Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  Just like that, not being inside her was the worst decision he'd made in his entire fucking life.

  She was coming so hard she was still shaking when he tugged her wet fingers away and gripped his cock. Her pussy was still clenching, too, hot and tight as he fucked deep, and she hissed in a choked breath as she slammed back against him.

  She was whispering, too, hungry, pleading words that barely penetrated the haze of lust in his brain. Begging, just like she'd promised. Cruz lifted her chin up and cut off her entreaties with a kiss so soft and sweet, it made the words that followed even more obscene. "Open for me. Show me you want Ace to fuck you onto my cock."

  She did, tilting her head like Ace had shown her so that Cruz could drive deep, and Ace's hands were goddamn trembling as he wrapped them around her waist just above the flare of her hips.

  Cruz fisted his cock, rubbing the head against Rachel's lips as he pushed between them, and Ace used his grip to ease her forward, off his dick and onto Cruz's.

  Rachel moaned and picked up the rhythm, shivering with pleasure as she rocked between them, welcoming them both into the blisteringly seductive heat of her body. He barely had to touch her--she'd fuck them both just like this, loving it because she was taking them.

  But loving it more if they took her.

  He let her sway forward one more time and moved with her, just a few inches, but it made all the difference when she tried to rock back. She was trapped now, filled no matter which way she moved, and Ace let her express her approval with a sharp, muffled squeal before tightening his grip on her and fucking her in earnest.

  Fast, hard, plunging into her, and he had to cling to sanity the first time he drove her forward so hard she gagged on Cruz's cock. Walking the edge was one thing, but slipping over--

  Her pussy felt like fucking heaven, squeezing down around him. But the goal was her, her pleasure, her fantasy, her desire to live and breathe the raw truth of possession, and he and Cruz couldn't forget that.

  But Jesus, it was hard. Harder the second time she gagged and strained into it, harder when another thrust pushed Cruz past her gag reflex and she swallowed him, yielding and clenching and so full, Ace almost envied her.

  It was Cruz who shoved them over the edge, dragging her off his dick by the hair. He dropped his other hand lower, over her clit. His fingers brushed the base of Ace's cock, and he and Rachel both moaned when Cruz rasped his command. "One more time, honey. Come one more time, and bring him with you."

  "I--I can't--" A whimper cut through the words. Her chest heaved with panting breaths, and she grasped at them, one hand on Ace's hip and the other on Cruz's chest. "Please--"

  Cruz let go of her hair and put his fingers around her throat, a sight that tightened pleasure at the base of Ace's spine. He was close, so close, and he shifted his grip, trying to fuck her to orgasm as Cruz growled in her ear. "You can, and you will. Let go. I have you."

  The words melted her resistance, and she clutched at Cruz's hand, holding it in place as she cried out. The first convulsions swept through her, clamping her inner muscles tight around Ace's cock, and for the first time in his life, he couldn't think of an obscenity filthy enough to capture this moment.

  Then release broke over him, and he couldn't think at all.

  Pleasure pulsed through him, sweeping everything before it, everything but the visual. His hands digging into pale flesh as he ground deep and came, Rachel's blonde hair falling wildly around her shoulders, her head tilted back, her throat caught in Cruz's grip. And his other hand--

  They were all getting off together, Cruz jerking his fist over his dick, Rachel writhing in their grip, Ace shuddering as she kept clenching, kept coming.

  Maybe it was possible to fuck yourself to death. That would explain his current out-of-body experience.

  They ended up sprawled across the bed in a tangle of limbs. Ace panted against Rachel's hair as Cruz stroked her body, and the only shock was when the other man managed to disengage long enough to get a warm, damp towel from the bathroom.

  Even badass Cruz was walking a little shaky. That could make a man smug almost as fast as the way Rachel curled against him, tucking her head into the space beneath his chin.

  Then she spoke--slow and dazed, soft with pleasure. "You think I was caught up in the moment, but I meant it."

  His brain was sluggish. It took forever for him to figure out what she meant, and when he did, the import hit him all over again.

