by Kit Rocha
“Why?” he demanded. “Nessa knows how much we value her! Fuck, she’s the goddamn O’Kane princess.”
“A week ago, she would have agreed with you. Not anymore.” Lex needed to put some distance between them, so she circled the desk and stood behind it. “She’s been carrying your operation on her shoulders since she was a child, but now she knows that apparently means less to you than a handful of street brawls. And I’m not sure you can get her back.”
The verbal blow landed hard and did damage. She’d known it would. Nessa had always been his weak spot. He left his hair standing up wildly and scrubbed his hands over his face as if he could wipe away the truth. “They were stupid words. Thoughtless. I didn’t mean— Nessa is family, for fuck’s sake.”
“God, you and your boxes, Dallas.” It would have been hilarious if her heart wasn’t currently busy breaking. “You think they’re two different things, the gang and your family, but that’s not what you’ve built here.”
He stared at her, uncomprehending.
Lex gripped the edge of the desk. “You’ve told the world that there is nothing more important to you than the O’Kanes. They are your family, and you basically said Nessa and Rachel aren’t part of it. And being on the outside—” Her voice cracked, and she steadied herself with a deep breath. “It hurts, that’s all.”
After another tense moment, he turned and sank onto Nessa’s couch. He braced his elbows on his knees, the fury gone from his eyes. Left in its wake was frustrated confusion. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just used to thinking about...”
He sighed and clenched his fists. Then he reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. When the worn leather flipped open, he withdrew a creased piece of paper that looked like it had seen better days and held it out to her.
The ink was faded, illegible in some spots, but she could make enough of it out to realize what it was—a list of names. The men who had fallen during the fight to take control of Sector Four.
“I know it’s stupid, Lex,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I know I sound like a liar and a hypocrite, acting like being in the gang is too dangerous when I gave them ink to begin with because it means something now. It protects them. But when I think about what it means to be an O’Kane, to really be an O’Kane...”
His eyes fixed on the piece of paper as he swallowed hard. “That’s all I see. The ultimate cost. The men who bled and who died to get us here. And maybe it makes me an asshole, but I can’t really think about Nessa bleeding out in the street. Or Rachel or Amira.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Or you.”
She couldn’t fault him for that, not entirely, but the fact that he still carried this list when he’d long since memorized every name on it meant something else. Something even more heartbreaking.
“You’re stuck in the past,” she told him as she slid onto the couch beside him. “I can’t say there won’t be any more O’Kane blood spilled. That kind of thing never really stops.” She folded the paper and pressed it back into his hand. “But the fights are different now, and not all of them can be won with guns and knives.”
He stared at the paper before curling his fingers around it. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“If I wasn’t sure of that, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”
He huffed out something almost like a laugh. “So what am I supposed to do? Offer every dancer and waitress out there ink? You think they all want to sign up for a lifetime of doing what I say?”
“Holy Christ, no. Most of them want to do their jobs, get paid, go home, and not think about you or the rest of the O’Kanes until their next shift.” She reached for the bottle Nessa had left on the end table—one of her special runs, the stuff she and Pop had made together—and handed it to Dallas. “But some of them will. And some of the ones who want it will deserve it. Like Amira. And it’s not because she’s worked hard. It’s because she cares about the O’Kanes.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. He swirled the booze in the bottle and stared at it. Then he looked at Nessa’s desk. At the safe behind it that held her most prized bottles. At the shelves of books and notes and recipes and empty bottles.
“That’s fair,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to Ace about getting her cuffs. We can set up a party for her.”
“Or...” She reached over and uncapped the bottle. “You could talk to her. She may not be ready to take ink, but she was ready to ask you about it. Let her.”
“Okay.” He blew out a breath. “I can do that.”
His hair was still a mess, and she smoothed it at his temple. “Of course you can.”
“So that’s Amira. And Nessa and Rachel.” He turned just enough to meet her eyes. “What about you?”
Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and it felt right, like something she could do for the rest of her life. “What about me?”
“You mentioned Rachel, and Nessa, and Amira. How I hurt them. What about you?”
She pulled her hand away. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything, honestly, because it wouldn’t be a simple conversation. It wouldn’t be easy, and it might not fix a goddamn thing between them.
But she owed him the truth, the same truth she’d always asked him for. “Why did you mark me?”
He took the bottle from her, and this time he didn’t stare at it. He took a long sip and clutched at the thing so hard it looked like his fingers might shatter the glass. “Because I didn’t want you to leave. Because I need you.”
I need you. She’d waited years—actual, literal years—to hear him say it. But now that he had... “And I didn’t want to leave. But I’m not sure it’s enough.”
“Not enough for what?”
“To keep us from imploding.” She climbed off the couch and paced across the room. She needed space again, enough to let sharp words fall between them without shredding them both. “I was curious about the gang and your plans for it. I was curious about you. So I stuck around. And when you needed help, I couldn’t stop myself from falling back on familiar things. Orchid things.” She shrugged. “We can’t escape who we are, I guess.”
