by Kit Rocha
The Broken Circle
Dallas loved his new bar.
It wasn’t what it could be, not yet. But after two months of retrofitting his latest acquisition, they’d finally thrown open the doors to the public. In a few short weeks, they’d already begun to pick up regulars, old men who filled the tables along the wall and drank whiskey—at retail prices—to warm their bones.
The only thing Dallas loved more than his new bar was retail pricing.
He finished counting his stash of cash and slid the box back under the counter. “It’s not too bad.”
Jas grunted into his whiskey.
Not exactly an endorsement. Dallas set another glass on the counter and poured himself a drink. The small-barrel stuff was good. Not up to Pop’s standards yet, but better than anything this sector had ever seen. And the mark-up on selling it by the shot was making them money faster than ever. “You’re cranky this morning.”
“He partied too hard last night.” Bren stowed his broom behind the bar and shook his head. “I told him three girls and two bottles was too many—on all counts.”
“Jesus, Jas.” Dallas leaned on the bar. “Where the fuck’s your sense of friendship? You could have invited me.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Lex was standing by the back exit, a bag slung over her shoulder. “Flash said you guys were over here, but I think I came in the wrong door.”
The sight of her kicked him in the gut. Dallas hadn’t seen Lex in months—in five months, not that he was counting, because he was definitely not counting—not since the night they’d fought over Nessa.
He caught glimpses of her sometimes as she came and went, but for the most part he’d tracked her presence in the subtle changes around him. A new piece of tech, some obscure additive they needed for a particularly good distillation. Nessa’s evolving wardrobe and the wild color that had appeared in her hair one night—pink, and then purple, and now blue.
Actually seeing her was like catching sight of a ghost.
“Lex!” Ace swooped in from the other side of the bar to smack a kiss on her cheek. “Sister, that paint you got me is sublime.”
Okay, it was like catching sight of a ghost to him. Everyone else apparently saw her all the goddamn time.
“Don’t use it too fast. I’m not sure when I can get more.” She held up the bag. “Can you take this to Nessa for me? More bleach, and two new colors.”
“Absolutely.” He plucked it from her hand and grinned. “Remember what I said—your next tattoo is on the house.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone else near my skin.” She slid onto the barstool next to Jasper and placed a credit stick in front of him.
He picked it up and turned it over between his fingers. “You managed to move the gold?”
“Not all of it. It’ll take a while to sell it as jewelry instead of melting it down, but you’ll make more eventually. Besides.” She shrugged. “It’d be kind of a shame. There are some beautiful pieces in there.”
That kicked Dallas in the gut in a different way. Not that he usually considered himself sentimental, but making the call to fence his mother’s jewelry had been harder than he’d expected. Stupid, since he’d rarely seen her wearing it, and she lived on more vividly through his memories than some bits of rock and gold.
The money would be put to good use. Fixing up the bar to maximize their retail profit was a priority, but it still sucked.
To distract himself, Dallas set another glass on the bar, poured a double, and slid it across to Lex. “Why don’t you try our latest?” he drawled, just to see if she’d keep ignoring his presence.
Her answering smile was polite and vague. “Thank you.”
Still mad. Dallas had to appreciate her commitment—he didn’t often come across a woman who didn’t forgive him eventually. He tried again. “So what color is Nessa’s hair going to be tomorrow?”
The mask dropped, and Lex eyed him with a mix of exasperation and mild irritation. “You’ll have to ask her.”
Bren made a noise caught somewhere between a cough and a sigh. “Jas, can you help me haul some more stuff over from the warehouse?”
“Sure.” He slid the credit stick across the bar toward Dallas, then nudged Lex with his elbow.
She seemed to have no trouble interpreting the silent entreaty. She rolled her eyes and exhaled roughly. “Fine, I’ll play nice.”
Dallas glared at Jas and Bren.
Jas and Bren busted ass to get the fuck out of the bar.
More aggravated than he wanted to admit, Dallas thumped the liquor bottle back onto the bar and picked up his glass. “Don’t play nice on my account. I can take it.”
“Yeah, but most of us get tired of treating people like something we scraped off the bottom of our shoe.”
“Eh, it’s cute when you do it.”
She arched one eyebrow and sipped her drink. “Is there a reason you wanted my attention, or can you just not help yourself?”
A good fucking question. Could he help himself? Maybe not. “Just trying to be civil. Seems like if I can get past you almost ruining my damn life, you can get past me being a bit of a jerk.”
“Is that what you call it? Huh.” She lifted her glass. “The rum was better.”
“What?” His brow furrowed. “This shit is amazing.”
“I don’t like whiskey.”
“That’s tragic. Because this?” He lifted the bottle and waved it at her. “This is liquid gold.”
Lex laughed. “You’re so offended. I’m sorry I disparaged the whiskey. I’ll go right back to disparaging you.”
“You better.” He huffed and sipped his drink, taking his time to let it roll across his tongue. It was better than the shit they’d quick-aged with the oak sticks. Pop had been right about that. He always was. “Or you can tell me what you think of my new bar.”
Her laughter died away as she looked around. She finished off her drink, then took his right out of his hand. “You don’t want to know.”