  I love you.

  He made a soothing noise, brushing her hair back from her sweaty cheek, touching her softly. "We've always loved each other, angel. Just promise me you don't hate me anymore."

  "No." She smiled against his skin as Cruz smoothed the towel over her abdomen. "I was hurting and said stupid things, but I never hated you."

  Ace kept touching her, teasing the strands of her hair straight while Cruz gently eased the plug free of her body. This was what he'd been missing, the lack that had crashed in on him that last time with Bren and Six. Watching Bren go soft around the edges as he ran his hands over Six's trembling form, every touch sweetly possessive and so painfully private Ace hadn't needed to leave. He'd disappeared while standing there, because the only way to get an invite to that secret world was to already belong there.

  He hadn't. Not with Bren and Six, not with Noelle and Jas, not with Dallas and Lex. They could be generous and welcoming and reach out with every good intention, but they'd never see him in those first telling seconds.

  Rachel saw him. So did Cruz. The other man proved it as he slid into bed, curling around Rachel's back. His other hand settled on Ace's waist, a possessive weight. Warmth and comfort. Acceptance.

  Every needy, lost part of him wanted to call it love.

  It would have been more comforting if he hadn't told Rachel the truth: it was easy to love him in the beginning. The countdown was back, clicking in his head with every thump of his heart, and the worst part was not knowing how long he had left, or how much more lost he'd be when time ran out.

  Jared

  "So. Here we are. Finally."

  Jared had never seen Dallas O'Kane look quite this smug--which was a feat, considering he'd been to a handful of the man's parties and watched him play king to an adoring court more times than he could count.

  Dallas leaned back in his chair, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction, undoubtedly certain that this time he'd finally managed to lure him into the O'Kane web.

  "Don't get too excited," Jared warned. "Ace said you were looking for information. I happen to have information."

  "Do you, now?" Dallas grunted and reached for a silver cigarette case. "I wondered if he'd asked, to be honest. But I get it. You two have history."

  "Enough for him to know that he can ask me anything, even though I might not be able to answer."

  Dallas nodded his understanding. "But this time you can."

  "After a fashion. One of my clients frequents an underground bar. A speakeasy." Jared smiled. Such a quaint word, an old one O'Kane might not even know. He enjoyed his freedom in the sectors, so much that the furtive language of Eden's more clandestine circles could easily elude him.

  But Dallas surprised him, huffing out a laugh as he flicked open his lighter. "So it's Prohibition time in Eden, huh? Everything old is new again."

  "Mmm." Of course he got the historical reference. The man might pride himself on his outlaw image, but he wasn't a stupid brute. "Imagine my friend's surprise when the bar was offering O'Kane liquor on her last visit."

  Dallas's smile turned fixed. "That would be a surprise, unless Liam Riley happens to own the place. But I imagine his crowd and your crowd don't exactly mix."

  "We travel in different circles," Jared agreed. "I was intrigued, so I dropped by the place the other night. The booze they're serving definitely didn't come from your barrels."

  "Well, fuck." Dallas snapped his lighter shut, his cigarette unlit. "Someone's getting real damn cocky."

  "Inde
ed." Jared shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose one could utilize a little judicious surveillance in order to find out where the shipments originate. If one were so inclined."

  "I'm sure one could," Dallas replied easily. "And if it led to something, I'd owe you one hell of a favor. Unless you've reevaluated the sales pitch since the last time Lex dropped it on you."

  In his more contemplative moments, he considered it. Joining up with the O'Kanes would ostensibly provide him with a place to belong, something he hadn't had since Eladio had died, and he and Ace and Gia had gone their separate ways.

  But it wasn't quite that simple. He'd have to change his entire lifestyle, give up his work, and he wasn't sure he was cut out to trade satin sheets for switchblades. Life in the sector gangs was rough, and he'd had it way too damn easy for way too damn long not to hesitate.

  So he deflected. "It's a generous offer. One I'm still mulling over."

