by Kit Rocha
"Everyone needs help sometimes," Rachel said.
It was as perfect an opening as she would ever get. Lili ran her finger over the strap on a pair of totally impractical sandals and gathered her growing courage. "I feel like I need a lot of it right now. I don't know how to do any of this. How to…" Did they even use the word here? It felt antiquated and silly, but it was the only one she knew. "How to date."
The two women seemed to consider that, and Rachel finally shrugged. "I'm not sure we know, either. I mean, it's a word with expectations, right? Those tend to get turned upside down around here."
"I've noticed." She glanced at Trix again, because even though they'd lived different lives in Sector Five, they came from the same place. "I thought I knew how the world worked. But now I think my expectations are broken."
"The world," Trix declared, "is a complex thing. But dating doesn't have to be. He likes you, you like him. So you hang out, maybe get a little naked. Get to know each other. Simple. People have been doing it forever."
People had. Jared had. But she hadn't. "I don't…" She wet her lips and looked down, suffering the hot sting of true embarrassment. "I've never gotten naked."
But Trix only sighed in relief. "That's the best news I've heard all week."
Startled, Lili glanced up. The look in Trix's eyes drove her point home well enough—better to be left neglected than to endure Logan Beckett's touch. "I wasn't one of my husband's vices," she agreed softly. "He had too many others, I suppose, to have room for me."
Rachel worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Are you nervous about what Jared will think?"
"He must already know. I don't think it bothers him, but…" It bothered her to be so hopelessly out of her depth when Jared could read her secrets in every tensing muscle and indrawn breath.
Rachel and Trix waited.
She was going to have to say it. They were alone in their corner of the store, but she still lowered her voice. "All my mother told me is that it's terrible and over faster if I don't move. I don't know what to do."
They stood there, their anticipation melting into stunned silence. It seemed to go on forever, and Lili was beginning to wish she hadn't said anything when they stepped toward her in unison.
"Oh, God. Okay." Trix laid a hand on her shoulder. "Just—first things first. That's complete bullshit. Get it out of your head."
Trix came from the same darkness that had almost smothered Lili. She came from worse, because at least Lili had been insulated by her name and her station, her cage gilded from the day she was born.
There'd been no softness and luxury for Trix. No easy numbness to protect her. And there was no deception in her now, just firm, commanding truth.
She said it was bullshit, and Lili believed her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded jerkily. "Okay."
"All right." Trix gripped Lili's other shoulder and turned her slightly, so they were facing one another. "Now, Jared knows enough for the both of you—maybe enough for all of us—so if you trust him, he can show you. Right?"
"I trust him." To take care of her needs, at least. But trusting him to take care of his own was trickier. She, of all people, knew how habit-forming a lifetime of catering to others could be. "I just want to make him happy, too."
"Well…" Rachel folded her hands together and rocked back on her heels. "If it's technique you're after, there are plenty of opportunities to...observe."
Opportunities Lili had been avoiding because of her confusion. She'd been struggling to find her footing, to reconcile the world she knew with the one she'd stumbled into. Her ironclad assumptions had already been cracking the night she'd met Jared. Now, all of her old understanding was gone, the last shards swept away by the firmness of Trix's words.
The next party she attended might make her every bit as uncomfortable, but in a very different way. A very educational way.
She nodded again. The ground solidified beneath her feet, and she felt steady inside her own skin. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Any time." Trix flashed her a grin, gave her a reassuring squeeze, then gathered their purchases and walked toward the clerk.
Rachel lingered. "You know, if you want advice about Jared? Ace knows him pretty well."
"They've been friends for a long time."
"And lovers."
Surprise froze Lili in place. "Oh."
"Uh-huh. Lots of personal experience." Rachel lifted one shoulder in a shrug, but her smile was soft and knowing. "Ace likes to tease me with it because he knows it's hot as hell, but there it is. No better source of information."
