by Kit Rocha
“Me, too.” Trix hesitated, then forged ahead. “I need to talk to you.”
Jade let her hands fall away from Trix’s face and nodded. “Anything you need.”
There was no gentle way to say it, no way to ease her over to the truth. “Finn’s here. He’s the one who brought me back.”
No reaction marred her friend’s open, easy expression. Jade was a master of masks, so good at hiding her feelings and her pain. But Trix had watched her writhe through the agony of withdrawal. She’d watched Jade rebuild those masks, one painful day at a time.
The lack of response betrayed her, and after the pause stretched on into awkwardness, Jade clearly realized it. “I never told you his name.”
“I could say the same, I guess.”
“You could say the same.” Jade laced her fingers together and looked away. “You knew him?”
“I did. He was—” Christ, she still didn’t know what to call him. “We had a thing. Have a thing.”
“And that’s why he brought you back?”
So she hadn’t heard any of it yet. Trix squared her shoulders and met Jade’s eyes. “He didn’t just sneak me out. He killed Mac Fleming.”
Jade clenched her fingers so tightly, her knuckles stood out like pale bruises on her dark skin. She dropped her gaze, stared blankly at her hands, and her rigid silence broke on a shaky laugh. “I always wondered if he hated his job, or if scowling was the only thing he knew how to do.”
“Both, I suppose. He hasn’t had many reasons to smile.” Trix wrapped her arms across her midsection. “Do you hate him for what he did to you?”
“A little bit,” she said softly. When she looked up, the pleasant mask had slipped. She looked haunted. Tired. “Do you hate me for admitting it?”
“No. But he can do good things here, Jade,” she whispered, her throat raw.
“I know. I know, Trix.” Jade turned away, staring toward Sector Two as if she could see it off in the distance, past the buildings. “I want to forgive him. I need to. Because I understand him all too well.”
It was probably true. Jade had seen firsthand how Cerys had run Sector Two—all the people she had hurt, the lives she’d destroyed—but she’d been helpless to stop it. So she’d gone along with it, because of all the small things she could do to counter Cerys’s madness.
Short of putting that bullet into Mac’s head, Finn had been just as helpless. Just as stuck in a system that worked because one person standing against it could only die trying to change things.
Trix shuddered. “Sometimes we do what we have to do to stay alive. Until we can’t do it anymore.”
“Until we can’t anymore,” Jade echoed. A chilly breeze gusted across the roof, snapping the tarp that protected the lumber and grabbing at Jade’s hair. She shook it out of her face and wrapped her arms around herself, looking more fragile than she had in weeks. “He’ll stir bad memories. I can’t change that.”
And Finn would punish himself for every moment. “I thought you should know, that’s all. That he’ll be around.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated. Seemed to steel herself. When she turned, her walls were firmly in place, that raw pain swallowed as if it had never existed. “He brought you back to us. That’s all the reason I need to make my peace with him. I can, Trix. I will. I just...need a little time.”
She was trying so hard, but the truth was crystal clear—it wouldn’t be easy, and it might never happen.
And Trix couldn’t blame her. She’d bathed Jade’s face, held her through the worst of the agony that had torn at her during the height of her withdrawal. Listened to her delirious ranting, her seething anger—and, worst of all, her hoarse pleas when fury had given way to desperation. When she’d begged Trix to make it all stop.
“I get it, Jade,” she mumbled. “I do.”
And then Jade’s arms were around her, squeezing tight enough to bruise. “I love you, no matter what. Remember that. We all love you.”
“I know.” Support only went so far when countered by bone-deep worry, and Trix couldn’t blame them for that, either.
She took that with her as she walked back inside and climbed down the stairs with Jade’s unspoken words echoing in her head like her steps on the concrete. They loved her, and they’d protect her—even from herself.
She meant to return to her room, but her feet took her in the opposite direction, straight to the room Dallas had given to Finn. She knocked on autopilot, too, staring at her own hand as it rapped on the door.
