by Kit Rocha
He reached up and caught her wrist as it swung down. Wordlessly, she dropped the flogger. She braced her hands on either side of his head, careful to keep her weight off his tender skin as she dipped her head and brushed a kiss to his lips. “You with me, Bren?”
“I’m here.” Then, to prove it, he rolled them and pinned her to the bed. “Always.”
She flexed her wrists in his grip, then wrapped her legs around his hips. “Show me. Fuck me.”
Any other time, and he might have teased her, drawing out the pleasure just as she’d drawn out the pain, until they were both insensate, desperate.
He was already desperate. With his first rough thrust, he plunged his fingers into her hair and his tongue between her lips, anything to be closer, deeper. She welcomed him--tilting her head to meet his kiss and moaning at the resulting pull against her hair. Her legs tightened around him, her heels digging into his back, urging him forward.
“I’ll fuck you.” The words came without thought, with no filters left between his mouth and the most primal part of his brain. “Do you know why?”
“Tell me.”
“Because you’re mine.” Every inch of her, every breath. She was a strong woman--her own woman--and that was why he could lay claim to her. Because he didn’t have to hold her down or control her to own her.
Her nails raked across his back, bright little lines of pain that reignited his nerves. “I’m yours,” she agreed, panting. “But only because you’re mine.”
He didn’t just hear the words, he felt them, little shocks that zipped up his spine with every breathy syllable. He let go of her hair to tilt her hips, then fucked her faster, driving his cock over her G-spot until she convulsed beneath him. “Oh fuck, oh fuck--”
She turned her face into his neck, her breath hot. Her pussy clenched around his cock, impossibly tight, and her teeth sank into his shoulder, muffling her helpless moan as orgasm took her. No fucking force on earth could have kept him from following her, and he bit her in return as he came inside her.
They lay there--gasping for breath, locked in the moment--until Bren realized he was crushing her. He rolled away, only to have Six follow him, rolling onto him with a sleepy murmur before she froze and slid away again. “Shit, sorry,” she whispered, lifting a hand to marks on his chest. Her touch was gentle, but even the careful brush of her fingers stung.
“It’s okay.” He pulled her closer, her flushed skin cool against his. “I like it. It feels real.”
She relaxed back against him and stroked his hair back from his forehead. “You went pretty high.”
“Not too far. No crash.”
Her thumb found his lower hip and smoothed slowly back and forth. “I still get to take care of you. It’s in the rules. I’ll tattle to Ace if you argue with me.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He caught her chin and directed her gaze to his. “I’m square. It was perfect.”
“Yeah, it was.” She turned to kiss his fingertips. “I just like taking care of you. I wasn’t kidding, Donnelly. You’re mine.”
She was looking at him like he was all she’d ever need, and it sparked another kind of heat, one edged with determination. They took care of each other, and that went far beyond the bedroom.
So he had to ask. “Are you worried about the cafeteria?”
“A little.” She settled her head on his shoulder. “I know we can get it set up. We have the space, the supplies. Lex told me that even if people don’t show up, we can go to them. We can figure it out.”
But being patient was hard as hell, especially when it came to kids going hungry instead of accepting help. “Trust is hard-won. But I think we’ve made a good start.”
“Yeah.” She snuggled closer to him, her hand coming to rest on his chest again. “Do you think Daniel will bring the others when he comes to get his gun?”
“Probably.” If it were just Daniel, he might retrieve his weapon and hit the road, never to be seen again. But Bren had a feeling he’d keep coming back, if only for younger kids’ sakes. It could take weeks or months to convince Daniel that they were on the level, but it would happen.
It had to.
Laurel
It was starting to feel normal, looking at the world through the crosshairs of a scope.
The guy in the alley below her moved slowly, and Laurel tensed. Some people had a sense for when they were being watched, and she’d even met a few who seemed to feel when a sniper had a bead on them. But her target was strolling along with the laziness of a man with no worries, like he hadn’t a care in the world.
And why shouldn’t he? He’d been getting away with murder for months.
Okay, not actual murder, but the next worst thing. According to her sources, he’d built up a handy scam--offering his services as a scout to terrified city folk who wanted out. They’d been so traumatized by the recent civil war that they were eager to pay someone to find mountain communities willing to accept new arrivals. And this shady fucker, who operated under at least a dozen aliases she’d managed to uncover, took their money and never looked back.
It never would have flown in Sector Three. Even if Six didn’t shut him down immediately, people there talked. A couple days on the grapevine, and this motherfucker’s ready supply of marks would dry up, leaving nothing but stony looks and doors slammed in his face. If they didn’t exact their own form of mob vengeance for his sins.
The people in Eden didn’t have that sort of community. They couldn’t talk to their neighbors, especially about something as personal and risky as fleeing the war-torn city. It was sad, and it was wrong...and just thinking about it got Laurel’s finger twitching on the trigger of her rifle.
Not yet.
He was still in shadow, and she needed to see his face. She had to know that she was punching a couple of well-deserved holes in the right person.
