by Kit Rocha
The leader spoke. "That's a nice watch."
Jared glanced down, turning his wrist as if appraising the item for himself. "Yes, it is."
The man drew back the frayed edge of his denim jacket, revealing the pistol tucked into his belt. "Hand it over."
Careful. "Why would I do that?"
The one with the knife snorted. "Because maybe you don't want to die?"
Jared stifled a sigh, torn between resignation and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Maybe you're new around here, so let me explain. This watch was a gift. It means something to me. You could take it, but it wouldn't do you any good, because you couldn't unload it without winding up dead yourselves. So let it go."
A low, visible wave of unease swept through the three subordinate men. Only the leader seemed unaffected as he stepped forward, his hand now wrapped around the butt of his pistol.
He drew it as he stopped in front of Jared—and leveled it at his face. "I know how things work," he muttered. "No ink, fair game."
Oh, this fucking spy gig was going to kill him before he even got into Eden.
No more talking. No more thinking. Jared reacted in a quick flurry of movement—jamming his knuckles into the man's Adam's apple, knocking the gun out of his hand. Catching it. In the span of a heartbeat, he locked one arm around his opponent's neck and hauled him around, a human shield to protect him from the rest.
He squeezed off a shot, center mass, and one of the men dropped. The gun jammed on the second shot—cheap piece of shit—and he went for his knife instead, flicking it open as he jerked it from his pocket. He sank the blade deep into the leader's neck, twisting it when the man kicked and thrashed.
But it cost him precious time. White-hot pain slashed across his side and his upper arm, lightning-quick, and he kicked out in retaliation, driving this attacker back to stumble over his fallen friend. Something snapped, and the man screamed as he fell.
Jared dropped the dead weight of the man hanging in his arms just as the third mugger rushed him. The sheer force drove him back against the rough brick, and he struggled to keep the man's thumbs away from his eyes.
The guy was taller, bigger. Without the leverage to throw him off, Jared resorted to one of Ace's favorite tactics. He slammed his forehead against the man's nose, and his attacker broke away, howling and clutching at his face.
He was the one with the chain attached to his wallet. Jared jerked it hard, ripping it free of its loop, and wound it around the man's neck. A brutal twist tightened it, and he rode the man down to the ground, lodged one knee in his throat, and held it there until he stilled.
The last man took off down the alley, dragging his injured leg behind him. For a split second, Jared considered chasing him down, but the searing pain in his side was already blurring his vision.
His arm worried him even more. Hot blood ran down to drip off his fingers, striking his shoes and puddling under his feet. If he tried to make it home, he might wind up passing out in the street. And, with no way to gauge the severity of his injuries, passing out was dangerous. Maybe deadly.
But there was one place he could go. Gritting his teeth, Jared focused on putting one foot in front of the other and made his way to Gia's back door.
One of the guards answered, silently assessed Jared's injuries, and pulled the door open wide. "In her office," he said shortly, jerking his head toward the end of the hallway.
One of the double doors at the end stood ajar. Soft voices came from inside, familiar even though he couldn't make out the words. He wasn't surprised to find Jeni perched on the arm of Gia's chair, both of them studying the screen built into her desk.
Gia looked up first, her eyes going wide. "Fucking hell," she snapped, rising swiftly to circle the desk. "What happened?"
"Got jumped." His tongue felt thick, and he stifled a rusty laugh. "The usual."
"Oh, is that all?" Jeni muttered. She stripped off her T-shirt, leaving her in only a thin tank top as she wrapped his arm. "Where else are you hurt?"
"Just my ribs." He began to list to one side. "It's not all my blood, you know."
Gia ducked under his good arm to steady him. "Come along, darling. Let's sit you down before you smash that beautiful face into the floor. Jeni, I need my med kit."
"Got it." She rushed out the door.
"I'm fine," Jared protested, even though he knew he wasn't. Gia would understand—no matter how admirably you'd acquitted yourself in a fight, there was always more pride to salvage. More face to save.
