Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  He wouldn't say it out loud, not with Jeni listening and already terrified. “Good. A councilman can tell us how to get the fuck out of here.”

  “Right.” Markovic laughed, harsh and loud. “I'm still here because I like the view.”

  Hawk clenched his fists and tested the strength of the chains. “Maybe we have different skill sets.”

  “Aren't you the optimist?” A door clanged down the hallway, and Markovic leaned into the dim light, his hollow face changed, alight with fury and intensity. “String them along. If they think they'll get nothing, if you have nothing, they'll kill you.”

  For one blissful second, the advice didn't make sense. Then Hawk remembered the hooks high on the wall. The perfect height for some good, old-fashioned torture. And as the footsteps drew closer, Hawk whispered a silent prayer that they were some good, old-fashioned torturers, too. The kind who would look at Jeni and assume a woman couldn't know anything worth telling.

  Because if they laid a hand on Jeni, Hawk might tell them everything.

  Lex

  The message from Ryder was terse. It's begun, with no explanations or details. Nothing but their own imaginations, fueled by the thick smoke rising in the west.

  Dallas paced the conference room, his gaze constantly swinging back to the display on the wall that showed a tactical view of Eden and the sectors. “We'll have to send Bren and Cruz to Five,” he said finally. “That's where they'll hit next. The reservoir keeps them from going straight for Eight, but it keeps us from coming in behind them easily, too.”

  Lex placed both hands flat on the table to keep from clenching them into fists. “Ryder was anticipating a full assault on his sector. Maybe even looking forward to it.”

  “That's what I'm worried about.” Dallas stopped across the table from her and mirrored her pose. “We should send Finn, too. He's the only person who knows Ryder well enough to notice if he's starting to crack under the strain of all that revenge he's after.”

  “Agreed. I have my theories, but it would be nice to know for sure.” Acid burned in her gut. “This isn't defense, Declan. It's war. Whoever we send out might not come back.”

  “I know.” He shoved off the table again, pacing out his worry. “We need to get Dylan and Jyoti over here to arrange the first squads of medics. And make sure we have transport ready for the serious injuries. We can—”

  Footsteps pounded in the hall outside, and Lex reached for the pistol strapped to her thigh. But it was only Jasper who pushed through the door, his face set in a concerned mask. “Alya's here.”

  Lex rose. “Is Shipp with her?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  Fuck. “Show her in.”

  Alya walked in. Her body told the silent story of Shipp's death in dedicated detail, from the blood dried on her hands and arms, on her jeans and her tank top, to her reddened eyes, flat and grim in an expressionless face.

  She was a walking worst-case scenario, and Lex was ashamed of herself for wanting to look away. Alya deserved better. If it was ever, Christ forbid, Dallas's blood on her hands—Dallas gone—she'd want her unthinkable loss acknowledged. She'd want people to face her down—horrified but unflinching—and see what she'd given for the cause.

  Lex stepped forward and held out her hand. “I'm sorry, Alya.”

  Her grip was hard, maybe even desperate. She clung to Lex's hand, as if drawing strength from having her pain recognized.

  Then the moment passed, and she let go. “We stopped at the girls' farm at the edge of the sector. Everyone arrived there safely, but they said Hawk and Jeni must have come straight here.”

  The churning in Lex's stomach worsened. “We haven't seen them.”

  The man who'd come in with Alya stepped forward and curled one huge hand around her shoulder. “I took a long route. They should have beat us here.”

  Dallas exchanged a look with Lex, the helpless fury in his eyes eclipsing her own. The best possibility was two of their people trapped behind enemy lines. The worst wasn't even death, but capture—Jeni and her perfect recall in Eden's hands, at Eden's nonexistent mercies.

  And there was nothing they could do about it. Nothing. “If they were cut off, could Hawk have gone to ground somewhere?”

  “Maybe,” Alya said. “He knows those roads better than anyone.”

