by Kit Rocha
He tossed aside the rag and pulled two beers from a bucket next to the bench. "Depends on how good you are at turning off your brain and letting your body do the work."
From anyone else, the words would have sounded like a lewd, clumsy come-on. From Bren, it was a straightforward answer, one made all the more ironic by how her body reacted to him any time she was foolish enough to turn off her brain. She was painfully aware of his graceful movements, of the appealing, subtle shift of muscle under skin as he held out a bottle.
"You should know," she retorted, taking care not to let her fingers brush his as she accepted the beer. Maybe her tart tone would cover her confusion. "If I could stop thinking, maybe I'd actually beat you in a fight one of these days."
A rare smile curved his lips. "I've had years of training when it comes to fighting, and decades of practice on the not thinking."
Those smiles were dangerous, and not because they made her skin tingle. They were dangerous because she couldn't not smile in return, her lips tilting up to ruin her scowl. "That just makes you old. I will put you on your ass next time."
"That's what I like to hear."
"Sure, grandpa. Tell me that after I beat you."
That made him laugh as he leaned against the bench beside her. "Cruz and Trix have their ink, but they've still got to drink in, make it official."
Rachel had explained the process in vague terms, something about making a new member do shots of all the O'Kane liquors before welcoming them into the gang. It had taken Six a month to realize Rachel hadn't been keeping gang secrets--that really was all that happened. No beatdowns for the men, no spreading your legs for the women. Just...booze and celebration.
A few dozen city blocks separated the O'Kane compound from Sector Three, but she might as well be on the moon. "It's an O'Kane thing, I guess," she said carefully, unable to keep her gaze from his wrists. Dark ink swirled around his muscled forearms, stopping just above his broad hands. The O'Kane wrist cuffs, proof that he belonged.
"An O'Kane thing," he echoed in agreement. "Do you want to go?"
She touched her own wrist, rubbing her thumb over skin that felt naked. "Am I allowed?"
Bren shrugged. "You'll go with me, like Jasper and Noelle's party."
Maybe it was that simple. Dallas O'Kane was the most powerful man in the Sector--one of the most powerful men in their world--and Bren was part of his inner circle. Rules didn't seem to apply to him, or to her when she was with him.
Which didn't answer his question--did she want to go? "How much like Jas and Noelle's party is it going to be?" she asked, and her cheeks heating at the memory of how quickly that celebration had turned into a shameless fuckfest.
"More like fight night," he hastily explained. "People might be getting it on in the corners or grinding on the dance floor, but it's not--I mean, it's different."
Six covered her embarrassment by nudging his leg with her boot. "So no wall-to-wall fucking."
"No, just people drinking and having a good time."
"Okay. It sounds fun." She nudged him again, more for the excuse of contact than anything else. He'd encouraged her to ask for physical affection when she wanted it, but she liked sneaking in teasing touches. Liked knowing she could, and that he wouldn't hurt her for taking liberties. "Thanks for including me."
"You're not a guest." He watched her intently. "This is your home."
Home. Longing hollowed out her chest, a craving for a concept she could barely fathom, because it always started with safety. "I don't know if I've ever had a home before."
Bren nodded. "A lot of people here haven't. You're not alone."
She knew what he meant--that she wasn't alone in being overwhelmed--but the words resonated more deeply. Maybe because her panic from earlier had faded under the quiet warmth of his undemanding presence.
Or maybe because she really was getting soft.
Some part of her trusted Bren, for better or worse, and that made his words true on every level. Closing her eyes, she leaned in until her shoulder touched his. She wouldn't be able to ignore her body's shiver of reaction forever, but tonight she focused on the satisfaction of friendship. "No. I'm not alone."
"So, how 'bout it?" He hesitated. "I can't skip the party, but you could, if you wanted."
She considered it for a moment, balanced the loneliness of being the only person on the compound not celebrating against the awkwardness of being the only outsider at the party.
Except no one treated her like an outsider, not with Bren around. "I'll come. I want to."
"Good. Trix'll want you to be there."
Something he'd been careful not to mention until after she agreed, just as he'd kept any hint of encouragement from his own voice. Smiling, she clinked her beer against his. "Then it's a deal. As long as I can scowl at Ace if he tries to make me dance."
Bren downed half his beer in several long swallows. "Scowl at Ace for whatever you want. He probably deserves it."
"Yeah, but he probably likes it, too." At least he'd stopped tossing her those flirtatious smiles, the ones that were all charm and dirty promise--and all the more alarming because she didn't think he did it on purpose. "But he's not so bad anymore. Did you tell him to stop hitting on me?"
"Might as well tell the sun not to shine, sweetness."
She laughed. The sound was so foreign it still startled her sometimes, another way her body turned traitor around Bren. The warmth and the tingles and the smiling and now laughter, and even if it was low and a little rusty, it was real. "Are you almost done working?"
