Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  She couldn't blame them for simple reality. In truth, it was on her, too. They'd done everything right, given her as much as they could, but she never felt that spark, the undeniable need that meant she'd never be whole without them.

  She sighed aloud. "What a clusterfuck."

  "What's that?" Rachel stretched past her to retrieve a bottle of tequila and upended it over a line of shot glasses. The amber liquid poured out of the metal spout, splashing down into the glasses and spilling over the rims. A guy standing beside her customer leaned up and licked the liquor from the bar, and Rachel shoved him back with a hand on his forehead and a look of disgust.

  Jeni stifled a laugh. "Nothing, just…thinking to myself."

  She could have told Rachel the truth, and she had a feeling the woman would understand. It was at least partially due to her that Jeni had pursued Dallas and Lex—because Rachel and Ace and Cruz had their own beautiful, epic thing.

  But comparing them wasn't fair at all. It wasn't as if Ace had become part of Cruz and Rachel's relationship, or Rachel had fallen in with something Ace and Cruz already had going, or even that Cruz had stumbled into the middle of Ace and Rachel and their ongoing flirtation. None of that worked, because none of it could. The only way the three of them could be happy was to be together, as one.

  Dallas and Lex would be fine without her. And Jeni would be fine without them, too. But she still believed in fairy tales. She had to, with so many of them walking around the compound in Sector Four.

  Rachel turned to stuff a wad of cash into the register, and the bar licker hopped up again, his arm outstretched toward the row of bottles just out of reach. Before Jeni could get rid of him, he jerked back with a choked grunt.

  Hawk stood beside him, one hand twisted in the back of the man's shirt, holding him on his toes with no apparent effort. "Was he going for a bottle?"

  It was the first time he'd really spoken to her, and his voice was like a solid thing, a touch, raising goose bumps on her arms. "Yeah."

  The would-be thief made another frantic noise, but Hawk had already grasped his hand. Jeni looked away, but the crack of fingers snapping followed, almost drowned out by a howl of pain.

  "Get the fuck out," Hawk growled, tossing the man to the floor. "Next time it'll be your neck."

  The guy scrambled to his feet, clutching his wounded hand to his body. Jeni watched his retreating form as he ran for the exit. "Ouch," she whispered.

  "You okay?"

  Hawk was six feet of solid muscle and seriousness. Right now, he was eyeing her with an unmistakable expression of concern. "Better than that guy." She grabbed a clean glass and held it up. "Buy you a drink?"

  He smiled, just the tiniest softening of those firm lips. "Sure."

  Her heart stuttered, but the rest of her body lit up like she was made of paper and he'd struck a match. She poured him a double and pushed it across the bar, her fingers lingering on the glass.

  He reached for it and froze when their hands touched. Even in the dim lighting, she saw him flush as he murmured an apology and hastily tossed back the shot.

  She refilled his glass. "I'm Jeni."

  "I know." The words came automatically, but he clenched his jaw as soon as they were out, as if he wanted to snatch them back. "I'm Hawk."

  "I know," she echoed. "But I didn't know you were bouncing here at the Circle. I thought you were busy with the farming projects."

  "I am. Busy, I mean. Not bouncing." He shrugged and jerked his head toward the door. "But I saved Six the trip."

  "Then I owe you one."

  He shrugged again. "Hey. It was something I could fix. Not a lot of that going around right now."

  Tension left every line of his body rigid. She'd heard rumors about the problems back in his home sector—there were whispers of discontent, even of revolt, amongst the farmers in Sector Six. He had to be worried about his family.

  She rubbed his shoulder, then brushed the back of her hand over his bearded cheek. "It'll work out."

  The flush in his cheeks deepened, but he didn't pull away, and his eyes were oddly intent as he met her gaze. "I'm meeting Jas. You got any of Nessa's better stuff back there?"

  "I think so." Jeni sorted through the bottles beneath the bar until she found one marked with one of Ace's special labels. She held it out, acutely aware of the way Hawk was watching her. "I get off at two. If you're free later."

  His eyes widened, but his expression was unreadable as he took the bottle. "I have to head back out to the farm after this. I already promised." Regret colored his words, but so did more than a little nervousness.