All of his muscles tightened as he seemed to draw in on himself. “Lex. I didn’t... That’s not what I want from you.”
“No, I did this, not you.” It wasn’t possible to explain the tangle of responsibility and ownership and sex they taught in Orchid House—but she had to believe it could be unraveled. “But now I need your help. We should have...rules. About us.”
“What kind of rules?”
“Boundaries,” she clarified. “I’ll do whatever I can, Dallas. Help out with whatever you need. But I’m not—we’re not—”
“Together,” he rumbled.
“No.” They existed in some nebulous space that was both more and less, and completely undecided. Unsettled. “So you have to stop growling at everyone who flirts with me, because I don’t belong to you.”
He didn’t like it, didn’t like admitting it and didn’t like agreeing to it. That angry furrow cut a path between his brows, but after an uncertain couple of seconds, he nodded jerkily. “Fine.”
“However.” She took a step forward, then another, almost close enough to touch him. “I hope you’ll consider doing the flirting sometimes. I would hate to give that up.”
His gaze drifted up her body, making her skin prickle. By the time he reached her face, the furrow was gone. “You would, would you?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
He curled his fingers around hers, but instead of shaking her hand, he brushed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips soft and warm over her pulse—and his ink. “Deal.”
She held on to his hand and stretched out on the couch, across his lap, her head nestled into the crook of his arm. She looked up at him as he shifted to give her a more comfortable cradle and smiled. “I’m sorry I got ugly with you the other day. I regret it.”
“I’m sorry I laughed at you.” H
is lips twitched. “I knew you were going to make me pay. I kinda like it. At least I’ll never turn into Matthew Stone with you around.”
No, never. “I would kill you first.”
She meant it, and he knew it. Judging by the glint in his eyes, he liked it. “Aww, that’s sweet, Lexie. You promise?”
“Shut up.” She wasn’t quite ready to give up the intoxicating intimacy of the moment. “You know, on second thought, maybe we should honor the terms of our truce with something other than a handshake. It’s not really our style.”
He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and tugged lightly. “I could think of few ways.”
His teasing tone held just a hint of warm suggestion, and for once, Lex didn’t hide. “Kiss me.”
Smiling, he leaned down and caught her lips in a slow kiss. A warm kiss. Gentle and restrained and barely like him at all, until his free hand dropped to her hip and his fingers dug in, and she felt the careful control in the way his muscles tensed as he spread his fingers wide in a silent, possessive claim.
Someday, they’d figure out their shit. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and they’d always be like this—hot and cold, push and pull. Fight or flight. Either way, one truth was rooted deep inside her, more intrinsic to her being than her own name.
No matter what came of it, she would always love Dallas O’Kane.
present day...
Grand Reopening
Even with the brand-new cash counting machine by her side, Lex couldn’t keep up with Noelle.
She slid another huge stack of banded bills across the table and waited until Noelle paused in her counting to grin at her. “What do you think?”
“I think Dallas will have to add a whole new floor just to hold his ego.” Noelle added the cash to the stack next to her. “I haven’t even started on the credits Jared and Lili brought in. I peeked upstairs earlier tonight, and everyone who was anyone in Eden showed up.”
Lex was disgustingly glad that Jared and Lili were happy to play hosts to Eden’s elite—especially now that the walls had come down, and it was easier than ever to move between the city and the surrounding sectors. “Better them than me,” she muttered. “I’m perfectly at home down here, thanks.”
“Me, too.” Noelle started on another stack of cash. “I wondered for a little bit, you know, how it would feel to see my old friends. If I’d want to talk to them. But that seems like a different life. And we weren’t friends, not really. None of them knew me. I didn’t even know me.”
Lex grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “It was a different life.”
“If you can even call it a life.” Noelle squeezed Lex’s hand. “I’m right where I’m meant to be.”
“Where?” rumbled a familiar voice from behind them. “With your fingers all over my money?”
After all this time, he could still send a shiver up Lex’s spine with just his voice. “Someone’s got to count it all, Declan.”
His fingers slid over her shoulder, and his breath tickled her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her. “So there’s a lot of it?”
“I’m not even going to tell you how much,” Noelle told him with a fake-stern face. “You’ll get a big head.”
“Ahh, kitten. Lex can tell you there’s no chance of stopping that.”
Lex leaned into his touch. “Yes, there’s a lot of cash.” Not that rebuilding the Broken Circle had ever been about money. This place was more than a bar or club. It was the living embodiment of every dream Dallas had ever had.
Every dream she shared.
“Well, Jas is gonna have to help her finish counting it.” Dallas straightened and tugged her chair back. “The king needs a few moments with his queen.”
Noelle took one look at him over Lex’s shoulder and grinned. Then she leaned in and kissed Lex’s cheek. “I’ll probably be asleep by the time he’s done with his few moments. Good night, Lex.”
She rose. “Jas—”
“I won’t let her work too hard,” he promised. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he took her chair, and as she and Dallas walked away, Jasper leaned over and whispered in Noelle’s ear.
