Beyond Surrender (Beyond #9)

by Kit Rocha

  Lex's eyebrows slowly rose.

  She was making this so much worse. Nessa scrubbed a hand over her face and took a sip from the flask. Trust Lex to have the good stuff—one of the first bourbons they'd bottled the second year, when they'd had too much leftover corn and Pop had started looking toward the future. The yeast had been his grandfather's secret recipe, passed down through who-the-fuck-knew how many generations, a strain Nessa lovingly kept alive, because it kept him alive.

  And every time she tasted that spicy caramel and vanilla, she missed him all over again.

  Which was the real answer to Lex's unspoken question, and the one thing Nessa would never allow to tumble out of her mouth. That deep ache of loneliness felt like a betrayal of everything Lex had ever given her. She had family and friends. She had a soft, comfortable life and a purpose.

  She didn't like that about herself. Didn't like the dark neediness that made friends and family insufficient. Oh, she covered it with jokes about her barren love life, but until Ryder had touched her in that elevator, she hadn't realized how flimsy the cover was.

  She wanted what he was offering so hard it made her dizzy. And that scared her. She took another sip before passing the flask back to Lex, unable to meet her eyes while she asked the most important question. "Do you think he's...playing me or something?"

  "Ryder? No, I don't think so. It takes a special kind of sociopath to run game when it's not necessary." She sat beside Nessa, curling one leg beneath her. "And it's not, right? Necessary?"

  "Depends on his goal," Nessa retorted, trying not to sound grumpy. "Getting in my pants? No, I pretty much already invited him. And if he's trying to do something else, I can't figure out what it would be. I'm not important to the war."

  Lex choked on her bourbon. "Is that what you think he is—another money-grubbing asshole looking for a way to peel off a little of Dallas's empire for himself without putting in the work?"

  "No. I don't." She slumped even lower on the couch, unsure if Lex's amusement was annoying or relieving. "Doesn't mean I'm right. Men aren't the only ones who get dumb when they're horny."

  "Well…" Lex mused. "We can look at this logically. He could be out to get rich, except that he already has more money than Dallas."

  Nessa stopped trying to sink through the couch. "What? How?"

  There went Lex's eyebrows again. "Everything in Five is his. The Flemings are all dead, except for Lili. He tried to give her what they left behind, but she wouldn't take much. And then there's Jim Jernigan's fortune—Ryder was practically his kid, of course he left it to him." She paused. "I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew. Ryder's bankrolling this war."

  Maybe she should have realized. But the man had arrived on the compound with a fucking duffel bag, for fuck's sake. Managing to make yourself rich in the sectors was hard enough. She'd never met anyone who didn't show it off. "Oh."

  "Oh." Lex fell silent for a few heartbeats. "What are you really worried about, Nessa?"

  Trust Lex to ask the question that cut straight to her heart. Nessa shifted until she could lean into Lex and rest her head on the older woman's shoulder. "I don't know," she admitted. "Everything's so tense, and it could explode tomorrow. And I barely know him, but he makes me feel less—" Alone. "Sad. Or less scared. I don't know. I just don't want the guys to scare him away."

  "Ah." Lex rubbed her back in small circles. "With the way he looks at you, that would be a tragedy. I'll talk to Dallas. But, you know...he might surprise you."

  Nessa doubted it, but she didn't quibble. She was too busy latching on to Lex's other words. "How does he look at me?"

  "Ryder?" Lex smiled against Nessa's forehead. "Like he hasn't figured you out yet, but he really, really wants to."

  Nessa closed her eyes and didn't fight the flutters this time. Maybe it was selfish or reckless in the middle of a war, but she didn't care. It felt good, and she needed something good. "We're gonna win this, right? Tell me we can do it."

  "The city leaders think we can't, and they've been wrong about everything else," Lex whispered. "So let's just say I think our chances are good."

  "Because O'Kanes can do fucking anything." But because Lex sounded tired, Nessa wrapped both arms around her. "Can I do anything else to help?"

