by Kit Rocha
She hesitated. “Trix is— She said to tell you…” She looked away.
It was better like this. If he repeated that enough times, he’d believe it. “I know. Tell her...fuck. Whatever will help. She knows I love her.”
“Yeah.” Lex smiled and brushed his hair back out of his eyes. “We all do, honey.”
They all loved Trix, or they all knew Finn loved her. Both were probably true. Neither made it easier to squeeze her hand. “She’s got you.”
Hawk was waiting with Bren beside the open trunk of the car, and Jas was already behind the wheel. Dallas stood next to the passenger door, his gaze utterly unreadable. “No one’ll blame you if you turn around, man. Don’t do this because you think you won’t have a place here if you don’t.”
Easy words to offer. Finn even believed them...to a point. But damn near every person standing in the courtyard had a line, a person whose loss they couldn’t come back from. Dallas had dozens that could cripple him, and one that would completely destroy him.
Finn had told Trix the truth, and had seen the reality of it reflected back from her eyes. Only so many O’Kanes could die before the dream died with them. “I’m good,” he said, reaching for the back door of the car. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
“Wait,” Trix called. She hovered in the open door of the garage, the light filtering through her tangled hair like a halo. She stood there for an endless moment, then ran across the space between them and threw her arms around Finn’s neck.
He caught her, dragging her to him so tightly his brain clamored that she couldn’t breathe, but it hurt to loosen his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Maybe the night Tracy had died, when booze had stripped away everything but the idea of forever without her.
His throat hurt now. He swallowed hard and sank his fingers into her hair. “Hey, baby.”
She pressed a trembling kiss to the side of his neck. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”
“Shh, I know. I know, baby doll.” He buried his face in her hair. “I’m going to try. Believe me. Believe that all I want in the world is to come back to you.”
Trix nodded and tugged at one of his hands, prying it open. “I brought this for you. You should have it.” She placed something warm in his hand.
The chain slithered through his fingers as Finn lifted his palm and stared at the familiar white-gold band made of delicate Celtic knots with tiny, glinting amethysts. He’d seen the ring on his mother’s hand every day until she died, and it had been the only thing he’d managed to hang on to.
He’d given it to Trix five months before she disappeared from his life. And she’d kept it.
Wrapping the chain around his fingers, he smiled. “This thing must be good luck, if you ended up here.”
“I hope so.” She took a step back, then another, and Lex slid an arm around her shoulders.
Getting into the car was the hardest fucking thing he’d ever done.
Beckett had arranged the prisoner exchange with all the paranoid finesse of a pre-Flare spy villain. Finn, Hawk, Bren, Jas, and Dallas stood two hundred feet back from the road separating Sectors Four and Five.
It looked different at night. Eden’s walls shone in the distance, but not brightly enough to illuminate the surrounding area. It would be hard to hit a target in the dark, and the lack of buildings or structures gave Bren no convenient perches to set up a perfect shot.
The only real illumination came from the headlights on their car, and the ones shining back at them from Five. Just one vehicle—that had been in the rules, too—which meant no more than five or six men on the other side of the line.
If Beckett was playing fair.
“Shipp and Alya are going to kill me for letting you do this,” Hawk muttered before pulling Finn into an awkward, one-armed hug. It was as close to affection as he’d ever gotten from the man, which meant Hawk was pretty damn sure this was the end.
“Get them out of Six,” Finn replied, slapping Hawk’s shoulder. “You’ll do good with O’Kane. So will they.”
“I know.”
Hawk moved aside, and Finn stepped up to where Bren and Jas were talking with Dallas. Well, arguing.
“I don’t like it,” Bren said, shaking his head. “We all know Beckett’s crazy. If you go up there without protection, what’s to stop him from trying to take you out?”
“The fact that he’s asking the same damn question.” Dallas checked his pistol before shoving it into its holster. “And the fact that I’m capable of snapping him in half and dying for the fucking chance?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Jas growled. “In a one-on-one fight, you’d take him easy. But nothing about this guy screams fair play. It’s worth thinking about precautions.”
