by Kit Rocha
"I know." At her questioning look, he had to smile. "My father was a police officer. That's how he knew Jim—they were partners."
"Oh God, he was a cop?" She leaned against the cask and laughed. "This is Pop's worst nightmare. But I bet he would have liked you anyway. All the super-spy skills. Pop appreciated resourcefulness."
Ryder ran his hand around the rough edge of the cask. "Why don't you buy them?"
"Because…" The word faded away as she stared at him. "I don't know. I guess I never really thought about it. It's always been about how I can maximize profits, and my feelings didn't get a lot of input."
"The wall is coming down." And, with it, the trade restrictions Eden's former Council had imposed on the sectors. "I don't think you have to worry about Dallas's profits anymore."
"Maybe I will buy them, then." She touched her grandfather's handwriting again. "I wish I had more of him. I think about Hana, and I…" Her voice wavered. "Our parents were just trying to survive. They didn't have time to think about preserving our history. I know my other grandfather was Vietnamese, but I don't know what that means. I've never seen a picture of him, and my parents died before they could tell me stories. And I want Hana to have more than that. And Rachel and Cruz and Ace's kid. We need pictures and vids and stories. For whoever comes after us."
Somewhere, hidden away in Sector Eight, his mother had placed a lockbox full of memories for him. He didn't even know what was in it, but he cherished the fact that it was there, that it existed. That his parents weren't lost to him forever, not completely.
"That doesn't have to be a dream," he whispered. "All you have to do is start taking pictures, asking questions. Writing."
Her nose scrunched up. "Maybe I'll recruit Noelle to do the writing. She's a bookworm. But pictures, I can do pictures. And vids." She stepped closer, leaning into his chest. "Just promise me that you want me in your future, even if you can't see it clearly yet."
"I've always been able to see you." Even when the future had been some unthinkable mystery, the single void in a lifetime of focus and study. "Sometimes, you're all I can see. I should have told you that already."
"Oh." A single syllable, but it was more a sound. It was discovery, relief. "Yeah, that would have been nice to hear. But I know it can be hard to get a word in edgewise when I—"
He cut her off with a kiss. Not because he didn't want to hear what she had to say, not exactly.
He wanted to taste it instead.
Her lips parted, and her arms slid around his neck. She moaned against his mouth, and he had to catch her as she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his hips. Her kiss was everything she was—open, fearless, eager.
"Another dream." He murmured the words against her mouth. "Tell me."
"This," she replied, laughing softly. "This is what I wanted to do that first day I found you in here with Jas. Climb right up your body and have glorious, inappropriate sex on the tasting table."
"We'll break something," he told her approvingly.
"That's the point." She nipped at his lower lip. "C'mon, Ryder. Be reckless with me."
"Well…" Her belt fastened with a hook instead of a buckle, and he flicked it open with one hand. "Since we're dreaming, and all."
She gave a little wiggle. "Dream big?"
"Something like that." It was the final lesson Jim had neglected, the one Ryder's mother, lost in her grief, hadn't had the words to convey.
His future wasn't a time, or a place, or a thing. His future was a woman, and that woman was in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Someone had upgraded the party room.
Nessa put her money on Noelle, especially since the biggest addition was a shiny new couch. The leather was supple and pristine, as if servants had been tasked with conditioning it weekly. Dallas had resisted the temptation to pillage Eden—baffling the surviving council members more than a little—but Noelle hadn't been shy about claiming her share of her inheritance.
And she spent it on Dallas's comfort.
Nessa knew she wasn't the only one who kept glancing up at the dais to reassure herself that he was really there. Lex hadn't left his side from the moment he lowered himself onto his new throne with a sigh of relief and a scowl for her hovering.
They were all hovering. But Dallas was alive, and getting stronger every day. And the O'Kanes had gathered to celebrate.
If Nessa unfocused her eyes a little, she could almost believe it was just like old times. Music throbbed through the room, loud enough for people to dance but not too loud for the conversations happening around the edges of the room. Laughter rung out and liquor flowed, and she'd missed this. God, how she'd missed this.
