by Kit Rocha
"Whoops," Zeke murmured.
Dallas waved it away. "I'll have Lili talk to him when he's had a chance to settle down. She knows him better. In the meantime, we get our plan together. Coop—you figure out which of your people Zeke's boys should reach out to. Noah—"
"Keep Penelope the fuck out of our systems," he grumbled, already rising.
"At least keep her busy," Dallas retorted. "Distract the hell out of everyone inside those walls. We have almost all the noncombatants out of Two and Three, so buy us a little more time."
"Got it." Noah held the door for Coop and then followed Zeke through it.
As it swung shut behind him, Noelle looked from Dallas to Ryder before gathering up her tablet. "I'm going to talk to Rachel. If we're sending a message anyway…" She trailed off, then shrugged. "I don't want anyone regretting wasted chances."
"Good." Dallas smiled at her, genuine fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Track down Lex when you're done and see if she needs help. I can be my own assistant for the afternoon."
"Sure you can." She paused halfway out the door to turn and give them both a stern look. "Don't forget to eat. There's plenty of leftovers in the downstairs kitchen."
Dallas rolled his eyes. "Get your pert little ass out of here, brat."
"I love you too, Dallas."
She pulled the door shut behind her with a gentle click, and Dallas leaned back in his chair with a laugh. "Lex is a terrible, wonderful influence on that girl. The first day she showed up, she damn near fainted every time I breathed in her direction."
"She doesn't seem to have a problem with you now." And Dallas seemed equally unbothered.
"Nope. And that's good." Dallas dug through his pocket and pulled out his cigarette case and a lighter. "I was an asshole when she showed up. I had let myself get nice and comfy, playing with all my money and wanting power just because I didn't know how to stop reaching for it."
Overly ambitious, maybe, but it still sounded better than spending your life preparing for an uprising you weren't sure would ever come. "I need a favor."
"What sort of favor?"
Noelle's words bounced around in Ryder's brain. "I need to know what happened to Cerys."
Dallas huffed and tapped his lighter against the table. "Good luck with that. She split, as far as we know. Before the bombs hit Two."
It was all too easy to imagine—Cerys, the eternally selfish opportunist, seizing her chance to flee before getting blown off the map with the rest of her sector. Even Jim had believed it, had died still believing it, and maybe that was why Ryder needed to know.
He nodded to Dallas's cigarette case with an upraised brow, and Dallas passed him a cigarette and the lighter. Ryder took his time igniting the tip of the cigarette before explaining. "She didn't tell Jim she was leaving, and she didn't ask him to go with her. She always had before, every time she got sick of all the bullshit and wanted to take her money and run."
Dallas froze, one hand extended to take the lighter back. "You are fucking shitting me."
His shock was almost laughable. "An illicit, decades-long affair doesn't fit with how you had either of them pegged, huh?"
"The fucking? Sure." Dallas huffed. "Cerys caring about anyone enough to ask them to run away with her? That one's gonna take some time to sink in."
"She was just a woman." Ryder paused. "Really, the fact that I can't stop thinking of her in the past tense should tell you everything you need to know about my suspicions. Can Noah check it out? Or, hell, maybe Markovic knows something."
"I'll talk to them both. Jyoti, too." His amusement faded. "There's still a lot of rubble over there we haven't had time to move. I don't like to think about what we'll find when we do."
The only reassurances Ryder could offer him were secondhand, all whispered or mumbled stories about the horrors of war. How, after a while, they all blended together, or you stopped being able to associate the sight of a dead, mutilated body with what had once been a living person—even if they had died by your own hand. Your mind would go to great lengths to protect itself, and you would carry on.
Unless you couldn't.
Ryder stuck the cigarette between his lips and pushed back from the table. It was premium tobacco, the kind you couldn't get in a factory-rolled cigarette. Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed it, but he found himself missing the taste of cherries. "You'll let me know?"
"Absolutely." Dallas watched him rise. "You really should eat, you know. We only have a few hours before we're supposed to meet with the other sector leaders."