Her delighted laughter followed them through the STAFF ONLY door.
Once they were in the dim hallway alone, Dallas wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers teasing under her shirt to trace over her stomach. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Really? What kind?”
“What, darling, you want me to spoil it?”
She turned in his arms. “Just a hint.”
Two more steps, and he had her backed up against his office door, pinned to the solid wood as he grasped each side of the frame. “Your hint is that I’m feeling a little nostalgic tonight.”
He could have meant anything—that was one of the best parts of their relationship, the rich history they shared. It hadn’t always been smooth or peaceful, but it was always real. Something that belonged to just the two of them.
She reached back for the door knob, one questioning eyebrow raised. At his nod, she turned the knob and opened the door. “Show me.”
He took a step forward, nudging her into his office. He waved his hand over the panel next to the door once to bring up soft lighting, just enough to make the furniture visible but keep the corners in shadows.
A second step pushed her far enough into the room for him to close the door behind them. Without looking, he slowly engaged the lock. Then he put both hands on her shoulders and turned her.
The safe was so old that, once upon a time, it had taken her less than two minutes to crack it. And that was before it was nearly crushed in the bombing of the original Broken Circle.
“You rescued it,” she whispered.
“Fuck yeah, I did. That’s the start of everything, right there.” He leaned down, his voice a suggestive whisper. “Think you can still crack it?”
The thing was a veritable wreck now. Most of the bigger dents had been hammered out, but nothing could straighten the frame or restore its integrity. What Dallas had sitting in his office was, simply, four hundred pounds of nostalgia.
She knelt in front of it and trailed her hand along the side, looking for the right spot. When she found it, she gave it one good whack with the flat of her hand, and the lock popped. “This is adorable, honey,” she laughed as the door swung open. “But you really shouldn’t keep anything valuable—”
There was only one thing in the safe—a tiny jewelers’ box, its blue velvet flocking worn away in spots. Her hands shaking, she picked it up and lifted the lid. Inside was a gold ring. Old, delicate. Polished up, but even the most loving care couldn’t fix the tiny dents or the deepest scratches.
She rose and turned to Dallas. “What is this?”
“Remember when I gave you that jewelry to pawn?” He tilted his head toward the box. “I kept that. Didn’t figure it would fetch much. Not even sure it’s real gold, honestly. My grandpa didn’t have much to his name when gave that to my grandma.”
“A family heirloom?” She stepped into the circle of his arms and leaned against his chest. “Are you giving it to me?”
Instead of answering, Dallas took the ring from her and lifted her hand. It slid onto her middle finger like it had been designed for her, and the metal warmed swiftly against her skin. “My mother wore this on a cord around her neck. The Flares made her hard, but this is the one bit of sentimentality she never gave up. She told me once it was a reminder that life could be sweet, too.” He rubbed his thumb over the ring and her fingers. “I think she’d want you to have it. And I don’t need a reminder anymore. I have you.”
Dallas had given her dozens of presents over the years, clothes and jewelry and weapons and art, each piece more expensive and rare than the last. Hundreds of thousands in cash and credits, and she’d kept each one, hoarded them away in her bedroom closet the way a dragon guards its gold.
None of them had ever meant as much as this one.
“I love it,” she whispered. “More than my Renoir. Mo
re than my Glock.”
“More than your Glock?” His warm laughter washed over her as he pulled her closer, until her body was pressed to his. “That’s saying something.”
“I love it more than anything.” She set the box aside and slipped her hands under his shirt. “Except you.”
‘Yeah?” He curled his hands around her waist and backed her toward the safe. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all night?”
“Nope. But I fervently hope it involves fucking.”
With a flex of muscle, he hoisted her onto the edge of the safe. “Fucking’s too tame a word for what I have planned. Stay here.”
He crossed the room to a simple wooden cabinet, and she smiled as the jangle of chains filled the room like music. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
Dallas returned with his hands full of leather and delicate steel chains. The gathered metal tickled over her legs as he stepped close, blocking out most of the light.
He worked in intent silence, stripping off her bracelets first and setting each one aside. His thumb rubbed the insides of her wrists before he wrapped the leather cuffs around them, working each buckle with the reverence of ritual.
Her skin heated, and her muscles tensed with anticipation. Some nights, Dallas wanted to play. Others were about pushing boundaries or falling into familiar patterns, the kind you could only find in the comfort of shared experience.
Tonight, he had something to tell her. Not with words, perhaps, but with every careful, considered action.
She sucked in a breath as he slowly lifted the chain linking her cuffs, dragging her arms up with it. Her back arched to compensate, and her shoulders bumped back against the wall. When she looked up, she saw a hook high above her on the wall, placed deliberately. Strategically.
When Dallas dropped the chain over the hook, it left her stretched out, off balance, with only enough give in the chains to move her hands a few inches in either direction.
Dallas stroked his fingers down her arms and smiled slowly when he reached her leather dress. “This is nice,” he murmured, touching one of the two zippers in the front that ran the entire length of the dress. “Convenient, too.”