by Kit Rocha
"I told you I'm working on it. That place in the mountains will take all of us, but they need goods or cash up front--"
But Cib wasn't listening. He never did. "Gotta settle some debts, too. Nothing bad."
It was a lie. There were always more debts than Cib admitted to, big ones that explained his nervous energy and bloodshot eyes. Noah hadn't seen it then, hadn't wanted to see it. He'd needed to believe his friend was too smart to snort Mac Fleming's needlessly addictive products up his nose.
Noah didn't ask the question that had come next, but it wouldn't be his worst nightmare if that could make a damn bit of difference.
"The, uh--" Cib licked his cracked lips. "Last week's deliveries here in Five hit a snag. Me and Klein, we got--" He laughed, forced and fake. "We got rolled by a couple of assholes. They took it all, the money and the drugs. Everything we were holding for Fleming."
More bullshit. Transparent bullshit, lies Noah hadn't been able to ignore, because if anyone had stolen Fleming's drugs within the boundaries of Sector Five, he would have sent his chief enforcer to tear the sector apart--and tear the sorry bastard's arms from his body.
"How much, Cib?"
Instead of a number, an answer, his best friend muttered the words that spun the scene down deeper into terror. "You know, uh, I've been thinking. And I had this sort of idea..."
Panic gripped Noah, the sick dread of what was coming, and even in a hazy fucking dream he knew it would be worse this time. Worse because something had happened, something had changed--
"Emmy likes you." Cib wouldn't look at him, but he wouldn't stop, either. "She really, really likes you, man."
Wake up. Wake the fuck up. Goddamn it.
"Hell." Cib laughed again, shrill and damning. "I think she might lov--"
The street shattered around him, falling away as Noah lunged out of bed, his panting breaths too loud in the darkness. A sharp moment of disorientation vanished when Emma murmured a muffled protest behind him.
He tensed, waiting for any sound to indicate she'd woken up, but her breathing settled back into an even rhythm, and he scrubbed his hands over his face as if that would erase the lingering horror.
At least he'd woken up before the real nightmare kicked in. Cib's voice, shaking with desperation and a starving edge that couldn't have really existed, because surely Noah would have noticed. Guilt played with the memory, adding a hundred clues he should have caught, torturing him with his failure night after fucking night.
He swept up his pants and shirt by feel and pulled them on as his eyes adjusted to the thin light coming from beneath the door. Emma had twisted in her sleep, twining the sheets around one calf and leaving most of her naked body bare. Her tattoos were indistinct shadows weaving intriguing patterns over her skin, unfamiliar enough to shake him out of the past.
She wasn't the same girl she'd been, and he still didn't know if that was a good thing. He could have scared the old Emma off with a little roughness or some dirty talk. This one had taken both in stride before promising to protect him.
Of course, if he really wanted to get rid of her, all he had to do was tell her the truth about how his nightmare ended.
Shuddering, Noah grabbed his boots and slipped into the hallway. It was early--too early for a bunch of people who drank and fucked into the wee hours of the morning, apparently--but he'd barely gotten his laces tied when the redhead he'd seen tending bar the previous night turned the corner.
Something about her features nagged at him, a familiarity he couldn't quite place. Odd, because she wasn't the kind of woman a man forgot--tall and built, with killer curves she dressed to full advantage.
She slowed to a stop before smiling. "You sneaking out, Noah?"
It wasn't a stretch to imagine that the O'Kanes knew who he was, but something about the teasing edge to the words brought that familiarity crashing in on him, and he was suddenly sure he'd heard her say his name before, with that same husky laughter beneath it.
No, not laughter. The last time that voice had spoken his name, it had trembled with the disconnected dreaminess of someone stoned out of her mind.
He snapped his gaze back to her face and imagined her leaner, paler. Her cheekbones stark beneath sunken eyes, all those healthy curves gone. "Tracy?"
"In the flesh." She rested a hand on her hip and tilted her head. "A little more of it these days. How are you?"