Her O'Kane family had turned out in style. Leather and denim. Lace and silk. Skin—Nessa had never realized how soothing nakedness could be. But the first time Ace slid his hand under Cruz's shirt and bit his shoulder teasingly, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Things had gotten so bleak, she'd wondered if they'd ever find their way back here, to the slow, easy parties filled with brotherhood and sisterhood and joy. To teasing and joking. To sex that wasn't tangled with desperation, that didn't feel like clutching at every moment until time tore it through your fingertips.
Even tinged with sadness, this was what victory felt like. A glimpse of the life they'd had before, and proof that they could have it again.
Or maybe even something better.
Ryder's arm slid around her waist. He didn't speak, but when she craned her neck to look up at him, he was eyeing her with concern.
Probably because her eyes were misty. She smiled and rested her hand over his, pulling his arm more tightly around her. "I'm okay. It's a good kind of pretending-not-to-cry."
"How about pretending-to-drink?" He pressed a bottle into her hand. "Rachel's latest batch. Maybe the last one for a while."
"Probably." Nessa supposed it was inevitable, once shit got back to normal and Cruz had enough time to ponder the idea of a pregnant Rachel climbing up ladders to mess with giant vats of boiling liquids. Not that she'd forgive herself if Rachel got woozy and hurt herself.
She didn't look woozy now—just blissful. Ace had his left arm in a sling, but he'd never needed more than one hand to be all over her. And even Cruz's stern expression eased a little when Jared sat down next to them and tugged Lili into his lap.
At one time, the sight would have made her jealous—not that she'd ever really admitted it, even to herself. To confess to jealousy, she would have had to own up to being discontented with her cushy life, and that was a door she'd always kept firmly locked.
Until Ryder had wandered along and kicked it right the hell in.
She sipped the beer and leaned back against him. "You know this party's gonna get wild, right?"
"Jas already warned me." He snorted. "For that matter, so did Bren, Trix, and Zan. I think they expect me to faint when people start fucking."
"That would be pretty cute." Of course, since her concept of how good sex could be had gotten upended since the last time she'd watched them all fall on each other in a pile, she might be the one who swooned. That would be embarrassing as fuck. "You should have seen Hawk's eyes the first time they brought him to a party. He didn't know where to look once people started getting freaky, so he mostly stared at his boots or the ceiling."
"Not anymore, obviously."
She followed his gaze and laughed.
Of course Jas and Noelle were already putting on a show. Jas was sprawled out on the couch, one arm resting lazily along the back, the other tangled in Noelle's hair where she knelt between his legs. She kept her fingers twined at the small of her back, letting him guide her mouth up and down his cock in a slow, filthy blowjob that held Hawk riveted.
Judging by the affectionate look on Jeni's face, the only reason she wasn't emulating Noelle yet was because she was having way too much fun watching Hawk.
"This is pretty tame, you know," she murmured to Ryder. "You should
be here some night when Lex and Jas go to town on her. The only thing more impressive than how crazy they make her is how smug Dallas gets about it. He likes being the king of debauchery."
"Of course he does. He built an entire empire around it."
He'd built an empire around liquor, and always claimed the debauchery as a selfish indulgence or, in his more cynical moments, political strategy. But contrasting Hawk's previous discomfort with his easy, confident demeanor now, it was hard not to see something else.
This wasn't just debauchery. It was freedom.
Noah and Emma might end up fucking in the corner, oblivious to watching eyes. Bren and Six would enjoy the view until they decided to take the party home behind closed doors. Zan and Tatiana would dance and cuddle and trade long, lazy kisses, but they wouldn't end up naked the way Finn and Trix would. And they sure as hell wouldn't end up in a tangle of limbs, the way Rachel, Cruz, and Ace might with Jared and Lili.
