Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  Too bad Cruz was out exercising one of his ten thousand other skills, and Rachel was stuck with Ace. The guy you called when you wanted to get inked or fucked.

  Lex poured refills all around, and Rachel eagerly wrapped her trembling fingers around the glass and downed it all at once.

  Silence fell, a little awkward until Jade rose and glanced at Amira. "Do you mind if I hold Hana?"

  "Go ahead." Amira tilted her head. "I think it might be time for Rachel to get some rest, anyway. It's been a long damn day."

  "I'm fine," Rachel protested.

  "You're tired," Noelle countered as Jade gathered the baby out of Ace's arms. Nessa collected Rachel's glass and kissed her cheek, and before Ace knew it they were both upright, with half a dozen women flashing him meaningful looks when they thought Rachel wouldn't see.

  So much for rescuing Rachel from the clutches of well-meaning sisterhood. We gave you your chance, all those pointed looks practically screamed, demanding that he step up and make this work. And it shouldn't have been so fucking hard--he knew how to soothe a woman, how to make one smile.

  A random woman, maybe. Not the woman he loved.

  Shit.

  He had to try, so he slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the door. "Come on, angel. Walk with me?"

  "I'm--" She swayed, stumbled, and stepped on his foot. "Christ, I'm a fucking mess, aren't I?"

  What would Cruz have done?

  No question, really. Ace hoisted Rachel in his arms, cradling her against his chest as he started toward his room. "No, you're a tough-ass woman who had a fucking awful day."

  She curled her fingers in his shirt with a moan. "It's so much stupider than that."

  "So tell me, honey. Talk to me."

  She turned her face into the hollow of his shoulder. "I can't."

  His heart hurt like hell. Maybe he'd sprained it, trying to do something beyond his abilities. Loving wasn't any easier than fighting--it took training and skill, and he was shit with both. But she sounded so lost that he kept trying, shoving through the ache. "You can tell me anything, Rae. I swear it, okay? On my life. On my ink. Hell, on my dick."

  Her sudden laugh huffed against his skin, and she lifted her head. "I'm sweet. That's what you always say. Cruz, too."

  "Because you are," he said, and knew it was wrong the second the words left his lips. Not because they weren't true, but because there was a rawness in her eyes, a fear he should have seen. "But that's not all you are."

  "I wasn't that at all. Not today."

  He bit his lip on the instinctive protest and concentrated on navigating the stairs. At the bottom, he let her slide slowly to the floor and cupped her face, tilting her head back. "You kicked ass today, because someone was trying to hurt you and your friends. What's not sweet about that?"

  "I don't know." She tried to turn her head, but he held her tight, and she closed her eyes. "Sometimes it hits me, and I remember. I'm not here because someone wanted me to be an O'Kane, but because Dallas and my father made a deal. I'm here because Eden had to have someone to punish."

  "Bullshit," Ace said, the word rough enough to have him wincing. He pressed his forehead to hers and softened his voice. "So you got the ink by saving us from Eden. Then you made us love you. You, not your daddy, not your big sacrifice. You walked in here, drank your double shots, and belonged more than most of us ever could."

  She melted against him with a soft sigh, her cheek to his and her mouth close to his ear. "Say it again."

  No playing stupid, because he knew the words she wanted. They were easy because they'd been true forever, and hard as hell because they had never mattered this much before. "We love you," he whispered. "I love you."

  Her arms locked around his neck. "I protected my friends. Myself. And I still hate it. I hate what happened."

  "Hey, I know. I know, Rae." He smoothed his thumbs under her eyes. "Some people kill easy. Some feel like shit. Some can't do it at all. I hate that you had to, but only because it's hurting you. And it has nothing to do with how sweet you are."

  "I'll be better tomorrow," she promised. "I'm drunk and stupid, that's all."

  "You're tired." He dropped a kiss to each eyelid before brushing his lips against hers. "And maybe a little drunk, yeah. Ready to tumble into bed, angel?"

  "Mmm." She opened her eyes, looking blurry and dazed. "Maybe I shouldn't have had that last drink."

