Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  Not that he could afford to think about Cruz, not with Skinny fucking Pete doing his damnedest to put him in the ground. Ace channeled the pain, the hurt, the twenty-four hours of outright misery--

  Dallas probably wanted this bastard alive to hand over to Liam. But his entire existence was Liam Riley's fault. Rachel's father was careless with his people. Careless with the ones that mattered.

  Skinny Pete was one mess Ace wouldn't leave behind him.

  Ace saw the next feint for what it was. He ignored it, waiting for the pull back, the wind up, the split second of vulnerability.

  A split second was all it took, if you knew how to use it.

  When it came, Ace launched a distraction of his own, a page right out of Six's How to Terrify Men handbook. He went for Pete's balls and didn't care when his knee smashed into a hip instead of the man's undoubtedly tiny dick.

  It didn't matter. His knife was already headed for Pete's throat. The blade found its mark, blood spurting as it sliced deep, and Pete's eyes bugged out as he staggered back.

  Sorry, Dallas.

  But he wasn't sorry, not until Pete slumped to the pavement and Ace saw Cruz standing there, his gaze wild around the edges. He hopped over Pete's body and almost slammed into Ace, but stopped short of actually touching him.

  For one crazy second there was no fight, no dying bootlegger at their feet. There was nothing but naked worry in Cruz's eyes, and an intensity Ace had never expected to see directed at anyone but Rachel.

  Too much intensity. Cruz was completely focused, oblivious to the fight still raging around them, oblivious to the man coming up beside him, knife already raised.

  Ace didn't think. He shoved, knocking his shoulder into Cruz's chest. Shock distorted the other man's face. Shock and pain, and in the heartbeat before Cruz tripped backwards over Pete's sprawled body, Ace realized that might be the last thing he saw.

  The knife sliced into him.

  It hurt. Christ, it hurt, making his bruised ribs feel like an itchy tickle in comparison. Burning agony exploded through him, worse when the man crashed into him and the knife twisted, and he was going to die, because that's what happened when someone stuck a blade in you and twirled your guts around.

  Death. Nothingness. Numbness. God, he would welcome that part, if he could just get Cruz's wounded expression out of his head. But it was all he could see, fuzzy and pulsing as the light faded, and closing his eyes didn't help him because it was everywhere.

  Cruz and Rachel hurting. Hurting forever. Because of him.

  Maybe he was already dead, and this was hell.

  Noelle was losing her shit, and Rachel couldn't seem to focus long enough to calm her down.

  Her mind flitted from thought to thought, darting between worry and the certainty that surely the universe wasn't fucked up enough to take anyone from her right now, not after everything that had been said and done. Then it was right back to worry, because she knew better. Life didn't come with guarantees.

  Hell, sometimes it barely came with first chances, much less second ones.

  She tried to distract herself by straightening stacks of first aid supplies--gauze pads, bandages. Tubes of med-gel. Anything to keep her hands busy, her mind blank...and off of the fight raging mere blocks away. Sometimes she thought she could hear them, even from here. Shouts, cracking bone, cries of pain, the muffled thud of fists against flesh. But there was only nervous silence in the bar as everyone who had stayed behind waited for their family to come home.

  Please come home.

  Finally, she snatched up a bottle of water and pressed it into Noelle's hand. "Jas will be fine."

  "I know." She clenched her hands around the bottle as if it would hide their trembling. "So will Dallas and Lex. And Ace and Cruz. And Six and--"

  "Everyone," Nessa cut her off, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Trust me, girl. You guys are new to this, but I used to have to watch them roll out all the time. Hell, before Dallas got control of the sector, it could be damn near every week. They got this."

  It was truth. It should have settled the panic churning in the pit of Rachel's stomach, but it didn't. Anxiety swam in her gut like acid, and she could barely stand still.

  Jade folded her hand over Rachel's and squeezed briefly. No words, no empty condolences. Just a moment of solidarity that slipped away as someone shouted outside.

  The door slammed open. Mad came first, carrying one end of a makeshift stretcher. Cruz held the other. He was shirtless and covered in blood, and he wore an expression of such devastated shock that she knew. Before Mad turned, before she could see who was lying on the stretcher, she knew.