Whatever you needed, you could have. But you didn't have to take everything on offer, either. That was the magic of the world Dallas had created for them—a place where you belonged even if you didn't fit in, because the only qualifications for belonging were showing up, having each other's backs, and caring.
And being loyal to your king and queen.
"Come on," she said, spinning out of the circle of Ryder's arm. She grabbed his hand and tugged him across the dance floor. "We should pay our respects."
Lex looked up at their approach, then leaned over to whisper in Dallas's ear.
Dallas eyed Ryder and huffed as Nessa hopped up on the stage. "Lex says I can't give your boyfriend a hard time until I'm up to punching him in a cage."
Lex smiled. "Sorry, Declan. That's how you handle bona fide war heroes."
"Damn right it is." And because Dallas had been looking so grumpy about being coddled, Nessa did the opposite. She prodded Ryder to sit in the chair next to their couch and then dropped into his lap.
Dallas glowered at her. "You know, you used to respect me and do what I said."
"Yeah, when was that? When I was seven?"
He snorted and relented. "Just about. Maybe I should be wishing Ryder luck instead of dragging him into the cage."
Nessa replied by giving him both middle fingers.
Ryder trailed his fingers down the center of her back. "I'm not worried."
The warmth tripping through her could have been from the soft touch or the casual arrogance in the words—Nessa was learning that there was one time when confidence was really fucking hot: when Ryder was being confident about them. "Me neither. So lay off, Dallas. Because if you don't, I'm gonna tell you any time we bang somewhere in the distillery, and you'll never be able to go in there again."
Dallas damn near choked on his mouthful of beer, and Nessa waited for the explosion. But his near-death experience must have mellowed him—or Lex had worked her magic—because he only burst out laughing. "Goddamn, Nessa. You grew up mean."
"No. I grew up O'Kane." She hooked her arm around Ryder's neck and smiled at him. "And we go after what we want."
"One dream at a time," he agreed with a grin.
Silently, Dallas held up his beer. Nessa leaned in to clink their bottles together and took a sip. The beer was crisp and clean, not nearly strong enough for the newly kindled warmth low in her gut. That was the high of crossing that final invisible line, the one Dallas had drawn in his head years ago when he'd fixed her in his mind as a kid who could never grow up.
She was so high, she told caution to go fuck itself and kissed Ryder.
The chair jolted, and Nessa looked up just in time to see Lex kick it again. "Go dance," she ordered.
Poor Dallas. He was trying so hard not to look disgruntled. Nessa rose and swooped down to kiss his cheek, then dropped a second kiss to Lex's. "Yes, ma'am."
As Nessa dragged Ryder off the platform, she heard Dallas muttering that at least one of them got some respect, and giddy joy bubbled up until she was laughing as she spun to face Ryder. "So do super spies know how to dance?"
"Nope." He took her hand and spun her again, and this time she landed against his chest. "But we can make it look like we do."
"You make it feel pretty convincing, too." Or maybe that was just the sensation of being pressed up against all those muscles. She still planned to soften him around the edges with her first spy mission—Operation Extra Desserts and Lazy Weekends—but his sturdiness had nothing to do with his perfect physique. It was a strength that went deep, the knowledge that she could crash into him...and he'd catch her.
Of course, he was also really good at improvisation. The beat changed to something low and intense, and the hand at her back pulled her close as his thigh slid between her legs. Dancing turned into swaying, the rhythm the slowest and sweetest kind of foreplay—and someone called her name twice before the familiar voice registered.
"Nessa!"
"Mia?" As soon as Nessa turned, her friend swept her into a fierce hug. Mia was effortlessly graceful in a stunning white dress that set off her dark brown skin and the sparkly gold nail polish Nessa had made for her personally. And she was glowing. Having the opportunity to apply her skills toward running Sector Eight obviously agreed with her.
Or maybe it was Ford, who stood silently at her shoulder, looking as serious as always, but not nearly as surly as he'd been before Mia crashed into his life. Nessa grinned at him. "Ford. Good to see you."