She couldn’t help herself, so maybe they were right to be so worried.
Chapter Nine
Dallas O’Kane’s garage looked like the sort of place where Shipp would feel right at home. Chances were pretty good Hawk would take one look at it and never want to leave.
Hawk would be a hell of a lot more welcome than Finn was.
Bren Donnelly barely glanced out at him from behind an open hood before returning to his task. “Lex said you’d be by.”
Curt, cool, and dismissive. Finn supposed that was better than a fist to the face. “Lex didn’t make it sound optional.”
Bren grunted. “You know engines?”
“Well enough.” Finn slid a hand across the top of the car. A newer model, probably one that hadn’t even been driven before the lights went out. You had to baby those more than the older models, because the electrical system got glitchy, but the parts were damn near impervious to weather and time.
He’d stripped enough cars like this for parts to know.
“You like it?”
“What’s not to like?” Finn quirked an eyebrow. “Where’d you get it? Reno?”
“Yeah.” Bren straightened and wiped his hands on a grease-smeared rag. “I hear you might be here for a while.”
“Guess that depends on O’Kane,” he answered carefully. Finn hadn’t survived this long through complacency. He was standing face-to-face with a potential enemy, and Brendan Donnelly wasn’t your everyday sector bruiser. He’d been trained by Eden’s Special Tasks force, trained to be a sector dweller’s worst damn nightmare.
Finn could still remember the uneasy mutters when word had gotten around that Dallas O’Kane had acquired his own pet sniper. The delicate balance of peace between the eight sectors had always rested on the illusion of mutually assured destruction. O’Kane had been stacking the deck for years, collecting a private army of absolutely loyal killers.
Bren scratched his chin, leaving behind another smudge of grease. “I’m pretty sure Dallas would say it depends on you.”
Yeah, there was the O’Kane fantasy. A world where a man’s actions defined his destiny. The drunken mirage of control. “I can’t change what’s already done.”
“None of us can.” The corner of the man’s mouth quirked up, a smile all the more chilling on the face of a trained killer. “Doesn’t make you special.”
“So what does it make me?”
“Staring down a chance.” Bren picked up a wrench. “And you’d better not blow it.”
Finn tensed, judging where to take the hit so it would hurt the least. He knew what a wrench swung with temper could do to an arm or a face, but Bren just turned back to the engine, leaving Finn pissed at himself for being so damn jumpy.
The O’Kanes weren’t gonna swing a crowbar at his head or jump him in the garage. If they’d wanted him bleeding or dead, they’d had plenty of chances to make him that way. No, they were going to punish him with words and glares and by withholding their dreamy, sappy love.
As if he gave a fuck about being liked.
Feeling steadier, he swung around to stand next to Bren. “So why did Lex send me down here? You need help fixing cars?”
“What else are you gonna do to make yourself useful? Dance a set at the club?”
That was one way to sabotage O’Kane’s business. Make everyone stare at his battered, scarred body. “For all you know, I’d be fucking fantastic.”
“Your tits are too small. Your ass is okay, t
hough.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“You’re welcome.” The wrench clanged against the frame as Bren loosened one of the bolts securing the engine in place. “Some of the guys are gonna want to get you in the cage.”
The momentary humor faded. Maybe the beatings were coming, after all. “I guess we won’t be chatting about my ass in there.”
“Not likely.” Bren squinted over at him. “Want my advice?”
“Sure.”
“Take your lumps. You’ve got it coming.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Hell, he could come up with plenty of reasons. “As Mac Fleming’s enforcer? Or as the bastard who never did right by Trix?”
That drew a chuckle from Bren, something as out of place as his smile. “Take your fucking pick.”
“Why wait for the cage?” he asked, watching Bren’s hand. Watching that damn wrench. “If I’ve got it coming, why isn’t anyone dishing it the fuck out?”
“Because we have rules.” Bren set the wrench aside and reached for the open beer sitting on the worktable next to the car. “If someone’s got a beef, you take it to the cage. Nobody gets jumped.”