"Yeah, I remember." But he wasn't thinking about his stomach as he left.
He was thinking about wasted chances.
Until recently, the O'Kanes had lived for one thing—the moment. They spent their time drinking, fucking, and partying, and that was smart, because who the hell knew when it could all end abruptly?
But it was foreign to Ryder. He'd lived his whole life in anticipation, preparing for a future war he could barely fathom, much less fear. And here he was, finally in it…and he didn't know what the hell to do.
If he died tomorrow, tonight—shit, within the next fifteen minutes—what did he have to show for it? A legacy of revolution, perhaps, and the very best military training you could get outside of the Base. But he'd never lived, not like these people. And it wasn't that they didn't understand the threat hanging over them all, or that they didn't appreciate the danger. They just managed to carry on in spite of it.
Ryder had never made time for that. He'd never shoved aside all his responsibilities for a few stolen moments, long enough to spark something in his gut besides the burning weight of duty.
Wasted chances.
He wound up in the aging room. He could hear Nessa slamming around, the occasional colorful curse drifting up from amongst the racks of barrels. He sat on the edge of the tasting table, his heart thudding, and waited.
Five minutes later, she appeared between two shelves. Her pink and purple hair was pulled up in a messy knot that bared her neck, and the thin straps of her black tank top bared her shoulders and arms. Unlike the rest of the O'Kanes, who seemed covered in tattoos, Nessa only had the O'Kane cuffs around her wrists and a delicate infinity sign above her heart.
She muttered as she approached him, scowling at the tablet in her hand so intensely she was almost to the table before she looked up. She jerked to a stop with a yelp of surprise, then slapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh God, you scared the shit out of me. How are you so quiet?"
"Training." He'd been taught to engage as many muscle groups as possible when moving to ensure maximum control. It wasn't exactly an easy habit to break. "Sorry I startled you."
"It's okay." She stepped closer and tossed the tablet onto the table next to him. "You taking a break between important war stuff?"
"Something like that." He stared at the soft line of her neck where it sloped into her shoulder. "This could be our last night—here, alive, on Earth, all of it."
Her breath caught. Her gaze shot to his—naked and without guile. She'd never learned to hide. She'd probably never had to. He could read each emotion as it flickered across her face as clearly as if she'd handed him a list. Fear, swallowed by intense yearning that she swiftly buried under stubborn determination. "It won't be."
"You don't believe that."
She wet her lips, and the memory of the taste of her lip gloss flooded Ryder. "I'm trying to. I have to believe it. If I give up…" She waved a hand toward the rows of casks. "I have to keep betting on the future, or we won't have one."
"No, I'm not saying give up. It's—" He wasn't making any goddamn sense. "I know it sounds like a line, but it's not. It's the truth. We can hope, and we can plan, but this might be it."
She sank her teeth into her lower lip and took a step closer, until she was standing between his knees. He could smell her skin now—a new scent today, vanilla with hints of cinnamon. She reached up and ghosted one finger over his mouth. "I kinda wish it was
a line. Then I'd know you just wanna fuck my brains out and move along. Nice and simple. Safe."
His gut tightened. "I don't have a choice but to move along. Nice and simple...but not safe."
"No," she agreed softly. She traced the line of his jaw all the way up to his ear. "You're too smart to be safe. And you'd fuck up all my rationalizations, you know that?"
"How?" He tilted his head to the side.
"Because I keep telling myself it's okay." She kept touching him, gliding her fingertips up and over his eyebrow, her dark brown eyes alight with wonder. "I mean obviously the sex they're all having is good, but I can still pretend, you know? That I'm not missing anything that spectacular. That dumb, uncreative fighter boys can be enough."
Oh, he could show her everything she'd been missing. Things she'd never dreamed of. "Then it sounds like your rationalizations need to get fucked up."
Her lips curved into her sweet, fearless smile. "No, the smart thing would be to throw your ass out of here so I can focus. I'm good at knowing the smart thing to do." Her fingers found his lips again. "Not so good at doing them, though. I'm too curious."
