by Kit Rocha
His beauty wasn't what made her heart skip. It was the look in those deep brown eyes when their gazes clashed, the intensity that burned there, the hunger he tried to fight.
So much heat. Subjective. Personal.
After only a moment, he looked away, reminding her that his desire for her could never overcome the shame he felt for wanting her. It had been that way from the beginning, and it still had the same devastating impact on her.
Stiffening her spine, she shifted her attention to Dallas. He wasn't classically beautiful, but he had the sort of presence you couldn't teach, the kind that came from knowing your own power, owning your place in the world.
"Was?" Lex asked expectantly.
Dallas tilted his head toward Mad, who nodded slowly. "Security has been pulled from Sector Two. All of it."
Ice filled Jade's veins. "The military police are gone?"
"Seems like." Dallas took a seat. "They're squeezing Cerys hard. What would keep her fighting like this?"
Lex stared blindly, her hands on her hips, her expression torn between anger and amusement. "What else? Her own power."
Raw truth. Jade's own body was proof of that. Long months of recovery had returned her appetite, and the face she looked at in the mirror was hers again. Not starved and gaunt, not lined with pain. But the shadows were there, in her eyes and in the occasional hollow ache inside her. One mistake in judgment had almost killed her—the mistake of overestimating her value to Cerys.
Cerys would sacrifice anyone if the price was right. "She'd give them money or girls—"
Lex cut in viciously. "But she'll never give them Sector Two."
No, that was the twisted morality—or simple vanity—at Cerys's core. She could have tolerated handing her empire over to Lex because she still harbored the delusion that she'd been responsible for the powerful woman Lex had become—and the greater delusion that Lex would someday embrace her for it. But she'd never give it to a man.
"The sector's locked down." Mad braced his fists on the table, his gaze riveted to the map. "A few opportunists jumped the wall from Three, and no one's bothering to chase them out."
"Everyone with half a brain will be hiding in their safe rooms until this blows over." Lex leaned over the table and frowned. "The city will have to give. Cerys won't. Not this time."
"They need Two." Dallas traced his fingertip over the outlines of the buildings just inside the far edge of the wall. Warehouses, mostly, full of treasures from other cities. That was the lifeblood and necessity of Two—the willingness of its men to take risks and their skill at forging connections. As valuable as Jade had been to Cerys personally, the secrets she'd coaxed from a councilman were nothing compared to consistent trade.
"They want Two," she corrected. "The Council's weakness has always been their inability to make the distinction between need and want."
Dallas acknowledged her words with a rough laugh. "They've never had to learn there is a distinction."
Because no one had the power to teach them that harsh lesson. Not even Dallas. "Lex is right. Cerys would burn Two to the ground before handing them the keys."
"I almost wish she would." Lex sank back into her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I know, darling." Dallas dragged her closer and dropped an arm around her shoulders. His lips found her temple in a kiss so tenderly intimate, Jade averted her gaze.
She found Mad doing the same, and that only made it worse. She didn't want to share someone else's intimacy with him. She didn't want to watch the fantasy come to life in his eyes, to know he was imagining holding her, touching her, kissing her—
Gently and softly. That's what he'd expect—no, demand from her. A fragile, fractured creature who trembled and shook. A woman who was broken because bad people had hurt her. Who needed a savior, not a man.
Sometimes, she wondered what would be worse—giving in and playing the victim just for the chance to have him once…or watching him bolt when he discovered her spine had always been more steel than spun glass.
In her darkest moments, she didn't care how much it would hurt to pretend.
She forced her attention back to Dallas and Lex. "Lili said Jared was going to meet up with you. Have they heard anything about the situation in Two?"
"Not a goddamn whisper." Dallas eased away from Lex but kept his arm around her. "Even Markovic's got nothing. Or if he does, he's not sharing."
"The silence goes both ways," Lex agreed. "Cerys doesn't want anyone to know she's being pressured, and Eden doesn't want anyone to know they can't make her buckle."
