by Kit Rocha
It was about Jade, pure and simple, and the fact that Finn had been the one to hand her the drugs that had nearly killed her. Dylan embraced the knowledge, because owning it was the one thing that could keep him from lunging for that deadly syringe.
“Say we let him die,” he mused aloud. “What then?”
Mad’s gaze held a new edge, a darkness that had been there since the night he’d wound up trapped in that cave-in. “Then the people we care about are safer.”
“Are they, Adrian? Or would it just make you feel good?”
“They’re safer,” Mad insisted, but after another heartbeat he squeezed his eyes shut with a whispered curse. “And I want him dead. I want him dead before he has a chance to hurt Trix. I want him dead before Jade has to look at him and remember what happened to her every time he drugged her. I want him dead.”
Satisfied, Dylan confessed, “So do I.”
“Then why?” Mad rose abruptly and paced away. “Why save him?”
The answer was simple, visceral. All-consuming. “Control.”
“Control? Of what?”
“Of myself.” Dylan stripped off his gloves and picked up the syringe. “Potassium chloride. A high enough dose results in hyperkalemia and disrupts cardiac muscle function, resulting in fatal arrhythmia. I’m told it burns like a motherfucker going in, too. Real bad way to go.” He set it down again, closer than before. “I have it here to remind myself—I could use it, but I won’t. Control.”
Mad’s gaze locked on the syringe, his brow furrowing. “You already had the needle ready.”
Dylan allowed himself a small smile. “It isn’t much of a test of my self-control otherwise, is it?”
“No.” Mad resumed his pacing, prowling like a wild creature trapped in a too-small pen. “You care. I wasn’t sure before, but you wouldn’t be this pissed if you didn’t...care.”
He cared too much. It had dragged him to the very edge of darkness, left him staring into an abyss so deep and hopeless that sometimes he thought death was the only escape. But he couldn’t seem to stop, so he’d embraced that, too.
Control.
He put on a fresh pair of gloves and nudged the box toward Mad. “Help me dig this goddamn bullet out of him, and we’ll continue the conversation over drinks. O’Kane’s best, perhaps? I think he owes me.”
Mad caught his wrist, strong fingers burning against his skin. “And if he gets out of that bed and hurts the people we care about?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” He kept his voice low, a soothing, secret whisper just for Mad. “Trust me.”
“Okay.” Mad’s thumb slid in a slow circle, the calloused pad scraping the inside of Dylan’s wrist. “I do. I have. You know that.”
The tiny touch sparked more than heat—warmth, curling low and spreading up to make his chest ache. Mad had always been tough, tough enough to survive, but there was a vulnerability in him, as well. Nothing as prosaic and delicate as fragility, but an openness. Holes in his armor, places where things touched him so deeply they could shatter him from the inside out.
Dylan almost shuddered, but he locked it down—just like everything else. “Put on the gloves and help me,” he said quietly. “Then we’ll go get that drink.”
Chapter Seven
It took Trix less than five minutes to learn what a treacherous, lying bastard Logan Beckett really was.
She stared at Dallas, dumbfounded. “He told you what?”
Dallas leaned back in his chair, the sprawling, easy posture belying the tension in his dark eyes. “That your friend out there got real pissed when he realized Fleming wasn’t planning to hand you over to him, so he put a bullet in his boss’s head and kidnapped you himself.”
It was just close enough to the truth to be not only plausible but probable. But she knew better. “Finn didn’t have anything to do with it. Fucking Beckett.”
“So who killed Fleming. Beckett?”
“No, he—” She dragged her hands through her hair with a frustrated groan. Nothing she said came out right, and it was all because Dallas didn’t know what had happened before, years ago, when she’d lived in Five. When she and Finn—
She drew in a deep breath. “Finn shot Fleming, that much is true. But none of the rest of it makes sense unless I start at the beginning.”
Dallas reached for a cigarette and took his time lighting the tip. It flared brightly as he snapped the lighter shut and studied her. “Lex knows some of it. When we brought Jade back, she told me you’d been hooked on the same shit and had survived. But I imagine she doesn’t know who gave it to you, or she wouldn’t have let Finn walk away in one piece.”
“No.” She had to swallow past the lump in her throat. “That was one thing Finn always kept me away from. Someone else gave it to me first, and then he didn’t exactly have a choice.”
The harsh edge of his expression softened, just a little. “So tell me the story, darling. From the beginning.”
The beginning. She’d suggested it, and she realized with a start that she didn’t even know what that meant. When she’d first met Finn? Or when she’d first set foot on that collision course?
She took another deep breath. “Things in Five are different. Messy. If you don’t have a factory job to inherit, you’re shit out of luck when it comes to earning straight. And women don’t have a lot of options either way. So if you’re young and pretty, you party with the dealers. Hope one of them likes you well enough to take you home, make you his girl.”
Dallas’s scowl returned. “Yeah. I’ve seen their kinds of parties.”
The girls all gave themselves different names, considered themselves different things—girlfriend, mistress. Wife. But it all boiled down to one thing, a transaction older than any other industry in Mac Fleming’s sad little sector.
