by Kit Rocha
It wasn’t the kind of thing you could walk away from. And yet, she had to. Somehow.
She took him deep, and he groaned again, clutching at the bench with one hand as his other twisted tighter in her hair. His hips moved to meet her, matching the rhythm of her mouth rising and falling as if they’d been doing this forever.
And, as if they’d been doing it forever, she knew exactly when he gave in. She knew the second before a guttural growl escaped him. His hips jerked, and his whole body went rigid as he came. He spilled over her tongue, and she swallowed him with a moan, stroking his hip to soothe him as he gasped and shuddered.
His head fell back when it was over, leaving his face bathed in harsh light. His hand gentled at the back of her head, fingers stroking softly. “Damn,” he whispered.
“Almost speechless,” she teased. Then she rose and kissed his cheek. “Better?”
“Maybe.” But he was smiling as he reached for his pants. “Was your favor worth it?”
“It’s not over,” she countered. “When’s the last time you slept?”
That wiped his smile away. A furrow appeared between his brows as he zipped up his pants and gripped his belt. “I gotta make another appearance at the party. No rest for the wicked, Lexie love. Or for kings.”
How could a nickname be more intimate than his dick in her mouth? “Just an hour. Maybe two.”
He exhaled roughly and somehow managed to buckle his belt crankily. But when he pushed off the workbench, he turned toward the leather couch against the side wall. “Fine. If I lie down for an hour, will that pay my debt?”
“Free and clear.” She held out her hand.
Dallas accepted it, and she led him to the couch. When she sat down, he stretched out and laid his head in her lap. “One hour,” he reminded her as his eyes drifted shut.
Lex stifled a sigh as she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “I promise, Dallas.”
“Declan.”
She froze mid-stroke, then bit her lip even though he couldn’t see her smile. “Declan.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He fell asleep almost instantly, and Lex sat there, motionless, as the minutes ticked by.
A blowjob and a nap. What a weird fucking way to end a flirtation.
And it was ending. It had to, for the sake of her sanity. She’d chased Dallas so long and so hard that it almost seemed normal to knock on a door only to have him slam it in her face. It wasn’t like he meant to hurt her—in the strangest way, she could tell that he didn’t—but intentions mattered less than the end result.
He had solid steel walls three feet thick. She wanted to get past them, and he wouldn’t let her. Full stop, end of story. Because if she didn’t lock it down now and walk the fuck away, she’d keep throwing herself at him. Sooner or later, she’d grind herself into nothingness.
Better to end it. If he wanted to see her, he knew where to find her. And if he didn’t, she’d manage. One foot in front of the other, just like always.
Just like always.
Inked In
Lex hadn’t come home yet.
Dallas took a drag of his cigarette and watched the tip flare in the darkness. Most of it had already burned away to ash, and his excuse for lingering outside was fading. His current girlfriend was naked in his bed, waiting for him to come in and work out the frustrations of the day with her in the filthiest ways he could imagine.
He shook another cigarette free of his pocket and used his current one to light it.
Something clanged and scraped in the alley near the side entrance of the warehouse. Dallas dropped the cigarettes to the pavement and reached for his gun as he edged around the building—
—and bit off a curse when he swung around and found himself aiming right at Lex’s face.
She ducked the barrel. “What the fuck?”
Dallas holstered his gun. “Jesus Christ, woman, are you stupid?”
“You’re the one who almost shot me,” she snapped. “I’m just heading up to my room.” She’d already disengaged the lock, but the door was solid, heavy steel, and she was trying to slide it open with one hand.
He stepped closer. She was dressed all in black—her stealing clothes—and almost melted into the shadows of the alley. But he could see the tightness in her eyes when he drew near, not to mention the pallor of her features. “What happened?”
A muscle in her jaw ticked. “Got jumped.”
“What?” He wrapped his hand above hers on the metal door and hauled it open in a surge of temper. Light spilled out of the hallway, illuminating the way her shirt clung wetly to her skin—and the ragged slice across the front.
