by Kit Rocha
"Mmm." She could feel the continued weight of his stare, and the butterflies were migrating now. The back of her neck prickled, and the tingles shivered down her spine. "Right. Don't ask."
She could tell him. She could spill the whole sordid story, just to prove him wrong. But shame churned in her gut as she thought about how stupid she'd been. How naïve and gullible. How goddamn pathetic.
"Fine," she grumbled. If she'd been a little more vindictive, she would have left him to finish sewing up his own damn ribs. But she had asked for it. "You win. Some shit sucks to talk about, even for me."
"It does," he agreed mildly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
Not unless she was being stupid again. The shame of that would drown her. "Can I ask you something kinda fucked up?"
"The more fucked up the better."
She swallowed hard, and only Quinn's training kept her hands steady. "Was I in Jim's book?"
"I wondered if you'd ask." Ryder caught her eye again and held it this time. "No, you're not in it. Wasn't his style, anyway. When it came to Dallas, he may have recognized the potential need to get rid of the fucker, but he never wanted to ruin him. Not like that."
It made a weird sort of sense. All of the men who had come after her had shared the same goal—they wanted Dallas's money. Jim's goals had been loftier. Power. Revolution.
Nessa could make someone rich, but she couldn't win wars.
And if Ryder knew enough to wonder if she'd ask, then he already knew the answer to his own question. It didn't matter who the guy had been, just what. Someone who saw what Dallas had and wanted it for himself. Someone who'd seen a lonely girl as an easy target.
And God, she'd been so easy.
She felt raw. Awkwardly exposed. But for some reason she couldn't tear her gaze from his this time, like those gentle brown eyes were holding her captive. She wet her lips and pushed back, tried to balance her own vulnerability with his. "Tell me about your mother."
He drew in a slow, deep breath. "She loved animals—not just the cute, furry kind, either. Even the lizards I brought home. She was like that about people, too, no matter how fucked up they were. She liked coffee, flowers, and something called Broadway. And she pretended to like squash so I would eat it, even though it made her sick to her stomach." His shoulder flexed in a small shrug. "Only lie my mother ever told me."
The words painted a warm picture. Pain lingered in his eyes, but it was the gentle pain of loss. Nessa had seen it in Jyoti and Mad, in the precious few O'Kanes who had been lucky enough to grow up knowing love. "She sounds nice."
He cleared his throat. "She was."
She only had a couple stitches left. Her throat felt oddly tight as she finished up and reached for the med-gel. "He was an ass," she said without looking up. "He didn't give a shit about me, he just wanted me to make him as rich as I made Dallas. That's all most of the smart guys want. So yeah, I don't look smart guys straight in the face much."
He touched her chin again. Just a touch, with the gentlest of pressure, and it would have been easy for her to twist her face away again. Instead she straightened slowly, and with him sitting on the desk, she was almost eye to eye with him.
Except he wasn't looking at her eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and the air between them crackled. She took an unsteady breath, fighting the sudden urge to nervously wet her lips.
He could kiss her. Right here, like this. He could kiss her, and that might be all it took to wreck her world. Because he was looking at her like he knew what to do with his mouth. What to do with her mouth. It wouldn't be sloppy and clumsy like the drunk fighters who tried to gag her with their tongues as some kind of weird dominance ritual.
If Ryder kissed her, he wouldn't have anything to prove. He didn't need her connection to the O'Kanes or her ability to make money. He had his own power and people and wealth. He'd just be kissing her to kiss her, and her body ached in a million places she hadn't realized could ache.
If Ryder kissed her, it would be the best sex she'd ever had. Even if it stopped at a kiss.
Then he looked away, breaking the spell. "What do you think?" he rasped, studying his side. "Am I going to make it?"
"Probably." Her voice was all breathless and her heart was still pounding, so she turned and hurried to the table where the medical supplies were spread out. She grabbed a bandage and then snatched up the rotgut and waved the bottle at him. "But I'm confiscating this so you don't poison yourself."
