by Kit Rocha
When Mad smiled at you like that, denial wasn't an option. "That's a sweet offer."
"It's an open one." He kissed her temple before shifting his attention to Dylan. "It always will be."
Dylan returned his smile indulgently and shrugged. "I should probably take my ink before I move onto the compound."
Mad went still and tense. "You're taking ink?"
Scarlet could only think of one thing Dallas could have offered him that had the remotest chance of changing his mind. "The hospital."
"The hospital," Dylan agreed. "Dallas builds it and I run it, but I'm not naive enough to think this is an alliance. It's a first step. It's not a done deal—the ink—but I figure it's only a matter of time."
"A trained doctor is a valuable commodity." Jade shifted in Scarlet's arms and caressed Dylan's cheek. "Dallas will chase you forever. But you don't have to let him catch you."
He touched her hand. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm not afraid of Dallas. And it isn't about him, anyway. The truth is that by the time I've seen the O'Kanes through this—this war, then I'll already be one of you in all the ways that matter."
"You are now," Mad said, reaching out. "Get over here."
He came to them, sliding close to Jade's back. With the bed as small as it was, he didn't have to move far, but even closing that scant amount of distance was like laying in the last piece of a puzzle. Suddenly, there were no gaps, no spaces. Nothing left unfilled.
Mad rested his hand on Dylan's hip. In return, Dylan touched his arm, rubbing his thumb slowly over the lines of ink just below Mad's elbow. It was a quiet moment, as intimate as a kiss, and Scarlet drank it in—the heat, the tiny hints of movement, the soft murmur of voices blending together in contentment.
Then she closed her eyes and let it lull her to sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
The second meeting of the leaders of the sector rebellion—which was what Mad had begun calling them in his head, if not out loud—began as warily as the first.
They were back in Gideon's sun-filled meeting room, ignoring the glasses of lemonade Maricela had delivered with her own hands. The whole house was eerily quiet, as if the servants had been encouraged to find someplace else to be. Gideon was clearly taking no chances today, and for good reason.
Trust was fragile. And the people around the table slanted heavily toward allegiance with Dallas. More so than last time, with Jade seated at Mad's left, a tablet lying beneath her folded hands.
They all had tablets. Even Dallas, whose hatred of tech was the stuff of legend. The lists of resources compiled on each screen ranged from criminal to treasonous, and someone had to go first.
Jim Jernigan cleared his throat. "I control most of the large-scale goods manufacturing for the city. Shirts to shoe polish. Inconsequential, unless you plan on a war of attrition, a fight that takes so long they'll give themselves up for a few creature comforts."
"Not a bad idea," Dallas drawled. "Except for the part where they'll bomb us as soon as they realize we're holding back the latest fashion accessory they just have to have. Same problem I have with my hacker friend. Once he starts fucking with their systems, we better be ready to end shit. Fast."
"I can't help you with the bombs, O'Kane. But I can give you something—if you let me borrow your hacker." Jim turned his tablet around. On the display was a cluster of weapons schematics. "The Mark series, handguns to sniper rifles. My people designed them for the military police. Useless without biometric access."
Mad held out a hand for the tablet. "Can I take a look?"
He handed it over. "Be my guest."
Weapons schematics weren't Mad's specialty, but he'd learned enough from Bren to muddle through. He swiped through a few models before glancing at Dallas. "Noah shouldn't have a problem. At the very least, he can disable all the guns at once. With a little finesse—and a bunch of thumbprints—he might even be able to switch the biometric authorizations over to our people."
"Clever." Dallas eyed Jim. "Got back doors into anything else you've built for them?"
"That's the biggest score." Jim's face hardened. "The only purely military one."
He didn't seem pleased with the question. Not that Mad would have expected him to rejoice over the possibility of civilian casualties within Eden—probably. Some sector leaders might have taken glee in it, after all, oblivious to the reality that inequality existed on both sides of the wall.
Knowing Jim wasn't one of them made trusting him a bit easier.