  And maybe it was exactly what she'd needed. Sweeping her up into his arms was easy this time, and she nestled against him like she belonged there. "It's okay, honey. I've got you."

  "Stay with me," she mumbled, soft and slurred.

  "Always, angel." Or at least until Cruz came back to say all the right things.

  Rachel woke up with a splitting headache, in a room she'd never seen before.

  It had to belong to Ace. Mounted canvases hung on every wall, surrounding her in blazes of vivid color. But instead of the relatively smooth surfaces she'd seen on the pre-Flare artwork collected by Ace or Lex or Dallas, these pieces had been piled high with paint. It had dried on the surfaces in raised ridges and whorls, creating a three-dimensional effect that made her itch to touch them.

  Between the paintings were shelves and racks of chains and floggers and toys, and she blushed, hot and sudden, as she averted her eyes. It was too intimate, being in Ace's bedroom for the first time, even without the blatant reminders of all the things he could do to her--and Cruz--in it.

  She crawled out of the bed, dragging a sheet along to wrap around her body. She lifted a hand to one of the paintings, an innocuous blur of blue and green and yellow, just as a door to her right swung open. Ace walked out, his jeans low on his hips, his skin still damp.

  He rubbed a towel over his hair before tossing it over a nearby chair. "I didn't think you'd be up yet. How's your head?"

  "It's been better." She turned and caught sight of a bench--much like one Dallas had in his room. She'd seen it in action exactly once, and remembering it was enough to make her blush even harder. "I, uh--I've never been in here before."

  His gaze followed hers, and a slow smile curled his lips up. "It's new. I told you there was furniture."

  "When were you planning on showing me?"

  "Eventually." He hooked a hand under the canvas and lifted it off the wall. "Did you want to look at it up close?"

  The painting, not the bench. "It's beautiful. Everything you do is beautiful."

  "Not everything." He laid the painting on the nearby table and frowned at it as he ran a finger over one of the raised swirls. "I couldn't get the colors right on this one. It was easier in Eden. I always knew I'd be able to get the supplies I wanted. I did this one before I really learned to work with what I have here."

  "I like it." Her hand brushed his as she traced the swooping lines of paint. "Will you show me sometime? How you make them?"

  "Sure. You could look at--" He cut off, and for a second he looked self-conscious. "Nah, you don't need to go clomping around in my workroom. You need food. And a bath."

  She opened her mouth to protest, only for her stomach to rumble loudly. "I could eat," she said instead, covering her mortification with laughter. "Breakfast in bed?"

  Ace laughed and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "The bathroom's through there. Clean up and crawl back into bed. I'm gonna go raid the kitchen."

  "Okay."

  The bathroom was huge--and still steamed up from Ace's bath. Rachel cut on the water, slipped into the stall, and leaned against the warm tile. It reminded her of being in Cruz's shower with Ace before, listening to him whisper about touching himself through fantasies of her.

  Do you know how many times I've jerked off in the shower while imagining your hands on my dick?

  She sucked in a breath, dipped her head under the water, and reached for the shampoo. She scrubbed quickly, before the memories of that morning could sweep her away into some deliciously distracting fantasies of her own. But when she climbed out of the shower and wrapped he
rself in a clean, fluffy towel, distraction was exactly what she found.

  There was another door on the far side of the bathroom, this one open just a crack, but wide enough for her to see a paint-splattered table and walls. When she nudged the door open, she saw the shelves beyond, lined with tubs of paint and jars of water. Half a dozen empty buckets were stacked against the wide table, and on top of it--

  Two half-finished paintings. The one on the left was of a blonde woman lying on her side in bed, almost all of her naked flesh on display. There were two lotus flowers and a wild tangle of vines running up and down her back, ending above the lush curve of her ass.

  The tattoos were Rachel's, and so was the fuzzy profile of the figure's partially turned head.

  The other painting was of Cruz, just as naked, but standing strong and proud. His likeness was less complete, more detailed around his tattoos than anywhere else, but mostly shadows and lines that suggested his massive physical strength.