  The room exploded in a flurry of shouts, but the noise faded into a dull, faraway din as Rachel watched them lay the stretcher across the end of the stage. People rushed past her, and she barely felt them as she focused on Ace's ashen face.

  His shirt had been stripped away, as well, cloth balled up against his abdomen and soaked through with too much blood. She watched--numb, empty--and then somehow she was on her knees by the stage, reaching for him. She couldn't remember moving, only the spark of something desperate kindling in her belly.

  She had to take care of him.

  "What was it?" Her voice, clipped and calm, drifting up from somewhere.

  "Knife." Cruz's voice wasn't calm. It was raw, like he was coming apart, and his next words told her why. "He shoved me out of the way--I almost got hit in the back."

  Rachel peeled back the wadded-up shirt, and a wave of nausea washed over her. "Doc's on his way. Someone go find him. Now."

  Mad turned and ran.

  "Rae."

  Ace's voice was weak, thready with pain. His fingers were sticky with drying blood as she wrapped her hand around his and leaned closer. "Just hang on, okay? We're here."

  His eyes didn't open, but he squeezed her hand. "Emma. Promise me. Only Emma."

  It took her a moment to figure out what the hell he was talking about, and when she did, she burst into tears. "You motherfucker." Only he would be worried about her goddamn tattoos when he was lying there, dying right in front of her.

  He shook free of her hand and reached for her side, smearing blood across her shirt. "Let her finish it, angel. Don't fall forever."

  Not in a million years. She'd wear his half-finished ink in her skin until she died, a mark and a brand and a reminder that she, too, was undone. Incomplete.

  Doc burst through the door, bags in hand, already barking orders. "Donnelly, where's my IV access?" He halted by the stage, cursed viciously, and tore off his jacket. "Stabbing?"

  "Straight blade. Five or six inches." Cruz didn't relinquish his place next to Ace until Bren nudged him aside, and even then he stayed crouched on the stage, his face blank. "It wasn't clean. The bastard twisted it good before I got to him."

  "I'll have to open him up." Doc pulled the cloth away from Ace's belly and swore again. "Not much opening to do."

  The world went white around the edges, and Rachel swayed. Trix steadied her, then slid both arms around her.

  Doc tore open one of his surgical prep packs. "Want to help me with this, Ra--" The words cut off with a cough as he glanced up at her. "Never mind. Sorry."

  Jade appeared at Doc's side, her hair tied back from her solemn face. "I can help."

  "Good. Everyone else, get the fuck out."

  Rachel stood, rooted to the spot, until Trix steered her toward the back door. "Come on," she whispered. "Let Doc take care of Ace. Cruz needs you, too."

  Cruz. If she was reeling from the trauma of seeing Ace laid out and bleeding like this, how bad did it have to be for him? To not only see it happen, but to have it come as Ace was protecting him?

  She circled the stage and fell into his arms.

  "I'm sorry." His voice broke. "God, I'm sorry, Rachel."

  They made it as far as the back hall, and she slumped against the wall while the others filed past them. She wrapped her hands around his forearms, stared at the splashes and smudge
s of blood--Ace's blood--on his bare skin. "He'll be okay. All Doc has to do is stabilize him, and Dallas will get a regen tech out here to do the rest."

  Cruz shuddered. "It shouldn't have happened. I was distracted. And--Christ, Rachel, we fought. I was punching him before this started. I was--"

  "Shh." She slid her hands up to frame his face, stared at her own terrified misery reflected back at her. "This isn't your fault."

  "I should have protected him." Cruz clasped her waist, but his fingers were too tight, digging in until it hurt. "I can't just wait. I have to do something. I have to--" His hands flexed, and he released her abruptly. "Christ, I'm sorry."

  "Cruz--" She bit off the words. There was nothing she could say to soothe him, no comfort except for her touch...and Ace's survival.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Things went from bad to worse.

  Doc stood there, his hands clean but his shirt still bloody. His words ran together, and Rachel struggled to make sense of them, even though his first were the ones that kept ringing in her ears.

  It doesn't look good, O'Kane.

