Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  “You don't want to know, Jeni. Seriously.”

  “Well.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the tablet. It was a daunting task, one she wasn't even sure she could handle—but it was special, different from anything else she'd ever been asked to do.

  She danced, and she tended the bar. She covered whatever needed to be covered. But until Dallas had asked her to study up on herbs, that had been it. No one relied on her, because all of her jobs were things anyone else could pick up at a moment's notice.

  Even the herb garden. Once it was set up and established, it could be cared for like all the rest of the fruits and vegetables. And when the time came to make the tinctures and medicines from those herbs, anyone else could be taught how to do it.

  But not this. This was a task that could help them out immensely—that could save their fucking lives in a way salves and balms couldn't—and it was hers.

  Noelle leaned forward to touch her hand. “Welcome to Dallas O'Kane's spy network, Jeni. Population three, including you.”

  She folded the tablet in her arms and had to swallow hard before she could trust her voice. “I'd better get started.”

  Kora

  Kora couldn't remember her parents.

  She must have had them—everyone did, even the soldiers in the special programs on the Base, the ones who had been conceived in tubes, perfected under microscopes, and birthed by surrogates. It was an unavoidable biological fact.

  When she was young, no more than ten or eleven, she'd gone looking for them. She'd just finished a module about the role of genetics and heredity in disease, and all she could think about was the fact that she had no idea where she'd come from. Who were her mother and father—soldiers? Scientists? Farmers that the Base doctors had taken in and tried to heal? All her adoptive father, Dr. Middleton, had ever told her was that they were dead.

  She knew she was healthy. Her regular tests and scans would have shown any illnesses or conditions that needed attention. But she'd been positively gripped by the notion that the past was the future, that without knowing her history, she would be adrift with no direction for tomorrow.

  Her search started and ended in the same place—with her poring through computer files for any mention of them, any hint of where she might have begun to look. When she found nothing, she dove deeper, accessing secured databases and poking around in classified data.

  Still nothing.

  She didn't simply not know her history. She didn't have one.

  Maybe that was why she liked Sector One so much. It was impossible to ignore the history here, and not a shred of it was hidden. The people here celebrated their dead, with art and songs and shrines and tattoos. They marked their bodies with their shared history and bore the ink even more proudly than their scars.

  All Kora had were two bar codes on the inside of her wrist.

  Sector One was beautiful, not just the scenery or the architecture, but the people, too. Kora could stay here—easily, happily—but not when she was needed elsewhere.

  She turned toward Gideon Rios, the sector's leader, and prepared to plead her case again. “I delivered another baby yesterday.”

  “That's wonderful.” Gideon looked flushed and tired, but pleased. He'd been pushing himself hard to recover from his brush with death, but every day brought strength back to his body. He refilled their tea glasses and gazed out over the garden. “It eases everyone's minds, knowing we have someone qualified here to help them if something goes wrong.”

  “Yes, but—” Kora bit her lip. Demands didn't work on Gideon, but an appeal to his sense of logic might. “They don't need me, strictly speaking. Your midwives are very skilled. They would have plenty of time to send for me if—”

  “Kora.” Gideon had a gentle smile for a hard man, a smile befitting a prophet. “The midwives are skilled. More skilled every day, in fact. If you leave now when they're still learning so much, I'll have a riot on my hands.”

  Her gut twisted. She had come to One with no other thought than to help the women and children who had been wounded when the city bombed Sector Two. She could still remember the rage, the urge to scream at the heavens that anyone could do such a thing, could kill and maim and terrify an entire sector.

  But it would be childish and dishonest to pretend she hadn't known the city leaders could do such a thing. After all, she'd seen their files. They'd tried very hard to keep her and the other doctors oblivious to the depths of their depravity, but she didn't just have Special Clearance. She'd used it.

  The patients from Two were all gone now, for better or worse. And she was left attending births and patching up scrapes.

