by Kit Rocha
The sun was already up, flooding the alley with clear, cool light, but the cracked sidewalk in front of her building was still lined with men huddled around the fires they’d built in huge metal drums. They exchanged cigarettes and flasks and watched her as she shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets and strode determinedly past them.
“Hey, sweets. Need a man to keep you warm?” one of them called after her, his voice edged with a meanness she recognized all too well. She ignored him and walked faster, lifting her gaze to the tall wall that separated the pristine city of Eden from the dirty tangle of humanity struggling to survive on this side.
The closer you got to the walls, the nicer things were—but they were expensive, too. It was a ten-minute walk to the O’Kane compound, through narrow streets lined with hard-faced men and women who eyed her shabby, patched coat and worn boots and probably judged her not worth the trouble of robbing.
Probably.
One sharp-eyed woman paused to do a double take, and Mia ducked between two men and hopped up onto the sidewalk, doing her best to project confidence. One of the first lessons any girl in Orchid House learned was that predators could sense fear—and that they were being molded into perfect, tempting prey.
Perfect, tempting traps.
She made it safely to the street that led to the O’Kane compound and walked another five blocks to the edge of the marketplace. One vendor had a clock on his stall that read half past nine, so she hurried to the stand that sold luscious pastries baked fresh in the little shop behind the table.
She smiled at the plump, pretty woman managing the sales, and tucked some extra money into her hand after accepting the paper sack. “Can I rent one of the thermoses for the tea, Pam?”
“Not drinking it in the shop this morning, honey?”
Mia had every day for the last week, borrowing the warmth her apartment didn’t have and trading lighthearted stories with Pam and her husband. But today would be different. Today would be the start of a whole lot of differences. “No, I’ve got a new job that starts in twenty minutes. The boss already told me I’m fired if I’m late.”
Laughing, Pam poured tea into a battered tin thermos, the kind with a plastic cup that twisted off the top. “You found a job already? I bet Lou you would. You look like a clever girl.”
She was a clever girl, but that violated another of the trainer’s rules. Everyone likes to make use of a woman’s brains, but no one wants to be forced to admit she has them. So she smiled and demurred with a shrug. “It’s nothing fancy. Just doing paperwork for the O’Kanes.”
Mia had seen too many fixed smiles not to realize the other woman had gone stiff. Her smile was still there, but it was forced now. She twisted the top onto the thermos and pushed it across the counter. Uncertain, Mia wrapped her chilled hands around the blessedly warm metal, only to find folded cash being stuffed beneath her fingers.
“You have a good day at work,” Pam said intently, patting Mia’s hand. “No need for the deposit, love. Just return it when you have a chance. Or come back tomorrow, and we’ll refill it. We know where our loyalties lie.”
“All right,” Mia agreed, mostly to soothe the anxiety in the older woman’s gaze. She lifted her bag with one last smile and slipped back into the crowd, making it two blocks before she was safely out of view and could look at the cash in her hand.
It was all there. Not just the money for the container—all of it.
God, if the mere mention of Dallas O’Kane’s name garnered this sort of treatment, no wonder the people who wore his ink around their wrists wandered through the most dangerous parts of the sector with impunity. She could get used to that kind of reflected power.
The market was only a stone’s throw from the four square blocks that housed the O’Kane compound. Mia crossed the parking lot behind the Broken Circle and climbed the stairs with fifteen minutes to spare. Remembering Ford’s anger at finding his office invaded the previous night, she didn’t shove through the door.
She knocked.
“Come in,” came the gruff reply.
Better than go the fuck away. Taking it as an optimistic sign, Mia slipped through the door and held the bag in front of her like a white flag of truce. “I brought fresh cinnamon rolls.”
Ford barely glanced up from the sheaf of papers in his hand. “I already ate.”
He was wearing a T-shirt today, a plain cotton thing that should have been unremarkable—though she supposed the remarkable part was how it hugged everything beneath it. It took supreme effort to drag her gaze from his powerful chest to the tousled, dark hair curling damply against his neck.
Oh, he was enchanting. Grumpy and rude and beautiful and so, so much fun to look at.
There was a folding chair propped against the door, its message clear—she might be tolerated, but she wouldn’t be welcome.
Grumpy, indeed.
Hiding a smile, she shifted the bag and thermos to one arm and grabbed the chair. “I hope you don’t mind if I eat. I’ll be quick.”
He frowned at her. “Your hair is wet.”
“So is yours,” she replied easily. It took a little maneuvering, but she managed to unfold the chair with one hand and her knee.
“I haven’t been outside in the bitter cold.”
Better not to tell him how cold her bath had been, then. The chair was wobbly, but sturdier than the one in her apartment. She settled in and savored the sweet smell of spice and sugar as she opened her breakfast. “It’s nice and warm in your office. I’ll be thawed out in no time.”
But Ford only grunted. “Dry your hair before you come to work,” he instructed. “I’m not taking the time to train you if you’re only going to up and die on me.”
She spared a wistful thought for the hair dryer she’d taken for granted in Sector Two. Even if she could find one in the market that cost less than a week’s pay, who knew if she’d have the electricity to run it on any given morning?
