by Kit Rocha
"No one else," Bren agreed. Which meant it was up to him to make amends. "I need to do something good, Dallas. Build things instead of tearing them down. But I also need to stay out of her way, and that means staying out of Three."
Dallas nodded. "We can figure something out. Just--" He shook his head with another sigh. "If I thought you might push her, I'd beat you into the ground. But don't make the opposite mistake. Don't give up on her."
Every cell in his body screamed at him to grab on to Dallas's words. But the truth wasn't nearly so simple. "It'll take a while for her to get it, really understand that she doesn't have to be with me to be an O'Kane. Safe. Until I know she believes it, one step in her direction is too many."
"You're a good man, Donnelly."
"Not good. Honest. Usually," he added with a snort. Time to do some tough self-examination, figure out how and when he'd first let that honesty fail him.
Dallas caught his shoulder, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Bullshit. You're a good man. You don't let those bastards in Eden, or me, or even that girl convince you otherwise."
"You didn't." More of the truth he'd rededicated himself to. "I managed fine on my own."
"You made a mistake. Good men do that all the damn time. I have it on the highest authority that what makes them good is that they can admit it. And fix it."
Lex's words, no doubt, and Bren had to smile. "Sounds like a smart authority."
Dallas laughed. "You better fucking believe it, man, or she'll take you apart."
In the grand scheme of things, he could see how Dallas wouldn't think he'd fucked up irreversibly. He hadn't murdered anyone, and everything worked out all right in the end. How could he explain an invisible wound? A betrayal made all the more devastating by the fact that he knew--he fucking knew--Six would forgive him, even at her own expense?
On second thought, perhaps Dallas did understand. "Lex lets you off the hook way too easily, you know that?"
"Of course I do." No laughter now. Dallas's expression was deadly serious. "Why do you think being a better man matters so damn much? The sex, that's good, but it's not the prize. Trust is the prize, and the fight's not about winning it or keeping it. It's about deserving it, and that's a fight a man's got to have with himself. Every fucking day."
"Point taken." He twisted the cap off the beer and handed it to Dallas. "I'll get there. Someday, huh?"
Dallas lifted the bottle in a salute that felt more like a reprieve than anything. "Maybe sooner than you think."
Chapter Twenty-Two
I'm not asking for another chance, Six. I wouldn't. I don't deserve one.
Six dragged her pillow over her face to muffle a frustrated snarl, but the lack of sound stole all the satisfaction. Bren's words had wiggled into her mind, repeating in an endless, taunting refrain.
I'm not asking for another chance.
She'd wanted him to. She'd needed him to, every bit as much as she'd dreaded it. Her feelings were still a sick tangle of guilt and hurt and wounded pride, but as wary as she was of her urge to forgive him anything, she couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something deeper.
Bren was no Wilson Trent. They'd both lied to her. They'd both made her doubt herself. But what Trent had done out of childish cruelty, Bren had done out of...
That was the question, wasn't it?
I don't deserve one.
Impossible to imagine those words coming out of Wilson Trent's mouth. He'd been unerringly confident in the truth that he deserved everything. Six's body, her emotions, her secrets. Her mind, heart, and soul. He'd picked them apart, pushing her across the line in steps so small she was already broken before she realized what was happening.
Six threw the pillow away, rolled to her feet, and stalked toward the couch. The tablet was where she'd left it, rammed down beside the cushion. Maybe Bren was telling the truth. Maybe he'd done worse things, horrifying things, things he could never fucking come back from.
There was one way to find out.
The video list picked up right where it had left off, with Bren in a plain, brightly lit room.
This time, the voice that spoke from behind the camera was lower. Angrier. "Your CO reported that you disobeyed a direct order."
Instead of answering, Bren stared down at the table.
"Insubordination is a capital charge, son. You'd better answer the question."
Bren spoke, his voice flat. Lifeless. "I didn't hear one."