  At first, she'd assumed that Gideon wanted her close because of his own injuries. It hadn't taken her long to set that thought aside—Gideon possessed a wealth of concern, but he seemed to lavish it on everyone but himself. So she'd moved on to thinking he wanted her here for his family, in case the city attacked his sector next. But something about that didn't sit quite right, either.

  Nothing did, and it was starting to make her nervous.

  She opened her mouth to question him further, but Avery Parrino came out into the garden, holding a carved wooden tray with another glass pitcher of tea.

  She set it on the table between them and winced when a bit of tea and crushed mint sloshed over the rim of the pitcher. “Sorry,” she breathed. “I thought you could use a fresh one.”

  Gideon straightened slightly in his chair. “That's very thoughtful, Avery. Thank you. Would you care to join us?”

  She began shaking her head before he even finished speaking. “Oh, I couldn't.”

  “Of course you could. You have to help me convince Kora that we still need her here.”

  She watched him for a moment. Her usual fidgeting ceased as she gazed down at him like an equation she wasn't quite sure how to solve. Then she turned to Kora, a warm smile curving her lips. “If you left, we'd miss you terribly.”

  Kora hid her answering smile. “Thank you, Avery.”

  She bowed her head, the heavy fall of her dark hair almost obscuring her face as she glanced at Gideon again.

  He smiled as well, but Kora could sense the emptiness behind it. “Yes, thank you. If you're going back in, would you mind taking the empty pitcher?”

  Wordlessly, she bowed, more deeply this time, and removed the pitcher. Then she removed herself, practically fleeing back to the house.

  Kora snorted. “Why did you do that?”

  The smile vanished, and Gideon rubbed a hand over his face with a soft sigh. “You'd think I'd be used to it, wouldn't you? Every stray word being mistaken for a command. But I'm not used to it here, in my own house.”

  Turmoil rolled off of him in waves that turned Kora's stomach. “You're the most powerful man in this sector, and all Avery knows is that powerful men are to be obeyed.”

  “Well, she'll have to learn otherwise,” Gideon said firmly. Then he arched an eyebrow at her. “You don't share that problem.”

  “If I'd been taught obedience, I wouldn't be here.” She'd be back at home, and a sudden wave of emotion swelled in her throat. Home. The city was a pleasant place to live—if you had money and status. If you could ignore the dark undercurrents of violence and greed that lurked beneath its polished surface.

  Kora didn't miss it. But she did miss the Base, and her patients, and being able to do her damn job.

  She put down her glass, careful not to betray her agitation. “Why am I not allowed to leave?”

  To his credit, Gideon didn't deny it. He sipped his tea, then set his glass gently on the table. “I've been given information indicating that you could be in danger if you leave Sector One. And you're the best trained regeneration technician on either side of the wall. I had hoped you'd be happy enough here that you didn't want to leave, but…” He shrugged. “If happiness won't keep you here, perhaps responsibility will.”

  So many layers in those words. Kora turned them over in her mind, dissecting them, teasing them ap
art. The stuff about responsibility she discarded immediately. They'd already established that she could move quickly if she needed to return, and her sense of responsibility was the reason she wanted to leave in the first place. But the rest of it…

  She was in danger. Someone had told Gideon this, someone who would know.

  It could be a lie, but she didn't think so. It didn't feel like a lie, didn't have that slick, greasy quality that made her shudder in revulsion as it slid over her. So Gideon, at least, believed it to be truth.

  There was only one person she knew who was this involved with sector politics, who might have the sway to convince a sector leader to keep her out of the city's clutches. Thinking about him hurt, like falling onto a flat surface so hard it ripped the breath right out of your lungs for long, agonizing seconds.

  It hurt even more when she closed her eyes and saw his face. Ashwin Malhotra was a patient, a soldier, and she'd had no trouble shutting him out of her thoughts when she shed her lab coat at the end of the day.

  Until, that is, the night he'd kidnapped her.