"Curious enough to say yes?" It had to be her choice, just like it had to be his. Getting swept away in the moment might lead to regret, and that was the last thing he wanted to see shadowing her gaze.
Her hand fell away. She swayed closer, until her lips almost brushed his. "Why me?"
He touched her hair, weaving the brightly colored strands that had slipped loose between his fingers. "Because you say what's on your mind. You call it babbling, but you don't—" He took a deep breath. Vanilla. Cinnamon. "I've spent most of my life surrounded by people I couldn't trust. Hiding who I really was from them. I feel like I don't have to hide from you."
"You don't." Her breath tickled across his chin. "I've already seen your murder book, and I still spent the last couple nights imagining all the ways I could get you into my pants."
Her pulse was pounding in the hollow of her throat. Ryder watched the spot, entranced, as he rose and grasped her hips. He lifted her onto the tasting table and eased between her thighs, switching their positions. "Tell me one."
"It started pretty much like this." She wrapped one leg around his, the heel of her boot bumping against the back of his thigh, and dragged her fingers over his belt. "Except I was wearing a skirt, which made it a lot easier to just get your pants open and get to it."
There was a time for that, shoving clothes aside, fucking hot and heavy against a wall or on the floor. This wasn't it. He tilted her head back and ran his thumb up the center of her throat. "Not the first time, Nessa."
Her breathing went ragged and she swallowed, her throat working under his thumb. "Why?"
"It's too easy." Her shirt had a scooped neckline. He traced that too, and had to close his eyes tight when she made a low, shocked noise. "Too fast, and it's all a big blur. So you tell yourself later that maybe it didn't move the earth beneath your feet, after all. No big deal."
"Oh God." The leg wrapped around his tightened, but he didn't think she was aware of trying to pull him closer. "The earth's already moving. Have a little mercy."
"Not a chance." He kissed her again, but she didn't taste like cherries. Today, it was peach and ginger, and he savored it with a slow lick over her lower lip before delving deeper, gliding his tongue over hers.
For one shocked moment she was still against him, her body tense and her breath held. Then she moaned and wrapped her other leg around him. Her hands slid up his arms to the back of his head, and she dragged him closer, crushing his chest to hers.
Hungry, starved, like no one had ever taken the time to just kiss her. Ryder drew her arms from around his neck and pressed her palms carefully to the table's surface, one after the other, without breaking the kiss. She tugged against his grip, but he soothed her with a quiet noise lost to her mouth.
When she kept her hands on the table without pulling away, he moved on, touching the inner surfaces of her arms where they bent at the elbow. The delicate lines of skin above each collarbone. And finally the curve of her neck, just to see if it was as soft as he thought it would be.
Her thighs clamped hard on his hips. She broke away and panted against his cheek. "This isn't even fair. How the hell did my elbow become an erogenous zone?"
"I think—"
"Well, hello."
Nessa jerked back so quickly her boot slammed into Ryder's leg. Her hands flew up, and she froze with them pressed against his shoulders, a second from shoving him away. He saw the moment she realized that just made her look guiltier. He saw the moment stubborn rebellion filled her eyes.
He saw everything, because Nessa didn't hide anything. Not even in front of her leaders. "Lex."
Lex was standing at the end of the row, one elbow propped against a barrel and her chin on her hand—like she was watching a sunset or a video, not two people getting it on. "Good afternoon, Ryder. Don't you have a meeting soon?"
"Yeah." The same meeting she'd be attending, and she knew it.
"Ah." Something flashed in her eyes, but she lowered her lashes a heartbeat later. "Can I steal Nessa, or should I come back another time?"
At least she asked. Ryder slowly disentangled himself from Nessa's embrace, then kissed the tip of her nose. "Find me later."
"I'll bring dinner to your place," she replied. "After your meeting?"
"Deal." He headed for the stairs, but stopped short when Lex winked at him. "What?"
"What?" she echoed mildly. "It's nice to see you, that's all."
Nessa covered her face with her hands and groaned. "Lex. Knock it off."
"It's all right." Ryder gave them both his cockiest grin. "I can handle it."