Sometimes literally.
She maneuvered him onto the low leather couch along one wall and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Who was stupid enough to take a swing at you? Did you recognize them?"
"No." Suddenly, there were two Gias, and Jared blinked to clear his vision. "They wanted my watch."
Her eyebrows drew together as she jerked open his shirt, sending the final buttons pinging wildly to the floor. "I know it's sentimental, but Eladio would have whipped you for risking your life over a thing."
He nudged the locket nestled in the hollow of her throat and grimaced when he smudged blood over her skin. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same for this."
"I wouldn't," she retorted, slapping his hand away. Her fingers were far gentler as she examined his side. "I wouldn't have to, because I don't go anywhere after dark without big guns or big men."
"Can't always have them around. Guns, bodyguards—" The room was spinning. "What if you're alone?"
"You're not alone now." Gia's hands were comforting and sure as she stripped off his shirt and wadded the fabric against his ribs. "When Jeni gets back with the kit, I'll send for someone to sew you up. Someone better with a needle than I am."
It was standard operating procedure—careful, skilled stitches and the liberal application of med-gel. No scars, because scars didn't belong on the blank canvas necessary to display a fantasy.
Fuck that. "You do it."
Gia gripped his chin and studied his face as if she could see through him. Then she nodded. "An underground nightclub owner should have a scar or two."
Jeni came back in with a standard med kit, as well as Gia's black medical bag. "The other guys look worse, right?" she asked as she gingerly prodded the sore spot in the middle of his forehead.
"Shit," he hissed. "Careful. I broke a bastard's nose with that bruise. And yes—they look a lot worse."
"Dead worse?"
"Mostly," he assured her. "One got away."
Jeni's jaw tightened. "Are you gonna tell Dallas, or should I?"
"Jared's not going anywhere tonight," Gia said firmly, wiping her hands. "Get some painkillers into him. How fuzzy do you want to be, darling?"
He turned his head. "I hate those things."
"You're eight kinds of wobbly," Jeni protested, holding up two small tabs. "Come on. Under the tongue, or I'll have to spray it up your nose."
The painkillers dissolved under his tongue, and his fingers began to tingle before the bitter taste even flooded his mouth. It didn't deaden the pain so much as numb everything. It left him floating, buffeted between the strange tugging pressure as Gia worked at his wounds and the low, throbbing sensation of their words echoing in his ears.
"Once we've got him cleaned up, one of the guards will take you to see Dallas and Lex. I don't want you out there alone right now."
"I'm not stupid, Gia."
"I know, love." A soft sigh. "Just...let me know if you plan to stay there, or I'll be up all night worrying."
Jeni's voice gentled. "If Jared's all right, I'll probably stay."
"Safer that way." The words were even, too even, hiding the vulnerability only Jared and Ace knew was there.
"It's too late now." Jared tried to pat Gia's hand and wound up catching her hair instead. "Sorry."
Gia sighed and shifted her attentions to his slashed side. "What about your sweet little blonde, Jared? Should Jeni tell her?"
"Lili." The thought sent a pang through him, s
harper than the heat blazing in his ribs. "No. She'd worry if she knew."
"The guard can bring her back with him," Jeni suggested, "and then she won't have to worry."
"No." That was even worse, because then he might tell her everything. The whole truth, and nothing could be more dangerous. "Promise me."
"Okay." Jeni ran her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. "I promise."
Gia said nothing, just focused on her work until she'd smoothed med-gel over his ravaged flesh and bandaged both wounds. "Help me get him into my room. He can sleep it off in my bed."
Together, they propped him up on his feet. The whole room went dim and supernova white, all at the same time, and Jared had to laugh at the impossible dichotomy of it, the sheer silliness. "I hate those fucking drugs."
"I know, darling." Gia's office seemed miles wide, and it took forever to cross to the door on the far side. Her bedroom was equally big, but the bed was close. They guided him to sit on the edge, and then Gia knelt in front of him. "Don't you dare put your shoes on my silk sheets."
