by Kit Rocha
Next to him was Jim, the long-time leader of Sector Eight. Jim was wearing a suit too, though not as effortlessly as Ryder managed. He had more silver in his hair than the last time Mad had seen him, along with more lines bracketing his eyes. Jim's sector had benefited from the destruction of Sector Three by becoming Eden's only source of manufacturing—too vital to destroy. He had to be wondering who benefited from this destruction...and how it would hurt him.
Dallas and Lex sat across from them, with Bren a silent shadow behind them, and Mad slipped into the chair next to Lex's as Gideon finished his summary of events. "I judged the current situation too pressing to wait for Colby and Scott to overcome their internal issues. If anyone has a problem with this…"
Dallas made a rude noise. "Their votes have been cancelling each other out since they climbed into their daddies' chairs. We'll get more done without their bickering bullshit."
Jim regarded them with a mild expression. "They do seem determined to render themselves ineffective, don't they?"
"Unfortunately." Gideon studied them all with an aura of unflappable calm that Mad had never been able to emulate. "We each have our well-guarded sources of information. I suggest now is the time to share anything we know about why this happened."
Jim's features hardened. "The one person who could tell us is gone."
Lex leaned forward in her chair. "We don't know that. We still haven't found Cerys's body—"
It was Jim's turn to snort. "Body? You won't find one. Cerys was in the wind before the bombs fell."
Dallas raised an eyebrow. "Is that speculation or inside knowledge?"
"I had an agent in Orchid House. Does that surprise you, O'Kane?"
"Not really." Dallas glanced at Ryder. "It's a habit of yours."
Jim only smiled. "What they wanted is irrelevant. What matters is that they were willing to wipe the Council's personal playground off the map. If they'll go that far, none of us is safe." He paused. "That means it's time to act."
"You ready to lead the charge against the walls of heaven?" Dallas drawled, before tilting his head toward Gideon. "No offense."
"I'm not offended." Gideon shrugged easily. "Heaven is beyond the reach of men who slaughter innocents. Eden is earthly, and very, very mortal."
"And I was ready forty goddamn years ago," Jim growled. "The problem then? Everyone wanted to wait and see how things shook out before making a move. I think we've answered that question."
Mad knew Dallas agreed with him. Everyone in the O'Kane inner circle understood, though they left it unspoken. Sometimes Mad thought the reason they all lived and loved so damn hard was because they could feel it just around the corner—the end of the eternal party. The moment when everything changed, because they were balanced on the edge of a cliff and a gust of wind could send them tumbling over.
"That's dangerous talk," Dallas said slowly. "Way more dangerous if you don't sleep surrounded by all the factories that make the pretty baubles Eden can't live without."
"That's an excellent point." Even when he spoke quietly, Ryder's voice filled the room. He rose, walked to the window, and stared out at the gardens. "Jim and I are the ones with sectors Eden will want to preserve. But you're the ones who can hurt them the most."
"How do you figure?"
Ryder turned. "We have goods they want. Factories they can use. But all they have to do is get rid of us, take over our facilities, and no one would notice. You? You're a legend. If they shoot you in the fucking head, everyone will notice."
Lex stared at him with a dawning look of comprehension. "And Eden will have made a martyr."
He nodded. "With Gideon, that may as well be literal. Can you imagine how the faithful would rise up?"
Gideon didn't have to imagine, and neither did Mad. The faithful had risen up once before—not against Eden, but against detractors within their own sector. They'd torn through their enemies in a holy rage, seeking vengeance on those who'd spilled the blood of their beloved Adriana.
And Gideon was looking thoughtful.
"No," Mad rasped roughly. "Don't put those ideas in his head."
"Mad—" Gideon began.
"No," he repeated more forcefully. "Before you decide to walk into a hail of bullets for the good of the revolution, you better pick your successor. Because it won't be me. You'll be dumping this sector and the whole damn war on Isabela. Or God, on Maricela. Is that what you want?"
Gideon lifted one hand in a placating gesture. "I'm not planning on dying."