He stepped into a heavy pool of light near the end of the alleyway, but the pressure in Laurel’s chest didn’t ease. If anything, it tightened, constricting her lungs. She could squeeze the trigger right now and erase this stain from existence. It would be so goddamn easy--
The thought locked her trigger finger. Easy was what let this guy run his scams like it was nothing. He took their money and never looked back, because looking back was hard as hell. And maybe he couldn’t do it if he had to see the desperation that had led them to him in the first place deepen into panic as they realized they’d lost everything.
Or maybe he could. Maybe it was nothing to him, and he deserved this bullet more than even she could fathom.
Still, Laurel slipped her finger off the trigger and watched through the scope as he knocked on a steel door at the end of the alley. A small panel slid open, and he exchanged a few words with the person inside before passing a credit stick through the panel. It slid shut, and the door opened.
She watched her prey saunter into the underground brothel, only looking away when the heavy door slammed shut behind him. She’d missed her shot, but that was okay. Better than okay.
Necessary.
For human trash like him, easy might be enough. But not for her. The line between justice and murder was painfully thin, and she had to be careful to stay on the right side of it. If she slipped over, if she stopped giving a shit--
She’d never be able to live with herself. The slow, creeping sense of futility that had been raking its dull claws over her since the end of the war would grow fangs, and she’d never stop bleeding.
She leaned back from the window sill and began breaking down her rifle. When she killed this one, she’d do it up close. Personal. He’d know exactly what was happening and why, and she’d face down her choice with unblinking honesty. She’d feel the hot blood, watch the life drain from his eyes. It was more dangerous, but she was willing to risk it.
And if it was hard? Well, that would just mean she hadn’t lost her soul yet.
Chapter Four
Most of the O’Kanes seemed to lose their collective minds whenever
Ace cooed at a baby.
Six melted watching Bren teach a wary teenager how to clean a gun.
“Good, slide assembly’s off.” Bren used the tip of a thin bristle brush to point to the recoil spring on the bottom of the slide. “Now get that spring out of there, and you’ll be able to remove the barrel. That’s what we’re after right now.”
A tug on Six’s sleeve drew her attention back to the girl at her side. Dee had crumbs on her shirt and a tiny bit of jam at the corner of her mouth, all that was left of the enormous breakfast she’d devoured. And her thin face was very serious.
Six met her gaze with equal seriousness. “What’s up?”
“Do you have any more paper?” She held up the outline of a horse grazing at a farm that she’d meticulously colored in--the horse a whimsical shade of purple with a flowing blue mane, and the barn behind it bright red against the black sky. “I did mine already.”
“Let me check.” Six hopped off the edge of the stage and snatched up another plate of pastries. She set them on Dee’s other side, closer to the younger boys. The older boy--Josh--still eyed the room warily, but Six knew as soon as her back was turned, he’d pounce on the plate.
Seth, the younger boy, was engrossed in his coloring. The furrow between his brows reminded her of Ace, and there was nothing whimsical about his color choices. By the time he was done, she’d have a photo-realistic piece of art on her hands. If she showed it to Ace, he’d probably swoop over here and try to kidnap the kid for art lessons.
Six passed Bren, who was showing Daniel how to apply solvent to a patch of cloth, and picked up the coloring book from the bar counter. She’d had no idea such a thing even existed, much less where to find one. Laurel had been the one to arrive with a satchel filled with a rainbow’s worth of crayons and a stack of books filled with outlined pictures the kids could color in. Where she’d found them, Six couldn’t begin to imagine. But the coloring had turned out to be a hit, and Six owed Laurel profuse thanks.
She returned to the stage and held out the book to Dee, who took it with sticky fingers and immediately started paging through. She paused with a frown. “What’s this?”
Fuck if I know. The picture was of a woman--kind of. The bottom half of her body was a giant fish tail, and instead of clothes she just had a pair of shells covering her tits, which looked massively uncomfortable. Six turned a couple more pages and found a woman in a flowing dress and a crown on her head. “I don’t know, but I know what this is. She’s a princess.”
“What’s a princess?”
“It’s a woman whose parents were important or powerful people. Princesses have a lot of money, and the good ones like to help people.”
Dee give her a sidelong look. “Are you a princess?”
“Fuck, no.” She handed the book back to Dee. “I grew up like you. But I know a princess. Her name’s Maricela, and she lives in Sector One. She wears dresses just like that one.”
Dee’s eyes brightened in interest. “What color?”
Six had only ever seen Sector One’s princess in the sort of pristine white that no one with sense wore because it would be ruined the first time you stepped outside. But since white wasn’t one of the colors clutched in Dee’s fist, she fudged the truth. “Well, she’s a princess. That means she wears whatever damn color she wants. So pick your favorite.”
Tasha hopped up onto the stage on Dee’s other side and used her napkin to wipe the corner of the tiny girl’s mouth. “Why don’t you do pink?” She gave her dirty sweatshirt a fond tug. “Like your hoodie.”
“Okay.” Dee wiggled back to sprawl out on the stage on her stomach, keeping her crayons clenched tight in her free hand even as she started to color. No doubt her short life had taught her that putting down anything she valued was a good way to have someone else snatch it away.