  It wasn't enough. There were too many variables, too many possibilities where the bad outweighed the good, and Lex's hands wouldn't stop shaking. “Jas.”

  He stepped into the room, his hands folded behind his back. A soldier awaiting his orders.

  And she and Dallas had to be the ones to give them. “Tell Noah to drop whatever he's doing. I want him monitoring Eden's traffic for troop movements. Tell him I want to hear about any mention of captures. Sector prisoners.”

  “Yes, ma'am.” He turned to go.

  Dallas stepped forward. “We can find you a bunk here, but we've already set up secure communications with the farm if you need to go back. Either way, you'll be kept in the loop.”

  The fear of a mother and the demands of leadership fought a brief, painful battle across Alya's face. Lex wasn't surprised when the leader won. “They need us. And we can organize volunteers. When you need them, you'll have drivers.”

  “Good. We can use them.”

  They turned to go, every step Alya took stiff and careful. The big man followed her out, hovering protectively, but there was nothing anyone could do to ease Alya's pain.

  Lex took a deep breath. “If they're not hiding somewhere—”

  “I know.” Dallas closed the door and leaned against it, sagging as if the strength had gone out of him. “Goddammit, Lex. I shouldn't have let her leave the compound.”

  “She wouldn't have stayed, not if Hawk was going.”

  “She would have if I'd locked her ass up,” he snarled, exploding away from the door. Pacing turned to prowling as he crossed the room. “She's loyal, Lex. She's fucking loyal. You know what that means.”

  It meant that no matter what her captors did to her, no matter what threats or torment they dished out, she wouldn't betray the O'Kanes. She'd die first—or she'd want to. “She and Hawk are smart, Declan, and they're strong. Don't give up on them yet.”

  “It feels like I already have.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I hate this. I fucking hate this. It's why I avoided this fight for so long. We're the fucking O'Kanes, Alexa. Nothing was ever supposed to be more important than having each other's backs.”

  “That goes both ways.” She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “You get what you give, Dallas. Your people—they're not just fighting for you anymore. They're in it for each other, for themselves. This whole thing is so much bigger than us now.”

  “It is.” He covered her hands with his. “I guess there's one benefit to outright war.”

  “What's that?”

  “We don't have to hold back anymore.” He turned in her arms, his helpless expression gone. Instead, plans were forming behind his eyes. “We still have a few friends on the other side of that wall.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jeni thought she'd seen awful things—the wanton destruction of Sector Two, Hawk's family having to burn down their own homes. Shipp's blank eyes. Luna's dying moments.

  Nothing was worse than watching two MPs try to beat Hawk to death.

  The interrogator stood to one side, watching stone-faced as they carried out their work. He hadn't asked a question in minutes, minutes that seemed like hours as Jeni bit her lower lip until she tasted nothing but blood, willing herself not to scream.

  Finally, the interrogator lifted one finger. The men stopped immediately, leaving Hawk swaying from the chains that stretched his arms above his head.

  He caught his balance and spit blood from his mouth, then grinned when his gaze locked with hers. “Don't worry, darling. They don't hit half as hard as Flash when he's had a bad day.”

  She wanted to laugh or say something lighthearted, reass
uring. She wanted to play his game, but if she unclenched her jaw long enough to reply, she'd start screaming.

  Without altering his expression, the interrogator pointed to Hawk's feet. One of the MPs kicked them out from under him. His body dropped fast and jerked hard when the chains drew taut. Jeni's shoulders ached in sympathy, but Hawk just sucked in a breath and hung there.

  “You won't be able to enrage us into killing you, you know.” The interrogator circled Hawk and studied the blood slicking his skin and the rising bruises. “Even if I wanted to vent my temper on you, I could call someone to repair the damage and start fresh. But regeneration technology isn't magic. Your body will still hold on to every bit of the pain.” He paused. “I can make you feel like you've died a dozen deaths.”

  Hawk got his feet under him slowly. As soon as he straightened, the MP kicked them out again. He flinched this time, but his smile didn't falter. “Only a dozen?”