Dallas nodded. "Cerys is running short of friends on both sides of the wall. She relied too heavily on advantages she doesn't have anymore."
Mad flinched. Jade refused to. "You mean she relied too heavily on my ability to sway Gareth Woods." She offered Lex a tight smile. "I hope you don't mind that I got all the credit for his death."
"As long as he's dead, honey. That's all I give a sun-toasted shit about."
In that, Jade fervently agreed with her. For seven endless years, she'd played whatever games necessary to keep Councilman Gareth Woods addicted to her presence. One hundred and seventy-eight alternating weekends. She'd given him innocence and fear, she'd given him wide-eyed sexual awakening. Sometimes she'd given him pain—or had taken it in return.
One hundred and seventy-eight times—and for the first one hundred and sixty-five, she'd held him in the palm of her hand. Her eager, willing victim, blind to how deftly she coaxed free his secrets or nudged his opinions to align with Cerys's best interests.
The most foolish thing Cerys had ever done was take away her control.
Remembering Gareth Woods didn't hurt. Not as much as the memory of the drugs he'd given her, drugs that had shifted their balance of power. Even nearly dying while she shuddered through withdrawal was less painful to recall than the six horrifying months when her will had not been her own.
Just the thought constricted the room around her, and maybe her spine wasn't steel after all. She reached for her tablet and rose. "I have to meet Scarlet. I'll check in later to see if you need anything, Lex."
"Thanks, Jade."
She refused to look at the men as she turned and walked—walked, not fled—to the door. It didn't help. She heard the soft footsteps behind her before she made it to the end of the hall, and she knew it was him. She felt him all along her skin, an unwelcome tingle when she needed peace.
"Jade, wait—"
Mad's fingers closed on her shoulder, and she spun quickly enough to jerk away from his touch. He stood, frozen, his hand still in the air, and it was the look in those beautiful brown eyes that snapped her self-control.
Wary. Cautious. Like she was a skittish creature he was trying not to startle.
Jade stepped closer, into his personal space. So close that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and that was the point. To make him feel big, to make him feel dominant.
To make him feel guilty, because he was imagining her sliding down the front of his body. And she did, running her fingers along the outsides of his legs as she sank gracefully to her knees. "Is this what you want, Mad?"
If lust had been the only thing filling his eyes, she might have eased open his pants and taken him between her lips right there. She could already taste him, salty and warm, could imagine the noises he'd make as she took him deep and made him come.
And then, with the taste of him on her tongue, she'd have to listen to his self-recrimination and apologies.
She wrapped her fingers around the hilt of his boot knife. And when he dragged her back to her feet, the denial forming on his lips, she twisted her wrist and rested the tip against his balls.
His eyes went wide. "Jade—"
"No," she said, letting the chill of anger fill her voice. "I'm done being treated like some broken toy you wish you didn't want to play with."
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. "I'm not—"
She pressed a little harde
r, and he stopped. Good, at least he wasn't stupid.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said instead.
She hated the earnestness in his voice. It threatened to shake her resolve, because he meant so well. But his well-meaning solicitousness was killing her. "I spent seven years keeping a psychopath wrapped around my little finger. If you think you present a challenge after that, your ego is even bigger than your cock, and I'm happy to trim either for you."
Mad's chest heaved. Something dark flashed behind his eyes. He leaned in, even with the knife precariously close to his balls, and his warm breath danced over her lips. "I still don't want to hurt you."
"You can't," she lied.
He didn't challenge her. No, he did something so much worse.
He kissed her.
It didn't seem real at first. The softness of his mouth on hers, the sweetness of the contact. So careful, so restrained, but she couldn't blame it on his reticence this time. Not when she was holding a knife to pieces of him he'd rather not lose.
It was his tongue that undid her. The tiniest lick across her lower lip, as if he was testing her, tasting her, and her hand trembled. She'd shown him her spine, steel and all, and she wasn't prepared for his response.
She dropped her hand so she wouldn't cut him, and he rewarded her by cradling the back of her head, his strong fingers splaying wide as he tried to deepen the kiss.