"Surprised. You were pretty...stuck." A nice word for how he'd last seen her, shaking for a hit, willing to do damn near anything to get one. Only one thing had kept her out of the brothels, off the streets, separated her from a hundred other junkies--special treatment from Fleming's chief enforcer.
Finn hadn't bothered with rules or explanations, not where Tracy was concerned. She got her drugs from him, full stop. Anyone who tried to trade her flesh for a fix lost whatever body part they'd laid on her. The only moron dumb enough to try it twice had disappeared.
Some of the really strung-out girls had called it romantic. For Noah, it had been a cautionary tale, one ground deeper into his psyche every time Tracy crawled out of Finn's lap, flying high and oblivious to the self-loathing in the man's eyes.
"Stuck," she echoed softly. "That's one way to put it. Not anymore, though." She looked away. "You and Emma working things out?"
"Tracy--"
"It's Trix now."
He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the nickname. "Trix."
"Hey, truth in advertising, right?" She nodded past him, to Emma's door. "She's asked me some things. About stuff I guess you didn't tell her."
Jesus Christ. Tracy--Trix--had lived at ground zero, in the sick, rotting heart of Fleming's empire. Tucked into Finn's pocket, she could have heard anything. Everything. "How much does she know about what her brother did?"
"Some about the drugs." Trix caught his eye with a pointed look. "Nothing about the money."
"Good." It came out too forceful, and he modulated his tone. "She doesn't need to know, all right? Anything Cib might have done or said--that was the drugs, not her brother. There's no damn reason to take him away from her."
"I wouldn't," Trix retorted. "But she'll find out eventually. Neither of us can stop that, not unless you plan on razing Sector Five."
"Not entirely."
Understanding washed over her face. "So that's why you're here. I thought--" She shook her head. "Never mind."
He could see the truth in her eyes. She'd thought he'd come back for Emma, because she'd known him before he'd locked away emotion and affection out of necessity. "Did everyone know?"
Trix stared at him for a long, hard second, then shrugged wearily. "Emma didn't."
It was a struggle not to grind his teeth. "I'm more worried about people who might hurt her to get to me. If they figure it out..."
"They'll know where to hit you," she agreed with a nod. "People around here wouldn't say anything. She's wearing O'Kane ink now."
He wanted to believe it was that simple, but O'Kane and Fleming represented two sides of the same criminal coin. They peddled their respective vices with such dedication that people had dubbed the wide road separating their sectors Sin Street. Brothels and gambling houses of varying classes lined both sides, with the road marking the invisible line between booze and drugs.
Both were quick paths to oblivion, and both destroyed lives. But Fleming turned his hand to legitimate business, too, producing medications essential to a comfortable life in Eden. He should have been the one with the power and the influence, not a glorified bootlegger with a reputation for being too distracted by his dick to care about politics.
Noah studied Trix's face again. "You've seen both sides. Is she safe here?"
The woman's matter-of-fact expression softened into sympathy. "Mac Fleming is scared shitless of Dallas O'Kane. That's as safe as it gets out here in the sectors, wouldn't you say?"
That depended on why he was so damn scary--but the pride in Trix's eyes said enough. Plenty of men in Five obeyed Fleming out of
fear or greed or desperation, but precious few looked at him with any sort of fondness.
If O'Kane's men were half as loyal to him as the women seemed to be, he had himself a tidy little army that would do more than kill for him. They'd die for him, or maybe even for each other.
Maybe even for Emma.
"Yeah," he said, ignoring the hollow ache in his chest. It should have been a weight off his shoulders, one less thing holding him back from achieving his goal. "It sounds pretty damn safe."
"Doesn't mean she doesn't need you," Trix said softly.
Living underground away from people had made him fucking careless with his feelings. Noah hardened his expression and forced a shrug. "It'd be better for her if she didn't. Like you said. The truth always comes out."
"Yeah." She glanced down the hall. "You cutting out?"
He deserved the judgment in her voice. It was damn tempting to pick up and run, past the boundaries of the sectors, past the communes where people toiled to provide bread for Eden's fancy tables. There were places out there. The mountain communities, other cities. The world had ground to a halt, but people kept going. They always kept going.