  "...managed to repair most of the damage, but the deep vessels in his liver must have been compromised." Doc rubbed his eyes and sighed. "He's oozing blood, and I can't stop it. He's stable enough for now, but if you want him to last the night, get that goddamn tech out here."

  "Jas is working on it," Lex told him.

  "Working on it?" Cruz hadn't gone more than a few steps from Rachel, but nervous energy kept him pacing back and forth. "I thought you had a tech."

  Dallas cast a look at Rachel and then shut Cruz down with a curt, "Jas is on it."

  "No, I'm not," Jasper said from the open door to the dancers' dressing room. "She's not coming."

  Rachel shuddered, the words propelling her up and off the couch. "What?"

  "What the fuck does that mean?" Dallas growled at Jasper. "I pay her ridiculous fees, and that means I want her ass here when one of my people needs her."

  "It's Fleming," Jas answered hoarsely, dragging his hands through his hair "Payback for the warehouse. I hit up all my other contacts--I even went out to Two. I couldn't find anyone else."

  "Because he'll hold back the drugs they need if they give in. Fucking hell." Dallas paced away from them, his shoulders rigid, every step measured. "I should have seen this coming. The bastard has no honor."

  Rachel clenched her hands to still their trembling, but it didn't help. The stark, brutal reality of the situation was there, laid out before her like a nightmare, and she couldn't wake up.

  She couldn't fucking wake up.

  "How long?" Lex asked flatly.

  Doc shook his head.

  She advanced on him. "Operate again. Fix the bleeding."

  "The damage--"

  "Fuck the damage. I'll go drag Fleming over here and give Ace his goddamn liver, you watch."

  "I can't!" Doc exploded. "I don't have the equipment or facilities for this kind of procedure. And frankly? I don't have the skills either. It's out of my hands, Lex."

  Rachel stepped between them, harnessing every last bit of composure she still possessed to speak past the choking lump in her throat. "There's nothing you can do for him?"

  The man froze. For once, his expression of cool arrogance was gone. He stared down at her, anguish and remorse darkening his features. "I can end the pain."

  Red clouded her vision, something deeper and more visceral than rage, and she slapped him.

  "Rachel!"

  She reached for Doc's throat, but an arm went around her waist, hauling her back. "Stay with us, sweetheart," Dallas murmured against her ear.

  Stay with them. The world was spinning away, slipping through her fingers, and all she could imagine was Ace gone. Day after day of loss, of emptiness.

  Of watching the light in Cruz's eyes die, too, a little bit at a time.

  "I can't." The words ripped free of her burning throat, carried on a sob. "I can't do this. I can't--I can't--"

  "I can get a regen tech." Cruz stared at the open door, into the looming darkness beyond, his eyes blank and unseeing.

  Jas flinched as if Cruz had struck him. "I tried, man. I swear to Christ, I did."

  Cruz turned slowly, but his gaze skipped over Jas and settled on Rachel. Her pain was echoed there, shared and multiplied. "I can get a tech," he repeated.

  "How--?" Dallas started.

  "Don't ask, because I can't tell you." Cruz touched Rachel's cheek. "Trust me, O'Kane. This is a favor you can't afford to owe. You can't even be here. The only one it's safe for is Bren."

  Rachel reached for him, clenching her fists in his borrowed shirt. "No, Cruz. You can't go. Please don't leave me."

  He framed her face with both hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "I don't have to go anywhere," he whispered hoarsely. "But you do. Go back to the barracks with everyone else, and trust me. Can you do that for me, angel?"

  Angel. It shredded her, because it was more than an endearment. It was a plea, Cruz's way of saying that he had to do this, because he needed Ace as much as she did.

  Loved him.

  She took a deep breath--and nodded. "For Ace," she said quietly. "For you."

  Cruz placed his call and made his promise, and then there was nothing to do but wait.

  Wait, and finally tell Bren everything.

  "He took Miller's spot as head of Military Police after Miller went down for the trafficking," he explained as they stood in the empty parking lot together. "I don't know why the Base sent him, but it must mean something. He's Makhai."

  "Shit." Bren lit another cigarette. "No wonder you couldn't tell Dallas."

