by Kit Rocha
He shrugged and finished his drink. “If nothing else, at least I’m not related to all of the women here.”
The matter-of-fact words drew a helpless laugh from her, though she quickly sobered. “Does Finn know?”
“Hard to say. He’s not big on small talk.”
She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other and glanced at Zan, who was trying very hard to focus on Jeni’s dance—and not on eavesdropping.
Not that it mattered. Her words weren’t a secret. “He could use a friend.”
After a moment, Hawk nodded his agreement. “He could. Maybe you’ll be able to convince him that’s true. The rest of us never had much luck.”
“I can try.” It was the only way he’d ever understand that he couldn’t stay for her.
He had to do it for himself.
Cruz
From a professional standpoint, it was hard not to be impressed when Jared took off his shirt.
If Cruz had ever stopped to think about it, he might have assumed that being the living embodiment of female fantasy required a certain amount of physical discipline, but Jared’s body crossed the line from attractive to lethal.
Ace had either seen it too many times to be impressed or was simply oblivious, too focused on setting up his workstation. Markers, needles, and ink, the only things necessary to change a man’s life in Sector Four.
“Sit your fine ass down,” Ace directed Jared without looking up. “I’ve been waiting to get some ink on you for years, brother.”
Jared dropped into the chair, relaxing against the padded back. “Liar. You just wanted me at your mercy.”
“Quit flirting with me,” Ace chided. “You’ll make Cruz jealous.”
Cruz met Ace’s wicked look with an easy smile—and a peace he’d never imagined. “I know what’s mine.”
“Fabulous,” Jared said dryly. “And vaguely disgusting. It must be love.”
Ace laughed with his usual endearing obliviousness, too wrapped up in his newly won happiness to see that Jared was the one suffering the pangs of jealousy. Or maybe Jared simply hid it too well. Ace had always buried his vulnerabilities under a wave of manic cheer and filthy flirting. Jared was like the frozen surface of a lake—serene ice over dark waters you could only glimpse through the rare cracks.
It was the cracks that worried Cruz. Jared was a touchstone in Ace’s life, a friend who had been family long before Ace had found the O’Kanes. Losing him would tear at Ace’s heart in a way Cruz couldn’t tolerate—and couldn’t stop.
If the cracks weren’t filled by something else.
Discarding subtlety, Cruz settled in for a little minor recon. “I heard Dallas made you another offer.”
Jared’s gaze sharpened. “He wants me to run that speakeasy in Eden, the one he and Liam Riley took over after the bootlegger attacks. If he had his way, he’d turn me into my very own well-dressed noir novel. All that’s missing is a femme fatale to ruin me forever.”
“Oh, we can find you one of those, easy.” Ace braced a hand on Jared’s chest and traced the first line in bright blue marker. “A refugee from Two, maybe. Orchids are the new femme fatale.”
“A woman just like me? No, thank you.”
That made Ace frown, so Cruz cut in before he could respond defensively and derail the conversation. “It’s an interesting idea. We’ve mapped the tunnels to the warehouse across the street. Noah thinks he can arrange for the O’Kanes to purchase it via proxy. Establishing a foothold inside of Eden could change things.”
Jared snorted. “No offense, but I’m not sure I want to be the vanguard of O’Kane’s invasion of Eden.”
In some ways, he already was. Jared sparked desire to life in the women who paid him, and Cruz knew how swiftly an addiction to feelings could take hold. Rachel and Ace had stripped him of a lifetime of repression in a few short months.
Sometimes, for those women, Jared did it in a single night.
Rubbing a hand over his neatly trimmed beard, Cruz studied Jared’s face, searching for any hint of unguarded emotion, any clue. “I think O’Kane just wants you to join up, period. He’d let you do damn near anything you want.”
“One wonders why.”
Ace snorted rudely. “One suspects it’s because you’re a brilliant, fancy fucker.”
“Since when has Dallas O’Kane had any use for fancy shit?”
