by Kit Rocha
“Of course.”
Jeni turned and grasped the door handle, fully ready to head back into the warehouse in search of a distraction. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the high, shatterproof window. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her from wide, glazed eyes. She looked...wrecked. Not just disheveled but rattled, with none of her usual calm composure.
How long had it been since someone had torn her apart with a single kiss?
She let go of the handle and headed up the exterior stairs that led to the living quarters instead. The night was young, but there was no way she could go back to the warehouse like everything was normal, no big deal, when her world had just been turned on its side.
She'd do all that thinking she promised Hawk instead. Christ knew sleeping wasn't an option, not after that kiss. Not after those words, words that still wrapped around her, the ones that meant he wanted her, needed her, saw her—
A collar was a promise. It would be so easy to sink into it, to trust that Hawk had done enough thinking for both of them and everything would turn out okay. But she'd sworn to herself she wouldn't do it again, just let herself fall and hope like hell things didn't end in heartbreak.
So she'd think. And somehow she'd figure out what to do.
Chapter Three
Farming was in Hawk's blood. Before the guns and fighting, even before the cars, his earliest memories were of helping his mother in the kitchen garden. He couldn't have been very old; by nine or ten, most boys were out with the men, working the crops they cultivated for Eden. But no one escaped chores in Sector Six, not once they were old enough to gather eggs or pull weeds.
Working the garden in Sector Four was different. Jyoti's rooftop garden had spread across the sector and into Three, part of Dallas's long-range plan to secure against food shortages. Each garden was unique, its design driven by one overriding concern.
Space.
Back home, the kitchen garden sprawled across an area twice the size of the O'Kane compound. Here, every single inch had to count. Brutal efficiency took precedence over beauty, but the collective creativity of the O'Kanes had paid off.
The roof of the living barracks was alive with greenery. Raised beds, vertical beds, trellises—even a clever contraption Trix and Finn had assembled from burlap sewn with dozens of snug little pockets for lettuce to grow.
Usually, stepping out into the garden brought Hawk a measure of peace. The setting might be strange, but the work remained the same. Plants needed tending, needed water, or fertilizer. Needed thinning. He could do the work drunk. He could do it half-asleep. Hell, he could do it half-dead.
But he couldn't do it this morning. Not after a restless night with Jeni's taste on his lips and her voice in his dreams.
We've barely spoken, Hawk.
All that damn time worrying about Sector Four's rules and customs, wondering how to make his intentions clear, and he'd skipped the most important step. He'd spent months watching Jeni, cataloging her moods, her ever-changing costumes, and the different ways she smiled. He knew her. Maybe not enough, not nearly as well as he wanted to.
But he knew her better than she knew him. Which meant he'd fucked up. Bad.
“I think you're drowning that one.”
Hawk jerked the hose away from the raised bed he'd been watering. Jeni yelped and jumped back, but water still splashed her sandals and her legs—
He'd seen her legs before. Hell, he'd seen all of her before—her dances at the Broken Circle left little to the imagination. But last night those legs had been wrapped around him. He'd felt their lithe strength, had been tempted by it.
He could have let go of her hips, trusted her to hold herself against him as he satisfied his overwhelming need to bury both hands deep in her hair, to see just how hard he had to tighten his fists before she moaned for him.
Fucking hell.
He released the lever on the hose, and the spray of water cut off abruptly. Hawk forced his gaze to her eyes, even as the heat flooding his face told him he was blushing. Forty fucking years old, and he was blushing. “Hi.”
“Good morning.” Jeni bent over to swipe water from her skin. The wide neck of her loose, flowing blouse slipped off one shoulder, and she hauled it back into place as she straightened once again. “Lili needs some lettuce. For lunch.”
He nodded and stepped out of her way. “There's plenty of it to go around.”
“I know.” She picked up one of the baskets they used for harvesting and held it in front of her like a shield, both hands clutching the woven edge. “So. How was your night?”
