by Kit Rocha
I was a whore when you were still a kid, but I wasn't even a good one because I'm a self-obsessed narcissist who mostly just wants to have fun with his dick. And while Cruz was off bumping off bad guys and saving babies, I was playing temperamental artist fuck-toy to a bunch of women Noelle used to have over for tea and dinner parties. Boohoo, isn't my life sad.
At least Ace the tragic orphan had had a mother. An uncle. He'd had a mentor who'd given him a profitable skill set and a sense of connection to his ancestors and his heritage. He'd had Jared and Gia, who'd been his family long before the O'Kanes.
And he'd had Dallas. Lex. Jas and Mad and Nessa and everyone who had joined over the years, an ever-expanding network of family who loved him unconditionally, even when he was selfish, even when he was a narcissistic asshole who only wanted to have fun with his dick.
Cruz had nothing. Fucking nothing. No parents to teach him to love, no family, no warmth and tenderness. He'd had rules and regulations and brutality.
All of Ace's excuses for not being able to love looked pretty fucking flimsy with Cruz standing there, getting it done.
Ace flipped through a few more sketches without really seeing them, just to have something to do with his hands. "Maybe I know I have it coming. Ever considered that?"
"Of course I have. It's the obvious answer."
The next sketch crumpled as his fingers tightened. "Obvious, huh?"
"Yeah, to anyone who knows and loves you."
"You think you know me, kid?"
She leaned forward and braced her hands on the far edge of the desk. "Don't be patronizing, Ace. I know you better than you think, because I watch you every day. I see what you do when you're not thinking about what you should be doing."
His heart jackknifed halfway to his throat, but he made himself lean in until they were face-to-face. "And what's that?"
"You care," she answered softly. "You love, Ace. Maybe harder than anybody else I've ever met."
"I love easy," he corrected, grinding the words into his own heart like a reminder. "I love fast. I love everyone. But it's not hard, and it's not deep. It never was, and it's never enough."
Emma straightened with a groan. "I know that look. Don't, okay? Whatever you're gonna do, just...wait."
"I'm not doing anything," he snapped, but the words fell flat, like the lie they were. He was spinning out of control, panicking as hard as he had the last time he'd shattered Rachel's heart. Only this time there wasn't any comfort in telling himself he was doing the right thing by walking away, because this time there was no right thing.
He flipped over another stack of sketches, and there it was.
The paper was old, faded. So was the drawing. He could have been six or seven. Maybe five, maybe eight. The years were blurry, but the memory never was. He could remember the scratched table, so small his paper had covered almost the entire surface. He could remember the pencils--his mother had done six months' worth of extra mending to afford them, sitting up by the light of the cheap, stinking candles and sewing until her fingers were numb.
Five in all, but the true miracle had been that three were color. Blue, orange, and green--those had defined the art of his childhood, because they were the only colors that had existed for him.
God only knew where he'd seen a dragon, not that the sketch beneath his fingers was a very good rendition of one. Wobbly lines, no shading, terrible proportions. But he'd labored over it for hours, ignoring the empty gnawing in his stomach and the growing darkness, coloring in each individual scale with a mixture of blue and green. Laboring over the orange flames shooting from a mouth lined with giant, pointy teeth.
Ace traced his finger past the fire, down to the awkward figures half-sketched at the dragon's feet. A woman and a boy, though you couldn't really tell from the unfinished outlines. He'd been working on that part when his eyelids got too heavy, desperate to finish before his mother came home.
A dragon to protect us, Mama.
While he'd been trying to capture the fall of her long, black hair, she'd been bleeding out in an alley, an accidental victim in a shoot-out between rival drug runners. It had happened all the time before Dallas wrested Sector Four from the grip of his predecessor. Ace's story had never been special, except for its relatively happy ending.
The dragons he'd tattooed onto Cruz's skin were sophisticated. They were elegant, beautiful, a crowning fucking achievement of ink in black and gray, and they were just as childishly hopeful as this drawing.