“It’s a chance we have to take. If he’s smart, he won’t do anything to risk losing the backing of the other sectors. If he’s not…” Dallas shrugged and glanced at Finn. “The first sign of foul play, you haul your ass right the fuck back over here, because I’m not sacrificing you for nothing.”
Finn nodded and snapped the cuffs around his wrists. The chain between them had enough give to be comfortable, but not enough that he could do much more than let his arms hang in front of him. “I’m not in a hurry to die either, it turns out.”
Someone whistled from across the way, and Beckett’s voice rang out. “Any time tonight, O’Kane.”
Finn shared a final look with the other men before turning resolutely toward his fate. Dallas fell in beside him as they took the first steps toward the south road.
They made it halfway there before Finn spoke. “Promise me she’ll be okay, O’Kane.”
“We’ll take care of her,” Dallas replied, reaching for Finn’s arm. His grip was firm, reassuring—and didn’t change the fact that Dallas hadn’t answered the question.
There wasn’t time to ask another. Beckett and Dom grew closer, backlit by the headlights on Beckett’s car, and Finn’s gut twisted. Only the fact that Bren had promised to put a bullet in Dom’s head before he got within a mile of Trix made it possible to hold himself still as Dom’s vicious scowl became clear.
Beckett stopped a few yards away. “Dallas.”
“Beckett.” Dallas tightened his grip, pulling Finn to a stop on the opposite side of the road. “You gonna play by the rules you made up at your secret meeting?”
The man shrugged one shoulder beneath his impeccable suit. “I’d have had no need for such theatrics if you had responded to my requests. My repeated requests.”
Dallas was still gripping his arm, silent and angry, and Finn knew he was fighting for the coldness to hand him over, not to mention struggling for a last-minute miracle, when the only hope they had left was Beckett’s treachery.
Finn had bet on longer odds.
He tugged his arm free of Dallas’s grip and stepped forward. Beckett nudged Dom into a walk, his stare fixed on Finn. He didn’t take his eyes off him, not for a second. A heartbeat.
Finn didn’t watch Beckett. He watched Dom, because Beckett wasn’t the sort of man who did his own dirty work. And Dom was walking too willingly, and it sure as hell wasn’t out of some noble impulse or a desire to save someone.
They crossed close enough for their shoulders to brush, and Dom bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Did you keep her warm for me?”
Finn clenched his fists, fighting the urge to knock all those teeth down his fucking throat. “Donnelly’s gonna kill you and leave your body in the desert for the vultures.”
“You think so?” Dom’s grin only grew wider. “Then I’ll see you in hell, asshole.”
Dom shoved past him, ramming his shoulder hard enough that Finn staggered, had to twist to keep his balance.
If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have seen the flash of silver catch the moonlight as Dom started toward Dallas.
His brain scrambled to piece together the meaning while his gut took over. A lifetime of experience with assholes like Beckett, l
ike Dom, kicked in, and the math was so fucking simple.
Dallas. Dom. A knife.
His fucking miracle had arrived.
Dom was still easing the blade from his sleeve when Finn pivoted. Beckett shouted behind him, and Finn ignored it, lunging for Dom as the man went for Dallas. The knife flashed again—right there out in the open, right in Dom’s fucking hand—and that was proof enough.
Finn looped the chain between his cuffs over Dom’s head and jerked back, pulling him off his feet. He dangled there, thrashing and choking for a moment before shifting the knife in his hand and stabbing back blindly.
The blade sliced through Finn’s jacket, his shirt, but it didn’t slow him down. Finn pulled harder, satisfaction overwhelming the stinging pain—and everything else. “You’ll have to keep hell warm for me.”
There was shouting behind him, shouting in front of him, but Finn only tightened his grip until the cuffs dug into his wrists and the chain cut into Dom’s skin. Hot blood trickled down over his hands, and Dom’s thrashing stilled.
Finn let the body thump to the ground. The knife clattered to the road with him, the blade slick with Finn’s blood.
And all hell broke loose.