It was the memory of Scarlet that had her pressing her lips together and turning her face. His mouth ended up on her jaw instead, and that was even worse. His teeth teased over her skin in the faintest of nips, and pleasure tingled all the way to her toes.
"I have to go," she whispered. "Scarlet is waiting for me."
"I know." Mad released her, letting his fingers slide through her hair before stepping back. "She asked me to check on Avery for you. Her patron's house is locked down, but secure."
To Mad or Scarlet, that might mean safe. Neither of them would understand that the greatest danger to Avery had always lived within the four walls of the estate—and within her own heart.
That, at least, was a vulnerability Jade never intended to share.
Chapter Four
The best thing about Sector Four—and, in turn, about the O'Kanes—wasn't brotherhood or belonging or any of the other shit Dallas liked to trot out in his recruitment speeches. It was space.
Not physical space, though Scarlet would be the first person to admit that nothing would drive a person nuts faster than being crammed into two rooms with six other people. No, the most brilliant part of O'Kane's setup was that he gave people space to relax, to be themselves, to pursue hobbies and interests outside of work.
Which was why she was perched on the roof of the main building just before sundown, with a cold beer in one hand and the scent of grilled meat filling the air. Because what the O'Kanes liked to do more than anything else was party, even when the party in question was neither violent nor obscene.
Honestly, it was a bit of a marvel. Their collective reputation painted them as savage libertines, only content when they were fighting or fucking. Yet here they were, kicking back at a gathering that most people would consider harmless, even by Eden's rigid moral standards.
"I don't get it," Six said, cradling her own beer between her hands. "I've seen Trix brain a man with a fucking brick. How does she get squeamish over butchering a couple of chickens?"
Scarlet grinned. "Maybe she likes animals more than people. I know I do."
"Then you haven't met many roosters." Six leaned in and lifted her sleeve, showing off a pale, thin scar on the inside of her elbow. "I almost lost a fight to one when I was seven. Those things'll tear you up faster than Bren in a bad mood."
"But they're honest about it. They're never going to smile sweet while they stick a blade between your ribs."
"Fair enough." Six stretched out her legs and slumped back in her chair. "But they taste damn good. Didn't exactly have a lot of chicken in Three, did we?"
"Nope." They never had a lot of anything. Sometimes it was hard to really believe those days were over. It was even harder to let go of them.
"You'll have plenty now." Hawk dropped into the seat beside Scarlet and snagged a beer out of the bucket. "One thing you can count on chickens to do is make more chickens. Things are moving along nicely on the new farm."
Some of Hawk's family—a few sisters, along with a handful of women he'd called his stepmothers—had moved out to the edge of Sector Four and set up a farm over the winter. It was a surprisingly beneficial arrangement for everyone. Dallas gained easier access to the produce and meat he needed, and the women were paid handsomely for their experience and labor.
They were on their own, most of them for the first time, and loving it. Scarlet envied them. What would it be like to get your first taste of independence like that? Where failure meant fewer eggs or not enough strawberries for Dallas's favorite jam, but no one was going to get hurt or starve?
She'd never know.
"One thing I miss?" She winked at Hawk. "Bacon. Tell me your sisters know how to make it."
Hawk grinned. "The first pigs should be old enough in a few weeks. I'll tell them to save you some, if you keep Six from bringing anyone else out on butchering day."
Six made a face and a rude gesture.
Soft laughter came from behind Scarlet as a familiar touch brushed the back of her neck. "I'm glad I made it in time for the family squabble."
"If you missed it, we'd have another one just for you." She reached for Jade's wrist and tumbled her into her lap. "I missed you."
Jade smiled and slid an arm around her shoulders. "I got caught up with Dallas this afternoon. He has me and Noelle going through his files on the council. Again."
"Find anything new on the bastards?" She slipped her fingers into Jade's hair, relishing the feel of the thick, heavy strands.