Hot as hell. Lili had a new appreciation for those words. She'd tasted that heat now, though her limited experience left her ill-equipped to imagine what Ace and Jared would look like with their hands sliding over each other.
Even trying to picture it left her feeling too warm. "I'll remember that." She returned Rachel's smile tentatively. "Maybe next time, I could cook for you guys, too?"
"That'd be nice." Rachel's voice was gentle, lower. Like they were both feeling too warm, and this moment wasn't as simple as an invitation to dinner.
The tension built until Lili ached with it, and she had to break away. "I'd better go make sure Trix doesn't try to pay for my things. Finn's always offering me money."
She hurried to the front of the store, not entirely sure she hadn't offered Rachel more than a simple meal—and embarrassingly intrigued by the possibilities.
Mad
Mad had seen more of the sectors and beyond than most people knew existed. He'd visited pre-Flare cities left abandoned and gutted, every useful thing stripped away and buildings left like skeletons to decay and die alone. He'd seen miracles of human ingenuity and things that could only be the hand of a higher power—the vastness of the ocean, the beauty of the Grand Canyon.
He'd seen Scarlet a hundred times. He'd seen her laughing and angry, had seen her capacity for violence when she fought for her people, and her protectiveness in the way she handled Jade.
He'd seen so much of her, but before tonight he'd never seen her sing. And when she was singing, she was the most transcendent damn thing he'd ever laid eyes on.
It seemed like half the residents of Sectors Three and Four agreed with him. The crowd spilled out into the street, where speakers kept them from rioting and a makeshift bar kept them drinking, but the place closest to the stage had been reserved for the O'Kanes, giving Mad an unobstructed view of Scarlet as she cradled the microphone.
She was a rough-and-tumble woman, pierced and tattooed and often packing almost as many weapons as Mad himself. He'd expected her music to be the same—angry, sharp edges, loud and brash and unapologetically aggressive.
Not this. Not low and sweet, sliding over him like warm honey. Not so sensual his body stirred with the first notes and throbbed when she met his eyes from beneath her blonde bangs.
The first time, he thought it was a trick of the light. But her gaze returned, seizing his and daring him to look away.
He couldn't.
The lyrics blurred together, leaving her sultry voice and the steady, suggestive drumline. The music curled around him, tugged at him. Found an echoing darkness inside him, a pain too vast and old for anything to touch—and stroked it.
I understand, whispered the song, as Scarlet sang breathlessly about loss and need, a craving so deep it could swallow the world. I know your pain. I know your heart. I know you. I see you. You are not alone.
It was the lie behind music. You looked into it and saw what your heart desired, as if every note, every syllable, had been written just for you, instead of being the solitary work of some narcissistic creator who didn't care about the wounds on your soul.
A lie, and yet still truth. Scarlet might not give two shits about most of the people crushed in front of the stage, but—for the length of a song, a set—they felt less alone. Believing the lie was enough. Hope healed in tiny increments, but it still healed.
Even him.
/> Scarlet's eyes drilled into his. Her body swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, one he'd seen before. Then, she'd had her hands on Jade's body, her hips rolling in a way that had left him uncomfortably hard. He'd blamed it on her dance partner at the time—Jade, who was made of mouthwatering curves, whose every movement was graceful to the point of absentminded seduction.
Softness, that had always been Mad's weakness. Sweet women who just needed a little tenderness to wake them up. Making them feel good made him feel good, and everyone walked away with fond, pleasant memories and mild feelings.
Mild wasn't always satisfying, but intensity was complicated.
Scarlet wasn't soft or sweet, and she didn't do mild. She could eye-fuck him from the stage all night, but if the two of them ever ended up locked in a room together, it wouldn't be warm honey and slow swaying.
They'd fight for the top. She'd play rough, fight hard. Fuck, she'd probably win. Not because he couldn't, but because the stakes were too damn high. It was one thing to shore up vulnerabilities that were already there, but when you made someone vulnerable, when you demanded their surrender—
You had to be worthy of it.
