by Kit Rocha
And her knife was still in her fucking boot.
He slung her back around, smashing her into the display of massage oil. Plastic bottles scattered, but she grabbed one from the middle shelf and popped open the top with her thumb.
Wallace grinned down at her, lifting the knife, and she whipped the bottle around, spraying chili-oil-infused massage oil right in his fucking eyes.
He screamed again, clawing at his eyes, just as two shots rang out. She wanted desperately to look, to make sure the women fighting for her were still okay—
Wallace swiped at his eyes, and Tatiana drew her leg up, kneeing him hard in the balls and snatching her knife free at the same time. He howled and thrashed at her, catching her across the arm with a lucky swing.
She ignored it and slashed the blade across his throat.
He continued to swing, flailing wildly. He hit the table laden with lit candles, and Tatiana had a lifetime to watch one wobble on the edge before tipping to the oil-splattered floor.
Flames licked into life immediately, catching the scattered drops of oil and spreading across the floor as Wallace went down. Smoke curled up, heavy and thick, blanketing the room in what seemed like a heartbeat.
Catalina screamed.
By the time they got near Tatiana's shop, Zan knew there was something wrong. He could feel it in his gut, a sick knot that made him feel hot and cold at the same time. Smoke drifted through the streets. That wasn't unusual—shit burned during blackouts, both from the necessity of heat and light and vandalism—but the cloyingly sweet scent in the air was.
It smelled like burning perfume.
"Dallas—" The rest of his words turned to ash in his throat as they rounded the last corner. The windows of the shop gleamed with an angry red glow, and the smoke was escaping through the cracks around the windows and doors.
Fuck. This was going to kill Tatiana.
The front door slammed outward, spilling smoke into the night, and Emma staggered out, dragging a bleeding, coughing Six with her. Bren rushed toward them, and Zan blinked.
Six and Emma were supposed to be with Lex, and Lex was supposed to be with—
He ran for the door, heedless of the choking smoke billowing out of the opening doorway. "Tatiana!"
"Zan!" Tatiana's voice was raspy and frantic, and he heard the scrape of wood before he saw her and Lex struggling to pull a chair toward the door—a chair with her sobbing sister tied to it.
One of the chair legs was already smoldering. He snatched his knife from his pocket and began to cut through the ropes. Catalina thrashed, slicing her arm on his blade, but it was better than burning alive in a fucking chair.
Once she was free, he hauled her over his shoulder and stumbled out the door, his eyes stinging from the smoke and the heat.
By the time he set her down, Dallas and Lex had Tatiana out the door. She sagged between them, smudged and bloody, but when she caught sight of Catalina, she tore away from them and staggered the two steps to throw her arms around her sister.
Scowling, Dallas ghosted his thumb over Lex's split slip. "Is Six okay?"
"Nothing some med-gel won't fix." Bren's voice sounded like sandpaper.
"Cruz, round up Stuart and as many others as you can. We have to contain this, or we'll lose the whole damn marketplace."
"On it." Cruz took off.
Dallas touched Lex's cheek. "You okay to get them to Doc?"
"Only because Wallace is already dead." Soot and blood streaked her face, but she didn't look weak or scared. She looked pissed the fuck off. "Hurry, before the fire spreads."
"You got it, love." He kissed her once, hard, before breaking away.
Next to Zan, Tatiana swayed. "Zan? Help me with her?"
He barely heard her over Catalina's hysterical sobs. She'd been hurt but, for now, his gaze skipped over Tatiana, snagging on her arm. "You're bleeding."
"I know." She stared past him, her face stricken in the glow of the fire slowly consuming her shop. "It's okay. I'm okay."
"No, you're not." Pain radiated out from her in tangible waves that twisted his gut, but her physical well-being trumped everything else, even the spread of the fire. He stripped off his shirt, tore it down the middle, and hastily dressed Catalina's wound before returning his attention to Tatiana. "Here. Let me."