"Nothing he can use right now." Jade stole Scarlet's beer and took a tiny sip. "Is this Rachel's latest batch? It's good."
"Mmm. I asked her for something a little—" A whistling noise tickled at Scarlet's ears, so out of place and wrong that it stopped her cold. "What the fuck is that?"
Jade frowned. "What is what?"
Across the roof, Cruz shot to his feet. "Inside!" he barked. "Everyone get the fuck inside. Now."
Beneath the scrambling footsteps and startled questions, the sound grew louder. It pulled Scarlet to her feet, her away from Jade's frantic hands, toward the edge of the roof.
In the distance, something was tracking through the wispy clouds, dark against the deep blue and gold of the sunset. Scarlet watched, petrified and cold, so cold, as it arced through the sky.
"Scarlet!"
A scuffle sounded behind her, followed by a soft grunt of pain. Jade reached her side as Cruz shouted, "I've got them. Go!"
The tallest buildings in Three were squat compared to Four, and her vantage point offered her an unobstructed view of the first strike landing in the center of Sector Two. It flared with dust and debris, a giant cloud billowing up with surreal speed. Spellbound, Scarlet stared as hungry fire flickered to life beneath it, traveling out in a perfect circle of blazing orange and red destruction.
Cruz hit Jade first, shoving her into Scarlet before bearing them both to the rough surface of the roof. A split second later, the blast hit with deafening force, rattling the tables and chairs. Scarlet clamped her hands over her ears, not to block out the sound, but the sick chill creeping up her spine.
There would be more. There were always more.
Cruz dragged them both up and to the door. Scarlet scrambled down the stairs in a numb haze, Jade's hand clenched in hers. They stumbled against the wall when another explosion rocked the building, and she met Jade's terrified gaze for one heart-stopping moment.
"Basement," Cruz said tersely, already herding them down the last flight.
Downstairs was chaos. Worried conversation formed an incoherent hum. The cries of Flash and Amira's baby rose above it, loud and sc
ared even though they tried to soothe her.
Movement in the corner drew Scarlet's attention. Mad had both arms locked around a struggling, wild-eyed Lex. "You can't—"
"Adrian, I swear to Christ, if you don't let me go, I will kill you."
Jade's fingers clamped around Scarlet's wrist like iron. "We have to go. The girls in the houses—" Her voice cracked.
"We can't," Dallas said, brushing past Scarlet to reach Mad and Lex. He gripped her shoulders. "They're still dropping bombs."
Lex went still, her expression one of agonized torment. "Declan."
"I know, darling." He shifted his touch to her face, cupping her cheeks. "Cruz and Bren are gathering supplies. As soon as the skies clear, we'll be over there."
"No." She clawed at his wrists, though she didn't pull away. "It'll be too late. You know they'll only stop when it's too late."
Dallas dragged her into his arms and held tight.
Scarlet recognized the look in Lex's eyes—the hopelessness, the sheer, impotent rage. She'd lived it before, and it tugged at her now, reaching straight through her shock to wrap an icy hand around her throat.
Her vision wobbled and went black around the edges as the memories rose like a wave of nausea. The first jarring impact that had startled her out of her bed. The shock wave that had shattered the windows, slicing her face and arms. Fighting through streets as bright as day, alight with the sick, hot glow of burning buildings. Screams and sobs, terror and confusion.
Standing outside the factory where her father worked—or the hole where it once had been. Looking up into a solemn, wrinkled face, wet with tears. Don't look, the old man had told her gravely. It's nothin' you need to see.
The blackness swallowed her, blotting out the world for a moment. She swayed, and strong arms enveloped her, along with the scent of leather and wood and whiskey.
Mad. "Breathe for me, Scarlet."
She couldn't. The darkness was closing in, cinching around her.
"Scarlet." Jade framed her face, her hands comforting and familiar. "Look at me."
Oh, Christ. Jade grew up in Two. She had friends there, and Scarlet was the one giving in to weakness. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice cracking. She steeled her voice and tried again. "I'm sorry, baby."