“It’s a peculiar kind of prostitution,” she whispered. “They consider it uncivilized, trading sex for money. So the men in Five find other ways to pay their whores. They buy them clothes, a place to live. Give them drugs. It’s how things are done.”
“It’s shit,” Dallas said, voice quiet but vicious. “Civilized is giving a woman something she can spend. Something she can own. Anything else is about fear and control.”
A laugh bubbled up, and Trix pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth to hold it back. “No kidding.”
“So, Finn. What did he give you?”
A drink and a smile, the first bit of his grudging attention. Everyone knew about Finn, that he didn’t keep women, but his interest kept the worst of the predators at bay.
And then it had turned into something more.
She steeled her spine. “What do you want to hear, Dallas? That he drugged me? That he made me fuck him for my next fix? He did and he didn’t, because none of it was that simple.”
“I just want to hear the truth, Trix.” He stubbed his barely touched cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned forward. “Especially the ugly parts. Because lying won’t protect him, love. There’re a few dozen O’Kanes out there who will take him apart and put him back together inside out if they think he’ll hurt you.”
“I know.” She looked away. “Once I was addicted, it was like things spiraled out of control. Finn tried to get me clean, but it didn’t take. And then I caught Mac’s eye. So I left, and everyone in Five thought I was dead. Even Mac.” She couldn’t sit still anymore, so she rose out of her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you get it? It was Dom. He convinced Mac to send his men after me, some sort of sick revenge thing.”
She’d seen death in Dallas O’Kane’s eyes before, and it was there as he rolled out of his chair to brace both hands on the desk. “Fleming kidnapped you for Dom?”
“He was after Trix,” she confirmed, “but he got Tracy. And he couldn’t wait to shove that in Finn’s face.”
“So Finn shot him.”
The memory—the relief and revulsion, all at once—made her shudder. “Yeah.”
Sighing, Dallas pushed himself upr
ight. “I believe you, darling. A hell of a lot more than I believe a word out of Beckett’s mouth. But Finn...”
She dug her fingernails into her skin to suppress another shudder. “He’s done everything he could do, Dallas, and it almost got him killed. Don’t you think he deserves a chance?”
Dallas reached for her, covered her hands with his own. They were warm, strong—and as tough as his words. “He’s been the monster chained in Fleming’s basement for twenty years. If I give him a chance, will he know what to do with it?”
She wanted to say yes. She even opened her mouth, but the bleak memory of the hopelessness in Finn’s eyes stopped her cold. Despair was no different than drugs or booze or gambling—it could become a habit, just as easily as anything else.
“Maybe not,” she admitted hoarsely. “But what kind of people would we be if we didn’t try?”
Dallas didn’t answer. He circled his desk and drew her into a tight hug, with one big hand cradling the back of her neck and his chin resting on her head. “I’ll figure something out, love. I fucked up by underestimating how much danger you were in, and he fixed it. We all owe him for that.”
“It’s not just that.” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Finn can’t stand what goes on in Five. He lived there and worked there, but he hated it all so much.”
“Good. My gratitude gets him in the door, but the rest he’ll have to earn.” He caught her chin, his gaze serious. “You know what that means, right?”
All the new guys had to deal with a little hazing, even the ones who’d come in under the best of circumstances. Finn would have it worse. “I understand.”
And she did. No, the part that left her blinking back tears was how much Finn would relish the abuse, all because he thought he deserved it.
Finn hadn’t expected to wake up.
For a few disorienting seconds, the only thing he could muster was disappointment. He’d hit the dirt with his last glimpse of Trix etched into his brain—her standing behind Adrian Maddox, protected as the man burned with a righteous fury more suited to Eden’s deity than the benevolent God they worshiped in Sector One.
As last images went, it wasn’t the worst. His girl safe, his mission complete. Dying was the coward’s way out of the mess he’d made, but fuck if he wasn’t tired.
And sore, too. Sore enough that even opening his eyes seemed like too much effort. But he did it anyway, and disappointment shattered as Trix’s face swam into view.
Trix, at his bedside. Thank fucking Christ he’d woken up.
Her lips tilted in a gentle, brilliant smile as she tugged his hand up to the soft curve of her cheek. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Funny, how things didn’t hurt as much now. The magic of touching her. “I guess you rescued me, huh?”
“Yeah?” She turned her head to press a quick kiss to his palm. “Now we’re even.”
Not even close. Not in a million years. But he wasn’t ready to lose the brightness of that smile, so he didn’t argue. “What happened after I passed out? Is Hawk okay?”
“He’s fine. Dallas and Lex are gonna put him up while they figure out this whole mess.”
“And me?”
A little of the light in her eyes dimmed. “You can stay. No one’s jumping for joy about it, though. But you knew that was coming.”
He’d known. He just hadn’t realized how much it would sting. Not the disdain of the O’Kanes—anything short of putting him in the ground was the next best thing to an open-armed welcome—but watching her joy fizzle.
Trix still saw something shiny and new underneath the grime of Finn’s life, and he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her until her vision cleared or wrap both arms around her and never let go.
Not that he had the energy to do either right now.
“It’s okay,” he whispered roughly, contenting himself with rubbing his fingers over her cheek. “No one’s gonna hurt my feelings, doll. They can’t say anything I haven’t heard before.”