  "Yeah." Even the people who believed the rumors were better off not having them confirmed. Especially someone in Dallas's position. "Eden should be worried, Donnelly. He's not just a soldier I happen to know from the Base. He's my contact."

  A muscle jumped in Bren's jaw, the only outward sign of his sudden, palpable tension. "That's a dangerous fucking game, Lorenzo, and it doesn't belong in Sector Four. We'll all get dead."

  "Do you trust Coop?"

  "Coop's not planning a rebellion," Bren whispered. "A revolution."

  A dangerous word. The kind that could get a sector firebombed. But for all that he trusted Bren's instincts, his friend would never understand the Base. If the Makhai soldiers had decided Eden wasn't deserving of their loyalty, they had the skills and power to make a rebellion swift and successful.

  If revolution was coming, Cruz wanted to know.

  A black car turned the corner up ahead, and Cruz straightened. "The favor I owe him will be between us, soldier to soldier. No O'Kanes, no Ace. I knew what I was doing when I made the call. And if you tell me you wouldn't have done worse if Six was bleeding out in there..."

  Bren didn't hesitate. "I would have burned the world."

  So would Cruz. And he'd be twice as dangerous, because he had two reasons to strike the match.

  The car pulled into the lot in silence, and Cruz watched as Ashwin Malhotra slipped from the driver's seat. The back seat held three heavy silver briefcases Cruz recognized as the portable regeneration kits, but there was no sign of the regen tech.

  Of course there wasn't. She wasn't here willingly.

  Ashwin passed them the cases, then closed the car door and walked to the back of the car. "She sees no one. Hears no one. No threats, and no payment. Those are the terms, soldier."

  "I've cleared everyone else out," Cruz replied, keeping his voice flat. Emotionless, as if he wasn't negotiating for Ace's survival. "I'll explain the situation to her."

  Ashwin's hand hesitated on the trunk release. "That would put her life at risk. Unacceptable."

  And to a Makhai soldier, the lines were perfectly clear. He'd calmly kidnapped the woman from her secure lab, had transported her blindfolded and bound in the trunk of his car toward an unknown fate that must have her paralyzed with fear--and he'd take her straight back to Eden if Cruz did anything that might endanger more than
her emotional well-being.

  Practicalities. Black-and-white variables. That was what a man like Ashwin Malhotra saw, and Cruz had drifted farther from that world than he'd realized.

  It was hard to shut himself down. To consider the options. Every time he tried, he saw Ace's horrified face as the knife twisted in his gut. He saw the pain in the other man's eyes. The blood on his own hands.

  He saw Rachel's heartbreak when he'd called her angel.

  "We could leave her in the room with her supplies and a note," he said finally. "But how do we know she'll help him?"

  "It's who she is." He opened the trunk.

  The woman inside lay still, unmoving except for her quick, shallow breaths. Her hands were secured behind her back, and the blanket around her had fallen away to reveal pajamas. A pair of noise-blocking headphones had been secured to her head with the blindfold covering her eyes.

  Then she shifted, and the delicate lace edge of her sleeve rode up to reveal two bar codes on the inside of one wrist.

  Bren exhaled sharply. "Motherfucker. That's not just a tech from Eden. She has Special Clearance."

  Cruz shifted his gaze to her face again. Her features were obscured by the blindfold, but even in the darkness he could pick out enough identifying characteristics. Regen techs were rare. Regen techs with Special Clearance...

  "Dr. Kora Bellamy," he whispered. She was young but brilliant. She'd put Cruz back together more than once in the short time she'd been caring for the elite soldiers, always with a kindness and compassion he didn't often see.

  She'd be terrified. She'd be upset. But if he shut her in a room with Ace, she'd get past all of those things and do what she always did.

  Preserve life.

  Ashwin pulled her up out of the trunk. She began to thrash, only stopping when he set her down and squeezed his hand around the back of her neck. Not hard enough to hurt, but she stiffened and stilled with a whimper.

  Then he led her into the club.

  Bren held back. "Nothing like this comes for free. You know that, right?"

  He knew it better than Bren did, because he knew Makhai soldiers had a code, one that transcended military protocol and city laws. Nothing transcended a promise between soldiers. When the time came to pay the price, Ashwin would be ruthless in collecting.