Obstacles are opportunities to hone your wits. Her trainer had a pithy saying for any occasion, but that one was true enough. Give her a few weeks with Ford and her wits would be sharp enough to cut steel. “All right. What do you want me to look at first?”
He slid a folder across the desk. “Grain suppliers. We used to import directly as well as through other sectors—Three, specifically. I’ve been working on taking all of our deals straight to the source.”
Her interest piqued, Mia pushed her bag aside and reached for the folder. “You mean the farms? I admit I wondered where you obtained your grain. It can’t just be from the communes. Eden keeps a chokehold on the reserves.”
He lifted one strong shoulder in a casual shrug. “It’s my job to loosen that hold. Not too much, but enough.”
She scanned the list of suppliers and reconciled it with her mental dossier of Eden’s official farming communes and some of the larger illegal operations. “You don’t have the South Tahoe Collective on here.”
“You know your shit, I’ll give you that.” A muscle in Ford’s jaw clenched. “We don’t deal with Tahoe. Dallas doesn’t like the way they operate.”
Neither did he, that much was clear from his narrowed eyes and compressed lips. She didn’t blame him. The one time her patron had hosted a representative from Tahoe, she’d endured two straight days of leering and “accidental” groping, and the cruel edge in the man’s eyes had left her with no doubt what would happen if she let him catch her alone.
And he’d tried. He’d tried everything up to slipping into her bedroom, and on the final night of his visit he’d tried that too, foiled only by her locked door. She reported the attempt to Vaughn the next morning, expecting her patron to at least resent the insult to his pride if not the threat to her safety, but he’d brushed her off with the cold words that had been the beginning of the end of her life in Sector Two. If you’d done your duty when he first arrived, he wouldn’t have been reduced to such theatrics.
So many things wrong with that statement. So many fucking
things, but the worst was that, for a moment, she’d almost believed him.
Ford flipped the folder shut. “We rotate through suppliers, for two reasons. One, it helps ensure they’re not overtaxed. Secondly...”
Mia dragged her attention back to the cluttered safety of Ford’s office. He’d trailed off with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if testing her, so she scrambled to reconstruct what he’d been saying. “You can’t afford to give any one supplier that much power over the future of your business.”
“Very good. Maybe you can help me, after all.”
Yes, sometimes girls have brains, too. She bit her lip against the words, because there was no point in them. A woman didn’t get to tell a man she was smart. She had to prove she was smart, and then prove it wasn’t a fluke, and God help her if she seemed proud of her accomplishments.
A clever woman convinces a man her idea has merit. An Orchid convinces a man her idea was his all along.
She’d only been free of Sector Two for three weeks. Too soon for a lifetime of lessons to slip away, but she hoped her trainer’s voice went first. All those lessons cautioning her not to be too bright, too eager, too open, too real...
Fuck the lessons. By the time she was done tearing through Derek Ford’s life, he wouldn’t know how he’d ever made it a day without her. She could reach as high as she wanted here—Lex was proof of that. She’d fled Orchid House, had worked her way up to stand as Dallas O’Kane’s partner and the queen of Sector Four.
Mia didn’t need to be royalty, but she would damn sure have Ford’s respect by the end of the month. And maybe warm water and steady electricity, too.
And a damn hair dryer.
Chapter Three
He had to hand it to her, the girl was doing a damn good job.
It had taken her only an hour or so to go through the files, sort them, and begin scanning them into the system Noah had already programmed. Of course, she’d raised an eyebrow at the sight of the optical character recognition scanner, and it was plain to see that kind of tech was the last thing she’d expected to find in Sector Four.
It was unsettling to discover how much he delighted in surprising her.
She was frowning now, dragging her finger down a shipment inventory list. “It’s more complicated than I realized. I’ve been trying to reconcile a pattern in which grains you get in what quantities and when, but it seems completely random.”
“Supply and demand, buttercup. We have to take deals when we can get them. Plus, I never know what Nessa will need for her smaller batches.”
Mia twisted to reach for the tablet she’d commandeered. The hem of her sweater hiked up, baring a glimpse of luscious skin. “I saw something about those. A rebranding plan?”
He averted his gaze. “More like extending the O’Kane brand. Nessa’s been developing some special liquors—older ones, aging in special casks, that sort of thing. No way could she make enough to meet general demand, and no way could some asshole off the street pay for it. But there’s always someone who will, if only so he can show everyone else how much better he is.”
She made an amused little noise. “So, most of the men in Sector Two.”
“Not just Two.” He hesitated, then forged ahead. She might as well know. “Other sectors, as well. Eight, for example. That’s where I’m from.”
“Oh?” Her gaze flicked up to his. “Did you work at one of the factories?”
“Not exactly. I worked for Jim Jernigan.”
“So you’ve always been an important man.” Her full lips tugged up. “That explains a lot.”
“I wasn’t important enough to keep around.” But important enough to get rid of. One thing hadn’t changed over the years, and that was Jernigan’s ruthless pragmatism. Smart men were useful…up to a point.
O’Kane was different. He didn’t throw people away out of fear or boredom, and suddenly Ford needed her to know that.