Scowling, Jas stepped forward and pulled his gun on Beckett. “You treacherous bastard!”
Across the way, the men from Five pulled their weapons, too—leaving Dallas and Finn in the line of fire.
Bren waved them back. “Get down!”
Dallas lunged for the cover of the car, and Finn started to follow. Then he saw Beckett scrambling toward the line of buildings, abandoning his men as quickly as Dallas rushed toward his own.
It was everything that mattered about both leaders distilled to a single moment, and Finn’s own instincts made the decision for him. He took off after Beckett, ignoring Dallas’s furious shout.
Beckett had little hope of rallying the other sectors after this. But humiliation would burn in his gut, and his capacity for revenge outstripped Mac’s the same way his competence had. Beckett would never forgive Dallas. The next time he came for Sector Four, he wouldn’t be coming for Finn alone. He’d be after the blood of any O’Kane he could get his hands on.
But only if Finn let him live long enough to try.
A shot rang out, and a bullet chipped a brick inches from his head. Beckett cursed when he missed and turned back to running, and Finn fought a wild grin.
Soft-ass motherfucker wasn’t used to doing his own dirty work.
Beckett rounded the end of the street, his fancy shoes skidding on the dirty concrete. He disappeared down a narrow alley, and Finn turned the corner in time to see a garbage can clatter to the pavement, spilling pungent trash everywhere.
Finn barely slowed as he jumped it. He knew these streets better than Beckett ever could, knew them because he’d walked them every day while Beckett sat his fancy ass in an office. There were dead ends everywhere, alleys closed off by new buildings or barricades.
And Beckett was headed straight toward one.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Beckett slammed his hand against the chain-link fence at the end of the alley with a clatter, then turned with his gun raised. Finn was already on him, slapping it from his hands with one swipe.
It skittered across the alley, beneath some busted crates, and Finn lunged for it. The splintered wood scratched his hands as he felt for the gun, but the moment his fingertips brushed the barrel, pain exploded through the right side of his head.
He hit the ground, grunting at the impact, and rolled to the side just in time to avoid taking a second hit to the face. The board bounced next to his ear, and Finn twisted and kicked, driving his boot up into Beckett’s hands. The board went flying, and the man staggered and hit the wall behind him with a groan.
He rebounded with a louder groan and drove his foot into Finn’s side.
It hurt. It hurt like a bitch, grinding into the lacerated skin over his ribs, but Finn let Beckett take another kick just so he could grab the man’s fancy fucking shoe and jerk him off his feet.
Beckett went down swearing, and Finn reached for the gun again.
“You bastard.” Beckett clawed at his arm and his side, his fingers digging in with surprising strength. “Son of a fucking whore.”
Finn drove his elbow back, nailing the man in the chin. His hand closed around the gun, and he rolled back, swinging it up to point at Beckett’s face. “You always were predictable, asshole. Selfish people usually are.”
Footsteps thundered on the pavement, almost eclipsing the shouts that accompanied them. But nothing could eclipse the sight of the dim light glinting off nickel and steel as Ryder and two of Beckett’s other men approached, their weapons drawn and ready.
Finn searched Ryder’s face, desperate for any clue, any sign of the man he’d started to think of as a friend. But his expression was unreadable, his dark eyes blank as he stopped a few feet away, his gun pointed directly at Finn.
Beckett heaved a hoarse laugh and wrenched the gun from his hand. “Decent show, Finn. I see why Mac relied on you so heavily in the past. You’re tenacious.” He waved the gun in the air, then dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber in a few practiced movements. “But you got stupid. Never go soft over a piece of ass, man. Never.”
Finn rolled to his knees, because he refused to die on his back, staring up at a walking piece of trash. “Yeah, I’m real soft. Even handcuffed and unarmed, you needed reinforcements to take me down.”
Beckett tossed the empty gun to the ground with a clatter. “Those are your last words? I expected something a little more profound from Fleming’s great thinker.”