Probably since the uneducated-bootlegger act had worn thin. Dallas had played it to the hilt for years, but Cruz had seen it fraying at the edges in the short time he’d been a member of the gang. Dallas couldn’t hide his shrewd mind forever, and the more power he gathered into his hands, the less he seemed to like playing ignorant barbarian.
But that was a private observation, something for O’Kane ears alone. Jared was as close as you could be without taking ink—but that line was still there, even if Ace ignored it. Maybe that was the reason Cruz couldn’t stop trying to sell Jared on the idea.
Ace’s heart was more easily bruised than most people realized, and it was Cruz’s job to keep it whole and safe. “O’Kane has always had a use for brilliance.”
He laughed and reached for a cigarette, causing Ace to push him back into place with a wordless noise of protest. Jared lit the cigarette carefully, exhaled, and looked at Cruz through the wreath of smoke. “I didn’t know you had taken up recruitment.”
Cruz made the mistake of meeting those dark brown eyes, and Jesus Christ. Jared had perfected bedroom eyes to a degree that was as chilling as it was affecting. It was hard to remember that the same man had trained Jared and Ace, when Ace’s friendly, shameless lust came from a place of such warmth and Jared’s—
The frozen lake again, only this time he was staring straight into the waters’ chilly depths.
It was hypnotic, and uncomfortably seductive. That was undoubtedly what Jared intended, to use his desirability and Cruz’s inevitable discomfort as an effective means of shutting down the conversation. It was a tactic that would have worked even a month ago, so Cruz paused to appreciate the effort.
And then he shut it down. “Ace, your friend’s eyeing me like he wants to get his hands on my dick.”
“Of course he does,” Ace replied without looking up. He finished another part of his sketch and thumped Jared lightly on the chest. “Behave, brother. No one’s allowed to touch Cruz’s dick unless Rachel’s here to watch.”
The teasing words did what Jared’s gaze couldn’t—brought heat to Cruz’s cheeks as his too-vivid imagination conjured Rachel into the midst of this scene, her eyes bright and eager as he put on whatever show she wanted.
“He still blushes,” Jared murmured, low and dark. “I like it.”
“Fuck off,” Cruz muttered. But the darkness in Jared’s voice stirred an echo inside him, a protective, possessive fury that should have risen up at the first sign of flirtation. He still struggled with the openness some of the other O’Kanes embraced so easily. Ace and Rachel were his, won through blood and pain, and he wasn’t eager to share.
But something about Jared was different. He was dangerous, no doubt. A lethal man dressed in the trappings of refinement. But he was wounded.
And he was Ace’s. Important to Ace’s past, a strong presence in his life. That made him important to Cruz. Maybe that was how a man as possessive as Dallas O’Kane could watch with unconcerned appreciation when another O’Kane laid eager hands on Lex.
Dallas never shared Lex. He brought the people Lex cared about into the circle of his protection. They became his, because they mattered to her. Dallas shared them with her. A distinction as thin as a razor’s edge, but Ace and Rachel were teaching him to appreciate the finer lines in love and sex.
Jared understood fine lines already. He’d be good for the O’Kanes, and they’d be good for him. Cruz knew it in his gut. Somehow, he’d convince Ace’s friend before that ice grew so impenetrable no one could reach him.
The world wasn’t doing any more damage to Ace’s heart. Cruz wouldn’
t allow it.
Chapter Ten
Sector Four’s marketplace was a little ragged around the edges.
Finn eyed a broken stall as they passed it. The damage was so recent there were still splinters clinging to the wood on one side. A man stood on a precarious ladder leaned up against the side, nailing shingles into place on the tattered roof. He watched Finn as he passed, his lips tightening around his mouthful of nails, but when his gaze dropped to Trix’s wrists, he looked away quickly.
“Is this from the fight?” Finn asked her, tilting his head toward a storefront with wood in place of its window.
“Minimal damage, but there was some.” Her brow furrowed. “Was Fleming behind it—the bootlegging? Or did he just let it happen?”