The video cut to Cruz. He looked different, younger and clean shaven. His hair was cropped close to his head, his eyes hard. "Donnelly attempted to fulfill his orders, but the mission parameters were--"
"You're saying he couldn't deliver the package?"
Only a moment's hesitation, but Six could tell he was on the verge of lying, and so could whoever was on the other side of the camera. Cruz's jaw clenched, and he ground out a grudging, "The circumstances weren't optimal."
A hand slammed down on the table from outside of the frame. "Miller's orders were clear."
"We achieved every other mission objective. We disabled ninety-two percent of Nevada City's weapons resources. Poisoning their water supply when they were no longer a military threat--"
"Take him to the stockade."
Two stone-faced soldiers stepped forward and lifted Cruz out of his chair. He didn't struggle, though from the tensing of his shoulders, Six thought he was considering shaking free of them.
But he didn't. He went along, enduring the rough handling as they dragged him off to face punishment for refusing to poison an entire town--or maybe just for refusing to pin the blame on Bren.
Her stomach twisted, imagining what they'd done to him for his disobedience.
The video jumped again. The same room, and Bren looked older.
Exhausted.
"I didn't miss the shot." He said it as though he'd said it before, like he was trying to explain to someone who wouldn't listen. "I flubbed it. Harrison hasn't done anything to merit a proper arrest, much less an execution. And I don't do personal hits."
A woman sighed. "If I put that on your evaluation, do you know what will happen to you?"
"I know. You should ask me if I give a shit."
Six thought back to Noah's note. Noah's stupid, vague, misleading note. Make sure you watch it all, he'd said, and she'd ignored it because she'd been so sure he was setting out to show her Bren's descent from man to monster.
This was so much better and so much worse. A progression, all right. Eden, breaking Bren's spirit. Breaking his heart.
A monster waking up because he knew he could be a better man.
"They won't execute you, if that's what you're after." Papers rustled, and the woman sighed again. "You're too valuable a resource to squander, even when you're bucking orders. But if they ever need someone disposable--"
"Yeah." Bren nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. "I can live with that."
Six stopped the video. Bren's face froze, that terrible choice clear in his eyes. If she'd had a mirror in the moments after Wilson Trent had thrown her to Dallas O'Kane, she probably would have seen the same thing.
Death is better than more of this.
Russell Miller was the man who had shattered Bren. The man who had pushed him, used him, hurt and discarded him. Yet with that betrayal shredding his heart, Bren hadn't reached out to her--to anyone--and asked for help, for vengeance.
He'd made up a hundred reasons, because he'd truly believed his own broken heart wouldn't be important enough.
I'm not asking for another chance. I don't deserve one.
She'd forgotten the one advantage she had over him, over so many of them. Daydreams or not, she could close her eyes and remember soft hands running through her hair and the warmth of her mother's voice, the feeling of being loved and cherished.
Bren didn't have that. He didn't know how to be loved, maybe didn't believe he deserved it.
Tossing the tablet aside, Six lunged for the door.
&n
bsp; "I want Miller's head."
Lex arched an eyebrow without looking up from the papers on her desk. "Yeah? Get in line."
Six slammed her hands on the scratched wood and leaned down. "Bren doesn't think any of us give a shit how bad that bastard hurt him. He thinks his feelings don't matter enough."
"No, he thinks they don't matter to you." She focused a mild look at Six. "He usually knows better than to bring that shit to the table when he's dealing with me and Dallas. We all have our traumas and our skeletons, honey, but we check them at the door when shit gets tricky. We have to."
It hit hard, and no doubt Lex had meant it to. So Six took a careful breath, dragged her emotions back into line, and straightened. "You told me Dallas was taking care of it. Does that mean Miller's dead?" If not, there had to be a way to get to him. A way to end him.
"Miller? He's getting something better than dead."
There were fates worse than death, but this wild, protective rage gathering inside her wouldn't be satisfied with less than blood. It had clicked into place somewhere between her room and Lex's office, something that transcended forgiveness and love and even words.