  Dallas watched him for a few seconds before leaning back to snag a bottle and two glasses off the shelf. "One of the first of Nessa's special batches," he explained as he poured two fingers' width into each glass. "She was fourteen when she barreled this. It should have been a hot mess, not one of the best damn things I've ever tasted."

  Jared accepted a glass. "The girl has skills. That much is undeniable." She produced smooth liquor, and she took the time to do it right, instead of loading her raw alcohol with colors and additives to approximate the flavor proper aging would have imparted.

  "Her grandfather taught us both. I'm good. But she lives and breathes it." Dallas swirled the amber liquid in his glass and smiled. "Have you met Ford?"

  "Haven't had the pleasure."

  "He used to work in Sector Eight, pretty tight with Jim. But Jim didn't like his brains. He was afraid Ford might get too ambitious." Dallas took a sip of his drink and studied Jared. "Me? I think everyone's got their skills. And the more things change, the more we need men with different skills. I don't need another Ace, or another Jas. I need someone like Ford. Someone who can do shit the rest of us can't."

  Jared barely managed to suppress a snort. "Like charm the French silk panties right off a politician's chatty wife?"

  Dallas snorted. "I said shit we can't do. Plenty of sweet Eden girls like a bad boy. You know what they don't like?" He waved his glass in the air. "Thinking they're drinking the same shit as the unwashed masses. You think the liquor she barreled at fourteen is good? It's only getting better. Ford says we're wasting opportunities now."

  The rest of the goddamn world wanted power, control...and Dallas O'Kane wanted the rich bitches' money. "You're an odd bird, O'Kane. I just want you to know that."

  Dallas grinned. "Think about it. I figure I gotta make the hard sell myself this time, since Ace won't be climbing out from between Rachel and Cruz anytime soon."

  Truer words had never been spoken. Jared had stopped off to see his friend before his meeting with Dallas, but he was nowhere to be found. "I'm happy for him. This is what he wanted."

  Dallas clinked his glass against Jared's. "Wanna be real happy? Come to the next party and watch the three of them fuck."

  One thing he had to admit--the up side to being an O'Kane was pretty goddamn far up. "A word of advice, if I may," Jared murmured. "Next time you want to sell me on joining your little organization? Lead with that."

  Chapter Thirteen

  It wasn't often that Six, Rachel, and Trix all had the night off from the Broken Circle. So when Trix invited her to dinner, Rachel jumped at the chance to spend a little time with her friends outside of work.

  They ate at a small stand at the edge of the market district, enjoying their meal under a sky full of stars. A hot wind blowing from the south had turned the night unseasonably warm, and they lingered not only over dinner, but also during their walk back to the compound.

  "I'm just asking, how big is big?"

  Rachel covered her reddening cheeks with both hands. "I'm not going to answer that."

  Six kicked an empty tin can out of their path and glanced at Trix. "She'll be as red as your hair if you keep going."

  "It's a valid question," Trix protested with a grin. "Especially since some of us missed the show the other night."

  Remembering what happened the night that Ace and Cruz had collared her made Rachel blush even harder. She toyed with the ribboned chain dangling from it, weaving it between her fingers as she recalled Ace's promise--or warning.

  The only thing that'll get you off harder than this is when we do it to you at Dallas's next party.

  She cleared her throat. "If you're so interested in Cruz's dick, I'm sure you'll get another chance to see it. Soon."

  "Hallelujah." Trix looped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. "That man is too delicious to keep to yourself."

  Six booted another can, and she was blushing now, too. Probably remembering another show, the one Rachel had put on with Dallas and Lex, the first time she'd thrown herself into the midst of true, unadulterated O'Kane sexuality. But she caught Rachel's gaze and grinned. "Forget about his dick, Trix. You really want to be jealous? Those Special Tasks guys have stamina."

  Trix let her head fall back with a groan. "That might be the one thing I miss about Sector Five. The guys there were on some goddamn crazy stuff."

  "What, like drugs?" Six's brow furrowed. "Since when do those make a guy fuck better?"

  Trix said something in reply, but Rachel didn't hear her. A prickle of awareness raised the fine hair on the back of her neck, and she turned.