  Her answering sigh was silent, but Nessa still felt it. "We need an inventory on candles. There could be more blackouts, and we may not always be able to run the generators."

  Which definitely meant staying out of the elevator for the foreseeable future. "What about the generators in the distillery? Can I keep those going, or do I need to consider shutting down after this batch?"

  "I'm not sure yet, but it's a possibility."

  So shit really was dire. She'd been half-hoping for a denial, but Lex didn't pull punches. And right now she needed Nessa to step up, not fall apart—even if she was facing the total disruption of her life's work. "It might be best to scale back, either way. The guys have war shit to do, and I can't keep us moving by myself."

  "I know." Lex sighed again. "But it won't be for long. And just think of how much these last few batches will be worth in ten years."

  Nessa sat back up with a grin. "Hey, I'll let Ace make me some special War Whiskey labels. Distilled in the heart of the rebellion. We'll be rich."

  "There you go. It's all about the branding."

  The door slammed open, and Jasper jogged in, a little out of breath. "Sorry to barge in, but we have a problem."

  Lex straightened, and Nessa's big sister vanished, replaced by a queen. "What is it?"

  "Noah and Zeke figured out how to access the city's troop movements." Jasper's expression went dark. "They've moved a whole goddamn platoon into Two."

  "Shit." Nessa rolled to her feet, even though there was nothing she could do. The alarm would start blaring any minute, and the fighters would gear up and ride out.

  All she could do was sit and wait to see how many of them came back home.

  Lex rose. "I guess it's a good thing we finished the evacuations, then. Nessa?"

  "Where should I start?"

  "The candles, if you would."

  At least it would keep her distracted. She'd do the inventory and then beg Lili for some help putting together dinner for Ryder. Because he was coming home. They were all coming home.

  Nessa simply refused to accept any alternative.

  Ryder had never seen so much blood.

  Except it wasn't merely blood, it was carnage. An entire platoon of military police from the city, dozens of men, lay scattered over one of the wide streets in Two. As far as he could remember, this area had escaped the bombing that had leveled much of the sector—not that you could tell by looking at it now. The soldiers weren't just dead. Some of them were in pieces, torn or blown apart by Christ knew what.

  He stood there, staring, as Cruz crouched near the center of the destruction. He'd been studying it for a few minutes, his brow furrowed. As if he was staring at a puzzle that almost made sense.

  The others seemed far less serene. Finn stood next to Ryder, his stance and expression uneasy. Ace looked a little green, and before long he turned to study the road leading back to the city. Zan stood on his other side, glowering at the mess.

  Retching came from behind him. Flash ambled up and crossed his big arms over his chest. "Tank's chucked up his breakfast and is working on last night's dinner."

  Even Dallas looked uncertain about the situation. Ryder focused on the V of the man's T-shirt collar and breathed slowly, trying to block out the metallic scent of blood—and worse. "Do you think Gideon had his men come down and take them out?"

  After a moment, Dallas shook his head. "They would have stayed to clean up, even if they didn't have time to let us know beforehand. And I don't think this is their style. It's too…"

  "Messy," Mad finished for him. "They wouldn't use explosives. They'd rather risk going hand-to-hand. It's too important for them to know exactly how many lives they've taken."

  "Forty, by the w
ay." Six stepped up next to Dallas and shoved her hands in her pockets. "As close as I can figure. Kinda hard to be sure."

  Bren returned from his own survey of the battlefield with a grim expression. "They didn't get hit by a squad. See, they came marching up through there—" He pointed down at the undamaged end of the street. "Someone waited until they got here, someone who already had this section of the street wired."

  "Wired with what?" Jasper asked.

  "Hard to say without a better look. Mines, probably." Bren shrugged. "Took out half the men at once. You can see where the rest broke ranks and ran for it, but they didn't make it far." He glanced up, his eyes narrowed. "Cruz?"

  The man was kneeling beside one of the fallen soldiers outside the blast zone. He started at the sound of his name, then rose. "This was Ashwin."

  "Your Eden informant?" Ryder asked Dallas.