Bren was hers. He could forgive the hurts Miller had done him, could decide his pain wasn't worth it. That he had to move on. She never would.
"Tell me," she whispered. "I need to know."
"Banished," Lex said simply. "I don't really doubt Miller was operating with the approval of someone in Eden, but that seems to have dried up. And human trafficking is enough to get his ass kicked out into the sectors."
Six blinked. "Dallas got Eden to kick him out?"
"All Dallas did was tip off some concerned citizens to Miller's crimes. They decided their own punishment."
She couldn't think of a single concerned citizen who would give a shit what a sector gang leader thought, much less listen to one, until she remembered all the hugs she'd been drowning in over the past week.
Noelle's father. The most moral fucking man in a city terrified of sin. "Cunningham?"
Lex waved away the question. "It's been taken care of. That's all you need to know."
"Just tell me he won't last long in the sectors."
Lex grinned. "You've got our ink now, girl. You should know better."
She should, and she did. Her fire was newly formed, awkward and uncertain. She was still learning how to love people, how to belong to a family and protect them. And Dallas and Lex wouldn't take chances.
The rest of her temper dissipated, and she sank into a chair. "Learning how to care shouldn't be this damn hard. Are normal people born knowing how?"
"Hell, no." A pause. "But some people are lucky enough to have someone to teach them."
Six stared at the cuffs on her wrists. The O'Kane emblem was the same for everyone, but she'd noticed that Ace got whimsical with how he framed each person's ink. Twisted barbed wire curled around her wrist, the same that edged Bren's. But hers was a mesh of intersecting lines, like the cage where they held their fights.
She'd reclaimed her pride here, reclaimed her body. "I have a whole family to learn from now."
"Yeah, you do." Lex dragged open a drawer and pulled out a small ring loaded with keys. "If you're gonna work the door at the Broken Circle, you'll need these."
She leaned forward, unable to hide her eagerness. The weight of the keys felt like trust, and she folded her fingers around the hard edges with a smile. "Thanks."
Lex covered her hand, holding her still as their eyes locked. "You're right about Bren. He needs to know he matters. But you don't take that on unless you need it too, okay?"
"We're both broken." Saying it out loud sounded stark and rough, but the realization changed everything. "I didn't get it before. Maybe that should make it worse, but it doesn't. If I'm not the only broken one, maybe I can be good for him, too."
Satisfied, Lex released her and sat back. "Then remember that you're an O'Kane now, and don't give up until you have everything you want."
Six uncurled her hand and stared at the ring of keys, the symbol of what she could have when she had enough faith in herself and her abilities to go after the impossible. "I guess that's the part I've got to figure out."
"You'll get there. Trust me."
She did, and it wasn't even scary anymore.
Cruz
Within hours of watching the light fade from Russell Miller's eyes, Cruz had a woman sucking his dick.
Not just a woman, a prostitute. And she wasn't just sucking. She was going down on him with the sort of enthusiasm money couldn't buy, her tongue slick and hot, her moans so low and real they vibrated in his bones. He had both hands buried in her masses of curly hair, but not to guide her movements.
Someone had to keep it out of Ace's way.
Leather slapped against the woman's back, the sound as hypnotic as the noise that always followed, a throaty groan rising up from deep inside her. The flogging was turning her on.
It was turning them all on.
No heroes here, he thought darkly, letting his gaze drift down the woman's spine and up Ace's body. His chest was leanly muscled, but it was his ink that always caught Cruz's attention, a riot of color from his wrists to his shoulders, the patterns shifting with the flex of his arms. Dark hair swept over his brow, but did nothing to cover the intense set of his eyes as Ace landed another precise blow, and his lips curved into a pleased smile at the groaning response.
He was living, breathing sin, and Cruz was tired of resisting temptation. What was the point of scraping through a proper life here, in the barbaric, uncivilized sectors? There had to be a reward for living without the comforts he'd grown up with.
This was a start. A filthy, illicit, too-fucking-hot start.
