Beyond Surrender (Beyond #9)

by Kit Rocha

  "How long did the trip take?"

  "Three weeks." She swallowed hard and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. His hand on her back was warm. Comforting. She stopped trying to fight the tremor in her voice. "We ran into trouble nine days in. Some gang of thieves started following us that morning. Pop made Chuck circle around to the shack we'd stayed in the night before. It had this root cellar…"

  The smell of it still hit her sometimes. Musty and old, but mostly dirt. The walls had been carved out of the earth, and there'd been dirt on all sides. The last time Jeni had coaxed her up to the roof gardens, the smell of freshly turned soil had compressed Nessa's stomach into a tight knot.

  "He said he'd be right back," she said, fisting her hand in Ryder's shirt. "But he moved this ratty rug over the trap door and put the table there in case they'd tracked us to the shack. So they wouldn't find me."

  "Jesus," he breathed. "Nessa—"

  It had been so dark, with just the thinnest beams of light sneaking between the floorboards around the edge of the rug. And then even those had started to fade. "He never told me what happened, but it must have been bad. Maybe Chuck tried to double-cross him, or maybe he split. I don't know how Pop killed all those guys on his own. But it took him two days."

  Ryder remained silent, but his hands tightened.

  "I was thirteen. Not as buff as I am now. I tried to get out, but the table was so heavy…" And her grandfather had been furious with himself for not thinking ahead. For not anticipating the betrayal, for not being able to kill six men half his age faster. For getting wounded so badly that Nessa had to choke down her own terror and sew him up before he bled to death in that shitty little shack and left her alone for real.

  "He came back for me." That was the part she clung to as hard as she was clinging to Ryder now. "I had someone who always came through for me. How many other people can say that?"

  The hand on her back began to move in slow, soothing circles. "Not enough."

  It felt good. The tingles were back—the silly crush butterfly kind—but something else joined them, a warmth that unfurled in some place so deep and lonely inside her, she'd never dared to look at it straight on. "So how do we judge it?" she asked hoarsely. "I had a couple of shitty days. Fuck if I'm gonna cry over them to people who survived shitty decades."

  "Maybe not," he conceded. "But you also have to understand that there are people who've had shitty moments that might not have lasted more than a heartbeat—and it still fucked 'em up bad."

  True enough. Some moments were so terrible, that was all it took. It wasn't like being in that cellar for two days had cracked her. No, it was those terrible seconds after she'd collapsed back to the dirt floor, her arms burning and her hands scraped raw from trying to shove open the trap door—

  I can't fix this.

  Helplessness. Was there anything worse in the world?

  Her heart was still racing, but she got her first deep breath, and the air tasted fine. Not stale, not like dirt. She dragged in another and got Ryder this time—aftershave and soap and the absence of the familiar tang of liquor. "I'm okay." She didn't even know which one of them she was reassuring. "Maybe a little fucked up, but I'll be okay."

  Silence again, but it seemed heavier somehow—like he was trying to find the words to speak this time instead of waiting for her to go on.

  With her forehead resting on his shoulder, so close to his chest, his heartbeat filled the space words had abandoned. Strong. Steady, but a little fast. All the soothing, innocent ways they were touching sparked a sudden, overwhelming tension.

  If she didn't defuse it, she might do something crazy. "Weren't you a spy or something? Can you, like, pry the doors open and backflip out of here?"

  "There's a hatch on the ceiling of the car. I could climb out, but without knowing what kind of safety features this bucket has, I'd rather not. It might start moving again with me on top of the car." How could she hear him smile in the utter darkness? "Or is that your devious plan to get rid of me?"

  That was just unfairly competent. Stupidly, ridiculously sexy. Maybe if she scoffed hard enough, he wouldn't notice her insides melting. "Whatever. I'm an O'Kane. If I wanted to get rid of you, I'd be direct."

  "So everyone says." His hand dropped lower. "That could be part of the game, too. Convince everyone that O'Kanes are so blunt, they'll never believe you're all sneaky as hell."