"Why not?" He laughed again. "My feet are only half as dirty as the rest of me."
Jeni slipped out, and Gia huffed as she tugged at his shoelaces. "I haven't heard you laugh this much since the night we stole Eladio's best bottle of brandy. When did we get so sober and serious?"
"When we stopped being young and stupid." When they learned what the world was really about—and how it never changed. You could escape the forthright violence of the streets, but all you'd find was that same rotten meanness, dressed up like a million bucks. "When we figured it all out."
Gia tugged open his belt and paused when her fingers brushed his pocket. A heartbeat later she lifted her hand, Lili's panties dangling from the tip of one finger. "My, you've had a very exciting night."
He snatched them from her. "Those are mine."
Her eyebrows shot even higher. "I'm not saying you couldn't pull off the color or style, darling, but they're definitely not your size."
"Maybe that's part of the allure." He shoved Lili's panties back in his pocket and waved Gia's hands away. "And I'm not five. I can undress myself."
"Then do it." She rose and headed for the bathroom. "Without falling on your face."
On second thought, maybe he'd just keep his pants on. He fell back on the mattress and watched the light fixture whirl around in sick, dizzy loops. "If you keep trying to hang on to her so tight, she won't come back at all."
The faucet cut off in the bathroom, and Gia returned to the bed with a towel in her hands. "If you're going to poke at sore spots, you should let me get drunk first."
"Just trying to help."
Gia pulled on a clean robe and stretched out next him. "I'm not a fool, Jared. Competing with Dallas O'Kane is hard enough. Competing with Lex is insane. Competing with them both?"
"Unimaginable," he agreed. He reached for her hand again, finding it this time automatically. "So don't compete. You shouldn't have to. What did Eladio always tell us?"
"You can't hold on to anyone," she quoted obediently. "If they want to stay, they will." Her fingers tightened too hard around his. "Does that mean we shouldn't try?"
"I don't know." Exhaustion dragged at him, and he closed his eyes as the world floated away. "I don't know anything anymore."
The moment Lili stepped outside, she knew it wasn't a usual morning.
Too many people were milling about in the open courtyard between the O'Kane buildings. The sun hadn't even climbed above the hills to the east, and Lili herself was only up to get ready for breakfast.
The closest familiar face was Emma, Ace's assistant tattoo artist. Lili hurried across the pavement. "Is something wrong?"
"What? Oh, hey." Emma shrugged, then drove her hands into her messy, two-toned hair. "Crazy night. Did you miss the manhunt?"
After being kissed within a hairsbreadth of falling apart again, Lili had melted into bed for the soundest night of sober sleep of her life. That was new, just like the hazy dreams of heated skin and dark whispers.
But the word manhunt dispelled the remaining glow. "Who were they looking for?"
Emma opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it again. "Shit, sorry. A group of thugs attacked Jared last night. He's fine," she added hurriedly, "but one of 'em got away. Dallas had the guys out looking for the asshole all night."
Only years of practice kept Lili standing stiffly upright with her stomach crashing toward her feet. "Where is he? Jared, I mean?"
"At Gia's place." Emma gripped her shoulders. "Lili, he's fine."
Her heart was pounding too hard. It was irrational, out of all proportion to Emma's words. Worry, pure and undiluted, the kind she hadn't felt in more than five years. She dug her fingernails into her palms until eight tiny pricks of pain flared.
It helped. The roaring in her ears receded, and she managed an even breath. "Did they find the man who attacked him?"
"Yeah. Dallas is questioning the guy now. Hey." Emma smiled encouragingly. "Four on one, and Jared took out three. He did good. Don't be scared, be proud."
"Four on—" Panic threatened again, and she bit it back ruthlessly. At least, she tried. Maybe nothing would stop this but seeing him, knowing he was whole. "Oh, God."
"Come on." Emma wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you a drink."