With her sister still clutched in one arm, Tatiana held out the other. He wrapped the cotton gingerly around her arm and secured it by tying the fraying ends.
There was something loaded about the moment, a fragility even more dire than the blaze raging behind him. But there was no time for conversation or promises, even if either of them was in any condition for it.
So Zan brushed her tangled hair back from her face and stared into her eyes, willing her to understand. "Take care of your sister. I'll fight the fire."
She turned her face into his hand, her lips grazing his palm. "Thank you," she whispered, and that was all she had time for. Emma and Lex eased Catalina from her arms, and Six, sporting her own bandage, got an arm around Tatiana's shoulders.
They disappeared through the thick smoke, and Bren shoved a dented metal bucket into his hands.
Under Dallas's direction, they lined up—people from the market closest to the old well in the center of the square, and O'Kane men on the front lines. The heat from the growing fire singed Zan's face and arms, and his throat grew scratchy and sore from inhaling the hot smoke.
It was hard work, maybe futile, but they battled on, desperate to stop the spread of the flames, if nothing else. And, as the hours passed, it became clear that was all they could do. Tatiana's shop had been gutted, only the barest skeleton of the structure still standing.
Finally, even that came crashing down. The building groaned as if in pain, and the men scattered as the roof collapsed. A wooden beam that had been reduced to nothing more than an oversized, smoldering ember flew out, knocking Hawk to the ground.
He swore and rolled away, but when he tried to stagger to his feet, his knees buckled. Finn lunged to grab him, dragging him farther from the wreckage. The beam had caught him across the arm and shoulder, burning through his shirt and blistering his skin. Hawk only gritted his teeth and hissed through the pain.
"Watch the surrounding buildings," Dallas shouted.
They had cleared one alley of anything flammable and coated the wooden walls of the closest building with wet, sticky mud. The building on the other side was brick, less likely to catch fire, but it had received the same treatment, just in case.
But the fire was already burning itself out. Cruz and Jasper continued to lead the fight against the dying blaze as two women helped Hawk to his feet. Zan backed away, flexing his aching hands, and looked for Dallas.
He was standing with Stuart, and he waved Zan over. "Six came back to report a little while ago. Wallace and most of his men were dead when the fire started, but all of them were still inside."
"Good," Zan rasped.
"Stuart's going to set up a crafter meeting in a few days." Dallas met Zan's eyes. "I think I'll drop in on this one personally. Make sure everyone knows where the O'Kanes stand when it comes to the Stone girls."
Right now, the more important question was where the Stone girls stood on the O'Kanes. The last thing Tatiana had wanted was to be part of something bigger than her shop, and now...
Dallas's offer of security and protection was honest, sincere—and that didn't matter. Tatiana's shop lay in scorched ruins, and the only thing she had left was the good grace of the O'Kanes. And it wasn't enough—no, it was worse than not enough. It was the glittering cage she had always feared.
She would be taken care of. Safe, comfortable, fed—and Zan would lose her.
If he hadn't already.
Chapter Twelve
It took Lex less than twenty-four hours to win Catalina's unswerving loyalty, which was the final answer to the question Tatiana had asked herself the first night she'd laid hands on Zan.
He hadn't been a trap. Not one set by Le
x, in any case. If Sector Four's queen had truly set her sights on conquering Tatiana, Tatiana wouldn't have had a chance.
Catalina didn't, and it stung a little. Watching the baby sister she'd struggled to protect melt under Lex's rough, hard-edged protectiveness hurt, like having her nose rubbed in what a terrible job she'd done. It was one more slice on a bleeding heart, and just as jagged as the rest of them.
None of her pain was clean. None of it was easy. Her sister was alive. Her sister felt safe. That should be all that mattered. It had to be all Tatiana thought about. Not how much she'd lost, not how lost she felt when Catalina curled up trustingly in the bed Lex had provided, never wondering how much that bed would cost.