Ouch. “I asked, didn’t I? C’mon, darling. I’m tough.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” She looked around again, more slowly, taking her time.
There wasn’t a ton to look at. They’d converted the shop that had been here before into a huge open space. The bar dominated one side, with their slowly growing kitchen behind it through the swinging doors. They’d managed to salvage a ton of tables and even a few booths so far. After a few rounds of polish, the rough gouges almost looked like they’d been put there on purpose.
It wasn’t much. But considering what they’d started with, it was a bloody miracle. “Well?”
“The decor’s not bad,” she said finally. “But there’s nothing here. No reason for me to come out and spend hours every night in this badly-lit cave. I already have a badly-lit cave. It’s called my apartment, and I can drink there for a lot less.”
Dallas let his gaze slide across the—mostly empty—tables again, settling on the old men in the corner. Most of them didn’t have a better place to be. They came in to be together, to trade stories about the time before the Flares, to bitch about achy joints and impertinent kids.
“The old guys will come,” she went on, like she could read his goddamn mind. “But they’re coming here for each other, not for you. If you close down tomorrow, they’ll find someplace else to hang out.”
It was the simple truth, and in his gut he’d already known it. If he hadn’t, hearing her put it into words wouldn’t make him so fucking defensive. “You have a better idea, I assume?”
“Sure—entertainment.” She drained his glass and handed it back to him with a lipstick print on the rim. “Give them something they can’t get at home. Something that won’t fit in a bottle. I’d suggest live music, but that’s hard as hell to find. Tits and ass, that’s easier.”
Dallas felt his eyebrows creeping up. “You think I should get...strippers?”
“Why not? You’ve got room for a stage, plenty of muscle for secu
rity. All you need now is a show.”
It would bring in a crowd, that was for sure. Tits usually did. Ace had been harping on the same thing just last week, insisting that he could find a few willing dancers who could shake their hips and keep the men fixed to their chairs, drinking until their wallets were empty.
Maybe the bastard had been right after all. “It’s a nice idea, but I don’t know shit about selling sex. Liquor’s my wheelhouse, darling.”
“Bullshit.” She stretched over and wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle. “You put a pretty label on this bottle, didn’t you? That’s sex. Your men—the tattoos and the leather? Sex. Even your whole thing.” She waved her other hand. “Tough, untouchable leader, intense but somehow above it all? Sex.”
Yeah, he wasn’t feeling above it all with her lips wrapping around the word sex that many times in a row. He couldn’t quite tear his gaze from her mouth—and if he let himself open that door, he wouldn’t be able to stop imagining her wrapping her lips around his cock.
A hard-on was not conducive to business planning. “I don’t think most of my patrons wanna fuck me, Lex.”
“Maybe not.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you can make them want to be you.”
When she put it like that, the ideas fell into place easier than breathing. He could close his eyes and see it—the refurbished bar, with a VIP section where he could hold court. Definitely more leather and chains for him, not just clothing, but a style. The dancers on the stage would have to be good, a fantasy the average guy off the street in Four could only dream of obtaining.
But that sorry bastard could get close to the dream—with O’Kane liquor.
“Damn,” he whispered. “You’re smart.”
“Try not to sound so shocked, honey.”
Dallas huffed and pointed a finger at her. “No, you’re fucking brilliant. Here.” He shoved the credit stick across the bar at her. “You should help Ace set it up.”
“I don’t know...” She dragged out the words as she pushed the credit stick back towards him. “What if you don’t like the way I handle things?”
“Then it’s my fucking fault for letting a thief run away with my renovation budget with only Ace to supervise.” He slid it right back to her, pushing it far enough for his fingers to brush hers. “Trust me, darling. I may be an asshole, but I got no problem taking responsibility for my choices about who I let handle my business.”
Lex grinned and snatched up the credit stick. “Remember that when you’re watching my first show.”
“I will—” The impact of the words slammed into him too late, and his teeth snapped together so loud she probably heard them.
Her first show. Jesus Christ and all the fucking saints.
She must mean the first show she produced. The first one she planned. Because there was no way Lex liked him enough to build a stage and then climb up on it and shake those fabulous tits at him. For him.
She winked and slid off the stool, striding out the door before he could pick his brains up off the floor.
Oh yeah. She was gonna do it. And he was going to regret this.
»»» § «««
Somewhere along the way, Lex had become mildly obsessed with the idea of tormenting Dallas O’Kane. And while she had to admit that it was going well, she hadn’t anticipated one thing: getting caught up in it herself.
“These two are good.” Ace circled two names on the list in front of him. “They know how to put on a show. On their own, or together.”
Good might not cut it, not for the plan she’d talked up—and the amazing results she’d all but promised. “Did you take our proposal to your friend Gia?”
“Yeah. She was a little dubious at first...” Ace rolled his eyes. “Gia and Dallas circle each other like cats who haven’t decided if they’re gonna share or pee all over everything.”
“Sounds about right.” Lex set a sheaf of papers aside and reached for her bottle of water. “Everything aboveboard. I can give her my word, if that means anything to her.”