If he cared at all for Emma, he'd do it. Make this a clean cut, instead of coming back to dig under her skin, just so he could steal a few more memories before she learned enough to drive him away. "I need a few things from Three, some tech and a couple changes of clothes. I'll be back."
Trix hummed and continued her walk down the hall. "I'll see you then."
Hard to say if she believed him, but shit, he didn't even know if he believed himself. After a shower and a change of clothes, he wouldn't be able to smell Emma on his skin anymore, and maybe that would give him the strength to do the right thing.
Or maybe it would only leave him crazy at the loss, and that much more determined to come back and lose himself in her all over again.
When Emma woke up, Noah was gone.
She stared at the empty, rumpled spot on her bed for what seemed like forever, her mind spinning in a million different directions, always coming back to the same gut-clenching fact.
He'd never said he would stay past the night.
Finally, she dragged herself out of bed and hit the shower. Standing under the steaming spray did little to ease the ache in her chest, but at least it cleared her head. He'd left her before, and she'd handled it. She wasn't a child anymore, nineteen years old and huddled at the back door of Clara's shop, fighting tears as she watched Noah melt into the night.
By the time she climbed out to dry her hair and put on her makeup, she'd almost convinced herself it didn't matter. No promises meant no promises broken. That was Noah's style.
Emma was an O'Kane. They'd all survived worse.
She stopped for coffee on the way to the studio, because Christ knew Ace would need it. Sure enough, he'd slept there again, on the beat-up couch nestled against the far wall, behind the workspace. Silly, since it wasn't long enough for someone of his height, and his legs hung over the end.
Normally, Emma would have reminded him that he had a perfectly serviceable bed somewhere, possibly even joked about whether it was filled over capacity again. Not today, not after her own amazing night--and equally shitty morning.
She shoved a mug of coffee at him instead.
Ace accepted it and swung his feet to the floor, somehow managing to roll into a seated position without spilling the steaming drink all over his bare chest. "Jesus, kid. You're up early."
"It's almost eleven," she retorted, slinging her bag over her head.
"Yeah, like I said. Early."
Emma avoided his gaze. "I have some stuff to work on."
"Uh-huh." Ace sipped the coffee before slapping a hand on the couch cushion next to him. "Or you could park your ass and tell me what's up with that stone-faced nerd you were grinding up on last night. Why so glum, junior? Did he have a tiny dick?"
"Jesus, no." She dropped beside him and pushed her hair out of her face. "That wasn't a nerd. It was Noah."
"I know it was--" Ace stopped and tilted his head. "Wait, Lennox is the Noah? The one who got you out of Five?"
The words elicited another shudder of unwanted memory. Her brother's pale, broken face. Noah's voice, begging her to calm down and tell him what she'd seen.
Running.
Emma shook herself. "Noah was my brother's best friend."
Ace set his mug on the floor and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her against the warm, solid bulk of his body. "So he came back. Took him fucking long enough."
"He didn't come back for me." The words hung in her throat, metal shards that scraped and cut. "He's planning on taking Fleming down, and he needs Dallas's help for that."
"Well, that makes him delusional on top of stupid." Ace caught her chin and tipped her head back. "Say the word, junior, and I'll have Cruz break him into as many pieces as you want. No one fucks with my apprentice."
"I don't want him broken." Though Christ knew Ace would do it anyway when she admitted the truth. "He left this morning before I woke up. I don't know if he'll be back, or if he's gone for good, or what."
Ace's chest rumbled in an irritated growl. "Forget Cruz. He'll be too efficient."
"Work," Emma said firmly. "When are you gonna let me design something for you?"
"Oh, is that how it is?" Ace's lips twitched as he released her. "Someone just wants to get her hands on my beautiful skin."
A chance to save her pride, if nothing else. She blinked up at him and smiled. "You promised."
"Uh-huh." He slapped her hip and urged her off the couch. "Grab your sketchpad. If it'll cheer you up, I'll let you violate the temple of my body."