  His fingertips were brushing the waistband of her jeans where her T-shirt had ridden up. Another inch and he'd be touching the bare skin at the small of her back, which had never seemed like a giant erogenous zone before five seconds ago.

  She was going to die. Just fucking implode. Here lies Nessa, perished from sexual frustration-induced cardiac arrest.

  His fingers dipped down past the waistband of her jeans, and he froze. A moment later, he tugged something from her back pocket, and the elevator car lit up in the glare from—

  Her tablet screen.

  Oh fuck.

  She didn't quite leap back, but she put some space between them and hoped the ghostly light didn't show the color in her cheeks. "Shit, I forgot I had it."

  The elevator lurched with a loud, mechanical whir, and the lights flickered on a moment later, revealing Ryder's broad grin. "Distracting a pretty woman so much she forgets the salvation in her pocket? I'll take it."

  God, he was breathtaking when he smiled.

  And the bastard probably knew it. At least growing up around the O'Kanes had given her the skills required to deal with arrogant men. She plucked the tablet out of his hand and rolled her eyes. "Don't get a big head," she told him, trying to channel all the tart and sass of Lex at her finest. "Deflating the male ego is every O'Kane woman's favorite hobby."

  His grin didn't fade, but the look in his eyes turned into something almost speculative. "I'll remember that."

  The swaying car slowed to a stop, and it took forever for the wide doors to roll open. Nessa stomped on the urge to flee the elevator like a hapless little bunny running from the big bad wolf.

  She was a fucking O'Kane, for Christ's sake. She was queen of the distillery, princess of fine liquor. Her leather boots might be scuffed with hearts doodled on the steel toes and pink laces, but she'd crushed plenty of cocky men into dust beneath them.

  And this was her empire.

  She waved her arm, gesturing for him to precede her. He strolled out of the elevator and clasped both hands behind his back. "So."

  "So." She followed him into the aging room, and the last little bit of fear dissipated. "Do you want the short tour, the long tour, or the increasingly drunk tour?"

  "The real tour," he answered immediately. "Not the one reserved for visiting dignitaries and other useless chumps."

  Lots of people wanted the real tour. Not many got it. Dallas was overprotective for a reason, after all. More than one would-be competitor had tried to lure, bribe, threaten, or seduce the secrets of O'Kane success out of Nessa.

  One asshole had actually come close.

  But Ryder wasn't some random bootlegger with delusions of grandeur. He had his own damn sector. He was dangerous, for sure, for a million reasons. Especially the murder book—she couldn't forget Jim Jernigan's goddamn murder book. But somehow she doubted Ryder's master plan involved stealing the secrets to her whiskey and setting up his own operation.

  "All right." She swiped her thumb over the tablet and pulled up her list of tasks. "Congratulations. I'm promoting you to buff minion. See if you can keep up."

  "Just tell me where you want me."

  He was teasing her again. The innuendo landed in her pool of inner calm like a rock, and she wished Lex's witty retorts were as easy to channel as her attitude. She would have shot back something sexy and suggestive, flirtation wrapped in invitation.

  Nessa had snark and bluster. "Depends on how useful you turn out to be."

  Ryder laughed. "Probably not very. What do we do first?"

  There were so many tasks that fell on her shoulders
, more than she could possibly complete in a given day. So she picked her favorite. "We're going to find some whiskey that's ready to bottle."

  Chapter Five

  Seeing Finn smile—when bloodshed wasn't imminent, anyway—still managed to jar Ryder. Seeing him smile this much…

  Well, it was just fucking weird.

  "I managed to snag an extra steak for you when the shipment came in from One." Finn grinned at him. "Wait until you taste this shit. Fresh off the ranch, with that rub Lili makes. Compared to this, that slop we ate in Five was barely food."

  "It was barely food by a lot of standards." It shouldn't have surprised him that O'Kane had connections this widespread and useful—it was one of the things Jim had often repeated about the man. "How does Dallas get his hands on this much beef, anyway?"

  "Trade. There's a lot of grain that gets used up and chucked while we're making the liquor, but I guess cows like it just fine. So now whenever we're full up on it, Nessa sends a message, and boom. All the fucking steak we can eat."

