by Kit Rocha
“I just had some coffee,” he grumbled. He was starting to look uncomfortable, and the reason why became apparent when he gestured behind Six with one gnarled finger. “Do I need to be worried about your girl, there?”
“Who, me?” Laurel was perched on a crate, one boot propped against the side of another as she made a big show of cleaning beneath her short fingernails with an oversized knife. “I’m harmless, Gil.”
He snorted.
Six shot Laurel a quelling look, but with the tension broken, it was easier to speak. “Just ignore her. She hasn’t had her coffee yet. Bren told me he talked to you about our plans for the recycling center.”
“He mentioned them. Said you’d be getting your hands on some machinery soon.”
“We’ve got one in place, two more on the way.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But we need someone who knows how to run them at peak capacity if we really want to get this going.” Six leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her desk. “Bren said you thought the 3D printers were a good idea. I have a lead on a few. I figure with all the rebuilding and new construction that’s going on... Well, why shouldn’t Three be the one getting rich off the need for tools and hardware?”
He met her gaze mildly. “You need workers. And someone who knows how to run this kind of operation.”
“And we’re willing to pay.” She tried to keep her voice even, to harness the hope and the excitement. “Real money, Gil. I’m not looking to rebuild the shit conditions of the factory. I want a strong sector, and we’re strong when we’re all winning.”
“You don’t have to convince me. But I’m old. Been out of the game too long.” He looked away, his age showing more on his face than ever. “And some wounds, they don’t ever heal.”
The bombs had fallen on Three before Six’s birth, but sector legend whispered that Gilmer had been there that day. In the heart of the factory district. Ground zero. That he’d been the one to organize bystanders, to urge people to dig for survivors.
Less than a year ago, Six had stood in the rubble of Sector Two, digging through devastated buildings, hoping to find one or two people who’d survived through luck or architectural miracles or the grace of a God she’d never believed in. The memory wouldn’t soon fade, and that hadn’t even been her sector or her people.
Asking Gilmer to walk back into the worst day of his life was too cruel, even if she needed him.
Taking a steady breath, she fell back to Plan B. “I understand. But what if I find the people for you? Smart people who can learn fast. Can you teach them?”
He held up both hands. “Hey, I’ll teach anyone you can find anything they want to know. I got no problem with that.”
“What if they’re girls?” Six quirked one eyebrow in quiet challenge. “You got a problem teaching girls?”
He wrinkled his nose at her. “I’m not one of those little street rats who ran around with Wilson Trent. My mother worked three jobs to feed her kids, and that was before the goddamn Flares. Don’t insult me.”
The sincere outrage in his voice loosened the concern in her chest, even if she knew she had to smooth his ruffled feathers. “Sorry. Not all of your poker buddies agree with you, so I had to be sure.”
“Yeah, and they’re not sitting here.” Gil stroked his chin. “How are you gonna handle pricing? Shipping? Hell, wages?”
Six had a lot of ideas, and a lot of even smarter people. Mia would probably salivate at the chance to help build an entire business model from the ground up, and Ford and Ryder knew factory operations like no one else.
That was the best part of being an O’Kane--knowing that whatever problem you were facing, someone knew the answer.
For now, she just needed one thing. So she held out her hand. “You can help us figure that part out, if you want. All I need to know is if you’re in.”
He stared at her outstretched hand and sucked on his teeth before exhaling roughly. “I don’t know if you’re crazy or what, taking this on. But what the hell?” He shook her hand. “I’m in.”
His hand was weathered and calloused, but his grip was still strong. Six squeezed his hand with a smile. “Welcome to the team, Gil. Bren was hoping to talk to you on the way out. He should be in the front.”
“Will do.” Gil rose. For the first time, a smile creased his face. “Be seeing you, Six.”
He walked out, but not before another pointed look at Laurel. She tossed him a jaunty wave in response, then laughed as the door closed behind him. “Old, my ass. That bastard’ll still be kicking when the rest of us are long gone.”
“He survived the end of the world. Three times, now.” Six twisted her chair so she could face Laurel. “I’d guess he’s too stubborn to die.”
“We could all learn a lesson from Gil.” She slipped the giant knife into the sheath strapped around her thigh. “So you’re really doing it, huh? Going legit?”
“I guess so.” Six rested her boot against the crate Laurel was perched on. “We could make money, if we do this right. A lot of it. Not just live-comfortably money. Like fix-the-broken-shit money.”
“Sounds like a pretty good life.”
There it was again. That restlessness. Six could keep pivoting, trying to find new things to interest Laurel, to keep her with them...but that would just mean delaying the inevitable. “But not the life for you.”
Laurel avoided meeting her eyes. “We’ve already had this conversation. This is your story, remember?” Her troubled expression smoothed as she slid off the crate. “That doesn’t mean I want out. But you’ve got this, you know? And maybe there are other places that need me more right now.”
“Laurel.” Six leaned forward to catch her wrist. Because of Lex and Dallas, she knew exactly what to say. “It’s not about in or out, okay? This is your home. This’ll always be your home. Whether you’re here one night a month or you park your ass in my office all day and terrorize everyone who comes through.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she blinked them away in a heartbeat. “That last part is pretty tempting.”
“Save it for special occasions.” Six slid her hand down to squeeze Laurel’s once before releasing her. “You know Mad? Back before the war, he used to work for Dallas in a different way from the other guys. Instead of helping run the day-to-day shit, he’d go out and see what was going on. Sometimes in other sectors, sometimes even beyond the borders. Dallas trusted him to bring back the intel he needed...and to deal with shit that needed to be dealt with.”
Laurel nodded, then looked away again. “I can’t say I’d be any good at that, but if I learn anything you need to know, you’ll know. I swear.”