A dragon to protect me.
Ace had heard the warning under Cruz's words, even if Rachel hadn't. Relationships divided loyalties. A world where Rachel had to choose between Dallas and Ace was almost unfathomable.
A world where she had to choose between Ace and Cruz was damn near inevitable.
Ace was like that faulty stick of dynamite that had nearly obliterated Mad last night, no matter how much he tried to keep his shit under control. No one knew exactly when he was going to blow. He didn't even know. He just knew it was coming, one way or another, and that he'd been lying to himself all along.
Being in love with them both didn't change anything. Ace fucked up. It was what he did, who he was. When he detonated everything they'd built together, Cruz would protect Rachel. Rachel would protect Cruz. No one would protect Ace.
But he'd known that. Hell, he'd counted on it. Little orphan Ace, abandoned again. The best sob story yet.
If he didn't get out before they claimed the last shreds of his heart, he might not survive long enough to tell it.
Chapter Nineteen
The day after the explosion--and Mad's subsequent nightmare--was arduously long. Rachel slogged her way through it, yearning for a cold beer, a soft bed, and some comfort from her two favorite men.
Only Cruz was in his room when she came in after her shift pouring drinks at the Broken Circle. She kicked off her shoes, crawled onto the couch next to him, and curled up against his side. "This day sucks."
"Yeah, it does." He slipped an arm around her, tugging her closer as his lips brushed the top of her head. "But Mad's doing okay. He came to Dallas's meeting to hear what Noah had to say."
"How'd it go with Fleming?"
"I'd say he heard Dallas's declaration of war loud and clear." Cruz snorted. "Noah thinks quick on his feet. He convinced Fleming that he'd rigged one of the blasts to go early to try to take out Dallas."
It was audacious--and just crazy enough to play well for an egomaniac like Fleming. "Noah's got a set of brass ones, doesn't he?"
"Without a doubt. He gave your father some equipment to help him track down Skinny Pete. A few more days, and we should have the whole organization wiped out." He squeezed her shoulder. "Your life can go back to normal."
His touch kindled a peaceful warmth that had her leaning in closer, her lips curving up into a smile. "I could do without the danger and violence, but I kind of like our new normal."
"Me, too," he said, leaning in.
His lips had almost reached hers when an abrupt knock pulled them apart. Ace was already coming through the door, his usual easy smile looking fixed. "Hope I'm not interrupting."
Rachel shifted on the couch, drawing her legs up to make room for him. "We were waiting for you."
But Ace swung a chair out from the table instead, spinning it around so he could straddle it. "Good. Because I've been thinking..."
Mild words, innocuous, but Cruz went rigid next to her. "About what?"
"About this." He waved a finger, taking in the three of them.
If it weren't for Cruz's sudden tension, Rachel could have told herself this was a good thing. Talking, maybe even about cementing their relationship into something deeper. But in so many ways, it felt like Cruz knew Ace better than she did.
This was wrong, all wrong.
Ace was cool, relaxed. She'd seen him like this a hundred times, his legs casually sprawled, his tattooed arms folded across the back of a chair. He looked like he was getting ready to share a funny st
ory, not rip their world apart.
But that was exactly what he did. "I was just thinking, it's been really good. And maybe we should go out on a high note instead of riding it into the ground."
The words echoed in her head, like the garbled sound of rain hitting a tin roof combined with the low murmur of voices in a faraway room. No matter how much her brain tried to make sense of it all, turn it into something intelligible, she kept coming around to the fact that he couldn't have said what she thought he said.
And yet she knew he had.
"Go out," she repeated flatly.
Cruz tightened his hand on her hip. "What are you doing, Ace?"
"I'm being responsible. Thinking about the bigger picture." He met Rachel's eyes. "Do you really want to keep going until you hate me again?"
"This time is different." She heard her own words like they were coming from that far-off room, not her own damn mouth. "I don't understand."
