by Kit Rocha
The wood beneath the bed was mostly untouched, edged with a clear border of burned flooring in what looked like puddles. But what caught Deacon’s eye was a flash of white and blue as a card that had been tucked into the bottom of the frame fluttered to land face-down on the floor.
A playing card. Deacon’s blood was ice, but he reached for it automatically, before anyone else--like he was the only one who could handle what he knew he’d find when he flipped it over. Then he did, and the ice solidified, crystallizing in his gut until he wanted to puke.
It was just a normal card, the kind you’d find at any poker game or blackjack table. The king of hearts, staring blankly, one arm thrusting a sword through his head.
The suicide king.
Six frowned and leaned over his shoulder. “That’s weird.”
Six might not know what it was. Lucio might not. But Bren had served in Eden’s Special Tasks force, so there was no hiding what this meant. “It’s a message,” Deacon murmured through numb lips. “Your friend was murdered. Professionally.”
Bren took the card and turned it over between his fingers. “It’s a mercenary group called the Suicide Kings,” he explained. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one of their kills.”
Lucio glowered. “Makes sense. The fire was destructive but contained with surgical precision. It didn’t spread to other buildings, or even downstairs. They knew what they were doing.”
“They always do.” Deacon turned to Six. “You should find out what your friend was up to. The Kings don’t work cheap. If someone hired them, it wasn’t over a personal beef. This was business.”
“Shit.” She sounded more resigned than surprised. “Okay. Laurel’s been needing a new job, so I’ll set her on it. We’ll keep you guys in the loop.”
They kept talking, words that tumbled around in a haze that Deacon couldn’t quite catch. His attention kept drifting back to the card in Bren’s hand, like a ghost in the room that only he could see.
Gideon would probably say that ghosts were like that--elusive things that showed up when you least expected them and shook you to your core. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a proper haunting, would it?
“You know how to reach us.” Lucio held out his hand.
Six grasped it. “Thanks for the help. If anything else catches fire, now we know who to call.”
“Once the flames are out, you got it.”
Deacon couldn’t take a breath until they were outside, away from the death and the soot that seemed to coat everything, including the air. He stood on the cracked sidewalk and drew in deep, bracing gulps, but the pressure in his chest didn’t ease.
“You all right?” Lucio asked, low enough not to carry.
The pressure twisted tighter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Lucio shrugged, his words as bland as his expression. “It’s a rough scene. Corpses are bad on their own. When they’re in that condition...” He shrugged again. “It’s enough to unnerve anyone.”
“Right.” Let him think that--for now. Deacon didn’t relish explaining, especially when half his attention was focused on their surroundings. Sometimes, the Kings left behind sentries to make sure their calling card had been found and their message received.
He saw no one, but his skin crawled at the thought that someone could be watching them now, so he picked up his pace. “We need to get back. I’ll brief Gideon, but he might want a word with you.”
“Sure thing.” Lucio paused. “You think it means something, the Kings pulling a job in Sector Three?”
On that count, at least, Deacon could offer him the truth. “I don’t know, Lucio. I honestly don’t fucking know.”
Chapter Three
More often than not, Ana made the rounds of her dad’s old contact network with Ivan. Between her father’s impending sainthood and his father’s actual sainthood, the faithful of Sector One threw open their doors, eager to attract the goodwill of two saints by helping their children.
Reyes opened doors, too, but for a different reason.
“Here,” Karen cooed, bustling around the counter with a plate of crusty bread rolls, still steaming from the oven. Flour dotted her weathered cheeks and her gray-streaked red hair, the latter of which marked her old enough to know better when it came to Reyes and his bedroom eyes.
It didn’t matter. No one, young or old, seemed able to resist the black sheep prince of the powerful Reyes family.
And he ate it up--in this case, literally. He bit into a roll and closed his eyes in almost erotic bliss as he chewed. “Karen, you’re a goddess.”
She preened under the compliment before nudging her son forward. “Davin helped with them, you know.”
Davin was three years older than Ana and usually spent her visits teasing her mercilessly--unless Ivan scowled and reduced him to tongue-tied terror. But now, facing Reyes, he blushed and stammered like a teenager. “We have more in the back. I can pack up a bag.”
“Really?” Reyes lifted one hand to Davin’s face, then used sleight of hand to flip one of the newly minted temple coins between his fingers as he pulled back. As Karen laughed, he pressed the coin into Davin’s hand. “I’d be grateful.”
Davin flushed even redder and rushed into the back. Ana bit back a sigh and shot Reyes a quelling look before turning to Karen. “Any gossip I need to know about going around the market square this week?”
“Pretty quiet. One of the Delgado girls just got engaged.” Karen scrunched up her face. “Oh, there is one thing. A new vendor.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of vendor?”
“A fortune teller.” She shook her head. “Foolishness, if you ask me.”
Probably, though Ana had seen Del stare right through a person’s soul before. And sometimes she thought maybe Gideon could read the future. But she trusted Del and Gideon to use the belief they inspired in others wisely. “Are a lot of people falling for the foolishness?”
Reyes was paying attention now, though the only change in his outward expression was a subtle tightening around his eyes. “And how much are they paying this person?”