Next to Mad, Jade cleared her throat softly. "I'm afraid what I have to offer isn't so easily targeted at the people in charge. But the leverage could be considerable." She swiped her fingers across her tablet and avoided Mad's gaze. "As of this morning, I own a controlling interest in fourteen of the twenty-three major farms and communes currently supplying Eden. The percentage amongst the minor and illegal farms is lower, but in all it's just short of sixty percent of their food supply."
The words fell into a silence so complete that the ice cracking in Mad's glass sounded like a shot.
Jade continued studiously not looking at him, which was for the best, really, since he was probably gaping at her like an idiot. He'd always idly wondered how much of Eden she actually owned.
He hadn't expected the answer to be a sizeable fucking chunk.
"Bullshit," Jim said. "There's no way the Council would let that happen."
"The Council never noticed." She offered Jim a slight, cool smile. "My man of business is resourceful. As far as the Council knows, ownership is spread across almost two dozen different men." She shrugged. "Access to Gareth Woods and his intimate circle gave me certain insights into when and how to focus my investments to avoid suspicion. And maximize their potential."
Dallas shifted forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. "Jade and Lex and I had a few heated debates about what to do with this opportunity. Because I think we all know trying to starve them out would hurt the people who are already hurting way before it hurt the people in charge. But there are some alternatives."
Ryder lifted one eyebrow. "Such as?"
Lex inclined her head. "We've been running liquor and beer in and out of Eden for years. Granted, partly because they've let us—but we've still managed to set up some supply routes under the radar. We think we can keep enough food going in. And, more importantly, make sure it gets to the right people."
Gideon finally spoke. "And they'll know exactly who it's coming from."
Ryder leaned back, as if distancing himself from the rest of them. "I can withhold drugs and med-gel. I don't like it, though, for the same reasons you don't want to starve them, and Jim doesn't want to blow up their power centers."
"Because you all have boundaries." Gideon tapped the table. "That's good. That means if we pull this off, maybe we won't be in their shoes a year from now, facing down a revolution of our own."
"If we pull this off," Dallas agreed. "Because Eden's not gonna have any reservations about starving, poisoning, or just straight-up bombing the shit out of our civilian population."
Lex rubbed at the tense spot between his shoulders. "The upside is that we expect that kind of shit from them. We've been getting it for years. So we're prepared."
"As for the bombs…" Gideon took a deep breath before meeting Dallas's eyes. "Jim and Ryder may be in personal danger, but Eden can't risk their facilities. And the Council has nothing to gain and everything to lose by endangering their closest food supplies in Six and Seven. If they come back with bombs, it will be your people or mine dying. Maybe your people and mine."
Dallas didn't need to be told. The darkness in his eyes was beyond anything Mad had ever seen in him before, even in the early days, when death waited for them around every corner. Even in the war for Sector Four, when he'd watched his friends and people die around him and for him.
It wasn't just the weight of the O'Kanes on his shoulders now. It was every life in his sector. Every crafter, every cook, every fighter and da
ncer and petty thief. Eden would come for Dallas, and the closer you stood to him, the greater your chance of dying a hard, ugly death when that day came.
It would have been easier on him if every last fucking one of the people he loved had run for the hills.
"I know," was all he said, his voice firm and flat. "I have men organizing evacuation and rescue routes, but there's only so much we can do without tipping our hand. The strike in Two gives us an excuse to take some precautions, but…"
It wasn't enough. Nothing could be enough.
"Speaking of Two." Jim slid his tablet away from him. "What are we going to do about it?"
"You said Cerys was gone before the bombs fell," Gideon said. "Judging by the reports from my men, she might not have been the only one. The big river estates outside the blast zone were empty. Offices cleaned out, clothes packed…"
"Eden probably preserved the resources they couldn't replace." Jade's expression was bleak. "The men with the most valuable trading connections. Everyone else was expendable."
"To Eden," Gideon told her softly. "Not to us. We'll find a way to take care of the survivors."