Except he didn’t know how to say it, so he said nothing.
She tilted her head, her smile fading. “I never met Jernigan. Vau—my patron, he wasn’t prominent enough to be meeting with sector heads, or even the more reputable communes. Which is probably for the best now.”
“Because he can’t come get you?”
“I don’t think he would, unless he wanted a refund.” She wrinkled her nose and stared down at the tablet. “But if he had more influence, he might send people after me. Or get my House to do it.”
For a moment, she looked lost, and Ford steeled himself against the urge to comfort her. “You’re in Sector Four now. Dallas is king here.”
“And Lex is queen.” Mia spoke the name with a reverence that probably would have made Lex laugh. But it seemed to bolster her confidence as she reached for the scanner. “Just the same, if anyone comes looking for me, maybe you could say you’ve never heard of me?”
It was a joke, but it wasn’t funny. “You work for the O’Kanes. Surely you’ve seen how things run by now. You’re protected.”
Her gaze jumped to the thermos, where it sat abandoned on the edge of his desk with her forgotten breakfast. “Lex didn’t really explain. If something happens...”
“If someone hassles you, you mean?” The mere thought made his hands clench into fists.
“I’m not a martyr, but I’m not helpless either. I can handle a little hassle. But if it’s serious, should I tell someone?”
If it was serious, she shouldn’t have to. Ford made a mental note to ask around. “Lex can handle it. Or you can come to me.”
She nodded and changed the subject as she initiated the next scan. “I could get through all of these if I stay late tonight. Do you mind?”
“Not a good idea, unless you’re willing to have someone escort you home.”
Her lips pressed together, but he couldn’t decipher her expression. “Tomorrow, then. If you can spare a tablet, I’ll proof the extracted data tonight instead.”
She probably wanted to spare his lame ass the trek across the sector. Or, worse, she considered him piss-poor personal protection against whatever threats might await her. “It wouldn’t be me,” he offered. “We can get one of the bouncers in the club. Zan, maybe.”
“No, it’s okay. Maybe I’ll find a place closer to the compound, so no one will have to worry about walking me.” She tossed him another bright, cheerful smile, so out of place in the sectors. “Now that I know the landlords won’t cheat me if I tell them who I work for.”
It was none of his business. Ford repeated the refrain as he gathered some of the completed documents and rose. His leg ached, stiff and sore from sitting for too long, and he gritted his teeth as he braced one arm on the desk.
She hopped to her feet and swept up another stack. “Here, I can take those. It’ll be good practice.”
“I’ve got it,” he barked.
Mia stared him down for a few seconds, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. “Lex said you were in an accident.”
Ford squeezed his eyes shut. None of it seemed real, even weeks after the fact. The screech of metal, the blazing pain. The long, delirious hours spent drifting in and out of consciousness through the blazing heat of day and the chill of night.
The blood.
“There’s not much to tell,” he heard himself say calmly. “Crashed my bike, broke my leg. By the time I made my way back to town, infection had set in. That’s it, the whole tragic fucking story. Anything else you want to know?”
Her eyes had gone wide. “You walked back?”
The way she was looking at him made him shift uncomfortably. “What else was I supposed to do, lie there and die?”
“No, but...” She shivered. “That’s incredible. Not that you tried. That you made it. I understand going down fighting, but most of us don’t get back up.”
It was the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her starry expression. He could spin it out like a yarn, boast about how easy it had been. How it was nothing for a hero like him.
Instead, harsh words came. �
�It was hell. Sometimes, I’m still not sure why I bothered.”
“Because it gets better.”
She said it with such hope, and Ford opened his mouth to agree with her. But what came out was anything but comforting. “Not always, buttercup. Lesson number one in the sectors—sometimes what’s broken stays broken.”
The light went out of her.
Not all at once. He had to watch it die in stages, her eyes dulling, her shoulders slumping. She finally looked away and extended her hand to him blindly. “I’ll file the papers.”
“Fine.” Guilt sharpened his tone. “Suit yourself.”
No reply. She took the work from him and moved to the filing cabinets in silence. She’d been yammering constantly since her arrival, but no more. Now she was stony. Cold.
Well, what do you expect, jackass? She’d been looking for a little hope, and he’d crushed it ruthlessly under his boot. Never mind that he’d been talking about himself, not her. The end result was the same.
But apologizing was out of the question, because she might start thinking he gave a damn. So he kept his mouth shut and hobbled off, leaving her to her work.
Mia hadn’t realized how fragile her grip on hope was until Ford sent it spinning away.
The dreary trudge back to her apartment took forever, and she noticed everything. The garbage in the streets, the menace of strangers watching from the growing shadows, even the bitter wind slicing through the spots where her jacket was worn thin. Small blessing that only a few men had gathered around the trash-fire in front of her apartment, and they all seemed too intent on the flask they were passing around to call lewd suggestions to her.
Her adventure had gone sour, and she would make Derek Ford pay for stealing it from her.
Tomorrow.
As if to add insult to injury, the power flickered as she reached the second floor. It cast the hallway into near-darkness, broken only when the landlady threw open her door. She had power, of course, undoubtedly supplied by the generator humming in the background.