“And do I walk out of the cage?”
“It wouldn’t be a very sporting fight otherwise.”
So they hated him for the things he’d done, disliked him for who he was...and they didn’t want to jump him like an animal in the street. They wanted to be sporting about it.
Christ, he understood the fancy moralistic fuckers in Eden better than he understood these crazy bastards.
He blinked at Bren, who stared back at him for a long moment before finishing his beer in two long gulps. “Okay, then. Pep talk’s over. Grab a wrench, soldier.”
Relieved, Finn moved to the bench and studied the selection of shiny, well-loved tools. Nicer than anything he’d had growing up, but a wrench was a wrench. There were only so many kinds of screwdrivers, and they all matched a screw. Neat and tidy. Black and white.
Familiar, and right now that was the most soothing thing of all. A car engine was broken until you fixed it, and you knew you’d gotten it right when it started running. It made sense.
At least something in this sector did.
Lex encouraged her to take a few days off, but the Broken Circle was packed, and Trix couldn’t stand to see them short-handed.
She wasn’t the only one. Zan sat at the bar, his arm in a sling, glowering into a glass of whiskey as she bustled around, pouring an order. “Don’t pout, honey.” She leaned over and dropped a kiss to his forehead. “We’re both a hell of a lot better off than I thought we’d be a few days ago.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled, though his gaze softened. “You’re working.”
She couldn’t resist teasing him as she rubbed his cheek. “You should have asked Doc for a cast. Then you could still bounce. Just beat the unruly bastards over the head with it.”
“Now there’s an idea.” The table in the corner yelled for their order, and Zan turned on his stool. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll boot your asses out of here!”
Wounded arm or no, he could still scare the piss out of people. The table fell silent, and Noelle slapped her tray down on the bar with a grateful sigh. “Thank you. They’re driving me crazy. They want another round of Nessa’s last batch, though, so at least they’re rich and annoying.”
Zan polished off his drink and pushed his glass out for Trix to refill. “Better than broke and annoying, but not as good as rich and polite.”
“You been dipping into Doc’s personal stash again?” Trix asked. The humor was a little forced, but she couldn’t stop herself. Joking with Zan was the next best thing to wrapping him in a never-ending hug, and she’d dissolve into tears the moment she tried.
But he grinned at her, and it eased some of the tightness squeezing her chest. He was okay—not only alive, but up and walking around, drinking and glowering like any other day.
All the female attention couldn’t be hurting. As Trix moved drinks to her tray, Noelle went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, just like she had the last five times she’d come to pick up an order. “Zan appreciates good manners. That’s why we love him.”
The tops of his ears turned pink. “I thought it was about my manly good looks and charm.”
Noelle took off, balancing her tray on one hand as if she’d been slinging drinks all her life instead of less than a year. Hawk’s silent gaze followed her, so intense and considering that Trix almost warned him that Noelle was very, very taken. But when Noelle dropped the drinks off at the newly subdued table, his gaze didn’t follow her back into the crowd.
It stayed on the liquor. “How much are they paying for that?”
“For one of Nessa’s special creations? Way too much.” Trix flipped over a glass, picked up the half-empty bottle, and poured him a double. “And not nearly enough. Try it.”
He lifted the glass, squinting at the liquor as he swirled it around. He had the glass halfway to his lips when the music changed, the familiar strains of a low, primal bass rhythm pouring out of the strategically situated speakers.
Jeni danced out on stage, already naked. Instead of the teasing build of stripping off her clothes, she moved with the music, letting it guide the dip and sway of her body.
Hawk jerked his gaze from the stage, knocked back the drink, and slammed the glass to the bar. “You guys don’t mess around.”
Zan laughed and clapped him on the back. “Welcome to Sector Four. You’re gonna like it here.”
The words pierced Trix’s heart. Not because Hawk didn’t deserve the welcome—Christ knew he deserved that and more, not only for the risks he’d taken, but the people he’d lost—but because part of her couldn’t help but wish that Finn could have the same.