"Cruz does," Ace said without releasing her gaze. "He knows about divided loyalties."
Cruz sat beside her, still as stone except for the fine tremor in his hands, and that tiny concession of control drove her from numb to furious in a heartbeat.
It would never be enough. No matter how much they opened to him, no matter how much they gave, Ace would always find a way to withdraw. It didn't matter whether it was out of fear or boredom--or if he was telling the truth when he said he didn't know how to love. The end result was the same.
Agony. Loss. The sharp, driving pain in her chest that couldn't quite drown out the anger, because this time he wasn't just hurting her. He was hurting Cruz, too.
"No." She climbed off the couch and stood directly in front of Ace's chair. "If this is what you want to do, I can't stop you. But you don't get to blame it on us, because all we've done is try to love you."
Ace didn't flinch. "I warned you about that, you know. It's only easy to love me in the beginning. This way you won't have to keep trying."
"That's bullshit. Cowardly, straight-up fucking bullshit, and you know it."
"Rachel." Cruz slid his arms around her, tugging her back a step, and Ace's gaze finally shifted, skating down her body to lock on the hands spanning her waist.
A muscle in his jaw jumped, the only indication of tension he'd shown. "We all got what we wanted, right? You got me out of your system, and Cruz figured out how to loosen the hell up. We can all walk away friends, or we can wait until this whole fucking thing crashes and brings half the gang down with it."
Part of her wanted to scream at him. The rest of her wanted to cry. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the questions, the demands. The pleas.
Nothing had gone wrong, that was the hardest part to wrap her bruised heart around. Ace was bracing for an impact that hadn't come, maybe never would...but he was bailing out, all the same.
Her pain left her harsh, bitter. "I remember now. Words don't mean anything until you want them to." Rachel took another step back. "And when you're done, you throw them away like everything else."
Ace rose and shoved the chair back toward the table. "Keep the collar, brother, until you can find her one that can be from just you. And when you're ready for marks, you know where to find me."
Cruz's fingers curled into fists. "You think you're that disposable?"
"Oh, I know I am." He swung toward the door. "You'll thank me later for making it clean."
Clean. An odd word, out of place, because even if he was okay with how things had turned out, even if he wasn't bleeding inside, shouldn't he have been a little sad? It was a bittersweet ending, at best, but Ace was strolling toward the door as if nothing had happened.
As if he'd never told her he loved her.
The clasp on her collar was too small to manipulate quickly, so Rachel yanked at the delicate webbing of chain until it fell away. It felt heavier in her hand than it had around her neck, and heavier still when she flung it at Ace's back.
He'd already half-turned when it smacked into him, hitting him on the shoulder and sliding toward the floor. One hand came up as if by instinct, catching it against his hip. "It doesn't change anything. We're O'Kanes. I've got your backs."
"No, you don't," Cruz growled, stepping past Rachel. "The only back you're guarding right now is your own, and if you take another damn step without admitting it to all of us, I'll--"
"You'll what?" Ace interrupted with a lazy smile. "Drag me into the cage again? Beat me down in front of everyone because I wouldn't keep sucking your dick when you only ever wanted her?"
"Stop it." Agony squeezed its way up out of Rachel's chest, threatening to close her throat. "Both of you, just stop."
"He's not going to listen," Cruz said, the words soft and deadly. "He'll poke and push and shove my face in everything that scares me, but when we get to the part that makes him nervous? He'll throw us both away as fast as he can. And if he'd do that, he doesn't deserve you."
"I think she told you to stop, brother."
"I think she told you to stay."
Ace balled up the collar and tossed it onto the bed. It sprawled across Cruz's neatly tucked covers, a tangle of broken memories in black and silver. "Then neither of us deserve her. At least I'm man enough to admit it."
"Yeah? Well, I'm man enough to try."