"Yeah." He pulled down the metal rod propping up the hood and let it slam shut. "Want me to walk you to your place?"
"Sure." She slid off the workbench and tried not to let her gaze linger on his shoulders. This was always the most dangerous time, when she was loose and relaxed enough to remember a time when sex had been more good than bad, when she'd appreciated a man with a hard body and beautiful shoulders.
White looked good on him, especially with all the engine grease. His T-shirt clung, the sleeves stretching wide over flexing biceps. Aside from his O'Kane cuffs, his arms were free of ink, but a black swirl curled up his neck from beneath the white fabric, hinting at the tattoo that covered his entire back.
She loved watching him fight in the cage, watching all those muscles move together so perfectly she thought the prissy bastards in Eden must be at least partly right. Only a higher power could have created something as graceful and beautiful and deadly as Brendan Donnelly.
He turned and caught her staring--he must have--but he didn't call her on it. Instead, he finished off his beer and held out his hand. "Come on."
Exhaling, she slipped her fingers into his. His hands still bore smudges, the kind that would rub off on her skin as tangible proof of contact. She knew she'd stare at it later, at the dark grease on the back of her hand that marked the spot he'd rubbed his thumb over, and she'd remember the way it felt. This jolt, the way his touch shivered along her nerves as if her instincts couldn't decide if he was blissful safety or delicious danger.
Her gut already knew. Her body was safe with Bren, but her mind, her heart, her soul... Hell, Wilson Trent had shattered her into a thousand razor-edged pieces, and he hadn't felt this dangerous. Bren could grind those shards into dust.
If she had half a brain left, she'd run.
About the Author
Kit Rocha is actually two people--Bree & Donna, best friends who are living the dream. They get paid to work in their pajamas, talk on the phone, and write down all the stories they used to make up in their heads.
Beyond Control is the sequel to Beyond Shame, and their second dystopian erotic romance. They also write paranormal romance as Moira Rogers. You can learn more about their work at www.kitrocha.com & www.moirarogers.com.
Meet the Bloodhounds
While you're waiting for your next taste of a dangerous future in Beyond Pain, consider a trip to an alternate past. Written as Moira Rogers, the Bloodhounds
stories are short category-length erotic romances featuring a group of vampire-hunting super-soldiers with some very other-worldly needs in the bedroom. Enjoy the following taste from Wilder's Mate, the first in the Bloodhounds series.
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He'd almost managed to get to sleep when a timid knock sounded on the door that led to Satira's adjoining room. "Wilder?"
He fought the urge to slam a pillow over his face. "Yeah?"
She must have taken his reply as permission to enter, because the door inched open and she slipped through, a slight shadow wrapped in a blanket. The floorboards creaked as she took a step closer to the bed. "Do you mind...?"
She looked like she thought he'd growl at her until she ran screaming from the room. "Come on in."
"I can't sleep." Her voice held more than a little shame at the confession. "If people are expecting you to bed me, it can't hurt our disguise if we sleep in the same room, can it?"
Now he wanted to slam a pillow over his lap. "Can't hurt our disguise." It could only hurt him if he had to control himself around her. She grasped her blanket tight around her shoulders, but the gauzy fabric brushing the floor as she walked was sheer, flesh-colored silk.
She stopped next to the bed. "If you don't want me here, I'll go. I'll understand."
"Do you?"
"I think so." She stared at the floor. "Men have needs, but you're not interested in complicating our already difficult situation by giving in to them."
If he was a snake... "Did you come over here for sex, or because you'd sleep better if you weren't alone?"
"The latter." She shivered and clutched at the blanket as it began to slip. "I know you could get to my room quickly enough if anything happened, but the way some of those men were watching me..."
She was scared, and he felt even worse about his lust as he patted the blanket beside him. "Climb up. You don't have to be alone, and you don't have to worry about me."
"Thank you." The blanket gaped open as she scrambled onto the bed, revealing that the damn flimsy nightgown Juliet had packed for her was transparent all over. She shivered and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Wilder shook his head. "That scrap of nothing isn't warm enough."
Satira choked on a laugh, a little hysterical but genuine. "I know. If it gets much colder tonight you'll have to kick me out of your bed to keep me from cuddling as close as I can."
The laughter was better than the way she'd looked at him before, hesitant and wary and almost ashamed of her fear. "If you put your cold feet on me, I'll scream like a little girl."
Icy toes poked at his leg, and he laughed and shoved her away.
She squirmed right back, and this time he got an entire foot pressed against his knee. Her breathless laughter cut short on a little moan of pleasure. "You're so warm."
"Won't be for long." He affected a growl, one he ruined by laughing again. "Jesus, woman. What were you doing, hanging your legs out the window?"
Satira huffed, but it didn't stop her from tucking her other foot against his shin. "My feet get cold."
"You're a walking icebox."