  "Guess we'll have to toast Nessa for more than the whiskey."

  Finn shot him a surprised look. "You've met Nessa?"

  Ryder snorted. "That's one word for it. She's been giving me hell since I got here."

  Finn's smile returned, fond this time. "Yeah, that's her thing. Probably because no one dares to give her hell back. She has a couple dozen violent-as-fuck big brothers and sisters who'll slam down on anyone who tries."

  That explained the haunted look in her eyes. Ryder had been the golden child before, sheltered and protected from things that other kids around him weren't. "Sounds lonely."

  "Lonely? How do you—?"

  The high-pitched wail of a siren cut through his words. Finn stiffened, then changed directions. "That's the alarm. Something's going down."

  Ryder followed him out the back of the main building where most of the O'Kanes lived, through a narrow alley set with a table at one end and targets at the other, and into a cavernous, L-shaped warehouse.

  Most of the building was filled with pallets and crates, stacked in long rows along the walls—storage, then, except for an area right at the entrance that held racks of guns and shelves of ammunition.

  People were already gathering—O'Kanes he'd met during the conference that morning. Cruz buckled a heavy belt around his hips as they approached, his expression serious. "We need as many soldiers as we can get over in Three. Six and Bren are exchanging fire with a Special Tasks squad near the hospital."

  A single squad of Eden's best-trained soldiers could take out every person Dallas had holding Three. "Can they beat a retreat?" Ryder asked.

  Jasper barked out a laugh as he zipped himself into a tactical vest. "I thought you'd met Bren and Six."

  Fair enough. Ryder grabbed a rifle from the rack and helped Finn lift a crate of ammunition into the back of a truck idling just outside the door. Adrian Maddox accepted it and slid it next to another crate full of surveillance tech. "I sent Flash out with half the new recruits to patrol the streets here. Just in case this is a distraction."

  "And Zan and Ace are holding down the compound with the rest." Hawk hauled open the driver's side door. "We waiting on anyone else?"

  "No, let's go." Jasper slapped one hand against the side of the truck and climbed into the back. "Make it fast, Hawk."

  Finn waited for Ryder to hop into the bed of the truck before following him. The grin his friend wore this time was familiar. "Been a while since we rolled out together to do some damage, eh?"

  "Yeah." Not that Fleming had ever sent them out to back up his other men. Usually by the time he put Ryder and Finn on the job, it was about damage control—killing whoever hadn't fallen in the fight in the first wave, and, above all else, protecting his investments by bringing back the drugs or the money. Sometimes both. "Not much like the old days, though."

  "True," Finn agreed. "Same fighting and bleeding. Way better reasons."

  Jasper checked the magazine in his pistol, then reached for his rifle as the truck bounced over ruts and swerved around potholes. "Special Tasks team in Three. What do you think—random trouble, or are they looking for something?"

  Neither option appealed very much to Ryder. "Hard to tell. The city could be sending them ahead of the regular troops, hoping to wear down any defenses they encounter. Or…"

  "Or they know there's something important out there." Cruz didn't look up from the tablet in his hand. "This isn't far from where that assassin jumped Dallas. Eden probably wants to know what he was doing."

  "They can keep wanting," Jasper shot back. "They won't find the hospital."

  If only they could be sure. Dallas had taken every precaution in converting the underground tunnels in Three into a hospital, even going so far as to conceal the entrance inside the most nondescript, unassuming building Ryder had ever seen. But the place still had undeniable foot traffic moving in and out on a daily basis. It would survive bombing and reconnaissance flyovers, but there were some things you just couldn't hide from curious human eyes.

  "What are our orders?" he asked quietly. "Defend our people, or take the squad?"

  Cruz didn't give Jasper a chance to answer. "We're taking the squad."

  So they'd be going up against this squad with two former Special Tasks soldiers, a handful of O'Kanes, and whoever Six had managed to train up in her new sector. Ryder shrugged. "I like our odds."