“It’s barely a scratch.” She tried to brush past him, but stumbled and fell against the door frame.
Panic surged as he urged her inside and slammed the door shut. Ignoring her protests, he swung her up into his arms and headed for their makeshift first aid room. “You are ridiculous, you know that? I thought you were supposed to be smarter than all the idiot men who pretend their guts aren’t about to fall out.”
“My guts are fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t like blood. Especially mine.”
The only thing more terrifying than a bleeding Lex was Lex confessing a weakness. Dallas hurried his steps and nearly kicked the door off its hinges when he reached the oversized closet where they stashed the medical equipment.
He set Lex carefully on the table and hit the lights. “Take that shirt off,” he said gruffly. “I don’t like your blood a whole lot when it’s on the outside either, so let’s fix that shit.”
“You’re so cranky.” She stripped the shirt over her head, smudging blood on her cheek in the process. “You’re not the one who just lost three weeks’ worth of work to a punk-ass kid with a tiny little knife and shaky hands.”
No, but he was the one who had to track the guy down and kill him now. Publicly, if he could manage it. Bloodily. Slowly. So horribly that everyone within fifty miles had nightmares about what would happen if they so much as bumped into Lex too hard in the marketplace.
Not that she’d approve of any of that. Dallas got a bottle of filtered water and some gauze and set it next to her on the table. A suture set, med-gel, and a bottle of whiskey followed. “Drink that,” he ordered, dragging the stool over so he could sit in front of her.
“I can do this myself.”
“You can shut up and drink the whiskey,” he countered pleasantly, wetting the first piece of gauze. Now that he was closer, it was clear the wound looked a lot worse than it was—but only because Lex had twisted her body at just the right moment. If she’d been a little slower, or if the guy had had a bigger knife, her guts really would have been on the street.
That made him mad all over again.
Lex took a deep drink of the whiskey, then another, and paused before a third gulp. “This isn’t for the cut,” she informed him loftily. “I need it so I can deal with you.”
“Whatever lets you sleep at night, darling.” He applied some of the topical numbing agent and started cleaning the cut. “And you know what’s going to let me sleep at night? The fact that you’re retiring from stealing shit you don’t need.”
“Says who?”
“Says your sector leader.”
She let her head fall back with a groan. “That’s it, I’m moving.”
“No, you’re not.” But she wouldn’t listen to him. The more he forbade her from going out to steal shit, the more she’d find excuses to do it. Orders didn’t work on Lex, and if he ever did manage to come down on her hard enough to keep her in line, she really would vanish.
Nessa would never forgive him. Neither would Rachel. Neither would half the men.
Maybe it was time for Plan B.
He took care of her stitches first, partly to keep her from jumping up in an outrage and storming off half-sutured, but mostly to give the liquor time to work. If she was mellow, maybe she wouldn’t stab him.
“I want you in Ace’s chair tomorrow,”
he told her as he smoothed gel over the wound. “Nessa and Rachel, too. He’s giving all three of you cuffs.”
Lex stared at him.
“Ink,” he clarified, waving his wrist at her. “It’s the only thing that’s gonna keep Rachel from getting eaten alive the first time she steps out the door.”
She took another drink of whiskey, her expression so bland and relaxed that it could only mean she was furious. “I’ll be first in line to congratulate Nessa and Rachel, but I’m afraid I have to decline.”
It should be impossible to be this worried about her and still want to throttle her. “And why’s that?”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I like my freedom. You’re already pulling rank on me as sector leader. I can’t imagine how insufferable you’d be if I let you mark me.”
“And you’ll ignore me, like you always ignore me.” It took three adhesive gauze pads to cover the whole cut. Dallas smoothed the last one into place with forced gentleness, then curled his fingers around the table on either side of her legs and let the wood take the brunt of his anger. “For fuck’s sake, woman. Just let me do one thing to protect you, okay? The ink matters now. If that little asshole had seen it on your wrists, he wouldn’t have stabbed you. He would have fucking well known better.”
She was going to say no again. The denial seethed in her eyes and the set of her jaw, and Dallas braced himself for it.