  "Another time," she told him easily. She'd never met an O'Kane who got flustered by an invitation to fuck, but it was part of Hawk's charm. Her attraction was inextricably bound up in finding out what kind of man he was beneath that impenetrable surface.

  She'd always been good at reading people, but she couldn't read him. And holy fuck, did she want to.

  Chapter Eight

  Isabela's family arrived in a caravan.

  Five adults, nine children, and a small army of drivers and nannies piled out of the cars and into the atrium. Mad didn't have time to warn Scarlet, Jade, or Dylan before the children descended on them in a wave—five girls and three boys from three to fourteen, with the ninth child, a sweet baby girl Mad had never seen before, propped on his cousin's hip.

  Isabela beamed at him as she yanked him down to plant a solid kiss on his cheek. "Adrian, I've missed you so. How are you?"

  "Isabela." He kissed her in return and tickled the baby's cheek, smiling when she giggled. Isabela had the dark hair and coloring of the Rios family, but the little girl had black curls and the same adorable smattering of freckles as Isabela's older wife, Makayla.

  Not that it mattered. Every baby born in the family was an equal part of it, no matter who had provided the DNA. Isabela was a traditionalist, and her husbands and wives believed every bit as fervently.

  The baby grabbed Mad's finger, and he laughed. "Who's this little sweetheart?"

  "Rebekah Gabriela." Isabela arched one eyebrow. "You'd have met her already if you came home more often."

  That didn't take long. It never did, but Mad didn't want to fight with her, not before he had no choice. "I've been busy. But I'm here now, and I brought some friends."

  "Oh, really?" Her chiding tone turned decidedly interested. "Special friends?"

  "O'Kane friends," he deflected, turning to where they stood.

  The wave of children had washed past him and run into the newcomers. Jade was talking easily with the two eldest girls while one of the toddlers tugged at her fingers, trying to get her attention. Dylan was kneeling, surrounded, grinning widely at the rest of the younger children as they bombarded him with questions.

  Shock froze Mad in place for several heartbeats. He couldn't remember ever seeing Dylan so relaxed and comfortable—not while he was sober, at least.

  No, Scarlet was the one wearing the expression he'd expected from Dylan—sheer wariness, especially when one of the youngest girls toddled over to smile up at her.

  That drove him to action. He swooped up the little girl and settled her on his hip before sliding his hand to the small of Scarlet's back. It was too revealing a gesture, too possessive, but now that he knew what it felt like to touch her for real, he had to steal every touch he could get. "Come and meet my cousin, Isabela. Matriarch of this madness."

  "Hello." Scarlet stretched out a hand, still wary but attempting a smile.

  Not content with a handshake, Isabela pulled her into an awkward half-hug. She widened her eyes at Mad over Scarlet's shoulder and mouthed, She's adorable.

  God, this was going to go so, so wrong.

  But it was already going, so when Isabela released Scarlet, he turned her again. "These are Isabela's husbands, John and Leo. And her wives, Makayla and Victoria."

  "It's nice to meet you all." Scarlet smiled again, but this time it almost looked like a grimace.

  "Come
on." Makayla touched Isabela's arm gently. "There's plenty of time for introductions. I think Maricela wants to speak with you."

  Victoria reached out, and Mad handed over the toddler. John and Leo paused to nod at him—nods that stopped shy of being bows only because they knew better—and then helped gather the children and herd them deeper into the house.

  When they were gone, Mad stepped closer to Scarlet and lowered his voice. "Sorry. I never know how to warn people."

  "You shouldn't have to warn people about your family." She shook her head. "It's not them. It's me."

  He wanted to touch her again, to tug her against his side and stroke and pet until the tension left her body. But they were still in the entryway, and if they didn't follow the rest of the family, someone would be back to find them.

  He settled for an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon, Scarlet. Unless you grew up on one of the farms out in Six or Seven, that many babies is a damn unusual thing to see this close to the wall. I'm not even used to it."