Six’s chest ached.
Tasha curled her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the coloring book. Finally, she spoke softly. “Do you have any with words?”
The ache bloomed into something sharper. “Yeah,” Six said, slipping off the stage again. “Follow me.”
She waited, knowing the magnitude of what she was asking. For Tasha to peel away from the group, with a strange adult, alone. For her to leave the younger kids to fend for themselves.
It took her a moment to nod, and she brushed her hand over Dee’s hair as she slid off the edge of the stage. “I’ll be right back, okay? If you need me, yell.”
She led Tasha through the swinging door and past the posters lining the wall to her office. The original tablet Noelle had given her sat on her desk, filled to the brim with books. Six still couldn’t relax into reading the way Noelle did--most of the time she turned on the screenreader and followed the words, trying to fix the different combinations of letters into her brain.
Reading might never come naturally to her. She’d been too old when she tried to start. No one had been around to offer her lessons.
Or books.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Six bypassed the tablet and strode to the bookshelf. Noelle’s touch was visible here, too. Every time she came to visit, she always had a stack of weathered books, the vivid colors faded by time, the corners of the covers creased or torn. She’d organized them on Six’s shelf, rearranging them each time according to some inner sense of order.
“Here,” Six said, waving to the spines. “My friend brings them over. I mostly read on my tablet, but she likes books you can hold.”
The girl approached the shelves hesitantly, but not as hesitantly as the food, as if the lure of the books was stronger. She chose one of the books, running her fingers over the smooth cover before opening it to the middle. Her head moved slightly from side to side as she stared down at the pages.
Reading. Hell, reading fast. “You look pretty good at that.”
She slammed the book shut, then winced as she straightened a wrinkled page. “I can read. My mom taught me, before...” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Before.”
Six nodded and kept her voice soft. “My mom never got a chance. I only started learning a couple years ago. You got a big head start on me.”
“Yeah, okay.” She slid the book back into its space on the shelf. “I should get back.”
“You can take it, if you want.” Six leaned back against her desk, gripping her hands around the edge to keep from finding a bag and loading it down with every damn book on the shelf. “As long as you promise to take care of it, and bring it back when you’re done.”
Tasha stopped, then shook her head again. “I shouldn’t.”
Six struggled for the words, any words. Something that would soothe her, or convince her it was safe. But the first whiff of manipulation would send the girl running. Nothing would work but honesty and patience. “I get it. I’m not gonna push. It’s there if you want it. Now or tomorrow or next week. Your call, Tasha.”
“You don’t--I mean, it’s not--” The girl sighed and fidgeted under Six’s scrutiny. “I can’t promise to take care of it. I would try, but shit gets stolen sometimes, or just messed up. So I can’t promise.”
Idiot. Maybe she had gotten soft. The condition had seemed like a good way to make the book not feel like charity, but she’d forgotten the harsh reality of the girl’s life. Nothing precious could be protected.
Not out there.
Six pushed off the desk and pulled the book free again. “Then read it while you’re here. You can come back to finish it some other day.”
The yearning on the girl’s face hurt to look at, and an eternity passed before she reached out and took the book. “Maybe just while Dee is busy.”
“Sounds good.”
Six tried not to let her relief show as she herded Tasha back out to the main floor. The girl made a beeline for Dee, hopping back up onto the stage before checking on the younger boys with a quiet responsibility that sent that sharp pain through Six’s heart again.
One look at Bren and Daniel healed it.
T
he oldest boy was transfixed. All wariness was gone as he watched Bren’s fingers avidly, following each movement as he reassembled the pistol. She couldn’t hear their words from her spot in the doorway, just the gentle rumble of Bren’s voice as he patiently explained something.
The moment wouldn’t last. The lesson would wind to an end and reality would intrude, and Daniel’s walls would return. Maybe even more unassailable at first--backlash for his moment of carelessness. But Bren would still be...Bren. Relentlessly patient. A rock of safety in an uncertain world.
When he’d come into her life, she’d been beyond feral. Snarling and enraged and so far past hopeless, the word hope had barely even existed for her. Bren had brought it back, one painstaking day at a time.
Together, they’d do it for these kids. She knew it in that moment, with irrational certainty. Maybe not today or tomorrow, maybe not even next week or next month...
But one day at a time, one kid at a time, they were going to fix this part of their world. Even if it took the rest of their goddamn lives.
Chapter Five
Joe Gilmer was sitting across her desk from her, and Six still couldn’t quite believe the old man was real.
None of the old-timers had pushed back when Dallas named her the official leader of Sector Three--but none of them had accepted her invitations for a meeting, either. They were more comfortable dealing with Bren, who was at least older, if not their age, and who could meet them with the gravity of an ex-Special Tasks soldier who wasn’t intimidated by their shit.
Six wasn’t intimidated, either. But she could remember being a fifteen-year-old who had walked softly around the man staring back at her--and he could probably remember the days when she’d been a feral little thief.
Gilmer was a legend. His respect was hard-won and easily lost. His presence in her office was a turning point for her leadership and the sector.
She just had to get her damn words out. “Can I get you a drink, Gil?”