Then she dropped her gaze. “Fine.” She shoved past his arm and slipped off the table. Her shirt went into the trash can, and she swept up the open bottle of whiskey on her way to the door. “Better wash up quick. Your girlfriend’s probably wondering where you are.”
Natalie was used to waiting. And she wouldn’t give him a lot of backtalk and attitude, either. A king shouldn’t have to go home to a war zone in his damn bedroom, and that’s what Lex would be. If she’d proven one thing over the past year, it was that her soft moments never lasted—and if he let down his guard, even a little, she was as likely to plant an elbow between his ribs as she was to kiss him.
Easy was better. He liked easy. He was going to go home and revel in easy.
And not think about the fact that, in twenty-four hours, his mark would be on Lex’s skin.
»»» § «««
Drinking in was usually a far more solemn occasion. It was a time of revelry, sure, but at the same time, everyone seemed to recognize the gravity of accepting new members. You weren’t just getting the good things when you signed up to ride with the O’Kanes, money and power and liquor and sex. You were also getting all the hard—and sometimes deadly—living that went along with the lifestyle.
Not tonight. Instead of setting up in the warehouse, Dallas had closed the Broken Circle. Everyone crowded around the bar now, watching with amused fondness as Nessa argued with Dallas.
Nessa had celebrated her sixteenth birthday a few weeks ago with a spiky new haircut and cotton-candy-pink hair dye. Her T-shirt was an equally outrageous pink with a glittering heart decorating the front. Facing down Dallas’s dark scowl, she looked like a tiny, angry fairy as she slammed her fist into the bar. “Oh, come on. You don’t think I can do the shots? I make the damn shit, I can fucking well drink it.”
“That’s a fair point.” Rachel leaned against the table beside Lex, her arms crossed over her chest. “Then again, taste testing is a lot different than pounding half a dozen shots at once.”
Rachel Riley’s father Liam was the most infamous brewer operating inside the city limits. But the blonde herself looked...delicate. Even innocent. “What do you know about pounding shots?”
“Good question,” Rachel observed—but she didn’t answer it. Instead, she winced as Nessa’s voice rose in volume. “You could help him out, you know.”
“Who, Dallas?” He deserved every ear-splitting decibel. “Nah, he doesn’t want my help.”
Rachel didn’t say anything. When Lex glanced over, she was staring at her, nose wrinkled in confusion. “I can’t figure you two out,” she admitted finally. “You run this place like his wife—you remind me a little of my mom, actually. So I thought you just weren’t into each other. But—” Her cheeks turned blood-red. “Right before he hooked up with Natalie, there was this party...”
Lex remembered. She’d been ass-deep in a flirtation with one of the local street fighters when Dallas had decided to step in and flex a little. He’d glared at the man until he fled, then spent the rest of the night eyeing her like he was going to take her upstairs and fuck the holy living hell out of her.
No wonder Rachel was confused. She didn’t know what had actually happened after the party. Instead of dragging Lex upstairs to follow through on all that caveman possessiveness, he pulled her into a back hallway. He got her off twice—once with his fingers, and again with his mouth—then walked away, because the only thing worse than having Lex spend the night with another man was having her spend it in Dallas’s bed.
“Dallas is Dallas,” she told Rachel lightly. “Only a fool or a masochist would try to change him, and I’m neither.”
A round of cheers signaled the end of the argument at the bar, and Nessa hopped up onto the wooden surface next to a row of eight empty glasses. Ace was already filling the first one with the cheapest rotgut they sold. As he reached for the next bottle, Nessa lifted the shot glass, grinned at Lex, and knocked it back.
Her face immediately twisted into an expression of horror, and she made an overdramatic gagging noise. “Oh my God, you better not be putting my label on this shit.”
“Your label?” Dallas asked ominously.
“Aww, did you make this batch, Dallas?” She shuddered. “Somebody needs to light that shit on fire.”
She reached for the next shot. There were eight, total—too many for a tiny sixteen-year-old, but far fewer than the normal number. Still, Lex made a mental note to have everything ready for hangover cures in the morning.