Catalina would do well with the O'Kanes. She'd never question the price of safety. She'd never had to pay it herself. And she wouldn't pay it now.
Tatiana would. And the price would be so, so high. It would be her heart.
She turned the corner toward the market and shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her borrowed jacket, shoulders hunched against the late-afternoon chill. Everything she had was borrowed now, except her boots. She felt off-balance dressed in Trix's too-fancy clothing, like she was already someone else. A kept woman.
An ungrateful kept woman. Her life had gone up in flames, but she was alive. Her sister was alive. She wouldn't have to wonder where her next meal would come from. No one would corner her on the street with leering offers to lend her a bed if she'd bend over it first.
Zan would give her everything, and the fear would set in. It was a survival instinct ingrained too deeply to dig out. Make yourself smaller than the people who held power over you. Duck your head. Try to please them.
She would try. For him, and for herself, she'd try. But for all his grand promises, how many times could he watch her flinch away or bite her tongue before the lack of trust hurt him more than a rejection ever could have? They'd rot from the inside out, and it would be her fault.
And even seeing the cliff coming, she still wanted to crawl back into his bed, into his arms, and hide for as long as she could.
There was no hiding once she reached the market square. Staring across it tore fresh wounds in her heart. Worse was enduring the stares. No one spoke to her as she walked toward the sad pile of rubble that had been her home and her life. But she could feel the weight of their stares, and their whispers were a buzz at the edge of her senses.
Maybe they were afraid to approach her. Gossip was probably running wild by now, but gossip had a way of twisting. Until they knew where she stood—and where the O'Kanes stood—she'd be poison.
But one man stood on the edge of the wreckage. He wore no jacket, just a pristine white shirt and vest tailored to fit his broad shoulders and dress slacks that must have come straight out of Eden, because no man in Sector Four was paying that much for pants that weren't made of leather.
Of course, most men in Sector Four didn't have an ass rumored to have inspired poetry. An ass the rich ladies in Eden paid a month's worth of Tatiana's profits to spend an hour touching.
Tatiana knew who Jared was. She just didn't know why he was staring at her shop.
He turned—not as if he was looking for someone, but as if he felt her gaze on him. He smiled politely and inclined his head. "Miss Stone."
She didn't even know his last name, but she supposed most people didn't. "Jared."
"I'd ask how you are, but it seems rather self-evident, doesn't it?"
His speech was formal, his words crisply enunciated. It reminded Tatiana of her mother's lessons, and getting her fingers slapped for using slang. She searched the crumpled walls for the spot where her office had been and felt a fresh surge of pain. The portrait of her mother had been so close to her workroom with all of its highly flammable oils. There was no hope it had survived.
"I've been better," she admitted, quietly enough that maybe she could hide the pain. "But I've been worse, too. We're all alive."
"That's no small thing," he agreed. "Businesses can be rebuilt."
Businesses could be rebuilt. She'd done it once, after all. But even money couldn't build some things faster. The tools she'd had to make, because there was no place in a post-flare world to buy them. The precise recipes that had taken months of experimentation and would have to be recreated from memory. The supplies that had come from far away, that were rare or hard to find.
But what else could she do? Give up and stare at Zan's ceiling until the hole in her chest swallowed them both? "I may have to set my sights smaller this time."
"That would be a shame. Especially since I had something of a proposition for you."
She turned slowly, away from the rubble of her past. Jared was watching her with no discernable expression beyond polite interest, but it wouldn't be smart to forget that the same man who had trained Gia in all the tricks that made her powerful had trained this man as well.
Jared might look like the most harmless man in the market, but that only made him the most dangerous.
Wetting her lips, she tilted her head. "What sort of proposition?"
"I need gifts for my clients. Nothing extravagant, and nothing permanent. Bath products seem a logical choice." His elegant smile took on a wickedly amused edge. "And if the scents don't give me a headache, all the better."
Pity. That's what it felt like for the first few seconds—maybe even at Gia's behest, because Gia wasn't a monster, and she never really let go of the people she'd claimed as hers.