Hawk was still trying not to stare when Noelle returned to the bar. She took one look at him and grinned at Zan. “Were my eyes that big the first time I saw Jeni dance?”
“Not quite, but cut the man some slack. He’s new to the wonders of the Broken Circle.”
Laughing, Noelle patted Hawk’s cheek as if he wasn’t a grown man with the first hints of silver in his beard—and probably old enough to be her father. “Poor baby. Be glad she’s only dancing. Those shows she used to do with Ace would give anyone big eyes.”
Trix picked up a towel and wiped a spill from the counter behind the bar. “Guess she’ll have to find a new partner.”
“Or keep doing what she’s doing. They’re eating it up.” Zan arched an eyebrow. “What are you and Jas up to tonight, Noelle?”
“We’re keeping Ace and Rachel company while Cruz is out on business.” She leaned into Zan’s good side and rested her head on his massive shoulder. “You guys should come. I think Nessa’s going to show up, too.”
“I’m there.”
He turned to Trix, and she opened her mouth to agree, but stumbled over the words. If she showed up with Finn, everyone would be uncomfortable, including him. And if she left him out, she’d never forgive herself.
He’d come to Four—to her home—expecting to have the past shadow him like a ghost. So far, that was exactly what had happened.
“Another time,” she said instead. “Thanks for the invitation, though.”
“You sure?” Noelle ignored a drunk customer trying to flag her down and leaned across the bar. “If you don’t feel up to it tonight, promise me we’ll hang out soon.”
God, she was so earnest that Trix couldn’t even lie. “It’s been a long couple of days. But soon.”
“Okay. Hey, the old-timers at the back table are almost ready for another round. Get me set up while I go see what the drunk guy wants?”
Trix glanced down at the half-filled tray. “Already working on it. I got your back.”
Noelle grinned and pushed away from the bar. “And I’ll get us a badass tip.”
She headed off into the crowd, and Zan eyed Trix over the rim of his glass. “If you’re so beat, how come you’re behind the bar, slinging
drinks tonight?”
Trix avoided meeting his gaze. “Gives me something to do.”
“Bullshit. You’ve got plenty to do.”
It was Hawk who finally broached the one topic everyone in her life had been so carefully avoiding. “How’s Finn healing up?”
She could have kissed him. “He’s good. He spent the day helping out in the garage. I’m surprised he didn’t drag you out there with him.”
“I was with the other guy. Cruz?” Hawk slid his glass across the bar and shook his head. “I don’t know how the hell he pulled it off, but he sent someone out to the farm and set up a vid link so I could talk to Shipp and Alya.”
Knowing Dallas, he’d sent more than communications equipment. “How are they?”
“Relieved to hear from me, and doing okay. Big John made it, and no one got anything worse than bruises while we were breaking through.”
“I’m glad.” She refilled his glass and leaned over to meet his eyes. “Listen, Shipp and Finn might be square, but I owe you now.”
He didn’t disagree, just dropped his gaze and stared into his liquor as his thumb made a slow circle around the glass’s edge. “Did you know Alya’s my mother?”
“What?” Shock left her gaping at him, and she snapped her mouth shut.
The corner of his mouth kicked up, but he didn’t look amused. “She was barely more than a kid. A third wife, with stepkids almost as old as she was. Half the people on that farm are either my stepmothers or my half-siblings.”
Trix could hardly believe it, not only because of Alya’s age, but because that meant she’d sent her son off on what could have been a suicide mission. “Why did she let you come with us? I don’t understand.”
“She didn’t want to. She got overruled. Shit is bad out there, Trix. My mother loves that farm, because it was the first thing that was ever hers, but I don’t think it’ll be safe forever.” Hawk sipped his drink and eyed Trix over the glass. “If I want to take care of my family, I need to start storing up favors.”
Another flash of surprise widened her eyes. “You want to stay here.”