Finn judged the distance between them. There was no way he could get the chain between his cuffs around Beckett’s throat before taking a dozen bullets in the back. His side felt sticky, slick, as if those cuts were bleeding more than he’d realized. It was dripping from his forehead, too, sliding down his aching face.
And Ryder still had that gun trained on him, hands steady enough to be their own reminder—friendship had never meant much in Sector Five.
I’m sorry, Trix. She wouldn’t be okay, not for a long time. But she wouldn’t be alone, either, and maybe Finn’s death would satisfy Beckett’s need for revenge. At least long enough for Dallas to rally strength behind him. The other sectors wouldn’t stand with Five, not after tonight.
Not the ending Finn had hoped for, but the one he’d suspected was coming from the moment he walked through Fleming’s office door and found Trix alive, his own personal miracle. He’d had more time with her than he’d ever hoped for. He’d loved her, held her. He’d said his goodbyes this time.
Exhaling slowly, he lifted his gaze to Beckett’s. Then he gave him the only words he had left. “O’Kane for life.”
The man’s bruised jaw clenched, and he gestured to Ryder. “He’s your friend. You do the honors.”
Ryder huffed out a breath, and his hands tightened on his gun. “Motherfucker.”
If Ryder didn’t do it, someone else would. And the two guards were Beckett’s men. They’d take delight in blowing holes through Finn—preferably in painful places that would take a while to kill him.
Finn met the man’s eyes and hoped their friendship went as far as a clean, swift death. Ryder stared back at him for a moment, his arms taut and trembling, then spat out another curse.
He swung around and fired twice, taking out both of the other guards with neat shots to the head. By the time they dropped, he’d turned the barrel of his pistol to where Beckett stood, shocked and sputtering.
Finn sighed roughly and slumped forward, dizzy under a wave of pure, giddy relief. “Jesus Christ, man. I thought you were gonna do it.”
“I almost did, you dumb shit.” Ryder grimaced. “Fucking hell. I have a job to do, Finn, and you’re fucking it all up.”
“That’s kind of my specialty.” Finn straightened and forced himself to his feet. It only took two steps to reach a guard and pluck a gun from his limp fingers. “If you can’t
be here when I kill this bastard…”
Ryder snorted. “Be my guest. I’m tired of listening to him run his goddamn mouth, anyway.”
Beckett tried to take a step back and hit the wall. “The other sector leaders—”
Finn lifted the pistol and cut him off with a bullet.
Blood splattered back against the wall, and Beckett slumped, mouth still open, eyes already glazing, but Finn wasn’t taking any goddamn chances. He emptied the magazine and tossed the empty weapon on top of the body before turning away. “I should have fired faster the first time I had a gun pointed at him.”
“Truth.” Ryder jerked his head toward the mouth of the alley. “Get gone. I’ll clean up here. You got a whole new life waiting for you back in Four.”
Finn hesitated. “You could have one, too.”
“Like I said…” Ryder holstered his gun. “I’ve got a job to do.”
Finn thought of the bag, the map. All those elegant routes plotted out, all headed toward Sector Six. But there wasn’t a damn person in Six or Seven with the brains and resources to send a well-trained man like Ryder undercover in another sector.
So Jim Jernigan had plans for Sector Five. “Is your boss a danger to mine?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a man in handcuffs.” Ryder lifted one eyebrow and turned away. “Tell your lady I said hi.”
“I will.” Finn picked up the second guard’s gun on his way by and headed for the street. But he couldn’t stop himself from pausing one last time. “If you ever need a favor, you know where to find me.”
“Bet on it.”
It was good enough. It had to be. Finn turned back to the street, every ache and pain swallowed by the growing realization that he was still alive.
He only made it two blocks before he ran into Hawk and Jasper. Hawk bit off a curse and grabbed Finn’s arm. “Shit, we thought you were finished.”
“Crazy and lucky,” Jas muttered. “Beckett?”
“Dead.” He waved off Hawk, who was trying to check his side, and thrust out his wrists. “Dallas and Bren?”
“They’re securing the car.” Jas had to search his pockets, but he finally fished out the key and unlocked the cuffs. “They’re good. We’re good.”