Beyond Temptation

by Kit Rocha

  "Yes." Every thrust rammed her hips against the smooth vinyl arm of the couch, and she could still taste herself from his fingers on her lips. It was raw and loud and so, so real. Every bit of sensation cascaded into a flame that unfurled inside her, fed by the harsh, trembling thread of desire in his voice.

  He ground in a circle, forcing her to feel his girth, how deep he could get. "You like my cock shoving into you?"

  "Yes," she choked out.

  Groaning, he withdrew until the head of his cock barely pressed against her. "Say it," he whispered roughly, and the need in his voice was so desperate, so naked--

  Even bound and trembling and physically helpless, she had the power to crush him.

  "I need you, because I love you." So close, and she already felt like she was floating. Free. "Just like this."

  Something inside him snapped. He dragged her up against his body, one steely arm crossing her chest, supporting her weight as his hand curled over her shoulder to anchor her in place.

  And he had to, because the next thrust was hard. Wild. He slammed into her, growling in her ear, the sound eclipsing the slap of his hips against hers as he fucked her. Fell into her.

  Loved her.

  With her back so sharply arched, every thrust hit her G-spot--but it wouldn't have mattered if he'd withdrawn and started whispering in her ear, because it was the force, the sheer desire behind it, that drove her over the edge. She shook apart, reckless and helpless and lost to the moment.

  That didn't matter, either. Noah would hold her.

  "Emma." It was the one thing that existed beyond her pleasure, his voice chanting her name as he rode her release to his own, and she was still drifting away when he shuddered and stilled with a final whisper. "I love you."

  There was no dark reservation behind the words now, just Noah, and tears pricked her eyes. "I know."

  For an endless moment he stayed like that, clutching her against him with trembling arms as his breath fell fast and hot on her cheek. When he finally moved, it was only to coax her a few unsteady steps back. He dropped into a chair and tugged her with him, his fingers fumbling at the belt until it slithered free.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, rubbing his hands over her arms.

  "Hmm?" It made no sense, because okay was such a weak word for this.

  She felt the curve of his lips when he kissed the back of her shoulder. "Good answer."

  Part of her wanted to stay like that, to ignore the reason they'd come there in the first place. "How long will it take to find what Dallas needs?"

  "Here, with all my equipment? Not long."

  He was stroking her bare skin, and Emma's eyes tried to flutter shut. She snapped them open. "If you're worried about being jumped here in Three, it seems safest to get the fuck out before dark."

  "I know." He caught her chin and tilted her head back, until his lips touched the corner of her mouth. "It's just hard to let you go."

  Her chest ached, like her heart was too small to contain the rush of joy at his words. "I'll be right here."

  He kissed her, quick and abrupt, pulling back as if he didn't trust himself not to fall into her. "That had better be a promise, sunshine."

  "Always."

  Chapter Eight

  Paranoia had driven Noah to park far from the entrance to the tunnels, and sometimes paranoia paid off.

  The bastards were staking out his bike.

  They didn't even try to hide. Three familiar figures milled around the motorcycle he'd taken from Dallas's garage. The fourth man was sitting on it, fiddling with levers as a cigarette dangled from his lips. He tapped a finger against the speedometer and muttered something that made one of the other men laugh, rough and ugly.

  James Hobbs could say any damn thing, no matter how inane, and the idiots clustered around him would laugh, eager to curry favor. Hobbs was one of Fleming's lieutenants, a man with just enough power and influence to support his chosen lifestyle of greed and violence.

  Not a smart man, not by Noah's standards. But he was cunning and vicious, and the sight of him shattered Noah's desperate illusions.

  Less than twenty-four hours after Noah had come out of hiding, Fleming had sent one of his top men into Dallas's territory, violating every agreement between the sector leaders--not to mention common fucking sense.

  This wasn't over. It would never be over.

  "Hobbs." Emma's jaw clenched. "Trouble, after all."

  Noah had two guns and a chance to claim the high ground--and the element of surprise. Decent odds of getting through to bring back help, as long as he didn't get distracted. "Do you remember the way back to the bunker?"