  She wasn't supposed to know it was him. He'd taken every precaution—bindings, a blindfold, he'd even blocked her hearing. But he couldn't blot out all of her senses, and when he'd touched her—

  She knew who he was. But not why he'd snatched her out of her bed, not until he'd left her in a room alone with a dying man. She'd saved the man's life, of course, and he told her volumes in return.

  Not verbally. Not wittingly. But his tattoos had been impossible to ignore, especially the skulls and crossed guns on his wrists. Later, using one of the dummy logins she'd bought at the side-street market, she discovered the truth—she'd been in Sector Four, and she'd saved the life of an O'Kane. She even found his face, and along with it his name—Alexander Santana. Ace.

  Who was he to Ashwin, and why? Kora had always planned to ask. The next time she saw him, she decided, she would make him explain—and tell him that all he ever had to do was ask.

  She'd never had the chance.

  Gideon's hand touched hers. “You're safe here, you know. Deacon and I did a complete security review after the assassination attempt.”

  “What?” She shook herself. “No, I'm not worried about that. I was just thinking.”

  “It's a lot to think about.” He pulled his head back and reclined in his chair. “Do you know what would have happened if you hadn't saved my life, Kora?”

  She didn't ponder such things. If she did, the weight of it all would collapse on her, heavy and stifling. Paralyzing. Because no one could save every life.

  She rose abruptly. “I'll stay. But, at some point, I want answers, Gideon. Real ones.”

  “I don't have them,” he replied, again with no hint or trace of deception. “But when we reach that point, I'll help you find them.”

  “I won't need help.” This time, she knew exactly where to look.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jeni had always thought that the sight of Hawk in the rooftop gardens was a transcendent experience. But it didn't hold a candle to him building things.

  He'd discarded his jacket not long after they'd arrived at the workshop on his sisters' little enclave on the edge of Four. His thin white T-shirt clung to his chest, stretched taut over muscles that flexed and bulged with every swing of the hammer.

  He needed a haircut. And a shave. And he was the most perfect thing she'd ever seen.

  He glanced up as he reached for another piece of wood. “You look like you're thinking hard.”

  “Nope.” She propped her chin on her hand and grinned at him. “Just enjoying the view.”

  Sometimes Hawk still blushed. But he smiled, too, and shook his head as he fit the board into place. “Don't tempt me, or I'll have you riding me on the floor in broad daylight.”

  “With your sisters outside?” They were just as sweet as the ones she'd already met, and they'd welcomed Jeni with open arms. But she wasn't sure they'd still approve of her if they knew how thoroughly she'd corrupted their big brother.

  They looked at Hawk like he was a superhero, and Jeni didn't blame them. As far as she knew, this was his first visit to their little farm in a while, but he'd provided them with everything—space, equipment. He even built their homes and furniture with his own hands.

  Most of all, he'd given them a chance.

  Jeni slid off the worktable. “What are you making?”

  “A crib.” He set the piece he'd been working on up on its side, and she could see it now—one side of the frame, lined with evenly spaced wooden slats. “Remember Amy, from the farm? She's seven months along now, and she and Robbie want to come here.”

  Did they think it was safer? It could be—if the city's forces spilled into Sector Four, they'd be focused on the O'Kane compound and its surroundings. Out here, right at the edge of everything, a tiny cluster of farms could go unnoticed.

  For a while.

  Jeni ran her fingers over one corner of the half-finished crib. “I've never seen so many babies.”

  “Not many people in Four have.” He laid it gently back down and reached for the nails. “That'll change in nine or ten months, I guess.”

  “Doc's been keeping an eye on the water.” Not just to measure whether the city was still pumping drugs to control the birthrate into the water supply, but also to check for anything more damaging. Or deadly. “He says the levels are holding steady so far.”

  “Yeah? Guess they haven't run out yet.”

  “Or it's an automated system.”

  “Or that.” He shrugged. “Ryder probably knows. I'm sure as hell not gonna ask him, though.”