Karen tutted. “The girl seems harmless enough, and people are watching. No one will let her take advantage of anyone who can’t afford it, not in this market.” She leaned on the counter, another indulgent smile transforming her face as she gazed up at Reyes. “But you’re sweet to care so much.”
Ana avoided rolling her eyes. Barely. As Davin bustled back into the front of the shop with a canvas sack, Ana dug up several more temple coins and gave them to Karen. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will. Go safely.”
The bell above the exit rang as Reyes opened the door for Ana. “That was fun.”
“I’m sure it was.” She retrieved the keys from her pocket and headed for the truck. Leaving with gifts was common, so much so that using her motorcycle to make rounds was inefficient. But dear God, Ivan didn’t chatter as much as Reyes did. “Let’s skip the East Market today. I have a hair appointment next week, and I’ll get everything I need then.”
“Whatever your heart desires.” Reyes swung the bag over his shoulder, then frowned when it crinkled. He rummaged inside it for a moment and came up with a folded note--and a grin. “Looks like I have plans tonight.”
Of course he did. Ana clambered into the truck and jammed the keys into the ignition. “Yeah, well, you better enjoy it. The new training sessions with Ashwin start next week, and Deacon expects everyone there.”
Reyes stowed the bag in the back seat with a snort. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint Daddy, would we?”
“Bite me, Reyes.”
“Hey, I get it. I get it hard. He’s stern but bangable--that’s a deadly combination.”
Stern but bangable.
She couldn’t consider the words. Couldn’t allow them to sink into her skin. Her overwhelming awareness of Deacon was already a problem. Irritation and frustration provided a thin layer of armor, but only if she kept Deacon firmly and irrevocably in the
not-even-a-little-bit-bangable category.
Reyes kept going. “It’s a terrible idea, though.”
It sure as hell was for her. But most of her tidy, logical list of reasons for staying far away from Deacon didn’t apply to Reyes. “It’s not like it’s forbidden or anything.”
“Exactly.” He grimaced. “You have a whole fucking sector full of people who think you walk on water. They want to spend time with you--limited time. They know you can’t stay, and they don’t want you to. So you walk away happy--and, more importantly, so do they. No downsides. It’s just easier.”
Maybe if your idea of happy was defined by the time you spent naked with another person. Ana didn’t. She knew that Riders weren’t supposed to form long-term attachments, of course. It was reckless, considering the fact that the Riders had already willingly put one foot in their graves. But maybe she still couldn’t quite believe it.
She blamed her parents for that. They’d been married for years when Gideon formed the Riders with William Jordan at his side. Her father hadn’t hesitated, even knowing death could be waiting for him around the next corner. And her mother hadn’t complained. It was their duty to the sector, their sacrifice for the greater good. Fiona Jordan had believed with the same passion as her husband, a passion they’d both passed on to their daughter.
In the end, her mother had succumbed to a heart attack in the safety of her bed, and William had survived fifteen more years of daily danger. There were no guarantees in life. No rhyme or reason to who lived and who died.
Avoiding long-term attachments--avoiding love--might be easier. But Ana had yet to convince herself it was better.
And that made Deacon dangerous. The prohibition against long-term entanglements had never extended to the Riders themselves. As long as your feelings didn’t get in the way of the job, no one batted an eye. After all, you were both damned anyway--you might as well float in the darkness together.
Stern but bangable.
Goddammit.
Ana waited for Reyes to settle into the passenger seat before shifting the truck into gear. “Whatever, man. Maybe the rest of us don’t have your daddy issues. I’m just focused on not dying.”
“How boring.”
“Well, if you really want me to loosen up...your sister’s pretty damn cute.”
His brows drew together in a stormy frown, the giant hypocrite, but he only snorted. “Good luck with that. She’s supposed to be courting Maricela, now that I’ve failed so spectacularly.”
As far as Ana could tell, courtship was the last thing on Nita’s mind. In theory, the girls studying under Del were being prepared for marriage to one of the great families of Sector One, but as the eldest daughter of the powerful Reyes family, Nita had been trained in the responsibilities of nobility from the cradle. Now, she was more focused on her work, on perfecting her craft.
Most people in the Sector would kill for a chance to marry the Rios princess. Reyes and Nita were so reluctant, Ana was surprised Maricela hadn’t developed a complex about it yet. “Why did you do that, anyway? Fail spectacularly.”
“Why didn’t you take over your mom’s store, or learn your aunt’s trade?” He shrugged. “Maricela’s a sweet girl, and she’s stronger than people think. It wouldn’t have been terrible, marrying her. But life should be something better than not terrible, don’t you think?”
Ana gripped the steering wheel and focused on the road until her brief spike of irritation passed. She liked Reyes. She liked Gabe and Hunter, too. She respected the commitment it took to turn your back on a life of privilege, wealth, and luxury, especially when it meant signing your own death warrant.
But God, sometimes they could be so oblivious. Sure, life should be better than not terrible, but too many people--even here in Sector One--had to settle for not starving today.
Sometimes hanging out with princes and princesses was fucking weird.