No, not just worthy. You had to be strong. Whole. You had to be unshakable, hard enough to protect them in their vulnerability, not be the one likely to shatter apart.
You had to be a fucking hero. And that was the one thing Mad had promised himself he'd never try to be again.
Chapter Nine
Bren and Six had worked miracles with Sector Three.
Not long ago, the club had been a wasteland, just like the rest of the sector. Its dancers had been overworked and underpaid, and Christ only knew, but Jared had always suspected some of them weren't there by choice at all. The only damn thing the place had had going for it was Scarlet's music.
All that had changed. The club still looked mostly the same, but it ran like a machine now, slick and efficient. It was clean, well-stocked, and packed. The bartenders worked busily, and—best of all—they still had the band.
Jared stood at the bar for their drinks, with Lili waiting for him in a darkened corner booth. The seats weren't as nice as the ones the O'Kanes commanded, but tonight, of all nights, he needed the distance. Too many people had turned out for the music and the booze, and he couldn't afford to be seen as part of Dallas's inner circle.
He could barely afford for Lili to be seen with him, but he hadn't been able to resist her shy invitation—and now he was damn glad. She was dressed in head-to-toe silk that draped her body and hugged her curves, and he watched her as he headed back to the booth.
She smiled, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes sparkling. It was a far cry from the last party, when only her determination not to appear weak had overcome her discomfort.
He placed one drink in front of her and slid into the booth. "So, what do you think?"
"It's amazing." She leaned into his side, her shoulder brushing his. "Scarlet's a beautiful singer. No wonder there's such a crowd."
"I had a feeling you'd enjoy it." There was raw emotion in Scarlet's performances, the kind he could never seem to work up for his perfunctory piano playing. Most of his clients couldn't tell the difference, but he knew somehow that Lili would.
"I wonder if she'd let me play with her sometime." Lili traced a fingertip around the edge of her glass. "Not like this, though, performing for so many people. I'd probably miss all the notes."
"I bet she'd love it." There was a difference between performing and doing something you adored for its own sake. Because you wanted to.
She flashed him another of those bright, joyous smiles. "Thank you for coming with me."
"It's not a favor." He found her other hand beneath the table and folded it into his. "I want to be here."
She leaned into him again and stayed this time, her body pressed all along his side. "This is the first time I've been out with the O'Kanes, you know. They're different...and they're not."
That was true enough. There were parts of themselves, of their interactions, that they would only share with one another, in private. The way the ladies liked to tease Dallas out of his stern frowns, but never in front of outsiders. Never in places where their defiance—as playful and welcome as it was—would make him look weak, like he couldn't keep his people in line.
Jared could even see it in Cruz. Out here, he played the brooding dominant role to the hilt. He sat in one of the O'Kane booths, watching Ace and Rachel as they danced, their limbs entwined, bodies moving in perfect time with the slow, languorous music. Every soft kiss and caress looked like an invitation, and Cruz flashed a forbidding glare at anyone who got too curious—or too close.
This was the game he'd play in public—hands off, watching over them while they teased him. Waiting. And when they went home, he'd have them both on their knees.
"It's about image," Jared murmured. "It isn't that they're different people out here. It's that they only show people what they know they'll understand."
"Their masks," Lili replied just as softly. "No wonder I've been so confused. I kept trying to see through them, kept trying to figure out what their game was. But it's not a game at all, is it?"
"Not like you were thinking." He understood now, better than he ever could have dreamed. "It's about responsibility. O'Kanes protect each other. And the best way to do that, the most important way, is to protect the gang."
"And when they're alone…" Her fingers trembled in his. "That's who they are?"
"Yes." He watched as Ace whispered something in Rachel's ear, and she bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "That's who they are."
Lili tilted her head to rest on his shoulder. "I don't know if I'm jealous or terrified."
Ace grabbed Rachel's ass and dragged her up until she was riding his thigh, her dress hiked far enough to flash her bare hip. "Be like the rest of us," Jared advised softly. "Be both."