Instead of waiting for her to bandage his wound, Ryder slid off the desk and stretched experimentally. He winced a bit when it pulled his stitches, but that did nothing to diminish his sheer masculinity. "It's not that bad. The booze, I mean."
"Yeah it is." She hefted the bottle again, wrinkling her nose at the weak color. "You know, before the Flares, it would have been illegal to call this shit whiskey. I mean even before the laws cracked down and they started making all kinds of liquor illegal. It's barely aged, the color's fake, and the only reason people can't tell it tastes like shit is because we barely diluted it, so it probably destroyed your taste buds with the first sip."
One strong arm slid around her waist, and he hauled her against his bare chest. Before she could make sense of the contact, his mouth covered hers.
Her fingers went lax. The bottle slipped through them, hitting the floor with a thud but no shatter, and relief that it hadn't broken was the last clear thought she had. Because his lips were warm and firm, and he was teasing them over hers, the soft friction the most innocently erotic thing she'd ever felt.
She clutched at his arms for balance, but that only made the world spin faster. He was all heated skin over hard muscles that flexed when her fingers dug in, and she parted her lips on a silent moan.
Mistake. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, and his gentle tug pulled everything inside her tight and white-hot. Her nipples throbbed with the scrape of his teeth. Her skin tingled. When he soothed the spot with his tongue, she squeezed her thighs together against the temptation to crawl up his body until she could rock her way to release.
She was losing it. Losing her ever-loving mind over a fucking kiss—and then his tongue swept deeper, clashing with hers, and she didn't care. She groaned and went up on her toes, pressing as close to him as she could get, hating that he wasn't between her thighs.
It ended after an eternity, way too fucking soon. Ryder lifted his head, his eyes dark and heavy, and licked his lips. "Yeah. My taste buds are definitely still working."
She flushed at the suggestive heat in the words, then stiffened and pushed him back. "Your ribs. This has to hurt."
"Worth it." He ignored the bandage still clutched in her trembling hand. Instead, he snagged a clean, neatly folded T-shirt from the chair behind the desk, dragged it over his head, and retrieved the fallen bottle of whiskey from the floor. "Wasn't it?"
It had the slight lilt of a question, but the smugness in his eyes made it clear he wasn't really asking. The paper backing on the bandage crinkled as her hand fisted, and she wanted so, so badly to smack the smugness right off those perfect lips.
But not as much as she wanted to kiss him again, dammit.
Her knees wobbled. She tried to hide it as she stomped to the table and tossed the bandage onto it. Her precious bottle of liquor was still there, so she scooped it up and turned. "If you want to drink something, you should drink this. But only if you promise to appreciate it. You don't even wanna know how much I could make selling it on the black market."
He held out one hand.
She offered him the bottle, but when his fingers closed around it, they covered hers. His fingertips lingered as hot little points of contact before they rasped slowly over her skin. Her imagination kicked into overdrive, imagining those calloused fingertips dragging down her throat, between her breasts, over every spot that ached for contact.
Holy shit, she was playing with fire.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"No problem." He was still watchi
ng her, and she knew that look. She'd seen it dozens of times, in the eyes of every cocky, arrogant O'Kane man who'd ever locked eyes on a woman he knew he could have.
She'd always wondered what made women bolt like terrified prey in the face of that look. If a hot guy who knew what he was doing with his dick wanted to get busy, why wouldn't you jump on and ride?
Now she got it. Arousal might have made her wet enough to squirm, but the flutter in her chest was closer to panic than excitement. Wanting something this much was scary as fuck. Men were easy when you didn't care, when they couldn't rock your world. She'd played with the cage fighters. She'd rolled out of their beds decently fucked but never really touched. Their faces and names faded from memory, and if she never saw them again, it wasn't a loss.
This would be a loss. He'd haunt her dreams. He'd fill her waking hours. She'd crave him and miss him when he was gone and spend her whole life—however much of it she had left—knowing nothing could ever be this good again.
Oh yeah. She got it now, why women ran.