She snagged a pad from the drawing desk closest to the couch. "Black-and-gray or color?"
Sometimes he made her design black-and-gray tattoos over and over again, just because he knew it wasn't her preference, but today he grinned at her. "Your choice. Sky's the limit, kid. I want to see the best you've got."
She arched an eyebrow as she gathered her colored pens. "No guidelines?"
"None." He rolled to his feet and turned. "Anything that'll fit along my spine."
Her momentary optimism dissolved with a groan. Ace's back was bare for a reason--he never liked a damn thing he or anyone else dreamed up to put on it. "Fool's errand. I get it."
Ace cast her an unsympathetic look over his shoulder. "Don't whine, kid. I knew the first time I saw one of your drawings that you were gonna be the one. So stop pulling your punches and make some fucking art."
Kid. She held up her middle finger, but he'd already disappeared into the back, so she dropped to the desk and uncapped a pen. She was still staring at the paper when the shower in the washroom cut on.
She sketched a heart--not a basic, flat one, but a three-dimensional, stylized shape.
Kid.
Maybe Noah was hung up on the same thing, as if the four years that had passed didn't exist, and she was the same poor girl from Sector Five, the one with a dead brother and bleak prospects. The one who'd probably wind up in Fleming's stable of whores--if she was lucky.
Maybe he regretted their night together, and that was why he'd crept out without waking her.
Her pen accidentally scratched across the paper, and she worked the mark into her design, turning it into a thread of barbed wire. It wrapped around the heart, points almost but not quite piercing to draw blood--
And suddenly she knew exactly what she was going to design for Ace. Stop pulling her punches, he'd said. Make some fucking art.
She reached for the other pens and fleshed out the design, then began to color it in, and she was just finishing up one last swoop of gold when Ace braced a hand on the table beside her and leaned over her shoulder.
He stared for long enough to kindle fluttering nerves in her stomach, and she prepared herself for the one word she'd gotten every previous time, always delivered in the same easy, friendly tone of dismissal. Nope.
Ace straightened. "Better."
>
Her heart skipped a beat, and she capped her pen. "But not great."
"Technically, it's solid." He traced a finger along the edge of the paper. "A little on the nose. Make them ask the question, don't give them the answer."
A warning lurked just under his admonition--people wanted truth, but only so much of it. "Understood. But I'm gunning for your job, Santana. I won't be designing flash forever."
"No shit, you won't." Ace squeezed her shoulder. "You remember that if your nerd comes crawling back. Give me another couple years, and you'll be able to barter your skills for any goddamn thing you want. Ink talks in Sector Four, and you're gonna be one of the best."
Emma had to swallow past the lump in her throat, and she covered his hand with hers. "Thanks, Ace."
"Aww, don't go getting mushy on me." He leaned past her and ripped the page out of her sketchbook, leaving her with a fresh one. "Give me a nice bloody heart and dagger this time. One of the fighters is coming in this afternoon, and if he likes what you come up with, you can do his tattoo."
"Yeah?"
Ace grinned as he folded her drawing and tucked it into his pocket. "You're already better than all the stencil-tracing posers in the marketplace combined. If you weren't, you wouldn't be my apprentice."
A challenge, and the perfect thing to distract her from thoughts of Noah. Either he'd show up again or he wouldn't, but either way, one thing could never change.
She was an O'Kane, and her family would always have her back.
Chapter Four
Before he'd taken two steps into the tattoo studio, Noah knew Emma had found her home.
The abstract knowledge had been there, but his gut must have still believed there was some future where they ran off to the mountains and lived out the imaginary life he'd bought for her all those years ago. It was the only explanation for the loss that hit him, like a truck careening out of control.
The woman on the stage, flashing knives as she stripped--that was a stranger. So was the woman who'd climbed into his lap and goaded him into the hottest sex he'd ever had, the one who'd listened to his filthy words and sworn to protect him. A beautiful, hauntingly familiar stranger, but the Emma he'd known hadn't fit in any of those situations.