It was awkward as hell, but her anxiety triggered something inside him, a need to soothe that overcame his lingering embarrassment. He gave her a little space, moving to the next raised bed to resume watering. “Not bad. I went to see if I could get back in the cage, but I ended up breaking up fights over who got the next round.”
“Oh.” She set the basket at her feet and began to pull lettuce leaves. “Lex mentioned that they may have to move to a lottery system to pick the fights. Seems like an awful lot of trouble, though.”
It sure as fuck clashed with the freewheeling, anything-goes atmosphere that had made fight night so popular. The mood was shifting week by week, turning grimmer, harsher. People flooded in like moths clustering around the only light in the darkness, desperate and scared and eager to fight to prove they were neither.
“A lottery might work,” Hawk said, but he couldn't find any conviction. The only thing that might work was another night. More chances for everyone to work off their frustration. It would solve their problems for a week, maybe two, until the pressure built again.
They'd run out of days of the week before they ran out of trouble.
“Right.” Jeni fell silent, keeping her attention focused on the hanging planter in front of her.
The awkwardness swelled. Hawk cursed his clumsiness and wished, not for the first time, for a hint of Ace's easy charm or Mad's forthright charisma. They'd be over there already, holding the basket for her, making her smile. Ace would be flirting outrageously, saying shit so obscene it should get his stubble slapped off his face but somehow just made women laugh.
The only things Hawk could talk about were cars, guns, and farming.
He finished watering the second bed and set the hose aside. The silence grew and twisted, unnatural and miserable. And it was his fault, for moving too fast, for putting her in this position. For kissing her, when he knew—he knew—that he'd want more, demand more, and that she wasn't ready.
This was his problem to fix.
He picked up the basket and held it so she wouldn't have to bend. “It's okay, you know. I don't expect an answer today. I know it'll take longer than one night.”
“That isn't—” Jeni sighed and faced him. “I feel like I'm right in the middle of something I didn't realize was happening. I'm scrambling to catch up.”
“I know.” He opened his mouth to tell her she had all the time she needed, but the words wouldn't come. Because Eden loomed to their left, the walls more innocuous in the early-morning light but still sparking a violent reminder.
No one had all the time they needed anymore.
“We could all be dead tomorrow,” she said softly, echoing his thoughts. “If you felt this way, why didn't you say something sooner?”
Because she'd belonged to Dallas and Lex. And then she hadn't, and he'd been faced with the possibility of having her.
The possibility of losing her.
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the basket. It was coarse, familiar. So were the scents of fresh lettuce, of damp earth. The buzz of insects attracted to the blooms that turned this roof into a scrap of wilderness in the middle of concrete. Not really like home, but still enough to stir memories. “Things are different in Six. Sex, marriage...”
She looked at him expectantly.
How could he explain the tangle of brutal practicality that formed the bedrock of Sector Six? “There's no courtship.
No romance. When you're old enough, the head wife checks the genealogies and finds you a husband or wife from a nearby farm. Or if they want fresh blood, they get some poor girl from the communes who comes to your wedding night in tears.”
“Hawk.” She touched his arm just beneath his sleeve. “I'm sorry.”
Skin contact was dangerous. Heat flooded him, stirring the memory of her thighs beneath his palms, her lips parted under his. “Things are different now. On my family's farm, at least. My father was an abusive son of a bitch, but Shipp took him down. And Shipp's crew... Well, some of my sisters and stepmothers found men they could marry and love. But they still take things slow there.”
“I don't have a problem with that.” Her fingers moved, gently brushing over his skin, and she smiled. “But I do need to know something's happening.”
“Got it.” His voice sounded low and harsh even to his own ears, and he clutched the basket tighter as a reminder not to reach for her. “We'll just have to get to know each other, right?”
“Mmm, when you get back. Which reminds me…” She dropped her hand and dug through her pocket before pulling out a folded piece of paper. “For you. Dallas wanted me to send along a list of things, just in case you knew where to find them.”