"You, too." His expression became a little more guarded. "Ryder."
"Ford. How are things in Eight?"
"Good." It was Mia who answered, and she was adorable when she got excited. "The systems Jim had in place were streamlined, but fairly compartmentalized. I suppose he couldn't risk letting any one person see too much of what he was doing. But now that we don't have that problem, everything's easier."
Remembering Jim's murder book, Nessa had her doubts that anything Jim really cared about had been in files Mia could access. "That's good. And I'm glad you could get away for the party."
"We wouldn't have missed it." Ford lifted his arm, flashing his O'Kane ink from beneath his sleeve. "For life, right?"
"For life." Nessa held up her hand, and Ford stared at it for about two bars of the music before giving her the world's most awkward high-five. He looked even more disgruntled when she laughed, so she threw her arms around him in a delighted hug, then gave Mia a second one. "You better go say hi to Dallas and Lex before Ford gets too grumpy with me. We'll catch up soon."
When they were gone, she turned back to Ryder and twined her arms around his neck again. But the tiniest bit of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts as she stared up at him. "I know everyone's been asking you about Five, but did they ever ask you about Eight? If you wanted it, I mean? You're Jim's heir, you know."
Ryder made a choked noise that exploded into laughter. "No. Christ, no. The only thing that ever made Jim crankier than secretly plotting revolution for decades was running those fucking factories. Mia can have them."
"She'll do awesome things with them." Nessa pressed closer, falling back into the swaying rhythm of the music. "And that frees you up to do awesome things with me."
"Speaking of which—" He whipped her around before settling into the rhythm. "I found the camera you wanted. It wasn't easy—or cheap—but it's yours now." He paused. "Walt Misham waited until after we agreed on a price to inform me that he learned the art of negotiation from Lex, of all people."
"Oh God, you bartered with Walt?" Imagining the two of them bickering over prices was enough to make her laugh again. "Well, I guess you're not rich anymore."
"I still am, barely. But only because that ornery old man likes me."
"Of course he does." She went up on her toes, sliding her chest against his. "You're smart and tough and funny and smoking hot."
Amusement and appreciation curved his lips up at the corners. "Are you saying Old Man Misham wants to steal me away from you?"
"Maybe." It would take more self-control tha
n Nessa had ever possessed not to kiss that smile. His lips were warm and familiar, his kiss still as exciting as the first one had been. It made her heart race and her skin flush, and oh, she loved those butterflies now. They swooped and danced in joyous promise, even after she pulled away.
This close, the noise of the crowd faded away with the music. "Tell me a dream," she whispered.
"You know that bag I dropped off at your office before the party? It was the last of my stuff from Five. I gave Hector my keys this afternoon. It's all his." He paused. "So I guess that means I need a permanent place to crash now."
The dream rushed toward her effortlessly, and this time she didn't try to put on the brakes. She didn't tell herself it was too dangerous or try to hold back a little to protect her heart. She just...dreamed.
Ryder, living with her. Waking up every morning in her pillow-covered bed. Filling some of the empty shelves in her room with the things he wanted to learn about or explore, now that his life didn't have to be all about war. Picking up lunch from the market and bringing it to her office. Coaxing her out of the warehouse to have actual adventures, where she could see the damn world.
Falling into bed with her every night, and all the sexy-hot fucking that made her come alive. Scratch that—the sexy-hot fucking could happen in her office, too. And in the aging room again. Anywhere. Everywhere.
But that was her dream.
He went on. "I talked to Dallas. He knows I'm not going to join up, I've had enough of that for a while. But I have money, and he has places to invest it. And your boy could always use someone else around, telling him like it is."
Nessa stared over his shoulder at Dallas, who was talking to Lex, Bren, and Six now. As lonely as her life had been at times, Dallas had had it worse. The O'Kanes were honest with him, but loyalty and trust could be their own burden. People who believed in you didn't always see your flaws—or your mistakes. Lex carried as much as she could, but the weight had been crushing them both during this war.