After all, he'd heard Finn's horror stories about his arrival in Sector Four. If his friend could survive the challenges and beatdowns that had come his way while he was proving his worth to the O'Kanes, then Ryder could deal with some pointed looks and teasing.
Hell, it was almost quaint.
Chapter Eight
Nessa could still remember the first time she'd met Lex. She'd been a baby back then, barely a teenager, but after the trip from Texas she'd felt a million years old. Her days had been filled with work, with the banter between Dallas and his men and her grandfather's occasional growled command for them to watch their mouths in front of her.
It didn't seem odd at the time. She'd grown up on a farm surrounded by rough, foul-mouthed men. Before the trip north, she'd cut her hair short and hid her changing body beneath so many layers that most people assumed she was a boy. It had been easier to let them. Easier to be one of the guys. To be tough. Safe.
Then Lex strolled into her life, beautiful and glamorous, exuding sex and danger in equal measure, and Nessa hated her.
For about twenty minutes.
She hadn't realized how badly she wanted another woman around, how much had been missing that she'd never even realized she could have. Dallas's mother had been a badass, but she was always distant and remote, a matriarch more likely to give you tough love than hugs and cuddles.
Lex had offered both, and more. She'd laughed and joked with Nessa. She'd relaxed with her. When the guys gave her shit, she gave it back with interest, and when they teased Nessa, Lex smacked them back twice as hard.
With her around, Nessa had discovered what it felt like to have a sister. And she'd figured out something just as important.
She didn't have to choose between tough or feminine. She could be both.
Lex was the one who had given her her first proper haircut, turning the short, shaggy locks into a pixie style that made Nessa feel cute for the first time in her life. Lex had taken her shopping for clothes that actually fit her, and filed the ragged edges of her nails to introduce her to the glory of nail polish. When Nessa had gotten curious about hair dye, Lex was the one who tracked down bleach on the black market and patiently applied it to Nessa's hair.
It had been more than a makeover, more than dye and polish.
Surrounded by people who expressed themselves with the vivid ink they tattooed on their skin, Nessa had found her own mode of expression—by necessity, at first, since her grandfather had threatened all of Ace's favorite body parts if he tattooed Nessa before she was grown enough to know what she wanted, but then by choice.
She'd been trying to figure out who she wanted to be since she was thirteen. Other than the O'Kane cuffs wrapped around her wrists, the only ink she'd felt ready for was the tiny memorial tattoo Ace had inked over her heart the day after they'd put her grandfather into the ground.
Ink was forever. Nessa still felt too...impulsive.
Which was how she ended up on the couch in her office, staring down her first and most protective big sister, unsure if she felt guilty or defiant. Probably both. And irritated, too—that kiss had been getting good. "Are you gonna tell Dallas?"
Lex pulled a flask from her back pocket and began slowly unscrewing the cap. "And what, exactly, would I be telling him? Enlighten me."
God, nothing he wanted to hear. Nessa's memories of Dallas from before he left the farm were shrouded in hero-worship, and arriving back into his life as a hormonal teenager had saddled her with an embarrassingly intense crush for a while. But he'd made it clear from day one that he remembered her birth—and that baby sister wasn't a term of endearment from him. It was damn close to literal.
Which was why there was a fair-to-middling chance he'd punch Ryder in the teeth if he found out they'd been making out already. "It's nothing. Just blowing off some steam."
"That's not what it looked like."
"Really?" She wrinkled her nose at Lex and slumped down on the couch. "That's how everyone else blows off steam."
"With a nice, casual fuck in the back room, sure." She took a swig from the flask and held it out. "But those big eyes you were making at him, Nessa? Come on."
Nessa took the flask and rubbed her thumb over it. The shiny surface had the O'Kane logo etched into it, but Dallas hadn't stopped there. A crown hovered just above the skull, and the words My Queen flowed beneath it.
Yeah. Dallas wasn't usually subtle. Faces were gonna get punched. "That's what I was trying to get. A nice, casual fuck. He's the one obsessed with all the sexy-touching foreplay."