She echoed his words back, laced with drowsy contentment. "Won't be for long."
Quick as a rattlesnake bite, his protective shell of humor faded, leaving him in bed with a sleepy, scantily clad woman whose body made his knees weak. "Then it'll be my turn to freeze."
One small hand crept back across the covers until her fingers brushed his. "I'd keep you warm."
His balls ached. "Better watch what you promise, sweetheart. I'm not a noble man, no matter what you think."
Satira twisted until she faced him, eyes wide but unafraid. "It's been eleven months since a man took me to bed. I don't want noble."
His first thought was to turn her over his knee and spank her. That led directly to his second thought, a mental image of her bent over in front of him, her pale ass red from his hand, her cunt glistening and wet. "Satira."
She squeezed her eyes shut and went still, her slightly ragged breaths and too-quick heartbeat the only sounds for long moments. Then she breathed out a tiny sigh. "You make me feel like such a fool, throwing myself at a man who doesn't want to have me. Over and over again, and I'm supposed to be intelligent."
He urged one of the thin straps of the nightgown from her shoulder. "You worry too much."
"I know." With her eyes still shut she missed his mouth the first time, her open-mouthed kiss landing on his cheek.
His cock jerked like she'd licked him, and he turned his head far enough to meet her second kiss head-on, opening his mouth under hers. He swallowed her tiny little moan, and for a moment she seemed shy. Her tongue darted along his lower lip, then returned to stroke deeper, teasing against his.
He moved before he realized it, rolling them both and pinning her to the bed. "I'm not a boy. You know that, right?"
A short, jerky nod, and she wet her lips. "You're not just a man, either. I know that too."
No fear, and he trembled at the thought of being able to let go. Really let go. "No, not a man, either."
She craned her head up and kissed his chin, then the corner of his lips. "I will enjoy your attentions. Even if you wish to bind me, or order me to my knees, or take me across yours."
"Shh." Right now, there was only one thing he wanted to do. He slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head back, opening her mouth wider so he could kiss her deeply.
There was nothing quiet about her moan this time. Her fingers found the back of his head, clutching at him as if she could pull him closer. She reacted more quickly than he thought she would, melting under him.
He trailed his mouth to her neck and collarbone. "What if I do something else entirely? Will you like that?"
"I won't know until you do it." Her fingers stroked down to his shoulder, exploring with unabashed curiosity. "I like an adventure. And learning new things."
"If what I have planned for you is new, you've been bedding the wrong men."
Her bare shoulder lifted in a shrug, but her voice held a soft vulnerability. "They found me pleasant enough to tumble. Perhaps I didn't inspire them. None of them had seen me in my fancy hair and expensive dress, after all."
"Like I said..." He skimmed one hand down her side and gathered her sheer gown high on her leg. "You've been bedding the wrong men."
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Available now from Samhain Publishing at all digital retailers.
Other Select Titles by Moira Rogers
The Bloodhounds Series
Category-length paranormal/wild west romance.
Wilder's Mate, Hunter's Prey, Archer's Lady, Diana's Hound
Southern Arcana Series
Novel-length paranormal romance.
Crux, Crossroads, Deadlock, Cipher, Impulse
Red Rock Pass Series
Category-length werewolf romance.
Cry Sanctuary, Sanctuary Lost, Sanctuary's Price, Sanctuary Unbound
Acknowledgements
As always, we owe eternal thanks and gratitude to the many people who helped us get through this book. First thanks go to the ever-patient Sasha Knight, who has been a partner in this adventure above and beyond the call of editorial duty. Thank you for making us fight to be better, and for summoning excitement, dispensing encouragement and handing out hugs at all hours of the day and night. Additional thanks go to Sharon Muha, the sharpest proofreader one could hope to find. Any mistakes that have wiggled by these two are well and truly our own.
Many thanks as well go to the many friends who held our hands through panic and frustration, especially when we weren't entirelly sure we'd survive our hero and heroine--or that they'd survive each other. We owe the finest bottle of whiskey we can find to Vivian Arend, Alisha Rai, Ann Aguirre, Eliza Gayle, Lauren Dane, Lillie Applegarth and Edie Harris for alternately propping us up, pinning us down, slapping us silly and hugging us crosseyed. And two bottles go to Sophia for holding Bree's hand through a million website redesigns and checking two million versions of
these ebooks until the formatting was just right.
Finally, our biggest debt of gratitude is to all the readers who loved the O'Kanes as much as we did, and who, through blogging, tweeting, lending and word-of-mouth turned Beyond Shame into a bigger success than we dared hope. It's thanks to you that we'll get the chance to tell more stories. The next round at the Broken Circle is on us.
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Cruz
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Ace
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Rachel
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Six
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Bren
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jasper
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Before You Leave Sector Four
Beyond Pain
About the Author
Meet the Bloodhounds
Other Select Titles by Moira Rogers
Acknowledgements