  But she was already drawing her own pistol. "You've got to be shitting me."

  He struggled to keep his face stern and cool as he grabbed her wrist. "Don't even think about it. You're going someplace safe."

  "Thought you said no place was safe as long as they were after you."

  "The middle of a gunfight is arguably less safe." He leaned into her, backing her against the crumbling brick wall, and he couldn't even lie to himself. This could be the last time he touched her. The last time the words hovering on his tongue would be true. "You said you were mine."

  "I also said it goes both ways." She laid her hand on his cheek. "I'm not leaving you, Noah. If there's gonna be a fight, I'll be here. Watching your back."

  No one had, not since Cib had gone off the rails. So many years of being alone, exhausted, and if having her was too good to be true, having her like this was some kind of cracked fantasy. A woman, a lover, a partner--

  Exactly what Dallas O'Kane had.

  Closing his eyes briefly, he pressed his forehead to hers. "How good of a shot are you?"

  "Let's just say you don't want to piss me off."

  Wanting to smile made him crazy, but he couldn't help it. She was deadly and she could take care of herself, and if shit went sideways and he couldn't be a part of the life she was going to build...

  She'd be okay. Emmaline Cibulski didn't need rescuing.

  "All right," he whispered, straightening. "They won't kill me, not here. I can go out--"

  "We," she corrected, wrapping her hand around his.

  He squeezed her hand. "Then stick close, and if it goes bad, go for Hobbs. He's a misogynist fuck who won't see you coming." And if something happened to him, the greatest danger to her would already be dead.

  Hobbs didn't rise as they walked out into the street, just took a long drag off his cigarette. "Speak of the devil," he said lazily. "This your bike, Lennox?"

  "Nope." Two of the fuckers were eyeing Emma, and Noah consoled himself with a silent promise to end them before they could touch her. "You can take it if you want, but it's your head if Dallas O'Kane wonders why you were in his territory, stealing from him."

  "Not here to take anything that belongs to O'Kane." He paused, filling his silence with a lingering appraisal of both Noah and Emma. "Mac's been looking for you."

  "Has he?"

  "Mmm. But you already knew that."

  Noah let the corner of his mouth curl up just a little, the perfect bored, condescending smile. "I wasn't sure. He hadn't sent anyone capable of actually finding me. Until now."

  "You'd never thrown in with Dallas O'Kane before," he answered distractedly, then pointed at Emma. "I know you."

  She stiffened, and Noah slid between them, breaking Hobbs's line of sight. "You know me," he said firmly. "You really think I've thrown my lot behind a goddamn bootlegger? At least Mac deals in medicine along with the drugs."

  "Desperate times." He snapped his fingers. "Shit. That's Cibulski's sister, isn't it?"

  His palm itched. It took every scrap of control not to go for a gun now, not to blow off Hobbs's head before he could say the wrong thing, spill a secret that would tear any and all comfort from Emma's memories of the past. "That's an O'Kane," he said instead. "I'm sure you all know what that means."

  "Noah Lennox--not such a saint after all." Hobbs laughed as he sw
ung his leg over the bike and rose. "Settle a bet for me. How much did you pay for her?"

  Brick after brick of lies and half-truths, and James kicked through them with seven words. He was glad Emma was behind him now, glad he wouldn't have to see her face when she realized the truth.

  And Hobbs would tell her. Noah could see it in his eyes, the animal instinct of having sniffed out a weak spot. The pleasure at being able to exploit it. "Don't do this," he said softly. "I'll end you, I swear to fucking God, James."

  The man's grin widened, turned wolfish. "Cib was a piece of shit, but he drove a hard bargain. He was asking twenty grand, cash, last I heard."

  It had started at five. That was the number Cib had floated in the nightmare Noah couldn't stop reliving. Five thousand dollars, and Emma would be his. It wasn't even some dirtbag plan to whore her out for the night, because Cib hadn't been sober enough to think long-term. He'd been strung out and desperate, intent on pawning the one family heirloom he had left.

  Five thousand bucks, and Noah would own his sister forever.