Mad was finally starting to understand Jade, to recognize the subtle shifts in her body language and know what was coming. Which was why his gut twisted when her back straightened and her brow furrowed.
"We can fold them into One and Three," Lex suggested. "Anyone who wants to go. Then, when this is all over, we'll rebuild."
Jim snorted. "You want them to leave a place that was just bombed and go somewhere else that'll probably get bombed?"
Jade's fingers curled toward her palms. Her knuckles stood out stark and white, and Mad scrambled for a solution, for some way to divert the weight that was so familiar he could feel its ache in his own shoulders.
But there was no simple answer.
Gideon was already agreeing with Jim. "Two is probably the safest place in the sectors right now. And we might as well use those abandoned estates."
"A bunch of traumatized refugees in the biggest looting free-for-all the sectors have ever offered up?" Dallas shook his head. "I know you're a dreamer, Gideon, but that's asking for another disaster."
"It isn't," Gideon insisted. "We can organize guards."
"And pay them with what? Promises? War's expensive, Gideon."
"With money," Jade said, her voice so calm and clear that it broke Mad's heart. "My money. The rest of you should stay focused on Eden. I have time to do this. Let me take care of Sector Two. No one knows it better than I do."
It was true. And it would hurt her. Mad met Lex's eyes and begged silently for her to do something. She stared back, her eyes haunted by shadows that deepened with each passing second.
She finally looked away. "Money, Jade. You kick in with that, and we'll handle—"
"Let me do this, Lex." Jade slid her hand to cover Mad's and squeezed it, begging the same thing of him with just a touch. "Cerys kept me in her pocket for all those years. She wanted you to follow her, but she settled for me. I know the people. I know what they need. And I need to do this."
The fierceness of her grip told Mad the truth. She needed this, the same way he'd needed to take them to the shrine where his mother had died. She needed to rip open the scars and hope they'd heal cleaner this time. And even if they didn't, she had to know she'd tried.
His challenge was to let her. To help her.
Lex leaned back and raised both hands in surrender. "I'm not stopping you. I'm just offering alternatives."
"So that would make Jade the new leader of Two, for better or worse." Dallas inclined his head toward her. "Congratulations. And my condolences."
Jade returned his wry smile. "Thank you. I think."
"Don't worry. The gratitude will pass." Dallas sighed. "Most of my men are tied up in Three. Gideon, can you lend us one of your Riders to help Jade manage security?"
"Deacon," Mad said quickly. "He knows Two, and he may still have contacts there." And Deacon would keep Jade safe when Mad couldn't be there—especially once he realized how very much Mad valued her safety.
There were advantages to being a prince, after all.
"I can spare Deacon," Gideon said. "And perhaps a few more workers to help make more of Two livable."
At this, Jim rose, and it was obvious the meeting was over. He buttoned his suit jacket and looked around the table. "Get your shit in order, ladies and gentlemen." He spoke with the air of a general calling his troops to war. "It's been long in coming, but time's running short now. May Gideon's God have mercy on us all."
Especially Mad. Because Scarlet and Dylan weren't going to be happy with him. "Amen."
Cruz
The wall in front of Cruz was seamless cement with a metal sign mounted at waist height. Block letters spelled out EAST QUADRANT with an arrow pointing left, and SECTOR FOUR with an arrow pointing right.
That was it. A cement wall. A metal sign. But the schematic on his tablet—a schematic provided by Noah—indicated a wide tunnel behind that sign. A tunnel that provided a straight shot to Eden.
Cruz handed the tablet to Bren and flicked open his knife. "Let's hope Noah's grandfather wasn't crazy."
"Oh, he was definitely crazy," Bren muttered. "But he was also meticulous with his records."
True enough—thus far. But the revelation that a wall Cruz had walked by a hundred times over the years wasn't a wall at all, but a door—
Cruz worked his knife under the edge of the sign, and the odd placement of it was what made him believe. There were signs in the underground tunnels connecting the sectors to Eden, but most were at major intersections between sectors, not plastered on to walls. He'd always chalked this sign up to the fact that the tunnels hadn't been fully completed before the Flares.