  The emotion in the paintings was more straightforward than in the abstract textured work he usually did, but it was no less complex. His longing and affection were plain, but it was all tinged by a darkness she couldn't quite understand. There was a certain distance in the paintings, as if the whole point was melancholy admiration for the subjects...because you could never, ever hope to touch them, not really.

  "The world through my eyes." She hadn't heard him come in, but his voice came from just behind her, and his fingers traced a path down her back, over the tattoos he'd placed there. "Vain, huh?"

  "I guess that depends." She reached out and lightly echoed his caress on the painting of her. "Are these about your work, or about me and Cruz?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. It's not the same as giving someone a tattoo. I use my head for that. With the paint..." He caught her hand and tugged until she collided with his chest. "Maybe I use my heart. Or maybe it's just pretty colors."

  "No, not that." She turned in his arms and looked up at him. "The way they make me feel, there's something there."

  "Yeah?" He settled his hands on her hips and smiled. "Then tell me. How do they make you feel?"

  He wouldn't like the truth, but she couldn't bring herself to lie. "Sad. You painted us like--like we're far away. Like we're not with you."

  "You were far away when I started them."

  That was fair enough. "Mmm, but not anymore." She stretched up and kissed his chin. "Guess you'll have to start new ones."

  "Guess I will." A tilt of his head and his mouth found hers, but he only lingered for a few seconds before spinning her toward the door. "Now you're going to get your deliciously naked little ass out of here before I forget I was going to feed you."

  "Can't. I'm starving." She made a beeline for the bed and slipped beneath the covers as he swept up a battered paper sack from the table. "What'd you bring us?"

  "Warm biscuits, to start." He sprawled across the bed and arched an eyebrow at her. "Do you know what's happening in the downstairs kitchen as we speak?"

  Of course she did, because she actually saw the sun rise sometimes. "Lessons. Six has been teaching everyone to cook like her mom did." She nudged him with her foot. "You'd know these things if you got up before noon once in a while."

  He mock-glared at her as he passed over one napkin-wrapped biscuit, still warm and rich with the scent of sugar and raspberries. "Noelle sent that. Got it from Lex, I think. I don't know anyone else who manages to get fresh jam on a regular basis."

  Rachel broke off one flaky edge and popped it into her mouth. The sweetness of the fruit exploded over her tongue, tempered by the slightly salty biscuit. "I tried to grow some strawberries on top of the warehouse once. I got a few, but nowhere near enough to cook them down into jam."

  "Maybe you need more space." He unpacked more items from the bag--a few apples, another napkin wrapped around crisp bacon, and a couple hunks of cheese. "Jade and Six were talking about taking over the new warehouse roof for a giant garden. It'd take some work, but I guess Jade really wants something to do now that she feels better."

  "I could help." His hair had fallen over his forehead, and Rachel bit her lip to hold back a smile as she brushed it away.

  His gaze went soft and warm as he chased her hand and kissed her fingertips. "It's too cold to plant, but Cruz might let us out of bed by springtime."

  "You don't want him to. And neither do I."

  "Maybe not." His expression turned serious, eyes locking on hers. "I don't think either of us want you off the compound again until this bootlegging shit gets straightened out. Not after yesterday."

  Guilt slammed into her. She didn't have any problems lying, apparently, because she still hadn't admitted the truth about the attack. "You should be worried, maybe," she muttered. "I'm pretty sure they were after me."

  Ace rolled to his knees, his body tense, his eyes hard. "What?"

  "Get up and grab the damn blonde! And don't fuck her up--she needs to be alive." Rachel parroted the words. Her lips were numb, so she licked them before meeting Ace's eyes. "Doesn't sound too good for me, huh?"

  "Jesus Christ, Rae." He caught her face between shaking hands. "You told Dallas, right?"

  "Six was there. She told Bren, Bren told Dallas. That's the way it goes." Her stomach twisted, and she touched his hands before dropping her arms to her sides. "I didn't want you to know."

  "Why?"