Which didn't mean he wouldn't take advantage of the first damn opportunity. He was as crazy as his Riders, with one foot already in the grave.
Before Mad could say as much, Dallas rapped his knuckles on the table. "Listen, martyrs and holy revolutions are nice and all, but while our loyal followers are trying to take the wall apart with their bare hands, Eden will be dropping bombs on them. Talk about taking a knife to a gunfight."
"Painfully true." Lex shrugged. "We may have dreams, but they have a well-trained, well-supplied army. One that just laid a sector to waste."
"That's something we'll have to figure out," Jim allowed. "Look, I'm not asking you to suit up tomorrow. What I need to know is, when the time comes, are you in?"
Dallas looked at Lex for a long moment. "We're sympathetic," he said finally. "But I'm not Gideon. I run a gang, not a religion. They didn't sign on for war, and I refuse to make that call without talking to them first."
"Someone should be here to speak for Sector Two," Gideon said. "Lex?"
She shook her head. "They can't think about anything like this right now. They're just trying to survive."
Gideon inclined his head. "What do we tell Scott and Colby?"
"We don't," Jim said. "Eden has increased tithes on Sectors Six and Seven again, and the farm workers have done the math. By the time they give the city their portion of the harvest this fall, there won't be enough left to carry them through. They're already rebelling, refusing to sow the fields, and I don't blame them. They're staring down death either way."
Dallas tapped his fingers against the polished wood. "You don't sound worried. Can I assume you made plans for this eventuality?"
The man's frown deepened. "Of course I did. But I'm not looking forward to watching two sectors full of people starve to death."
"You going soft on us, Jim?"
"Dallas," Gideon chided.
"Sorry." Dallas leaned forward. "What if I said I have someone? He has enough sway to talk people into putting crops in the ground...if he could tell them they might get a chance to keep some of the harvest."
"That gives us a timeline," Ryder noted.
"Yes, it does." Jim rose and buttoned his suit jacket. "I'm willing to make that promise."
Dallas got up as well. "Then maybe we should meet again in a week or two. Make a list of our respective assets so everyone knows where we stand. And then I'll make some promises of my own."
Ryder sighed. "In the meantime, I'll be sending medical supplies for your hospital, Gideon."
"They're appreciated." Gideon extended his hand. "If your men need an escort, mine are available."
"We'll make it, but thanks."
"Good." Gideon waved an arm toward the door. "I'll walk you out."
As soon as the echo of their footsteps had faded, Dallas dropped back into his chair with a groan. "Jesus Christ."
Lex stared at the polished surface of the table. "Not to freak anyone out," she said faintly, "but did we just sit here and plot a fucking revolution?"
"Nah." Dallas let his head fall back and closed his eyes. "But we sure as fuck got recruited into one already in progress."
"How long do you think he's been preparing for this?"
Mad had seen the steely glint in Jim's eyes. The satisfaction. "You heard the man. For the last forty years."
"That's Jim—getting ready for war while everyone else twiddled their damn thumbs." Dallas scrubbed his hand over his face. "I know we were planning to spend the night, but
we can't. We've got to get our asses back to Four. Talk to Cruz first, see if this has a snowflake's chance in hell of working. He knows what Eden can bring at us."
"We all do, Declan." Lex stood. "And it isn't pretty."
"No, it isn't." He sighed and straightened. "So we finish coordinating with Gideon—"
"I can do that," Mad interrupted. "You guys have Sector Four to deal with. I'll stay here and work with Gideon."
Dallas pinned him with an uncertain look. "You sure?"
Lex studied Mad for an endless moment, then took Dallas's hand and tilted her head toward the door. "Come on. It's a long ride back, and I want to check on Avery."
"Gideon has a network connection set up over in the Riders' barracks," Mad promised. "I'll send updates."
"All right." Dallas squeezed Mad's shoulder on his way past. "We'll see you soon."
Mad didn't walk them out. They'd meet Gideon in the hallway anyway, and Mad didn't need any more time with Lex seeing straight through him.