  "So do I." The pop of gunfire outside rose over the deep rumble of the truck's engine, and Jasper pounded the frame again. "We'll move out from here on foot."

  The vehicle jerked to a stop, and they filed out of the back of the truck. Jasper gestured to Hawk and Finn, then winced when another volley of gunshots echoed through the streets, louder in the absence of noise. "We'll go ahead, and you two can bring the supplies. We'll be fine on ammo for a while, so bring the medical kits and tech first."

  Hawk hoisted a heavy bag from the truck. "Got it, boss."

  Ryder turned to follow Jasper, but Finn caught his shoulder. "Be careful. Remember, we got steak waiting."

  His concern was as touching as it was disconcerting. "Relax, man. You know me—I'm too stubborn to die."

  "Stay that way," he commanded before releasing him.

  They took a zigzag route, moving up some blocks and down others. Jasper came to a halt in the shadow of a crumbling old building that had been shored up and reinforced with a stone half-wall on the first level. The dented metal door at the corner of the building slammed open, and covering fire rang out as Bren waved them inside.

  Four armed women knelt along the reinforced wall, watching the building across the street through makeshift gun slits that had been knocked through the brick. Another tended to a girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen—and had a sluggishly bleeding bullet hole in her upper arm.

  "Give me an update," Jasper barked.

  "We have them pinned down for now." Six gestured across the street. "My three best shots are covering the other sides of the building, but sooner or later they're gonna risk an escape. I don't know if we can cover them all."

  "Sure, we can." A voice crackled over the boxy speaker propped on a crate beside Six. "Ever hear of an old game called Whack-A-Mole?"

  Six's sudden grin was bloodthirsty. "Okay, Laurel can cover them, but the rest of us can't do fucking sniper math in our heads. Sometimes we miss. And I'm not letting any of these bastards get away."

  Bren crossed his arms over his chest. "We could go in, clear the place. But these guys are Special Tasks. It could get ugly."

  It couldn't be any worse than Six's wrath if these assholes managed to slip the net. "Count me in." Ryder stepped forward. "I live for ugly."

  Jasper and Bren conferred, while Ryder and Mad covered Hawk and Finn as they brought in supplies. They carried two stacked crates between them, and Jas paused in his conversation just long enough to snort. "Showoffs."

  Bren was focused on something else entirely. "Did you bring it?"

  Instead of
answering, Mad flipped open one crate, revealing a sleek, matte-silver drone with several lenses attached to the bottom and a monitoring system.

  Jasper whistled, impressed, but Ryder could only stare. It was the kind of technology that he'd only seen in Sector Eight—and that was because Jim had made the fucking things. "Is that what I think it is?"

  Bren pulled the drone from its molded case. "It's the same model the city uses for unarmed reconnaissance. It's lightweight, fast, and hard to spot against the sky, night or day. Best of all…" He flipped a switch on the bottom of the drone, then booted up the remote monitor. A few seconds—and a few keystrokes—later, an image filled the screen. Everything captured by the cameras was rendered in bold, bright outlines of orange and red and green and blue.

  It was Ryder's turn to whistle. "Heat signatures. You're going to take a peek through the walls."

  "It's the safest way." Bren tapped another key, and the drone flight system whirred to life. It floated up off his hand, and he passed the joystick-type controller over to Six. "Once this thing is in position and we get a good look at what they're doing in there, we can plan our attack."

  No wonder they had one walking casualty, and no fallen. Bren and Six together made one brilliant, ruthless team.

  Six watched the monitoring screen as she maneuvered the drone into place, while Bren studied the feedback and fine-tuned the images. After a full sweep of the building, they knew exactly what was going on.

  Two men, their outlines plainly visible even through the dampening brick, stood watch at the south entrance. Another man guarded a floor-level window. The rest of the heat signatures were clustered in one central area, far away from the exits. And they weren't just standing around, either. They were bustling about, industriously undertaking some sort of task, though Ryder couldn't make sense of it. They weren't providing first aid to their injured, and it didn't look like they were deep in discussion about how to get the hell out of their current situation.