  A van was idling on the street at the end of the alley, its windows blacked out by tint or paint. Something tugged at the edges of her consciousness, something wrong--

  Not idling--in gear and waiting. She registered the engaged brake lights a moment before the side door opened, and three men jumped out.

  Shit.

  A voice echoed her thought. Six, sounding pissed as she spun to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rachel, heavy brass knuckles already glinting on her fist. "This damn sector's making me soft. I should have brought a gun."

  "Bastards. They're going to regret this." Trix followed the words with another curse, her low voice almost eclipsing the vicious sound of her switchblade sliding open.

  Rachel felt naked beside them, unarmed and unprepared. But she'd grown up in the dark corners of Eden, in rough places the city barely acknowledged. Street brawls were common, and she'd always held her own.

  Her father had taught her a lot of things, but only after he'd taught her how to fight.

  The men spread out, blocking one end of the alley, relaxed and cocky as only bullies could be when faced with presumably easy prey. Six spun abruptly and let out another string of curses. "Two more behind us."

  No time to look. One of the men from the van lunged at Trix, grabbing for her wrist, and she lashed out, slicing his arm with a snarl. He didn't release her, so Rachel snatched up a rough, broken board leaning against the building beside them and swung it at the man's head. It connected with a sickening, splintering crunch, and he crumpled to the ground.

  Another crack sounded behind Rachel, a thud followed by a bellow of pain as a man went flying past her, stumbling into one of his companions. The guy still standing in front of the van snarled and kicked them out of his way as he advanced on Trix. "I'll get this one. You get up and grab the damn blonde! And don't fuck her up--she needs to be alive."

  The blood drained from Rachel's face, and she backed away instinctively. If they were after her, Christ only knew what they wanted. It could be a dig at Dallas or her father, and there was no way in hell she'd let either happen.

  She almost tripped over the man Trix had cut. Blood flowed from his head, but the back of his waistband drew her attention. His shirt had ridden up, revealing the pistol tucked into his pants.

  Rachel snatched it up and fired at the man going after Trix. The bullet tore into the right side of his chest, sending him staggering back with shock blooming on his features as he clutched h
is wound. One of the two remaining men bellowed a curse and lunged toward Rachel from the side. Six appeared out of nowhere, slamming into him hard enough to send them both sprawling.

  With their easy prey turned vicious and the leader staggering, the remaining upright attacker whirled and bolted for the van.

  Trix ran down the alley after him, pausing only to snatch up a broken brick. She threw it at the van, where it smashed against the driver's side window with enough force to shatter the safety glass into a haze of webbed cracks. "Hey! Get back here and take your street trash with you, motherfucker!"

  Six rose from the still body beneath her and scrambled over to the man Rachel had shot. She shoved both hands to his chest, but the blood pumping from his wound had already slowed. "Shit. I didn't mean to kill that last guy, and this one's toast, too. Having someone to drag back to Cruz and Bren would have been useful."

  "I don't know if it would have done much good," Rachel told her numbly. They had come after her, and there were precious few reasons anyone would risk that. "Do you recognize them?"

  "Maybe." Six stood and wiped her bloody hands on her jeans. Several steps took her to the man Trix had stabbed, the one Rachel had hit with the splintered board. She turned him over with her boot and squinted down at his face. "There's something familiar about this one, but that doesn't mean much. Guys in Three will hire out to anyone with cash."

  Rachel shivered, even in her lined jacket, and rubbed her hands over her upper arms. "Let's get the fuck out of here before the guy comes back with reinforcements. Dallas will want to know about this."

  "And he'll want us all locked down." Six wrapped an arm around Rachel, squeezing her shoulders. "You okay?"

  Not remotely. As a Riley, she could take care of herself, but she didn't have to like the violence. She never would. Her stomach roiled, and she crossed her arms over her midsection. "I want to go home."

  Trix finished checking the final man's pockets. "He's got nothing. None of them do." She looked around the alley with a sigh. "You think it's related to the bootlegging?"