  "Something like that." Dallas glanced at Cruz, one eyebrow raised.

  Cruz met Ryder's gaze and lowered his voice. "How much did Jim know about the Base?"

  Irritated, Ryder stared back at him. "What they needed him to know."

  "Not enough, then." He tilted his head, indicating the carnage. "Ashwin isn't your average soldier from the Base. He's part of a covert program whose goal is to create better soldiers through genetic modification. Project Makhai."

  The assumption that he knew nothing about Base operations annoyed Ryder almost as much as the fact that no one had told him the whole truth about Dallas's mysterious informant. He sucked in a breath, torn between correcting their misapprehensions with a fancy speech and getting the answers he needed.

  He settled for the latter. "Even a third-generation Makhai—the ones they finally perfected—couldn't pull this off without help. No way did your Makhai friend manage to shoot a dozen guys before they ran for cover."

  Surprise widened Cruz's eyes. Dallas just snorted. "Fucking Jim Jernigan. Of course he knew."

  Ryder shrugged. "Someone had to make their equipment."

  Cruz was still watching Ryder—speculatively, now. "You're right. Even most Makhai soldiers wouldn't have been able to do this, but Ashwin is the best. You saw him the night Eden invaded the sectors. He charged their lines and left nothing behind him but bodies."

  "I remember." And he should have made the connection—between Ashwin heading alone into enemy lines and Cruz's obvious deference, it was clear now what Ashwin was. "If he's such a badass, neutralizing whole platoons all by his lonesome, then why don't you just round him up and send him into Eden?"

  "Because I can't find him, for starters. He shows up when he feels like it, and leaves the same way." Dallas scrubbed a hand over his mouth and turned his back on the sea of dead bodies. "And to be perfectly damn honest? I don't wanna rely on his self-control next time he gets in a murdery mood. Maybe we'll be the ones who look like enemies that day."

  A chill seized Ryder. "You think that's a possibility?"

  "I'm not ruling it out. He's a powerful weapon, no doubt. But I prefer the ones I can aim in the right direction. The ones that don't go off until I'm damn well ready." Dallas exhaled roughly and raised his voice. "Flash?"

  "Yeah, boss?"

  "Strip the bodies of tech and weapons."

  The big man strolled over to where the new recruit stood and slapped him on the back. "You heard the man, Tank. You start over there, with the guys who aren't in pieces."

  "What about the bodies?" Cruz asked.

  Dallas turned to survey the destruction again, his jaw tightening. "Leave them. Let the next recruits who roll out of those gates wonder just what the hell we do to people who come to play."

  It was an ugly game, but that was all the leaders in Eden understood. That was the scariest thing about war—not the things you might see or suffer, but what you might be driven to do, all in the name of victory.

  Because victory meant survival. Anything short of tearing down the city would count as defeat, and no one he knew in the sectors would live through the aftermath. The rebellion leaders would be the first ones executed, but the Council wouldn't stop until all of Dallas's people, especially, were dead.

  Even Nessa.

  Ryder squeezed his eyes shut and let the rage wash over him. This anger was old, almost as old as him, but knowing that Nessa was in danger lent it a new, burning edge. They wouldn't care that she'd never lifted a weapon, that all she wanted to do was keep her grandfather's legacy alive any way she could. To them, she was an enemy, and they would kill her.

  Which meant Dallas was right. The rebellion had to succeed, so they couldn't show mercy. They couldn't afford to.

  Ryder opened his eyes. "These men are just the first wave. They'll keep coming."

  "I know." Dallas eyed him. "Do you know about any other secret weapons over there in Eight that Ford and Mia haven't already unearthed?"

  "A few." It seemed wrong to smile through his rage, but that's exactly what he did. "They're not in Jim's book."

  "Let's go make a list. And let's make every step they take into the sectors cost them."

  Chapter Nine

  Nessa didn't venture off the compound very often. For all that she bitched and moaned about Dallas keeping her chained to the production room, there were advantages to being a liquor prodigy and a princess. When she wanted food, one of the guys ran to fetch it for her. If she needed supplies, she sent the newest recruit.