“Honestly, I don’t even know. That was Beckett’s baby, and Beckett never liked me. Or trusted me.” Finn didn’t bother to hold back a scowl. “He had some crackpot idea about doing the same thing to the booze that he’s doing to the drugs. That damn additive.”
She stumbled to a halt in the middle of the street. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Finn steadied her with a hand on her elbow. “Who knows if it would have worked? But I’m pretty sure Mac would have gone along with anything if he thought it’d hurt Dallas.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “I’m glad it’s over. For now, anyway.”
“For now, yeah.” Beckett’s crazy would be slower in coming—and a hundred times more lethal. “I’m gonna tell O’Kane everything important. You know that, right? Anything that’ll help him.”
Trix shook her head and curled her arm through the crook of his. “Not right now, okay? We’re shopping today, that’s all. No business.”
It was an invitation to ignore the sharp edges of life that kept trying to poke their way into this dream. If he’d had his way, they wouldn’t have left the compound at all. Every moment outside of that room—that bed—felt like a wasted opportunity. There were so many ways he still wanted to touch her.
But Noah had showed up with Finn’s personal stash of money, retrieved with God only knew what sorts of hacking magic, and Trix had seemed so excited to take him shopping. He couldn’t say no when she got that look in her eyes.
So he’d shop. He’d shop all damn day, as long as she came home with him at night. “So what’s on your list, doll?”
“Clothes, obviously. And I have to take you by to meet Stuart—he does amazing things with leather.”
From what he’d seen, the O’Kanes appreciated leather, all types of it. The kind you wore, the kind you decorated with, and the kind only useful for kinky games of pleasure and pain. Not usually one of his vices, but maybe it was one of hers. “Leather, hmm?”
She laughed and bumped her hip against his. “Vests and jackets, smartass.”
“Hey, baby, I wasn’t judging.”
“Uh-huh. Say that without leering, and I might believe you.”
Smiling, he freed his arm and wound it around her waist, resting one hand on the lush curve of her hip. “Leering isn’t judging. Leering is approving.”
“It can be both.” She slid her hand into his back pocket. Her fingers pressed against his ass, the tips digging into flesh just enough to serve as a delicious reminder. She clutched at him when he fucked her now, her nails scoring his skin, leaving marks of encouragement.
Just like that, he wanted to be in her again.
She blushed at his low growl, but she didn’t stop walking—and she didn’t move her hand. “Do you mind if we make a stop on the way? I need more shampoo.”
His growing need to touch her didn’t go well with extra stops, but he loved the way her hair smelled. Sweet and floral, a scent that lingered on his pillow long after she was gone. Way better than the utilitarian soap they shipped out of Sector Eight. “Sure, doll.”
“You might find something you like in Tatiana’s shop. She makes all kinds of things.”
Her cheeks were pink and swiftly turning a red to rival her hair, which made him wonder what the hell someone could sell alongside shampoo that would make an O’Kane blush. “Just like the leather guy, huh?”
She laughed, soft and husky, and pulled him toward a storefront on the opposite side of the street. “Come on.”
The little shop was bigger inside than it looked, with sturdy wooden shelves lining three walls and a large table in the middle of the room. Two women sat at one end, dozens of small bottles with handwritten labels spread out in front of them. The blonde rubbed at the inside of her wrist and lifted it to her nose, her eyelids drooping in pleasure. “Oh God, Tatiana, you’re right. It’s heavenly.”
The second woman had long black hair, smooth brown skin, and a tired smile that brightened when she looked up to see Trix. She rose and patted the first woman on the shoulder. “Try the jasmine, if you want, but it costs ten times as much. And I think that blend suits you.”
Trix grinned sheepishly at her approach. “I’m almost out of shampoo. Again.”
“You’re in luck. I think I have one bottle left.” Tatiana hesitated before resting a hand on Trix’s arm and lowering her voice. “Are you all right? There were rumors, but everything was so chaotic after the fight in the market square...”
Trix stiffened. “It’s fine now. Zan got shot, but he’s gonna be okay.”