  “He's not so bad.” She touched Hawk's arm, and he covered her hand with his.

  They'd settled into a comfortable pattern of days over the last week. It wasn't quite a routine, but it was close—they usually went their separate ways in the morning, completing the tasks that filled their busy days. On the evenings she danced at the Broken Circle, Hawk waited for her backstage.

  They spent their nights together. Some passed in a blur of sweat and skin. Others, they simply talked—about important things, or about nothing—until they drifted to sleep. The one constant was Hawk's quiet, steady presence.

  Already, she couldn't remember what it was like not to have him there.

  He squeezed her hand and turned it over. Then he dropped the nails into her palm. “Since you haven't got your mystery tablet, why don't you help me build this thing?”

  She ignored the playful jibe about her secretive reading and groaned. “I came with you to take a break, not do more work.”

  He grinned. “You can charge me for the nails. One kiss each.”

  “On the lips, or lady's choice?”

  “Lady's choice, of course. But you might have to save some of those for later.”

  “Uh-huh.” Guilt scraped at her, and she sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him about the assignment Noelle had given her. It was just that, sometimes, Hawk seemed to need things to be simple. Black and white. Right or wrong.

  Safe versus in danger.

  And that was the problem, wasn't it? There was nothing immediately dangerous about combing through Eden's communication logs, looking for the dirty secrets they'd tried to hide. It wasn't like picking up a gun and charging the electrified wall. But it carried a deeper risk, one that went beyond bullets in flesh. Knowledge always did.

  And she knew—she knew—he wouldn't like it. Oh, he'd understand the necessity of it. He might even be proud of her. But it would be one more thing for him to worry about, another heavy layer of concern and responsibility weighing him down.

  There was enough of that already, more than a dozen men should have to bear over a dozen lifetimes. He already worried about his family, their farms, the gang, the war. Sometimes it seemed like his only moments of peace were the ones he managed to steal in her arms.

  She couldn't take that away from him. She wouldn't—especially when all her efforts with Eden's files might amount to
nothing, anyway.

  “Hey.” Hawk rubbed his thumb between her brows. “You're thinking hard again.”

  “No.” She hesitated. “You know that you can take a break too, right?”

  “That's what I'm doing.” Hawk tossed the hammer aside. “When I go out and check the roof gardens, that's work. I don't mind helping people and fixing things, because God knows everyone in this sector needs to see that—an O'Kane who's so confident we're going to win this war, he has time to fix their leaky sink. But this…”

  His thumb passed between her eyebrows again, soothing away the furrow. “This is dreaming, Jeni. I get to spend time with you and build something that's not about war or raising morale or keeping us alive. It's just...the future. A cute little baby who gets to live in a cute little farmhouse, in a better world than we had.”

  His words twisted in Jeni's chest, curling around her heart until it ached. Silently, she handed him one of the nails, then dragged his mouth down to hers.

  He smiled into the kiss, his lips curving against hers. Then he tilted his head and kissed her deeper. Slow, lazy, like they had forever with nowhere to go and nothing to do but this.

  Jeni broke away and nipped at his chin. “Don't tempt me,” she whispered, echoing his teasing warning.

  “Later,” he murmured, with a stern, steely edge that marked it as both a command and a promise.

  She could live with that.

  Hawk spun the nail between his fingers and turned back to the crib. “Do you ever think about it? How things will change when we win.”

  When, not if. “Honestly? As little as possible. I just…” Her voice failed her. “It doesn't seem fair, I guess, to the people who won't be around to enjoy it.”

  “What wouldn't be fair is giving up on living when people have laid down their lives to give you the chance.” He set the nail in place and tapped a few times, settling it, then drove it halfway in with one firm swing. “I'll have to build one of these for Rachel. Might as well get a jump on that kid being the most spoiled baby within a thousand-mile radius.”

  “Hawk.” She had to tug at his shoulder to turn him toward her. “I'm not giving up on anything. If I'm still around—”