He shifted the basket to one hand and unfolded the paper. A cursory glance revealed the pattern. “Medicinal plants?”
She nodded. “Just in case. We're stockpiling gel and meds, but if we lose Five, they'll go fast. We need a backup plan.”
Most of the stuff on the list would be easy to find. Some he knew his family had growing in their garden already—real medication was still expensive, even if your farm headquartered a crew of smugglers. And there was still time to plant more. Plenty of other farms might be willing to contribute in exchange for a few bottles of precious O'Kane whiskey.
But the list was more than practicalities. It was an opportunity. “Maybe you should come with me.”
Her denial was immediate. “No, you're going to see your family. I'd be intruding.”
“Jeni.” He liked the way her gaze locked on his when he said her name like that. Firm. “Lots of people live there. A handful of my stepmothers, dozens of siblings, more nieces and nephews than I can keep track of, and probably about seven new in-laws since the last time I visited. And Shipp's crew on top of it. If you're scared to face that sort of chaos, I wouldn't blame you. But you won't be intruding.”
“And your mother,” she retorted. “Your mother lives there, Hawk.”
She said it like it mattered more than all the rest, and maybe it should. But his mother had been barely old enough to have children when she'd given birth to him. She'd always been more of an overprotective big sister than a parent, and even that had mellowed once he'd come back to the farm with Shipp.
Alya would notice. She wasn't stupid. But he couldn't believe she'd give Jeni a hard time. “She's fine. She'll love you. Ask Trix.”
“That's not the same.”
“Fair enough.” He cupped Jeni's cheek, savoring the silk of her skin under his fingertips. “Trust me, just this far. Maybe if you see where I come from, you'll know whether or not you can trust me all the way.”
She closed her eyes as a fine shiver ran through her. “All right. Show me where you come from, Hawk.”
He could have her now, right here amongst the plants and the dirt. Up against the greenhouse or over one of the tables or standing right where they were, with her legs around him, using all that dancer's strength to ride him—
He could have her, but it wouldn't be what it could be, what he'd seen between Jasper and Noelle—the firm hand and soft sighs and quiet trembling. The absolute trust that made everything deeper and darker but also perfect.
That was what he'd been missing all his life, ever since the first, furtive time. Secret, forbidden affairs fueled passion, sure. And then they broke hearts and ruined lives.
Hawk moved his thumb to Jeni's lower lip. He could still feel the curve of it pressed against his mouth, still remember how she'd tasted. When her lips parted beneath his touch, a thousand shameful possibilities roared up inside him. Things he would have been ashamed to want before he met the O'Kanes.
If he was honest with himself, things he was still ashamed to want.
“I'll arrange it,” he whispered, as if lowering his voice could hide the roughness. He had to get away from her before his control slipped again. This time, it wouldn't end with kissing. He'd have her on her knees, her soft, pretty lips around his cock. Sucking him off, even if the whole damn gang lined up to watch.
Fuck, especially if they lined up to watch.
“Thank you.” The words kissed his thumb, but before he could give in to the urge to edge the tip between her lips, she took the basket and walked away.
His jeans were too snug. His entire fucking body was coiled tighter than it had been last night before his fight. They'd be out in Six for a few days. A week, at most.
A week to prove she could trust him. And then they'd find out how deep into his shame-laced fantasies she wanted to go.
Chapter Four
The farms at the outer edge of Sector Six were beautiful, like something out of a kids' storybook. The gently rolling hills had been cleared of scrub and planted in lush green plots, some with crops and others with grass for grazing animals. Cabins and barns dotted the landscape, and people milled around them, carrying out their midmorning chores.
This was Hawk's home, a quiet, peaceful world so far removed from the city that it might as well be on another planet.
They passed a fenced-off gravel road that wound toward a large farmhouse perched on a hill, and Hawk nodded toward it. “That's Anderson's farm. They're our closest neighbors. Three of my stepmothers are Andersons.”