If Nessa didn’t need it, she probably would.
Ace caught Lex’s eye across the bar and winked as he poured the next shot. The tiny glass ended up only one-third filled, but Nessa, flushed with the victory of having shouted down Dallas O’Kane, didn’t even notice as she downed it.
On it went, until Nessa lifted the last scant shot, the smoothest whiskey she produced. She was still steady on her feet, something that would change soon enough.
Rachel straightened. “Looks like I’m just about up. You think Ace is going to be just as stingy with my shots?”
He already called her angel, and it wasn’t because she had wings. “Probably.”
“Maybe I can convince him otherwise.” She strolled over to the bar as Flash lifted Nessa down from it to a round of cheers and hugs.
Nessa high-fived Bren, hopped up to reach Zan’s cheek with a sloppy kiss, and practically danced her way to Lex’s side. “Dallas is a dickhead!” she announced, flinging both arms wide. Then she wrapped them both around Lex. “And that was a stupid waste of the good shit. I couldn’t even taste it by the time we got there. Dallas’s moonshine burned my tongue off.”
Lex helped Nessa up onto the table to sit beside her. “Rachel seems to have come to the same conclusion.” The blonde whispered in Ace’s ear as she indicated the whiskey. He gave her a dubious look but shrugged and lined up sixteen glasses. “Why does it take us women to understand this stuff?”
“Because men are idiots. Who the fuck needs ‘em?” Nessa leaned into Lex’s side and dropped her head to Lex’s shoulder. Then she held up her arms and examined her newly tattooed wrists. “Except Ace. Ace is okay. You know he went and found the chemical compound for liquor just to do my tattoos?”
The structural formula framed her O’Kane tattoo in rows of little Hs and Cs and Os. Lex’s own wrists were no less a testament to Ace’s skill, but more subtle—and damning. Brambles lined her wrists, complete with wicked thorns.
The new ink itched, and Lex smiled. “Your cuffs are beautiful, Nessa. Congratulations.”
“So are yours.” Nessa ta
pped their wrists together, like she was clinking glasses. “About time. We make the money happen.”
In Nessa’s case, that was true. Dallas’s entire empire was built on her efforts, and she deserved all the recognition and inclusion he could offer her.
Lex didn’t have the heart to tell her that Dallas’s motivations were a little different where Lex was concerned. Her marks weren’t about loyalty or contribution. They were about control. Ownership. Even if he didn’t feel like he owned her—which Lex wasn’t sure about at all—he wanted others to think he did. He wanted the world to know that there would be consequences for damaging his property.
Her wrists itched worse as she looked up and locked eyes with Dallas. He was standing with his arms crossed, giving every appearance of watching as Rachel downed shot after shot to increasingly raucous cheers.
But his gaze was fixed on her. Watching.
Lex turned her attention back to Nessa. “Rachel’s going for it. Who knew a girl from Eden would drink us all under the table?”
“Hey, she knows her shit.” Nessa bumped her boot against Lex’s. “Pop was never as big on brewing as distilling, but we worked with what we had. Dallas has almost closed on that new warehouse, you know. I’m gonna talk him into laying in some equipment for Rachel to brew beer. God knows we’ll have the space over there.”
“Good. She deserves it.”
Rachel finished her last shot, then heaved the glass up in the air, where Zan caught it with a laugh. Then the cheers melted into catcalls and whistles as she turned to Ace, framed his face with both of her hands, and kissed him deeply.
Ace seemed momentarily stunned. Just as he was reaching for her hips, Rachel turned, slipped her arms around Dallas’s neck, and drew him into an equally blistering kiss.
Dallas chuckled against her lips and swatted at her hip as his girlfriend stood there, nonplussed, and Lex was officially having the most fun ever. She elbowed Nessa. “If you’re not into girls, you better run before she makes her way over here.”
“Girls have got to be better than boys, right?” Nessa kicked her legs. “But it’s your turn next. Better get moving.”