Instead, he left the office. The second floor had almost a dozen lavishly appointed guest rooms and suites, but the third floor had always been reserved for family.
His skin prickled as he turned left at the top of the stairs. He hadn't been up here in years, but it was like walking into his past. Nothing had changed—nothing but him. He was taller, older. More tired.
More cynical.
His goal was the door at the end of the hall, the door he'd run to as a child after every terrifying nightmare and with every proud accomplishment. He could smell the candles before he touched the doorknob. Rose and vanilla, a combination that still lanced the pain of loss straight through him.
Mad took a deep, bracing breath and opened the door.
The bed was gone. So was the giant, shabby chair, angled to catch the light from the window, where Adriana had sat and read Mad fantastical pre-Flare children's books. Those books had vanished, too.
Generations of dead family members stared down at him. Elaborate paintings of his great-grandparents, his grandfather, and two of the Prophet's wives who had passed away before him. Of Gideon's aunt, who'd died during the civil war. Of Mad's uncle, who'd taken a bullet meant for the Prophet.
Candles flickered in tall glass vases, and the stripped bookshelves beneath them overflowed with offerings. Flowers from the family garden, both dried and fresh. Jewels and statues and charms—so many charms. Not the painted plastic ones the temple sold to worshippers who wanted to leave a prayer on one of the shrines, but delicately shaped masterpieces in silver and gold and painted clay.
Mad's mother didn't have a painting. Instead, the design from the tattoo the red-haired man had displayed so proudly in Two was replicated here, painted over the large oval mirror on his mother's vanity. Her face stared at him, gentle and loving, as her hands cradled that damn glowing heart.
She wasn't the only Rios to rip out her heart for the people who worshipped her. But she would always be the first.
"The guests are gone."
Mad didn't turn to face Gideon, but traced his finger over one of the golden charms affixed to the wooden frame of the mirror. "Except me."
"You're never a guest, Mad."
Gideon was the only one in the family who called him that. The only one who'd ever acknowledged that Mad's break with Sector One ran deeper than a difference of opinion, and that Adrian Rios had died with his parents.
But accepting his repudiation of the family name didn't mean Gideon was ready to accept defeat. "If you say so."
"I do." Gideon came to stand next to him and studied the mirror. "It's the hardest thing we have to do, you know."
"What?"
"Share them." He touched the frame around Adriana's portrait. "It's the price of hope. But you've been paying it longer than any of us, and without the rewards."
"I'm an O'Kane," Mad retorted. "I pay a much lower price for some much sweeter rewards."
"So Dallas always claims." Gideon let his hand fall. "Isabela wanted to bring her family to see you tonight, but I told her you and your guests need a night to settle in. Think you can manage a family dinner tomorrow?"
Oh, Christ. The thought of introducing Scarlet, Jade, and Dylan to Maricela was tense enough. Gideon's middle sister Isabela was something else entirely—a true believer who embraced Sector One and everything it stood for. Her two husbands and two wives were breathlessly devoted, and Mad was pretty sure any of them would willingly walk in front of bullets if Isabela asked it of them.
His hesitation dragged on too long, and a chill crept into Gideon's gaze. As much affection as he held for Mad, any hint of disrespect toward one of his sisters would spawn a protective fury far more terrifying than God's wrath.
You could spurn the Prophet, the religion, even Gideon himself, but only a fool messed with Isabela or Maricela. "A family dinner sounds great."
"Good." Gideon swung an arm around his shoulders. "Maricela has the cooks preparing food for you to eat in your room tonight, and she's already sent a guard for your friends. Come out to the barracks with me. The Riders'll be happy to see you."
The Riders' barracks was the only damn place on the Rios estate where Mad felt at home, probably because it was the closest thing Sector One had to the Broken Circle. Casual brotherhood, intense loyalty, and a dedication to living hard while you still had a life to live.
Until his people were safely under one roof, it was as close to comfort as he'd get here.
Chapter Seven
The only thing worse than being sober was being sober and out of your element.