But the word clients loomed larger in the next moment. Jared's clients weren't only from Eden. They were women so rich they could pay the right bribes for sector passes and so bored they took the risk just for the thrill of doing something illicit.
Wealthy idiots. She could charge them so much.
Jared laughed softly. "Yes, darling. I can almost hear those wheels turning in your head. But don't worry—I don't think less of you." He leaned closer. "From one entrepreneur to another? If it pleases me, they'll buy everything you can make."
In spite of everything, Tatiana found herself laughing, too. Because she could see it so easily. Refined products. Faux-rustic packaging. That would be part of the thrill—the idea that it was exclusive, something you couldn't buy in the shops in Eden. The fact that they'd associate it with Jared wouldn't hurt.
The margins would be ridiculous. She could make more in a few months than she used to in a few years, and she wouldn't even need a full shop to do it. "So what's your cut?"
He covered his surprise with a quiet cough. "Let's just consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement, shall we?"
Maybe he was so damn rich that he wouldn't miss a few thousand credits. Or maybe whatever perfume those ladies were buying in Eden was really that damn bad. But he could have come around to buy stuff from her before. If the timing wasn't pity, it was...
"Zan," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
A twisted sort of hope lurched to life. "Was it Zan? Please, Jared. I need to know."
"Yes." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He mentioned you were trying to expand your sales inside the city, and he thought I might have some ideas."
It was a tiny thing. But it was everything. It was Zan, not merely seeing her, but knowing her. The broken parts of her heart and the wounded parts of her soul. A different sort of man could have resented not feeling like enough—and maybe Zan did. But not so much that he stopped trying to give her everything she needed.
Even the power to walk away from him.
And she could, with Jared opening up the Eden market for her. She wouldn't even need him forever. Long enough to build up a demand, and then she could go back to those fancy Eden boutiques and strike a far more favorable deal. They'd fight each other just to be the one store luring Jared's fancy clients through their doors, and she'd pick whoever offered her the best terms.
Less overhead. Less work. A softer sort of life, for her and Catalina. And Zan hadn't whispered a word of it to her, because making her feel like it came from
him would have been another way to tie her down.
Zan had showed her he wouldn't do that. She'd have to show him he wouldn't have to.
Chapter Thirteen
"Fucking hell, Zan. Who were you trying to punch that time?"
"Sorry, Dallas." He swung again and missed just as spectacularly as before. "Fuck."
Dallas shook his head. "Sparring like this isn't sparring at all. You might as well be swinging at a wall. At least you might hit that."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Zan yanked off his gloves and dropped them at the edge of the cage. Don't ask, man. Don't. "How are they? Tatiana and Catalina?"
"They're...okay." Dallas stripped off his own gloves. "Catalina's convinced Lex is gonna kiss all her boo-boos better. She's not about to give Lex the same backtalk she's been giving Tatiana."
The damn man was going to make him ask. "Catalina's the easy one. What about Tatiana?"
Dallas tilted his head, and Zan knew that look. He was picking his words, deciding just how much truth he was going to drop. "Has she talked to you?" he asked finally.
Not once. Not a single word since the night of the blackout. The night her shop burned to the ground.
At first, he figured she needed some time, maybe even some distance, just to get her feet solidly beneath her again. But as the hours stretched into days, he slowly began to realize that the time and distance might not be enough. He'd half-expected it—but it still hurt. It hurt like hell.
He had to answer, so he shrugged. "No. I guess she's been busy."
"Yeah, she has." With that cryptic remark, Dallas squeezed Zan's good shoulder. "It's not my secret to tell. But if you want her, you need to find her. And ask her."
Ask her what? If she could handle belonging to him? He didn't need to ask, because she had told him—over and over—that she couldn't. Even more damning, she'd shown him.
But maybe Dallas was right. He wouldn't like her answer, Zan knew that much already, but he couldn't move on until he'd heard her say it.