If Finn hadn’t been staring right at Tatiana, trying to figure out why something about her face was so naggingly familiar, he would have missed the way her eyes and lips tightened. “I suppose that’s why I haven’t seen him since before the fight.”
“He’s gonna be okay,” Trix repeated, more quietly this time. “But one of the other guys may be stopping in to check on you for a while.”
“I understand.” She squeezed Trix’s arm briefly and tilted her head toward the far wall. “I put out a new batch with that iridescent glitter Ford helped me find. Take a look while I get your stuff from the back.”
“Thanks.” Trix wandered over to peer at the bottles and other containers, touching a few labels before finally picking up a jar. “The glitter looks good under the stage lights.”
Finn stopped in front of the row of shelves next to it, where a carefully hand-lettered sign announced Massage Oils. Beneath it were smaller signs affixed to each individual shelf. Sensual, Therapeutic...
Edible.
Sector fucking Four, man, where even the lube was pretentious. He picked up a jar labeled Mint and eyed Trix. “So this is the O’Kane corner of the shop?”
“Being an O’Kane has its privileges.” She plucked the jar out of his hand. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. Though I prefer the warming oil.”
He followed her gaze to another shelf with a row of even smaller bottles. The price listed beside them was outrageous, but he picked up two at random. “You’ll have to show me why.”
She dropped her hand to his, her fingertips teasing at the inside of his wrist. “I have some already.”
“So I’ll get this for my room.”
“Or you could stay with me.”
Yes.
It was the answer to a problem he hadn’t realized he had, a way to smudge that final line between them. But it created a whole set of new problems, too. Everything about the room Dallas had given him screamed temporary. It was sterile, empty, full of furniture without personality. A roof over his head, but not a home. Trix made it home when she was there, and took it with her when she left.
If he started sleeping in her room, surrounded by her, it would be easy to forget he didn’t really belong.
But he’d have her to himself. All of her. All the time. “You sure, doll?”
“I’m sure.” She stared up at him, her fingers tightening on his wrist. “I want you there, Finn. Sharing my home with you didn’t end at the sector border.”
He covered her hand with his, stroking that soft skin that probably smelled so good because she rubbed some of the lotion from one of these endless shelves into it. “And sharing yourself with me? Where does that
end, Trix?”
Her fingers trembled, and she tugged her hand away. “I have to pay for this,” she mumbled. “The shampoo, too.”
Finn followed her more slowly, reaching the counter in time to add his two bottles to the stack and pull out his cash. Stubborn pride, maybe, but it felt good to be able to provide something other than dirty words and obligation.
It felt even better that she let him get away with it.
Trix fidgeted with the bag until the door closed behind them with a jingle. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him around the corner of the building, into the shadowed alley, away from the bustle of the street.
She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t.”
They were almost entirely in shadow. When he braced an arm against the wall and leaned closer, it was like the rest of the damn world wasn’t there. Just him and her and a moment that felt too heavy for sunshine and daylight. “What doesn’t, baby?” Say it. Say all of it.
“Sharing myself. There isn’t a place where that ends.” Her eyes were huge, luminous. “Not with you.”
Funny how the words could send satisfaction roaring through him but still leave him wary. Because she’d only seen his guilt, the side of him that gave and gave because giving felt good, and he was too damn scared to take. Even now, she was gazing up at him with total, endless trust.
Like she couldn’t imagine a world where he’d hurt her.
And he never would. Never, even if it meant holding back forever. Touching the corner of her mouth with his thumb, he shook his head. “There should be. With all the shit you’ve had to survive, all the shit I didn’t protect you from.”
She laid a soothing hand on his cheek. “Not because you didn’t try, Finn.”
“I tried.” He smoothed his thumb to the center of her full lips and pressed down to still any protest. “You promised you’d say no to me.”
Her lips moved beneath his hand as she nodded.
He gripped her hips and spun her so quickly she gasped. The bag of oils and shampoo thumped to the cracked pavement as he penned her in by bracing his arms on either side of her. Still protected, still sheltered from the gaze of passers-by, but trapped.