The woman lifted her head, the firm stroke of her hand taking the place of her mouth. "Harder," she pleaded.
"No," Ace drawled, dragging the falls across her shoulders teasingly instead. He looked up and smiled. "Jeni always asks for it harder. Don't you, pretty girl?"
"Ye--" The word cut off in a throaty squeal. "Yes."
Cruz followed Ace's arm down to the hand between Jeni's thighs. He stroked her like he'd done it a thousand times, working his fingers just right, making her squirm and wiggle.
He snapped his gaze back to Ace's, and there was something there--a challenge. A question. Ace's smile had melted into a little smirk, the kind that said I know your secret and maybe just let go.
The dark hunger Cruz had spent so long choking into silence swelled, testing the bonds of his self-control, straining the cage he'd built around it. It seemed so pointless now. Trying to live up to the ideals of the men in Eden, men who'd never followed them, never really believed them. He was a weapon, built to kill on command. He'd done that tonight. He'd do it again.
It was his fucking turn to issue the commands.
He tightened his grip in Jeni's hair, savoring her sweet noise of approval. She liked it rough and hard. He'd seen her on the stage at the Broken Circle, screaming in pleasure as Ace worked her body. He knew enough to take control of this moment.
"Tell Ace what you want," he whispered, a quiet command that he half expected her to disobey.
Instead, she melted, the tense lines of her body softening into lush submission. "I want him to help me."
The words were deceptive. He almost misunderstood them, but Ace's sudden laugh held a sharp, dangerous heat as he swatted at Jeni's hip. "Be more specific, or he'll think you want me to move some furniture."
Jeni laughed too, scratching her nails up Cruz's chest as she rose to her knees on the bed. Close enough to kiss, yet she bypassed his mouth and dipped her head to lick the hollow of his throat. "I want him to help me get you off."
The bed shifted as Ace moved closer. Jeni was small for all her curves, fitting neatly under his chin. Nothing stood between his mouth and Ace's except half a foot of empty space that suddenly seethed with obscene promise.
The hunger inside him pulsed. The cage cracked.
"Do you w
ant to help her get me off?" Cruz asked, the words screaming into the tension. He couldn't take them back, so they hung there, rough and demanding, a challenge that could change everything.
But Ace didn't answer. He rocked forward, closing the distance. Four inches.
Three.
The tension between them wouldn't fit in so small a space. It pressed against Cruz's chest, made it hard to breathe. Jeni had gone still against him--maybe she was aware of the stakes of this endless, terrifying moment.
Two inches. Ace stopped so close, Cruz could feel his breath as he spoke. "That's not what you wanted to say, brother."
No, it wasn't, and he hated Ace for seeing through him, for knowing. All these damn weeks, leading him down the path of temptation, step after step. Ace didn't seem like the type to have a strategy and a mission, but Cruz still felt like he'd stumbled into a trap.
Two damn inches.
Cruz had climbed fifteen-story buildings without a safety rope. He'd jumped out of helicopters. Hell, he'd started a riot once, a full-scale fucking riot that had torn apart what was left of the city of Las Vegas. He could conquer two inches of empty air.
He freed one hand from the silk of Jeni's hair. Ace's was shorter, he couldn't get a grip. That didn't fucking matter. He curled a hand around the back of the other man's neck and wrenched him across the empty space.
Their mouths collided, and it wasn't anything as pretty as a kiss. Teeth dug into his lower lip. He growled and pressed harder, taking control, kissing Ace the way he'd never let himself kiss Rachel. Rough, violent, starving, biting and needing and not worrying about what was gentle or right.
The cage inside him shattered, flooding him with endless hunger, and he jerked back, his chest heaving.
Jeni shuddered and bit his earlobe so hard it hurt. Her words were even harsher, hoarse and low. "You're so fucking hot together."
Together. Just like Rachel had said, and he wouldn't be the bastard who pretended Jeni's pretty red hair was blonde and straight, that her husky pleas belonged to another woman.