It was the comforting response. The easy one. All her life, shock and worry had been dulled by one thing or another. It would be easy to fall into that habit again, because if any place in the sectors had enough liquor to thoroughly intoxicate a Sector Five housewife, it was the heart of O'Kane territory.
But numbing the pain meant numbing the pleasure, and after last night…
Maybe here, the price wasn't worth it.
"Not a drink," Lili said, straightening with effort. "If people were out all night, they must be exhausted and hungry. I can cook."
"Oh, sweetie. You don't have to—"
"I want to." She squeezed Emma's hand. "People need to eat. This is something I can do."
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay, then I'll help you."
Lili's calm solidified, along with her sense of purpose. She could do this, put her skills to use and channel her fear and anxiety into something productive. She could be more than a trophy, more than decorative.
And, when it was over, she'd calmly, coolly, find out where Jared was and examine every inch of him until she was satisfied he really was fine.
Lex
None of the O'Kanes were related by blood. Some people thought that didn't make them family. Those people were wrong.
Somehow, it always came down to blood. They lived for it, fought for it. Sometimes, they died for it. And Dallas was covered with it by the time he came out of the cage.
Lex didn't speak until he had thrust his hands into the basin behind the bar and started to wash up. "I didn't hear any big secrets," she murmured. "Just a lot of screams."
"Don't think there are any secrets to hear," he replied, low and vicious. "Just a few greedy idiots from Three and freak fucking chance."
It made sense. A full-on fight was a sloppy damn way to execute a hit—and, judging from their prisoner's begging, he was no professional. "Punks looking for someone to roll? It sucks, but I'll take it over an assassination attempt."
"It's the easier solution." Dallas finished scrubbing his hands and started in on his forearms. "Jared did most of the work by killing three of them. Now we just need Bren to grind in the message."
People would get the message, all right—everyone in Sector Four was dangerous, even the fancy whores. But would it do any good? "Some days it feels like we're fighting a fucking Hydra. Cut off one head, get two more."
"And some days I'm glad it's only two."
"You're tired." She could feel it even before she touched him, the tension in his shoulders that rarely seemed to ease. She rubbed at the knots between his shoulder blades and dropped a kiss to the back of his neck, to the spot where he'd inked her name—her real name�
�into his skin. "But we're so close. You know that, right?"
"I know." Dallas clenched his fists. "If Jared can sway that councilman…"
"We'll have a real chance to change things," she finished softly. "But we can't count on that, Dallas. There's no—"
The door smashed open with a violence that had Dallas spinning around, one hand already reaching for his gun. But it wasn't an enemy striding toward them, his brown eyes hot with barely repressed fury.
She stepped between them. "Ace, calm down."
He jabbed a finger toward Dallas. "Him, I expect it from. He doesn't fucking know better. But you do, Lex. You do."
Lex's own anger rose, and she slapped his hand away. "Watch it, Santana."
Dallas stood behind her, tensed to smack Ace down, but he didn't move. And Ace didn't look at him, either. The anger in his gaze was focused entirely on Lex—just like the betrayal. "Gia spilled the beans, not that she knew what she was saying. But she told me he bought that bar after all. And she's hopeful. She thinks he's getting out, not going down the fucking rabbit hole."
It hurt, more than Lex expected it to. More than she imagined it could. "Do you want to talk about this, or do you want to yell at me? I'm good with either, but I want to get it out there."
"I want to slap some sense into your boyfriend."
"No," Dallas replied, his voice dangerously soft. "You really don't."
It wasn't a threat. It didn't have to be. Ace shoved his fingers through his hair and took a step back—a carefully calculated retreat. "Then someone should talk."
"Out." Lex jerked her head toward the back room and took Ace by the shoulder. "You and me, come on."
Dallas stood in their path long enough for his silent battle to be obvious. In the end, he stepped aside with a harsh look at Ace. "I'm not coming in there to save your ass if you piss her off."
"No one's getting his ass kicked today." She steered Ace toward the back room, winding her arm through the crook of his as they walked. "Right, honey?"