  Noah had shut him down, only to learn a week later that the five grand included a friendly discount. Open bidding started at ten thousand, and it became clear Cib wouldn't stop until he'd put money in his pocket.

  In the end, Noah almost wished he'd taken the original deal. It had cost him twenty-five thousand to buy Emma's freedom, and he'd paid it, thinking he was buying Cib's, too. Another week, and he could have gotten them both out of there, out of the sectors and away from the drugs fucking up his best friend's head.

  He didn't get a week. Cib turned up dead three days later, his corpse ceremoniously seated at the fucking kitchen table for Emma to find--a message and a warning.

  Hobbs interrupted his horrified reverie. "Come on, Lennox. Answer the question. How fucking much?"

  Emma spoke, her voice soft and deadly. "You don't listen very well, do you? He said to shut your face."

  Hobbs's grin vanished. "You've got a smart mouth, bitch."

  "You don't." Emma glanced at the other men, who'd gone on alert, shifting from lazy positions to watch closely. "Go tell Fleming he's too late. If he fucks with Noah, he fucks with the O'Kanes."

  Hobbs turned a hard gaze on Noah. "Nah. I don't think so."

  Noah had to move fast. The three other men were still milling about, silent shadows wearing brass knuckles and intimidating scowls. No guns, because Hobbs wouldn't have trusted them at his back, not when Noah might have offered them a sweet deal in exchange for a traitor's cheap shot. That was how he'd always operated--by turning his enemies against one another.

  Not this time. This time he wanted blood.

  He lunged to the side as he pulled his pistol, drawing Hobbs's attention with him. The man drew his weapon, but Emma was quicker. She squeezed off a round, and Hobbs stumbled backwards and fell.

  The closest other man swung at Noah. He took the hit on the left shoulder and spun around, ignoring the throbbing pain in favor of getting a better angle.

  No hesitation. No mercy. This close, a head shot was easy, final. One bullet, and the back of the man's head splattered all over the brick wall behind him. Noah spun and put a second bullet into another man's chest.

  Emma fired again, and the third man--the biggest--grunted as blood bloomed on his shoulder. He hit Noah, driving him to the cracked pavement.

  The impact knocked his gun out of his hand, and it skittered across the pavement to land in a pile of debris. Out of reach, pinned as he was beneath his attacker's weight. Twisting, Noah ground his thumb into the wound on the man's shoulder, eliciting a pained shout that ended in a grunt as he slammed his hands into Noah's throat.

  Emma yelled his name a split second before swooping down on the injured man with a wicked-looking knife in her hand. She stabbed him in the shoulder and then went flying as he reared back far enough for Noah to roll free.

  He came up with his second gun and put two bullets in the bastard's chest. He toppled in what felt like slow motion, a dreamy silence rent by Emma's furious shriek.

  Noah knew what had happened before he turned--a warning tingle at the back of his head, a clenching in his gut--

  Hobbs, his face pale and streaked with blood, held Emma crushed to his chest, her own knife pressed to the vulnerable column of her throat. She struggled, and the blade bit deeper, deep enough to draw a gasp--and a bright red line of blood.

  No nightmare compared to this.

  "Let her go," Noah said, amazed that he sounded so calm, so cool. He was shaking inside, rage and terror twisting up until there was no room left for anything else, no reason and no compassion.

  "Why?" Hobbs took a step back, dragging Emma along.

  "Because I can do worse than end you." The knife sliced into Emma's skin, and every drop of blood felt like failure. He had to get her away from this--away from him, if that was what it took. "Let her go, and I'll come back to Five with you."

  Her eyes widened. "Noah--"

  Hobbs ignored her. He coughed out a laugh, and flecks of red splattered Emma's shirt. "I'm not going back, Lennox. But I can take her with me."

  And he would, out of sheer spite. One last fuck you to the world and to Noah for sending him out of it, and there'd be nothing left. No brightness, no sunshine, no joy--

  Noah steadied his hands to risk a head shot, but the distinctive flick of a switchblade interrupted him. Emma's free arm, the one not bracing against the knife at her throat, jerked back. At the same time, she twisted, gripping Hobbs's wrist and wrenching it out at an unnatural angle.