Her sorrow and desolation condensed into helpless, burning tears, and she pressed the heels of her hands to both eyes to hold them at bay. If they kept talking, the pain and anger roiling through the room would take over entirely, and things would happen, things they couldn't take back. "Stop it." She dragged in a breath that turned into a sob. "Please."
"Okay, okay." Cruz's hands slid over her arms, warm but almost tentative. "I'm sorry."
The door clicked open, and there was the pain, blooming heavy in Ace's voice. "That's right, brother. Don't forget that you're still the hero."
The door slammed behind him, and Rachel's tears spilled over.
"I'm sorry," Cruz repeated, still rubbing her arms, still tentative. "This is my fault. I started this. I thought--"
"No." That was the worst part, the part that killed. The part that left her aching, body and soul.
Neither of them had fucked up.
The only thing they hadn't done was push Ace to come closer, to reveal more of himself. If it was anyone's fault, it was hers, a sin of omission. She'd been so scared of pushing him away that she'd accepted all of his easy smiles, his ready deflections, even when she'd glimpsed the darkness lurking beneath.
So scared of pushing him away, and now he was gone.
"Rachel?"
Cruz held out his arms, and she fell into them as another sob wracked her. "It's all right," she murmured as he cradled her against his chest. Stupid, for her to be comforting him while he held her like a child, but it was all she could think to do.
So she hid her face against his cheek and whispered it again. If she said the words often enough, she could convince herself. Cruz.
She might even make them true.
Right when he'd stopped bracing for the end, Cruz slammed into it.
It hurt. It ached, like something in his body had actually broken on impact. Watching Rachel cry through the night had hurt the worst, but the tangle of emotions went deeper. There was his own pain at Ace's rejection, twisted with the fear that showing too much of it would make Rachel feel worse. And, beneath all of that, guilt--guilt that as soon as he'd lost Ace, some part of him had started counting down the moments until Rachel drifted away, too.
She didn't deserve his doubts. They came from a dark place, one that wondered if he'd only been a consolation prize all along, if Ace had been his ticket into heaven. Hell, Ace didn't deserve it, either, even if he was an asshole. Ace shouldn't have been a step to Cruz's happy ending, he should have been part of it.
He would have been. He had been, only Cruz had been too awkward with his own feelings to say so, and now Ace would never believe it. Too little, too late.
"Hey, you were military, right?"
/>
Cruz glanced up from the engine parts spread out before him and found Zan giving him a contemplative look. The massive bouncer had dropped by the garage and offered to help Cruz reassemble one of the motorcycles they'd rescued from Three, but this was the first thing the man had actually said to him that didn't involve carburetors or wrenches. "Yeah, pretty much raised military."
Zan studied him. "You ever train outside Eden?"
Distraction only worked if you let it, so he wouldn't think about last night. Wouldn't wonder if something in the story of his past had been the final push that had shoved Ace away. "Sometimes."
"Did you go to a place called Groom Lake? It used to be part of an Air Force installation before the Flares."
"I've heard of it, but no, I haven't been there. The inter-base command structure fell apart pretty fast after the lights went out."
Zan took a long drag from his cigarette and spoke through the cloud of smoke drifting from his mouth. "People used to think the government was experimenting on alien aircraft there, you know. Called it Area 51."
It was almost enough to make Cruz smile. "Are you so sure they didn't? The military has experimented with a lot of things they'd never admit to publicly."
"Crazier shit has happened, I guess."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me sometime." Zan chuckled. "I've seen some wild things out here in the sectors."
"I bet you have." Cruz rose and circled the bike. "I think we're ready to--"
The words froze in his throat as Ace pushed through the door.
That tangle of emotions constricted into a tight ball of anger, anger that burned toward rage as Ace crossed half of the distance between them without giving any indication that things were wrong. He was playing the game for all he was worth, wearing his nothing really matters smile like armor, and all Cruz could think about was Rachel's voice breaking as she fought through her tears to reassure him.
Maybe Ace had a little survival instinct, though, because he stopped just out of reach. "Hey, Zan."