She also knew that running got you chased.
Gathering the shreds of her pride around her, she swept up the bandage again and ordered her knees to behave. She took two steps and slapped it against his chest. "Don't be an idiot. Put that on," she ordered, only giving him a second to catch it before she strode past him. "And you shouldn't stay up here brooding. We're having a party down at the warehouse. There's food and music and socializing. Come be social."
"I have things to do," he countered. "Work."
"If you're not gonna live, too, what's the point?" She pulled open the door and hesitated. "It doesn't have to be one or the other, you know. Maybe you have a big fancy book full of stats, but you don't know us. You don't know what we can do. Maybe part of your work should be finding out."
"Oh, I plan on it." Another of those secret little smiles tugged at his lips. "Don't worry about me, Nessa."
She couldn't help it. He'd already lodged himself under her skin. But she didn't have to let him know that. "Don't flatter yourself," she replied tartly, turning her back on him. "I worry about everyone."
If it had been true, she wouldn't have pulled the door shut quite as hastily as she did. She wouldn't have clattered down the stairs like the scared little rabbit she was trying not to be.
Her circle of worry was small and tight. She loved the O'Kanes fiercely, and most days she knew she wasn't as noble as Dallas and Lex. The rest of the world could burn, as long as her people made it out the other side.
Worrying about strangers wasn't her usual MO. Neither was worrying about some guy she'd just met, no matter how much he smoldered and how hot he kissed.
Ryder was making her stupid, and that was the one thing she couldn't afford to be right now. Because the O'Kanes would make it through this war. Her faith in Dallas had to be absolute.
And when they did, she had to be ready to rebuild their empire. No sex was worth risking that.
Probably.
Chapter Seven
Nessa wore cherry-flavored lip gloss.
Two busy days and two restless nights, and Ryder could still taste it. It was enough to distract him not only from the usual, day-to-day shit, but one of the most important meetings Dallas had ever called.
At one end of the table, Nikolas Markovic sat, ashen-faced, his blank eyes constantly scanning the wall of monitors. Every so often, something would spark in his dark gaze—a hint of recognition, interest, something bordering on desperation. Like he was searching for something amidst the maps and status reports.
He looked like hell. Gaunt and ragged, even though Lex and Lili had cleaned him up. You couldn't fix months of imprisonment and torture with a haircut and a shave. He still carried a haunted look, and the first time someone let the door slam behind him, Ryder thought Markovic might dive under the table.
He was a mess.
On the other side of the room, an older gentleman stood, eyeballing them all from under a messy fall of steel-gray hair. Neal Cooper, former MP and revolutionary in his own right, was a legend, a man renowned equally for his resilience and his kindness. Coop had spent years on Eden's military police force, then moved on to champion the weak and helpless in the city. The very idea of having Coop as an ally in fighting the city leaders would have made Jim weep with envy. And here he was, ready to go to war at O'Kane's side.
Ryder leaned closer to Dallas. "Is there anything you can't do?"
One side of Dallas's mouth tilted up. "Plenty. That's the point of a gang. No man can do everything, but all of us together? We can do anything."
Coop snorted. "I'll tell you one thing you can't goddamn do." He gestured to the bank of monitors covering the wall. "You can't tell what's really going on in the city by looking at this shit all day long."
"We're working on getting better intelligence," Noelle said, running her fingers absently over the tablet in front of her. The former councilman's daughter looked almost as tired as Markovic. "It's a matter of manpower at this point. There are only so many of us who can work the tech. We could put out a call…" She trailed off with a shrug. "Maybe we'd get help. Maybe we'd get city spies."
"Probably a lot of both." Dallas shook his head. "We can't risk it. We need—"
The door opened again, and Noah came through. His pale face had an unhealthy pallor, and the shadows beneath his eyes were even deeper than Noelle's. His gaze swept the room before he slid into the empty spot next to Ryder. "Sorry I'm late. That asshole almost got through again."