Dylan surveyed the cavernous room through bleary eyes. The bed alone was the size of his first apartment, easily big enough to accommodate a dozen or more people. A nod to the plural marriages common in the sector, and undoubtedly something that Mad found useful.
The man did not like to sleep alone.
Dylan tossed his bag on the bed. The sounds of running water and splashing floated through the closed bathroom door, so he closed his eyes and imagined Mad under the sluicing water, golden wet skin and dripping hair. If the bed was the size of a fucking room, Christ only knew how big the tub would be.
He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, when a feminine voice rose above the splashing. Not surprising—except there was something about the tone and cadence that Dylan knew as well as his own name.
Jade.
He was still turning over the implications in his mind—Jade, in Mad's bathroom, naked and laughing—when another voice joined hers, this one in song. The lilting notes prickled over the back of his neck, and his jaw clenched as he opened the door.
The tub was huge. It dominated one corner of the bathroom, big enough to swim in and so deep that four wide, tiled steps led up to the edge. Jade had her hair piled on top of her head and her eyes closed, and Scarlet arched an eyebrow at him as she continued washing Jade's back.
"Well," he said pleasantly. "This is awkward."
Scarlet blinked innocently. "Is it?"
"Scarlet," Jade chided. "Be nice. He's had a long few days." Her eyes drifted open, and she smiled gently. "Do you need the tub, Dylan?"
"Not at all." He propped one arm against the doorjamb. The water was clear, with no bubbles or bath milks to obscure his view, and he watched as the water rushed and flowed around Jade's breasts.
Her breathing sped. A flush that had nothing to do with the hot water spread across her chest, and she turned abruptly, splashing waves across the surface of the bath.
Scarlet touched her cheek. "Ignore him. It's the worst thing you could do. He gets off on control, but he doesn't deserve it if he won't ask for it."
The words stung, not because they were harmful but because they were true. "The world isn't one of your songs, Scarlet. People are complicated."
"People are simple," Jade disagreed. "We're selfish and we're scared. Coming together in a way that doesn't hurt is the complicated part."
"Impossible, even," Dylan teased.
Jade stroked her
fingers through Scarlet's hair. "Not always."
He had mostly the O'Kanes to judge by, and not a single one of their golden couples had come together without hellish pain. "Am I wrong, Scarlet?" he challenged softly.
She lowered her eyes.
Jade glanced back at him, the shy arousal gone from her eyes. "I suppose I have a different threshold for pain."
Dylan shoved his hands through this hair. As satisfying as it was to poke at Scarlet, to test her limits, the hurt on Jade's face was unmistakable. An unfortunate side effect, and one he didn't care for. "Don't listen to me," he offered. "I'm an asshole."
One elegant eyebrow rose. "I'll remember that next time you're issuing commands."
Retreat was a perfectly valid, perfectly reasonable strategy. He took a step back. "Let me know when you're finished with the bathroom, would you?"
"Of course."
She turned back to Scarlet, and Dylan closed the door quietly behind him. Whatever Mad was thinking, he'd clearly lost his fucking mind.
But when Mad arrived a few minutes later, he looked sane enough. A tiny army of servants followed him through the door, carrying trays weighed down with steaming dishes of food. The double doors on the far wall had been thrown wide to reveal an equally spacious sitting room with couches and plush chairs on one side and a table big enough for ten on the other.
Huge as it was, the table was groaning by the time the final dish had been situated on it. The silent servants bowed to Mad, who thanked each one by name as they filed past. His pleasant, placid expression lingered until the last one was gone.
Mad closed the door and sagged against it, smiling wanly. "Welcome to Sector One."
Dylan cleared his throat. "I think home is the word you're looking for."
"Do you?" Mad's head thumped back against the solid wood, and he closed his eyes. "You know me better than that, Dylan."
"What part of it bothers you?"
"The part where I actually knew my grandfather." Mad finally pushed away from the door and crossed the room. "At least Dallas is honest about pursuing his own pleasures."
So it wasn't the faith or the doctrine, but the perversion of it. That sounded right. "Gideon doesn't seem like the type to use people for his own gains, or at his whims."