  Dylan joined them. His fingers skimmed Mad's arm, then dragged gently through Scarlet's hair. A brief touch, but one with purpose—after what had happened between them, there was no going back to casual indifference. "Holding up?"

  Scarlet wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm fine. They're children, not zombies."

  There was that charming smile again, quick and easy enough to steal a person's breath. "Wasn't talking to you."

  There were far worse fates than to have a family that pried and poked and just wanted you to come home to take your place as a pampered prince. There was growing up in Eden, like Dylan had. There was growing up an orphan, like Scarlet.

  And Jade—she looked almost at peace this morning. Tired but steady, with all of her masks back in place. Her resilience mocked his brooding pain. She'd dug children she had helped to raise out of the rubble.

  All he had to face were live, happy ones who wanted to love him.

  "I'll be fine," he promised. "Unless we don't go into dinner, and then Maricela will have one of the guards strangle me in my sleep for ruining her first big dinner party."

  Jade smiled. "I like her already."

  The party was far from formal. Dinner was being served in the big dining room rather than the smaller, more intimate one Gideon usually preferred, but the table had been set with the colorful, casual family dishes. It almost felt like any other day, cheerful and chaotic—until Maricela steered Mad toward the chair at the head of the table.

  It was only a gesture. Gideon had settled in the seat at the opposite end, the one Maricela usually claimed. If he resisted, he'd set the tone for the meal—tense and unhappy. But sinking into Gideon's chair was a reminder that too many of the devout in Sector One felt that Mad belonged in Gideon's place. Permanently.

  At the other end of the table, Gideon lifted his glass with a tiny smile to acknowledge that truth—and the fact that he was utterly unthreatened by it. Gideon wasn't jealous of power. He didn't need to grasp at it like the other leaders or fight to consolidate it. If Mad stood up and announced he was coming home to take his place as leader, Gideon would welcome him with open arms.

  Sometimes knowing that scared Mad more than anything else.

  He hid it with a smile as he lifted his own goblet. The wine was sweeter than he normally liked it, but maybe he'd been drinking whiskey for so long, he'd lost the taste for it. He drained the wine and refused to let his smile wobble when Leo leapt to refill it.

  Isabela eyed Dylan over the rim of her glass. "Are you from Sector Four, Mr. Jordan?"

  "Dr. Jordan," Rosa piped up from her perch on Makayla's lap. "He went to school and everything."

  Dylan's smile wasn't quite as open as the ones outside. "I grew up in the city, actually. In Eden."

  Mad stepped in to save him from further interrogation. "None of them are from Sector Four, in fact. Jade grew up in Two, and Scarlet in Three."

  "Jade's a princess," seven-year-old Susie said. "We took plants from Mama's garden to the new house, and the lady who runs it said Jade owns half of Eden."

  It sounded like the sort of comment that hadn't been intended for young ears. Hyperbole, maybe, except for the way Jade's face froze. Subtle, and replaced in a heartbeat by her pleasant, engaging mask.

  Now Mad wondered how much of Eden she did own.

  She answered Susie with a warm smile. "Not quite half. And I was never a princess. I know a few, though."

  "So do you, Susie," Gideon supplied. "Your mother, for one. And your Tia Maricela."

  "I'm not a princess." Maricela leaned closer to Susie. "I'm a superhero. But shh." She laid a finger over her lips, and Susie dissolved into giggles.

  The laughter eased some of the awkwardness as the food arrived. The children chattered excitedly, competing for the attention of parents and beloved aunts and uncles and even strangers. Dylan and Jade fielded most of the questions, and when Mad snuck a hand under the table to grip Scarlet's, she rubbed her leg against his and winked.

  Maricela hadn't taken any chances. Dishes piled high with Mad's favorite recipes filled the table. Their grandmother's mole and stuffed poblanos, his mother's carne asada. Even a loaf of Irish brown bread fresh from the oven, and Mad remembered his mother's smile as she scoured pre-Flare cookbooks to find the recipe. Weeks of searching, all to give his father the comfort of a memory from his childhood.

  Carter Maddox had married into the Rios family, but he'd never believed in the religion or the Prophet. He'd loved Adriana for herself. As a flesh-and-blood woman, not a princess or a saint.