“I know. I trust you.” Six pushed out of her chair. “I’ve had enough desk shit for the day. Wanna crash the advanced weapons class with me? They’re playing with knives today.”
“Nah, I’ve got something to take care of.” Laurel’s fingers drifted back to the hilt of her knife. “I put it off the other night, but you know. It needs to get done.”
The restlessness was gone, replaced by a sense of purpose that meant Laurel was focused on a target. They never talked about Laurel’s side-projects, her pursuit of vigilante justice. If they talked about them, Six would have to have an official opinion, and Laurel would never put her in that position.
Even if Six ordered her to.
She wouldn’t. She trusted Laurel’s judgment--and there were some downsides to going legit. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Take backup if you need it.”
“Thanks, but I’m square.” She backed toward the door. “I’ll take care of myself, Six. I always do.”
Then she was gone.
For a few moments, Six grappled with vicious envy. Whoever had attracted Laurel’s attention was no doubt bad news. Stalking bad guys through the streets and delivering brutal, final justice was an immediate rush that a desk full of paperwork couldn’t hope to match.
Now she understood how surly Dallas looked sometimes, whe
n his men were rolling out to crack heads and right wrongs, and he was stuck at a desk, staring at files and notes. But the scraps of paper scattered across Six’s desk had the potential to touch hundreds of lives. Dallas might grumble, but he did the fucking work. Because that was the only way to turn dreams into reality.
So Six sank back into the chair and forced herself to write up the notes from her meeting with Gilmer. That turned into reviewing the specs Mia had sent her about the different types of 3D printing machines available for purchase.
She was halfway through the third page of Mia’s impossibly neat handwriting when a child’s squeal of laughter drifted through her open door. Hope leapt in her chest, and she abandoned her office to venture down the hallway.
Daniel and the kids were back. That part wasn’t a surprise--they’d been showing up every morning for the last week, drawn by the free breakfast and the lure of books and Laurel’s bag of crayons. Ace had even promised to stop by today to bring some colored pencils and art paper for Seth.
Ace had arrived. But so had four more kids Six didn’t recognize. The newcomers huddled around the table of food, perched on the edge of the bench as if they might bolt at any second, and they watched the stage with wide-eyed wariness.
Ace was sprawled on his stomach across from Seth, a giant sketchpad between them. Seth was holding a colored pencil gingerly, as if terrified of breaking it, while Ace sketched quickly. “How’s this look?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
Dee, who was perched on his back, clapped her hands together. “It’s me! I’m a princess!”
“You sure are.” He tore out the page and handed it back to Dee, who cradled it like a treasure. Then he turned the pad toward Seth. “Don’t worry about wasting paper. Just go for it.”
They bent their heads over the sketchpad as Dee scrambled past Tasha--who had her nose buried in a book--and off the stage. Six hung back as the little girl rushed to the table where Daniel and Bren were seated with another teenage boy, repeating the gun-cleaning lesson with the new kid’s busted-up weapon.
Daniel obediently examined his little sister’s prize, as Bren continued his instructions in a low, even voice. The new kids relaxed marginally, their attention shifting more fully to the food on their plates, and the sudden giddy warmth in Six’s chest nearly stole her breath.
Maybe it wasn’t a domestic scene like Hawk’s little cabin with its crib, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be her domestic bliss. If the O’Kanes had taught her anything, it was that family wasn’t just about babies or blood or any other rules someone else got to decide.
Family was like any other dream--restricted only by the limits of your imagination.
Bren glanced up from the disassembled pistol, his eyes crinkling around the edges in warmth as he smiled at her. And she knew in that moment that this was what she wanted her family to look like--Bren and lost kids who needed a safe place and the O’Kanes always on hand to help out. Schools and gun lessons and feeding people’s bodies as well as their minds, so they’d never have to fight as hard just to survive as she and Bren had.
“Hey.” Bren stepped in front of her, blocking out the rest of the room as he brushed a tear from her cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She scrubbed at her eyes, only now noticing the embarrassing sting. “It’s just...good. It’s really good.”
He slid his fingers around to the back of her neck and stroked her jaw with his thumb. “You know, I was thinking... The third floor’s empty. Maybe we should put some bunks up there, just in case.”
She’d thought she’d understood all the ways her chest could ache, but this was new. The sweetest kind of pain--her heart pressing against all the walls she’d built, pressing so hard it threatened to shatter them for good.
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice thick. “Even if it means getting smarter about locking up the shit we don’t want them to steal.”
“Yeah, sometimes they steal from you.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “But sometimes they bring it back, and those are the times that make it all worth it. Coop taught me that.”
Smiling, Six went up on her toes and kissed Bren. His lips were soft, his kiss tasted salty, like her tears--and for the first time in her life, Six didn’t care that she was crying. Some kinds of happiness were just too fucking big to feel only on the inside. “Let’s do it.”
He kissed her back, deep enough to curl her toes, and she let the rest of her defenses crumble. No, wrangling wary kids who’d probably rob them half the time wouldn’t be everyone’s idea of happily ever after. But it was hers. It was perfect.
And it would never, ever get boring.
About the Author
Kit Rocha is the pseudonym for co-writing team Donna Herren and Bree Bridges. After penning dozens of paranormal novels, novellas and stories as Moira Rogers, they branched out into gritty, sexy dystopian romance. The Beyond series has appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists, and was honored with a 2013 RT Reviewer's Choice award. Get updates about their new books by subscribing to their announcement list, or visit their website at kitrocha.com
Copyright Information
Beyond Doubt
Copyright © 2017 by Kit Rocha
This novella is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.