“Possibly more than Dallas’s. But I got it, sister. If I promise the girls will be looked after—and we won’t be selling anything more than dances—then I think Gia can find us some stars.”
“Good, because I promised your boss the kind of show money can barely buy.”
“Maybe you need my sweet ass up there.” Ace waggled his eyebrows at her salaciously before sitting back in his chair. “I don’t think it’d play as well, though. You’re going for the barbarian king angle, right? Sell Dallas as a virile conqueror and the liquor as his magic elixir?”
“You work with what you’ve got, and he fits the part.” A little too well. Sure, he’d managed to rope her into this project, but the problem ran deeper. He wouldn’t have been able to rope her into it if she hadn’t been around.
But she had. In fact, she’d found herself looking for excuses to be around, which probably meant she needed to get the fuck away, as soon as possible.
Ace snapped his fingers. “Hey, don’t get lost in fantasy land, sister. What was your schtick? Or did you split from Two before you developed one?”
“I thought you knew who I was.” She bought herself a little time by digging a cigarette out of her case and lighting it. “I had one job. The job. Find a rich older patron who would croak after a decade or so, then go back home to Orchid House and help Cerys with her empire. You don’t need a schtick for that.”
“Everyone needs a schtick.” Ace gestured to himself. “Me? I was a passionate, stormy artist. I could only create when inspired by the shy smile and fathomless eyes of my one true muse.” He waved a hand at her. “You? I’m guessing you were like Gia. All sharp edges and danger, and when the moment came he’d really feel like a man, because only a real man could tame a wildcat like you.”
“Only a real man would ever get the chance.” She would not think about O’Kane. Would not. “You said Mad is handling the sound and lights?”
“Yeah. He’s good with tech. And he’s got connections because of the whole, you know...” Ace wiggled his fingers. “His schtick. Runaway prince in exile.”
“Prince?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “His real name’s Adrian Maddox Rios. As in, grandson of the prophet of Sector One.”
“I see.” Now she knew why he’d been tossing around words like Gideon and inheritance when she’d first come back to the warehouse. She had wandered around Sector One a little. It was close enough to Two for her to consider settling there, but in the end it was all a bit too touchy-feely for her tastes. People there wanted to know their neighbors, something a runaway from Orchid House could ill afford. She hadn’t had time to learn much about the ruling family, but everyone knew about Gideon Rios.
“Yeah.” Ace shrugged and sat back. “Dallas doesn’t like to lean on his contacts more than we have to, though. So he’ll probably hire local and oversee whatever we decide to do.”
“Whatever works.” She checked off the next item on her stupidly long list. “Decor. I don’t think we should change a goddamn thing. I might regret that when we get better lighting in here, but I think rough-and-tumble is exactly what O’Kane should be going for.”
“Really?” Ace pursed his lips and slowly perused the room again, his eyes narrowed. “I guess I can see it. I might even be able to enhance the overall look. One of my first side-gigs was turning mass-produced shit out of Eight into priceless vintage antiques.”
People in the city liked to think they could get their hands on something priceless by spending a little extra money, as if that didn’t go against what the goddamn word meant. “I don’t think it needs to be enhanced. All it needs to be is real. A place they recognize that just happens to have some magical shit going on inside.”
“Then I’ll trust you.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I was never as good at this shit as Gia is. I retired for a reason.”
“I’m not sure being good at it is aspirationa
l.” She rubbed the curve of her hip, where Ace had inked her first tattoo. “I wasn’t being funny when I asked you for this.”
“Your scorpion?”
It was beautiful, but even Ace’s clever hand couldn’t turn it into something it wasn’t. It coiled high on her hip, poised to strike. “Be glad you weren’t any good at it, that’s all I’m saying. Once it’s in your head, there’s no getting it out.”
Ace reached out to cover her other hand. “I know, sister. Gia and our other friend Jared? They’re both good at it. Really fucking good at it. And you know, they always worried about me because I wasn’t stone cold like they can be. But that’s a hell of an exhausting way to live.”
Her eyes burned, and she pulled her hand away. “Be glad about one thing—your boss is sharp. He gets it. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him.”
“He doesn’t—” Ace tilted his head and squinted at her. “Girl, he just gave you all the money he made hawking his dead mama’s jewelry to spend however the fuck you want on his bar.”
“He did what?”
“You heard me.” Ace stole the pen from her and started doodling on the edge of her list. “He wanted to make sure we got paid, but he wanted to fix up the bar, too. So he gave Jas the jewelry he brought with him from Texas and told him to get it fenced.”
“Motherfucker.” It was gone now, and trying to get it back wouldn’t just ruin some solid business relationships, it was a good way to get stabbed. “That asshole.”
“Excuse me?”
“He could have borrowed the money. He’ll have made every cent back within a week. Even the scariest loan shark would have walked away from the deal happy. But that jewelry’s gone.” And she would always be the person who had sold it.
“That’s not how Dallas operates.” The doodle twisted down the page and became the ocean with sharp fins bursting through the waves. “You know the whole barbarian thing isn’t him, right? He loves to play it—hits him right where it counts, if you get what I mean. But he’s smarter than anyone guesses, and willing to sacrifice to get what he wants.”