  Because it was dangerous, letting the slightest thing go wrong. Things were still so new, tenuous, and if she didn't keep them perfect, if she gave him an excuse, an out--

  Ace had bailed on her once. He could do it again, and this time she wouldn't be the only one with a broken heart. She had to think about Cruz, too.

  It felt unfair, a little too much like betrayal, sitting around and wondering when Ace would leave them. It was a betrayal. But the fear was there, a cold knot in her stomach, undeniable.

  Inescapable.

  "You worry," she heard herself saying, "and there's nothing to worry about. I'm staying put. No more chances."

  "No more shows, either." It was Cruz's voice, tired and serious, coming from the doorway. "That's straight from Dallas."

  "I don't need the money." No, she needed the freedom, to know that she was finally doing something instead of waiting for life to happen to her. But there were other ways. "No more shows."

  But Ace had gone rigid. "She pulls down money hand over fist. What the fuck did you find last night that's so--?"

  He cut off abruptly with a sideways look at Rachel. Cruz sighed, shut the door behind him, and slowly crossed the room. "She knows it's not good," he told Ace without releasing Rachel's gaze. "I asked Dallas if I could tell you first. But when you're done eating, he and Lex need to speak with you."

  He'd gone into the city to pull surveillance with Bren and Noah, and now he was looking at her like the world was crumbling. "Just say it, Lorenzo."

  He showed her instead, slipping a tablet from inside his jacket. A smaller model, no bigger than his hand, but the picture on the screen was crisp and bright.

  She would have recognized the man anyway. His features were unmistakable, even if she hadn't spent the better part of a decade looking at him every day. Even if she hadn't seen him only days before. "Skinny Pete. He works for my father." The implication was stark, unforgiving, and her fingers clenched around the edge of the tablet. "He was at the drop?"

  "Unloading the liquor," Cruz confirmed. "Supervising, I think, though I'd need to hear his voice to be sure."

  It was a setup. That was the only thing that made sense. "Someone's trying to pit Dallas and my father against one another. Start a war."

  "Maybe." Cruz sat on the edge of the bed, dropping one hand to squeeze her leg. "No one's jumping to conclusions, especially after what happened yesterday."

  Liam Riley wasn't a saint--far from it--but the attempted kidnapping made one thing painfully clear, even in the whirling confusion of Rachel's mind. "Whatever kind of game he was running, there is no goddamn way my
father would risk my safety. None. Which means there has to be someone else in play."

  "Then we'll find out who." Cruz said it as if it was already fact, with such confidence that she didn't doubt it for a moment. In Eden or in the sectors, no matter where he was, he was going to be a hero.

  Their hero. She slid her hand into Ace's and squeezed. "It would have to be someone who'd know how to get to Skinny Pete," she noted. "I guess Dallas has already called my father out for a chat?"

  Cruz nodded. "And gotten an answer. He'll be here this afternoon. I don't know if you want to be at the meeting..."

  "No." There was no way they'd be able to hash things out with her sitting there. "I'll need to talk to Dallas and Lex beforehand. Make sure they understand."

  The rest was out of her hands.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cruz knew the explosion was coming, he just didn't know what would set it off.

  Ace was brooding. Angry. Cruz could read the signs, because reading people had been part of his job. Flat eyes. Compressed lips. Tense muscles. Arms crossed, posture closed off.

  Unsubtle. Cruz doubted that was an accident, since not one of those signs had been evident before Rachel had pulled on her clothes and left to meet Dallas and Lex.

  Cruz could have followed. He needed a shower and a few hours of sleep before Rachel's father showed up, and both would be easier to get in his own rooms, free of Ace's clenched jaw and tight sighs.

  But they were unsubtle, as close as Ace came to deliberate vulnerability. So Cruz stripped, stepped into Ace's spacious, tiled shower, and considered how easily the three of them could fit in there. Rachel caught between them, wet skin slippery with suds as they lifted her--

  "You could have told me, brother."

  Cruz rinsed his hair before glancing over his shoulder. The shower was so deep it didn't need a door to keep the spray from the rest of the bathroom. Ace had hung a curtain anyway, and he pulled it aside now as he stood there, still shirtless. Still frowning.