Coop's wrinkled face screwed up into a grimace. "Say what, now?"
"The person running security in Eden." Noah shoved his fingers through his hair, making the already unruly strands stick up wildly. "Up until now, I've always been careful. Used the exploits my grandfather programmed in. Never caught their attention. But when I came at them head-on... This girl's mean. And good. She calls herself—"
"Her name is Penelope," Markovic cut in. "I met her a few years ago. She'd breached one of the networks at City Center, and they were going to toss her out into the sectors. I hired her as a junior programmer instead."
Dallas went utterly still, as if it was taking all of his willpower not to pounce on the words. "How well do you know her?"
Markovic winced. "Not well enough to turn her to your cause, if that's what you're asking."
Dallas held up a hand. "Just feeling out the situation."
The man went back to studying the monitors, as if Dallas hadn't spoken.
Coop blinked, then blew his breath out between his teeth in a low whistle. "As I was saying, the computer shit's all well and good if you want to cut their power or track their troop movements. But it can't give you the whole picture of what's going on in the city. You need eyes and ears. Human ones."
A blond man across the table leaned forward. His wrists were bare of the O'Kane tattoos, but a skull peeked out from beneath one sleeve and ravens chased each other in circles around his biceps—the mark of one of Gideon's elite Riders. "That's where I come in."
Dallas gestured to him. "Everyone, meet Zeke. Mad asked him to come over and set up shop with us for a bit. He's been riding with Gideon for a few years now, but he was born in Eden."
"Don't hold it against me." He twisted one of his hands, revealing the underside of his wrist. Where the bar code should have been, he had a beautiful tattoo of a phoenix, wings spread, bright, colorful flames licking at his skin. "I got caught breaching the networks at the City Center, too. Probably before Markovic's hacker rehabilitation initiative kicked in."
Markovic ignored him, and Ryder covered his smile with a cough.
"Anyway…" Zeke tapped his fingers on a tablet. "I still have friends in the city. Friends who've been waiting for this day for a long damn time. They're good enough with the tech to keep communication open without getting caught, but they know the people, too. They can figure out who would fight for us, who's too scared. Who just needs the right push."
Coop eyed him appraisingly. "Where are
you from? There's plenty of people in the city who think they know what's what, but they don't know shit about what goes on outside their high-rises."
"The east tenements," Zeke shot back lazily. "North of the docks. Nowhere near as fancy as your posh little flat over by marketplace, but the roofs only leaked when it rained."
Coop's severe expression relaxed, and he barked out a wheezy laugh. "Fair enough. If your people can handle tech, may as well hook 'em up with mine. We'll have a nice little back-alley intelligence network set up in no time."
"Someone should reach out to Rachel's family." Dallas tapped his fingers on the table. "It's been too risky to contact them directly, but I'd bet all the money Liam Riley's ever made me that he's not sitting around, twiddling his thumbs in there."
Liam Riley had plenty of weapons—and plenty of men who knew how to use them. What he didn't have was support, not in the middle of the city. The smart thing would be to lay low until the shit hit the fan.
But waiting was hard, and Liam Riley had never been known for his patience.
Ryder leaned forward. "Riley has the resources to mount a proper resistance within the city walls, but it's tricky. If he waits too long to move, he may as well not bother. But if he moves too soon, he'll get himself killed—and take all your city contacts down with him."
"Liam's got a temper, but he's not a fool. If he knows the moment's coming…" Dallas shrugged. "We need to tell him. Zeke, how long will it take you to set up secure communications?"
"We can get a message out now. But better to wait and get everything you want together." Zeke laced his fingers behind his head. "We're not taking chances with this. Every account's a burner, and we'll want to rotate encryptions, and when and where we send from. Minimize contact. The second we fall into a pattern, Penelope'll be on us."
"If it takes that long," Markovic muttered.
Zeke quirked one eyebrow, his expression still full of lazy confidence. "Got something to add about your little protégé?"
The man stood up, retrieved the carved wooden cane leaning against the wall beside the door, and left.