She blinked. “So some of your brothers and sisters are also cousins?”
“Sounds more fucked up than it is. I told you, the head wife keeps records on everyone's bloodlines.” He snorted. “Probably next to the ones they keep on the cows and horses. We're all good, hardy stock. Bred to be tough.”
Jeni barely managed not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. “No romance. You weren't kidding.”
“They don't have time for romance. It's a hard life. You work until you can't take another step, or you have babies until it kills you.”
It cast the lush green land in a whole new light—a sickly pallor that raised goose bumps on Jeni's arms. “That's terrible.”
“It's the reality. Eden's tithes are so high…” He exhaled roughly. “Shipp saved us from that. The smuggling runs make enough money to buy us some breathing room. But the only real hope is for Dallas to pull off this revolution.”
It was easy to think of the fight against Eden in strict, direct terms now—if they didn't defeat the city, they'd all be crushed, or worse. But it had started because of the city slowly encroaching on the livelihood of the surrounding sectors. They always wanted more—more food, more energy, more of the resources sector-dwellers gave their time, effort, and sometimes blood to procure or produce.
“Dallas will win,” she told Hawk confidently. “There's no other option I'm willing to consider.”
“If anyone can pull it off, it's him.” Hawk shifted gears as they started up a curving hill. “Get ready. When we reach the top, you'll be able to see the farm.”
What lay in the valley before them looked like the rest of the area, but with one difference that proved the truth of Hawk's words—smuggling had been very, very good to them. Besides the cars that clustered around a barn back beyond the main house, there were pieces of fairly modern equipment that Jeni hadn't seen at the other farms.
Her jittery nerves had calmed a bit, soothed by the rough but velvet cadence of Hawk's voice. They returned now with a vengeance as people turned to watch their approach.
“Steady,” he murmured, resting one hand on her leg. His palm was massive, large enough to engulf her knee, and his touch burned even through her clothes. “You're an O'Kane, honey. You eat
backwoods farmers for breakfast.”
He was teasing her, and she couldn't resist throwing it right back at him. “Just the ones I really like.”
His fingers tightened, and his voice lowered. “You gonna eat me for breakfast, Jeni?”
Even with the windows down, there was no air in the car. “Wouldn't dream of it,” she rasped. “I mean, you've got plans for me, right?”
“Oh yeah.” He steered with one hand, guiding them down the hill as his thumb teased suggestive circles on the outside of her knee. “You have no idea.”
Maybe this was what he'd been waiting for, what he needed. To get her on familiar territory, someplace where he was comfortable enough to open up in spite of the differences between them.
She would have asked, but the front door of the main house opened, and a tall woman stepped out. Jeni had spent most of her life around powerful women, and there was no mistaking this one's posture or the air of command that surrounded her.
Everything here was hers.
Hawk coasted to a stop and parked the car. Then he was out the door before Jeni could say a word, circling to open the passenger side for her.
He held out his hand to help her. She took it automatically, but all thoughts of letting go again vanished the moment his fingers wrapped around hers. It was one point of contact, chaste by anyone's standards, but something about the way he looked down at her as she climbed from the car…
Her skin heated, and everything else disappeared. They were alone in the world, wreathed in a tension so palpable that it connected them as surely as their clasped hands.
Then he smiled and tugged her toward the farmhouse. “Come meet Alya.”
The words broke through the sensual haze, and she willed herself not to blush as they turned toward the porch. The woman standing there had hints of Hawk in her features. They had the same hazel eyes, the same nose, a certain similarity in the tilts of their chins.
Alya's gaze locked on their entwined fingers. When she looked up, she studied Jeni appraisingly, curiosity warring with something darker. It wasn't judgment—Jeni was too familiar with that, would have recognized it in a heartbeat—but Hawk's mother definitely wasn't particularly happy to see her.