“I don’t have to like it.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she sighed. “And you don’t have to stay for me. Soon it’ll be safe enough for you to go back to—”
He rested his thumb against her mouth, silencing the offer. “If I stay, it’ll be for you. If I go, that’ll be for you, too. There’s no back for me.”
Her lips trembled under his touch. “It won’t be easy.”
Finn smiled and stroked his thumb along the sweet, full curve of her lower lip. He knew what it tasted like now. He knew how she moaned when he caught it between his teeth, how she melted when he growled against it. “Some things are worth it.”
“They’re all afraid you’ll hurt me.”
He couldn’t blame them. He had hurt her—by mistake, with neglect, by being too fucked up to do the right thing. “I only care what you think.”
For a moment, she only stared at him as a wave of sadness swept over her features. “I think...I’m not ready to let you go.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.”
She kissed him again, this time a soft, quick caress at the corner of his mouth. Even an aching body couldn’t keep him from driving his fingers into her hair and pulling her back for another kiss. Slower. Deeper. No teeth, no tongue, just his mouth on hers, and all the time in the world to memorize the way she felt.
She shivered, then gingerly braced her hand on his shoulder and pushed away. “You scared the hell out of me. Are you okay?”
“I’m still breathing.” He lifted a hand to the bandage wrapped around his torso. “Everything hurts, but not nearly as much as it should.”
“Doc patched you up.” She stroked her fingers over his shoulder, over bare skin instead of gauze. “He says you’re gonna be fine.”
He’d met their doctor once. He’d been there when O’Kane had come for Lex, redefining high on his own supply. Finn knew an addict when he saw one, and he’d bet his last credit that Doc spent most of his time tripping higher than Eden’s walls.
Finn wasn’t just glad he’d woken up. He was apparently lucky, too. “Don’t suppose he left me something to wear.”
“Not hardly. His clothes wouldn’t fit you, anyway. But I sweet-talked Flash into letting you borrow some things.” She turned to a small table by the bed and lifted a stack of folded items.
Yeah, everything ached, but that had never kept him down before. So he shoved the sheet to his waist and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the dizzy tilt of the room and the burn blooming in his chest. “Does O’Kane want me staying put?”
“Hey, hey.” Trix dropped the clothes and caught him by the shoulders, steadying him. “Take it easy, all right?”
He bit back his instinctive protest—I can’t. Weakness was alive inside him, and it was hard as hell to tolerate. Here, surrounded by her friends who wanted to be his enemies. He needed to be strong enough to weather the abuse headed his way, and that meant shoring up his vulnerable spots. “I promise I will. Just point me to a bathroom.”
“No. You’re going to hurt yourself even worse.”
Adding pain to the list of things he was ignoring, Finn reached for her. Closed his fingers around her waist and jerked her off her feet, into his lap. She landed straddling his thighs, one knee pressed to the mattress, and Finn curled one hand around the back of her head. “I know from bullet wounds, doll. Soft bed. Med-gel. Compared to the last few times I got shot up, this is a goddamn dream.”
She framed his face between her hands with a wry laugh. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“Only about my ability to put my own damn pants on. Unless you’re trying to distract me...” He flexed his fingers on her waist and in her hair, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands.
Being distracted wasn’t so bad. The real world stood beyond that door, but here, like this, they were still living in his dream. The one where he’d fucked her slow and deep and then quick and hard, watching honest-to-God pleasure paint her features. Nothing vague or lost or distant, not a
nymore.
Staying naked and vulnerable was worth a few more moments of playing pretend.
Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “Maybe I’m still scared.”
“Don’t be.” He slid his hand up and spread his fingers wide between her shoulder blades. “You’re home. Safe. And I’m hard to kill.”
“Not that.” She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his. “I want you to love it here like I do. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”
Even if he could—even if he did—it wasn’t likely the O’Kanes would ever love him the way they loved her. Truth, maybe, but it wouldn’t soothe the tension stiffening her body. So he stroked her spine and lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “Show me. Show me the things you love.”
“Really?”
Not quite enough of an edge to qualify as disbelief, but Trix was wary—and he was glad. Blind trust was too much damn responsibility for him right now. Too much guilt, because fuck if he could stop stroking her, stop touching her. “Really, baby. If anyone can make me a believer, it’s you.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled. For a moment, he thought she’d close the distance and kiss him. But then she straightened—and grinned. “You’ve never seen me dance.”
He fought the urge to tighten his grip on her, to choke back the dark thread of possessiveness unwinding in his gut. “Dancing, huh? I’ve heard stories about the Broken Circle’s style of dancing.”
“Mmm.” She slipped her fingers into his hair. “I’ve got my own style.”
She always had. Even now, in her sassy little polka-dot dress and whatever the hell she had on underneath it. Miles and miles of some sheer, crinkly fabric the same color as those polka dots, and the sweet primness of it made that knowing look in her eyes so much more dangerous.
He skated a hand down to her bare knee. “I like your style.”
The look she flashed him was stern, but he still heard the catch in her breath. “I meant my act. It’s all feathers and fans. Old-school striptease.”