  And when the Prophet had forbidden his followers from organizing a party to rescue his daughter and grandson, Carter Maddox had disobeyed. He'd walked into certain death to give his wife and son a chance at life.

  No one in Sector One got tattoos of Carter. No one praised his sacrifice or counted him among their saints. He might have saved Mad's life, but his disobedience carried a price. No one remembered him. No one spoke his name.

  No one but the son who'd taken that name as his own.

  The room felt too warm. Mad reached for his glass and barely felt it beneath his trembling fingers. He needed to be calm. He couldn't vent his anger, not here, in front of the children. In front of family who couldn't change the past. "The food smells good, Maricela."

  She blushed, pleased. "I chose the menu, but the real surprise is the flan. I made it myself."

  "She's becoming quite accomplished," Gideon added from the far side of the table. "Not just in the kitchen. You should take them into the gardens after dinner and show them your sculptures, Maricela."

  "No." She covered her cheeks. "Gideon."

  "Stop being so modest." Gideon's smile was proud enough to belong to a father instead of a big brother—though with the difference in their ages, that wasn't surprising. Gideon was already nineteen when his mother brought Maricela home, an orphaned baby girl who had stolen everyone's heart with her first sunny laugh.

  Jade was the one who stepped in to save her. "What sort of sculpting do you do?"

  "Clay. I tried my hand at pottery, but the wheel makes me clumsy." She glanced at Mad. "Lately, I've been making milagros."

  Scarlet tilted her head. "Milagros?"

  "Charms that you leave on shrines or holy sites," Mad told her. "It's something my grandfather started. His grandparents came from Mexico…" He hesitated, unsure if Scarlet even knew what pre-Flare countries were. Plenty of sector orphans grew up ignorant of the world that had existed before the lights went out.

  There was no confusion in her expression, so he continued. "That's where he got the idea. He was a scholar before the Flares. He studied world religions, so he knew exactly how to build one."

  "Adrian," Isabela snapped. "Don't be uncharitable. It's blasphemous."

  He didn't usually provoke Isabela, but he was still so warm. The room was impossibly stuffy, closing in on him, and his temper shredded around the edges. "So is refusing to call me by the name I chose."

  "Apologize, mi hijo." H
is mother's voice tickled his ears. "I raised you better than this."

  Mad froze, his heart pounding so hard the whole table had to hear it. He scanned the faces at the table—Jade's concern, Scarlet's confusion, Dylan's carefully blank expression. Gideon's steely disapproval—even if Isabela stepped out of line, he'd defend his sister. The children had fallen silent, picking up on the tension from the adults.

  None of the faces matched that voice. He didn't know if he was relieved or not.

  The next gentle whisper came from the empty space to his left. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

  "Mad?" Jade asked softly.

  He ignored her and looked to his left, and the space wasn't empty anymore.

  Adriana Rios was radiant. The artwork never did her justice. Even if it captured her long black hair and warm brown eyes, her heart-shaped face and her open smile—even if it captured her beauty, it was never her.

  The truth of Adriana had always been in the imperfections that art smoothed away. The scar across her cheek that she'd earned while protecting a younger cousin in the first days after the Flares. The lopsided eyebrows, one slightly higher than the other, so that she always looked like she had one arched.

  Her hands. Not smooth and soft and cradling a heart, but work-roughened and strong. Adriana hadn't ruled her people from a comfortable distance. She'd dug in the dirt with them, taught the poor how to cultivate gardens to feed their families. She'd built them shelters with her own two hands. She'd celebrated their triumphs and mourned their tragedies.

  And when they needed someone to fight for them, she'd done that, too. The gentle depictions never captured the fire in her eyes, the sharp bite of her temper, the depth of her rage when faced with cruelty and corruption.

  She was more than what they remembered. And she was standing two feet from his elbow.

  "You look like me," she murmured. "I always thought you'd look like your father."

  The room swam. Mad clenched his eyes shut and wiped his hands over his face. They came away damp—he was sweating. Of course he was. It was so damn hot.

  He opened his eyes, and his mother was still there.