As the edge came up, its true purpose was revealed. The sign hid a tangle of wires and what was left of an access control panel.
Gritting his teeth, Cruz hauled the sign from the wall. The edges cut into his fingers, and the screech of metal was recklessly loud, but tearing something apart with his bare hands was tremendously satisfying.
Bren edged between him and the control panel. "Let me." He reached for the wires and began to separate and twist them together so expertly that Noah must have been giving him lessons on hot-wiring. After a moment, he glanced up at Cruz. "How's Rachel doing?"
Rachel was healthy. Rachel was strong. Rachel was just fine, she assured him, even though she was throwing up half of what she ate and starving when she wasn't throwing up.
And the last time Cruz had expressed rational, reasonable concern about this, Rachel had rolled her eyes and finished dressing for her bartending shift at the Broken Circle. "Oh, she's fine," Cruz grumbled. "I didn't know a person could puke that much and still be okay, but what do I know?"
Bren made a noise that sounded like a stifled laugh. "It'll subside after the first trimester. At least, that's what Six tells me."
Yes, Six had said the same thing to Ace, who had tried to use that information to reassure Cruz. Cruz didn't know how to tell his lover he was long past being reassured. Rachel was suffering from discomfort that Cruz couldn't stop. She and Ace were both under the threat of danger that Cruz couldn't thwart.
Helplessness was unacceptable, but it was his current, frustrating reality.
At least he and Bren were finally doing something. When Bren twisted the last few wires together, mechanics rumbled behind the door. The surface of the wall chipped in a vertical line from floor to ceiling, followed by crumbling mortar as the painted-over doors slid smoothly apart to reveal a long, straight tunnel.
Bren let out a whistle. "Direction's right. This tunnel might actually run right under the city."
"And it's big, too." Maybe big enough for vehicles, and wouldn't that be a fucking coup? They could truck in supplies to foster rebellion right under Eden's nose—and bring out people who wanted to switch sides. "This could work."
"Yes, it could."
Not Bren's voice, and Cruz had h
is gun in his hand before the familiarity of the voice pierced through blind instinct. He still couldn't check his turn, but he ended up with the pistol pointed down and to the right of Ashwin's Base-issued military boots. "Ashwin."
"Cruz." Ashwin ignored the gun—and ignored Bren, too. "I need a favor."
The blood pounding through Cruz's veins turned to ice. These were the words he'd been braced for every time Ashwin appeared. The four little words that meant something else entirely, because they weren't a request. They were a reminder.
You owe me one.
When Ace had lain dying, Cruz would have bartered anything to see him safe. His life, his heart, his soul. Instead, he'd bartered this. A favor. And Ashwin would expect him to pay.
"All right." Moving slowly, precisely, Cruz holstered his gun. "Can Bren stay for this?"
Bren didn't move, but his shoulders tensed, and he almost smiled. "Bren most certainly will stay for this."
Ashwin's gaze finally flickered to Bren. Just for a moment, but Cruz imagined Ashwin mentally reviewing Bren's entire dossier. "There are some risks associated with knowing. If he's willing to accept those risks…"
"He is," Bren answered stoically.
Ashwin pulled a miniature tablet from his back pocket and handed it to Cruz. It was the kind of tech gadget he hadn't seen since leaving the base—Eden preferred delicate tablets with wide, vivid screens. This one was sturdy enough to survive being knocked around and small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.
He activated the display. Instead of a collection of mission and data folders, there were only two things on the home screen—a custom application and a photo.
Cruz selected the photo. The face that filled the screen was pretty, blonde—and familiar. He'd last seen Kora Bellamy lying in the trunk of a car, blindfolded and trembling because Ashwin had kidnapped her from her cozy Eden life and brought her to the sectors to put a man back together.