Lili shivered as she reached for her drink and took a bracing sip. "Is it like this for everyone?" she asked hoarsely. "Watching, I mean. Or is it just because I'm…"
Raw and exposed? Or did she mean innocent? "I can tell you what—" His words died as Rachel shuddered through a moan. Her head fell back, and she made a pleading noise so unpolished and rough—so real—that his hand clenched around his glass.
Lili turned her face to his arm.
Not tonight. Not when she needed to see this. "Watch them, Lili."
"I can't," she protested, clinging to his hand under the table.
"Yes, you can." He squeezed her fingers. "This is what you wanted to know. It'll tell you everything."
She inhaled shakily and lifted her head, her gaze swinging directly to Rachel and Ace. Plenty of people were casting the pair covert glances as Ace licked the vulnerable arch of his lover's throat—but no one risked being caught staring, not with Cruz sprawled only a few feet away.
Ace kissed his way lower, following the loose neckline of Rachel's crimson dress. The strap fell off one shoulder, and the draping fabric slid down to catch on the tip of her breast. Ace nudged it aside, baring the luxurious glint of silver.
At first, Jared thought it was another piece of jewelry, the kind of gift Ace loved to lavish on Rachel—a delicate sterling shield, maybe, or a clamp that would heighten her sensitivity the longer she wore it. But then Ace tugged at it, twisting lightly. Rachel cried out, sharp and low, and Jared realized it was a piercing, a stylized barbell that ran horizontally through the rigid peak.
Jesus Christ, no wonder Ace had been insufferably, blissfully happy. He had the perfect little submissive and the perfect glowering dom. Everything he'd ever wanted.
Lili was trembling now, her breaths coming quick and shallow. "I don't understand how I can be so confused and still so—" She shook her head. "My body knows things I don't."
"Yeah." Some things were instinct—survival, laughter, tears. Pleasure. "The only thing that matters is whether you want to know."
Blonde curls swung around her face as she nodded. "Help m
e understand?"
Heat prickled over his skin. He released her hand and reached for her dress instead, slowly drawing the length of satin up her leg. "Watch, sweetheart."
Ace dragged Rachel upright again, pressing her body to his. His hands guided her hips in a grinding roll in time with the music, and his lips found her ear. She shuddered again before shaking her head and taking his hands.
She pulled him back toward the booth, back toward Cruz, who was still watching them with protective heat blazing in his eyes. It didn't matter what other people saw when they looked at the three of them. Jared had been close enough to see the truth—more than anything else, Ace and Rachel belonged to Cruz. He was the one who guarded them, body and heart, who gave them the freedom to make themselves vulnerable.
Even like this. Ace hauled Rachel into his lap and guided her head toward Cruz's waiting kiss. No one else in the bar could see Ace's fingers as they crept between their bodies to settle unerringly on Rachel's nipple.
No one except Lili. "Doesn't that hurt?" she asked in a breathless whisper.
"Maybe it does." Jared's hand made contact—finally—with the smooth, hot skin of Lili's inner thigh. "Maybe she likes it that way."
As if on cue, Rachel reached up. She covered Ace's fingers with her own and squeezed tight, forcing a rougher caress, one that left her trembling above him.
"Oh." Lili's legs came together, trapping Jared's hand—but only for a heartbeat. She gripped the back of his shirt, as if needing something to cling to, and inched her thighs apart.
"See?" He stroked her skin but didn't move any higher. Not yet. "Easy."
Ace and Cruz were kissing now, a lazy tangle of tongues while Cruz worked at Ace's fly. They'd fuck just like this, barely hidden by shadows, protected by Cruz's fierceness and their O'Kane ink.
Lili grasped her drink until her knuckles turned white, her other hand still clutching at his back. "Is that what you want to do with me?"
Jared glided his thumb a mere fraction of an inch up her thigh. "Baby steps, Lili."
Her breathing hitched. "I know you're not going to do it now. But would you want to?"