  The knife clattered to their feet, and Emma kicked it away. But she didn't even have to bother, because Hobbs stood there, stock-still, and looked down at the wicked black handle protruding from his belly.

  Yeah, Emmaline Cibulski could fucking well take care of herself.

  It didn't stop Noah from shooting Hobbs, just in case.

  The man slammed to the asphalt, lifeless, Emma's knife still sticking out of his gut. Noah ignored him like he'd ignored the rest of the trash, striding across the space between them to reach for Emma. "Are you--?"

  She jerked away before he could touch her. "No."

  She was bleeding, but he didn't think the cut on her throat was the cause for the pain behind the words. And he wanted to pile more on top of it, to swear it wasn't as bad as it sounded, that Hobbs had twisted the truth--

  There was only one thing he could say. "I never thought I owned you."

  That froze the pain, turned it to ice in her eyes. "What did you say?"

  "I never--" His stomach twisted, and he clenched his fists. No excuses justified his failure. Anything he said now would be about making himself feel better. "Cib loved you," he said instead. "The drugs fucked him up. That's what they do."

  Her hands squeezed into fists, and for one second, Noah was sure she'd slap him, so sure he could already feel the crack of her palm across his cheek.

  She hit him with a whisper instead. "Do you even hear yourself? So fucking desperate to make sure I know you did everything you could, that you did everything right. Well, fuck you, okay?" Her voice rose. "I need a minute to wrap my head around the fact that my brother sold me like a goddamn whore, and no one ever bothered to tell me, so fuck you."

  It would have hurt less if she'd slapped him. If she'd stabbed him. But she was right, so Noah gritted his teeth and stayed silent.

  She stood there, staring at him. "The drugs fucked him up," she finally echoed in a rasp. "I buy that. But what's your excuse?"

  "My excuse?"

  "Cib figured he could sell me. And you figured you could buy me." She held both hands out to her sides. "Save me from my life, right? I'm sure it was all very noble."

  It didn't sound noble, not with the lash of disdain under her words. "It wasn't like that. God, Em--I wasn't buying you, I was buying time."

  "What did it change?" Her voice thickened, and the first tears spilled down her cheeks. "My brother was a fighter, and he loved me. If he was hawking me to his budd
ies like a fucking secondhand guitar, then he was dead already. Shit just hadn't caught up to him yet."

  Or maybe it was one more way Noah had failed--by not getting him out fast enough. Maybe he should have damned the debts, packed them up, run as far and as fast as possible, and fuck the consequences. "What else could I do?"

  "That's the wrong damn question, Noah."

  "Are you going to stand there bleeding while I try to guess the right one?" He reached for the hem of his shirt. "At least let me--"

  "No."

  If he touched her, she'd probably pull another knife. "I did what I could, okay? It was fucked up and selfish and wrong, but money was the only thing I had to fix it with."

  "That's the problem, and you don't even get it, do you? You still don't get it." Emma turned and headed for the opposite end of the alley--and the street. "Let me know when you figure it out."

  Worry propelled him another two steps after her. "Wait, you can't just walk back alone."

  "The hell I can't."

  Her voice made it clear this wasn't a battle he could win, but it was so hard to stop fighting. "At least take the fucking bike."

  She kept walking, right out of his life.

  It took everything he had in him to let her go.

  Chapter Nine

  Emma hated herself for crying, but she couldn't help it. Steam from the shower billowed around her as she leaned against the tile, fighting the ugly sobs that threatened to tear free of her throat. It didn't seem real yet, walking away from Noah Lennox. He'd been so many of her firsts--her first crush, her first love.

  Maybe it was only fitting that he be her first broken heart, too.

  The hot spray stung her neck, so she climbed out, toweled off, and gingerly applied a thin layer of med-gel over the shallow slice across her throat. She should have done it first thing, but she'd only wanted to hide in the shower and let the water wash away her tears.

  Her bed creaked, and she hated herself anew for hoping it was Noah, that he'd followed her, that he'd come back--