyes and stretched out, then stood and trotted over to Dita, his nails clicking on the metal surface. She scooped him up and stood.
“Thank you,” she said, but all she could thi
nk was that she was sorry.
He turned and hung his tools in their neat places. “No problem. Let me know if it happens again.” He turned to her, his face full of reassurance. “You should probably feed him, too. He’s a little low on fuel after all that running around.” He smiled at her across the table, and her worry melted an iota.
“Will do. See you later, Heff.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she left and caught the sadness behind his bright eyes as he watched her walk away. She bit her lip as she ascended the spiral staircase, hating that she upset him. No wonder he had been hiding out. He didn’t want to bump into Ares. Ares, his brother. Ares, who she had been fucking for thousands of years.
So awkward, she thought as pushed the lobby button. Not with her and Heff. It helped that they had been married in the loosest definition of the word. But when Ares and Heff were together, things were tense. Their rivalry was one of Ares’ many, and one of Heff’s few.
When the elevator pinged, she walked through the lobby and into the kitchen where Dionysus sat on the counter next to a Pabst Blue Ribbon with his hands full of a gigantic bacon cheeseburger. Onions and mushrooms hung out of it, and ketchup dripped onto his fingers. His pouty lips bent into a grin, and his bright blue eyes twinkled. His longish, black hair hung down to just below his ears. He wore skinny shorts and boat shoes, and his tight, white tee had a print of a man in a derby hat playing a phonograph like a turntable with headphones to his ear.
He was the original party kid, the god of wine. God of partying. God of ecstasy — the emotion and the drug named after it. And long-time friend of Aphrodite.
“Hey, Dionysus.”
“Howdy, Dita. What’s shakin’?”
“Bisoux needs some nummies. Don’t you, petit garçon? Etes vous affamé?” Dita kissed his furry copper head and tugged the fridge door open. She grabbed a plate of ambrosia, kicked the fridge closed, and sat Bisoux down on the counter. He trotted over to Dionysus, who tossed him a cheesy mushroom.
Dita sliced off a piece of gooey, golden ambrosia and laid it on a plate, then closed her eyes. When she opened them, a gigantic, steaming turkey leg sat in the ambrosia’s place. She moved Bisoux to the island bar, and the little dog dove in as Dita hopped up on the bar and sat lotus.