  It had been weeks since the last time she'd put so much as a toe out into Sector Four, and the changes were enough to slam her right in the chest.

  The streets were quieter. Not just unused, but empty. She passed boarded-up doors and carts that had been abandoned. Some people had left the area closest to the wall when it had been electrified, but only a few had come back to reclaim their spots now that Dallas had turned it off.

  For a place that had always felt so vibrant—dangerous, maybe, but seething with life—the fearful silence felt too much like giving up.

  The feeling got worse when she reached the market square. There was more activity here—people gathered in clusters, talking in low voices. Men with guns patrolled with a sense of purpose that made her suspect they were part of Jasper's newly organized militia.

  But when she stopped in front of her favorite noodle stall, she found it stripped bare, with no trace of the sweet, gray-haired lady who'd always flirted with Pop while sneaking Nessa sticky pieces of peanut candy. The stall next to it was empty, too, but the upended table and tangle of broken dishes told a darker tale.

  People were running. People were dying. And Nessa wished desperately and selfishly that Lili hadn't been too busy to help her cook dinner, because seeing the raw truth of what the war was doing to Dallas's people hurt.

  The crotchety old lady who sold pizzas and meat pies was still there, at least. She grumbled under her breath as she packed up Nessa's order, issuing her litany of complaints about the state of the sector in a voice just low enough that Nessa could pretend not to hear. But the sheer normalcy of her ever-present griping made Nessa want to grab her face and kiss her.

  She gathered up the food instead, leaving behind an obscenely large tip. She did the same at the pastry shop, ignoring the proprietor's wide eyes as she left with her purchases. The people who stayed through it all deserved loyalty in return.

  It was the literal least she could do.

  The sun was dipping beneath the wall when she arrived back at the compound. The metal stairs to Ryder's apartment shook under her boots as she stomped up them, her nerves swallowed by her eagerness to see a friendly face. She banged on his door with her elbow, and shoved one of the bags at him when it opened. "I hope you're hungry."

  He cleared his throat lightly and swallowed hard. "Uh, sure."

  She knew that look. It was a terrible shit went down today look. She'd gotten enough of an update from Noelle to know everyone had made it back safely, but Noelle had seemed reluctant to share details.

  Now Nessa wished she'd pressed. "If not, that's okay, too. I brought more liquo
r."

  "No, thanks. The food's good." He set the bag on the desk and took the rest from her. "I'm not much of a drinker."

  "I've noticed." She kicked the door shut and followed him to the table. "Do you just not like it?"

  He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was rough. "I don't like feeling out of control. I'm not used to it."

  He said it in that tone of voice too many of the O'Kanes used sometimes, the one that really meant I never got to be a kid. Which didn't seem to fit with the way he'd talked about his mother. He'd felt loved, she was sure of it.

  Then again, she knew love wasn't always enough to make a kid feel safe. "What was it like, growing up in Eight? Ford never wanted to talk about it, but I've heard it's really...rigid."

  Ryder pulled up a chair expectantly. After a second, she realized he was waiting for her to sit. So she did, letting him push the chair in for her. His fingers brushed the base of her neck for one electric moment.

  Then he stepped away. "Sector Eight is all about structure. It has to be, in some ways—you can't run production on that scale without reliability and order. But that's just the surface, you know? The cover. You've seen Jim's book, and you know what he was planning. That was my life."

  She stared at him, not quite comprehending at first. Then she looked at his perfectly formed muscles again and remembered how he moved—quietly, deliberately, with a control and focused grace only one person she'd ever met could match.

  Cruz had been raised to be a warrior. Apparently, so had Ryder. "So Jim made you a soldier?"

  "Jim kept a promise." Ryder paused, the wrapped meat pies in his hands. "My father tried to lead a revolt against the city, back in the early days after the Flares. He didn't make it. Jim always told me that was my legacy. That someday I'd finish what my father started."

  "Oh, God." Her stomach knotted. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  He huffed out a breath. "About which part?"