She turned the truck onto the main road and broke the silence. “I can’t cook,” she said. “Not worth a damn. My mom always knew I wasn’t going to follow in her footsteps. I lived for my dad’s visits. This is what I’ve always wanted to be. What he trained me to be.”
“But it still goes against everyone else’s expectations.” Reyes pinned her with an appraising look. “Yeah, I think you understand better than you let on.”
“They’re fucking stupid expectations.” She relented with a half smile. “But marrying people because your parents want more power doesn’t sound like a ton of fun, either.”
“Then you just answered your own question. Why are you still bothering me?” His eyes narrowed, even as they glinted with humor. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Hey, you’re the one who doesn’t shut up. You’ve already said more today than Ivan has on every run we’ve ever made put together.”
“Hmph.” He crossed his arms over his chest with one last look that screamed I know you’re full of shit.
Silence filled the truck as she drove to their next stop, and Ana could hear her aunt’s voice in her head. Watch what wishes you put out into the world, my girl. Ivan’s silences were icy and empty, with plenty of room for her own thoughts. But Reyes filled the vehicle with his presence, like the barely leashed intensity that seethed behind his eyes was seeping into the air, forcing her to consider his words instead of letting her mind wander.
Stern but bangable.
Fuck.
Reyes got to crack jokes about nailing Deacon. He got to lure the baker’s son into a dark corner for filthy sex, or retreat from parties with as many giggling initiates as he could convince to follow him. He got to fuck everything that moved because he would never have to prove himself.
Ana didn’t have that luxury. If she even thought a sexy thought in Deacon’s direction, it would be all over. Every asshole she had beat out to earn her spot in the Riders would use that weakness to salve their bruised ego. They’d tell themselves she’d beaten them on her back in Deacon’s bed instead of in the ring, where she’d kicked their motherfucking asses.
It was the one thing her father could never have fully prepared her for. The one thing he couldn’t have known, because he’d been there from the beginning. Hell, since before the beginning. He was a Rios family bodyguard before the Riders came to exist, and had stood at Gideon’s side as a founding member.
He couldn’t have known how it would feel to be hypervisible. To know every move she made was scrutinized by men who couldn’t believe she had succeeded. Men who wanted her to fail. That getting in didn’t mean victory, just the start of the real test. That she wasn’t a person anymore, but a trial run. And if she failed...
Stern but bangable.
She wanted to throttle Reyes for opening that door. Deacon was already in her fucking head. She could not let him get into her hormones, too.
The firelight cast flickering shadows over Gideon’s face as he turned the playing card over in his hands. “So this was in Sector Three.”
It took effort--actual physical effort--for Deacon not to flinch. “The fire was to cover up a hit, but that’s all we know so far. It could be a coincidence.”
“You don’t believe in coincidences.” Gideon sat back in his chair, rubbing his thumb along the crisp edge. “Such a small token. And so much arrogance behind it.”
“Just remember that they earned their arrogance.” The calling cards had started as a joke, a throwback to stories about criminals claiming responsibility for their misdeeds with whimsical items left behind at the scene of the crime. But they had turned out to be useful, the kind of marketing money couldn’t buy. They inspired respect and fear in equal measure--the Suicide Kings could pull off their jobs so quietly and cleanly that no one would ever know it was them, except that they let you know.
Deacon knew all that, and too well. The fucking things had been his idea to begin with.
Gideon turned the card over again, hiding the king. “Symbols have the power we give them. So now we have to decide if you were meant to see
this one.”
“The old man hasn’t come looking for me yet.” The whole thing was a part of his life he’d rather forget, so of course he made it a point to think about it often. Once upon a time, he’d been a part of their mercenary company. He’d killed for money and with little regard for his targets or their crimes or lack of crimes--until the day he’d been sent into Sector One to kill Gideon.
He walked away from the Suicide Kings. He’d like to say that he never looked back, but that would be a lie. He looked back every goddamn day.
But the Kings had never come after him, either to punish him or to drag him home. And where the leader of the Kings was concerned, leaving Deacon alone after his defection was tantamount to implicit approval of his choices. If he’d disapproved, Deacon would be dead. It was as simple as that.
But things changed.
Gideon studied him in silence for another moment before leaning over to pour two drinks. “Six already told Dallas O’Kane about the card. We’ll be having a meeting of the sector leaders in Eden as soon as we coordinate our schedules. The Kings showing up here now, while we’re still dealing with the aftermath of this war, isn’t something we can ignore.”
Gideon would never reveal Deacon’s past to the other sector leaders--but that wasn’t the real problem at hand anyway. “If we go up against the Kings, it can’t be blind. I’ll have to tell the other Riders.”
“Probably.” Gideon passed one glass of whiskey to Deacon. “How do you feel about doing that?”
He couldn’t stop himself from flashing Gideon a baleful look as he accepted the glass. “Not great. But leading them out there without all the facts would be worse. I can’t put them in danger just to keep them from finding out that I’m a giant fraud.”
“Deacon.” Gideon’s frown matched his stern tone. “I won’t hear that word again, so you can drop it from your vocabulary. You’re a man with a complicated past, but that doesn’t make you a man defined by it. Your character is the sum of your choices, and you’ve spent twenty years making very noble ones.”