  “Defiance won't deter me, either.” The interrogator crossed his arms over his chest. “The ones who bluster always break the hardest. So I'll give you one more chance, and then I'll let my men crush as many of your bones as they can without killing you. Who do the communes answer to now?”

  Hawk was breathing raggedly. His smile faded, and his head dropped forward. Slowly, as if every movement hurt, as if he was anticipating the next blow, he shifted his weight and planted his feet, taking the pressure off his arms and shoulders.

  Please, Jeni thought desperately. Tell them enough to make it stop.

  As if he heard her, Hawk mumbled something.

  “Speak up.” The interrogator stepped closer and grabbed a fistful of Hawk's hair. “Answer the—”

  Hawk lunged to the end of the chain and slammed his forehead into the man's nose.

  The interrogator wheeled back with a shout, clutching his nose. Blood ran over his fingers, and his eyes blazed with rage as one of the MPs drew his sidearm and smashed the butt into Hawk's face.

  “No!” Jeni surged forward, straining against her chains. “Leave him alone! You leave him the fuck alone!”

  The interrogator flung his hand toward her, splashing drops of blood on the painted wall. “Shut her up!”

  The larger MP took a step toward Jeni, and the room exploded into chaos.

  One second, Hawk was hanging from the chains. In the next, he had the slack wrapped around his fists. He shoved off the wall behind him with a roar, and cement cracked as the bolts securing his chains broke free. The MP who'd struck him fumbled with his gun, and Hawk took him down with a hard right straight to the temple.

  The other MP took another step toward Jeni. Hawk surged after him, pushing the interrogator out of the way, and slammed into his back. He looped the length of one chain around the soldier's throat, drove a knee into his spine, and they both went tumbling to the floor, inches from where Jeni sat.

  Hawk wasn't out for mercy, he was out for blood. The chain bit into the big man's neck, raising angry welts. His face had already turned red by the time he reached for the gun in his holster.

  Jeni kicked out, every thought centered on keeping the barrel of that gun away from Hawk. She caught the man's hand with one smash of her heel. Bone cracked, and the pistol went sliding across the floor.

  The interrogator dove for the gun. He came up with one bloody finger on the trigger, the barrel pointed straight at Hawk.

  This was it. Jeni reached for the distance and calm that had brought her this far, but she couldn't find it. Instead, what gripped her was a bone-deep rage that burned away her fear. This wasn't how they were supposed to end. Even in her worst nightmares, Hawk was alive, safe to carry on without her. But this—this was the unimaginable. The worst thing she could think of in the world.

  She couldn't watch. She wrapped her hand around Hawk's, squeezed, and closed her eyes.

  At least they would go out fighting.

  “Briggs, what is the meaning of this?”

  Jeni's eyes flew open. The man standing in the open doorway of the cell was painfully familiar, but it took her panicky mind a moment to place him—Edwin Cunningham, longstanding member of Eden's Council.

  Noelle's father.

  The interrogator straightened and wiped his bloody nose with his sleeve. “It's under control, sir. Just taking care of a few last things.”

  “Get out.”

  “But—”

  Edwin glanced at the two MPs lying on the floor and then back at the man's bleeding face. “Your incompetence has been noted. You can leave and await a disciplinary hearing, or I can have my guard carry out a summary sentence right now.”

  With a glare for Hawk and Jeni, the interrogator straightened and stalked to the door with as much pride as he could muster with one hand still pressed to his face. When he drew even with Edwin, the councilman extended his hand in quiet command. After a brief hesitation, the man relinquished the gun and stalked from the room.

  Edwin turned the pistol over in his hands and spoke to the guard behind him. “Follow him. Find him a nice cell to occupy while he thinks about what he's done. Somewhere out of the way.”

  “Sir?”

  “I'll be fine.”

  With obvious reluctance, the guard inclined his head, then disappeared down the hallway. Edwin turned back to them, his gaze sliding over Hawk's injuries before landing on Jeni. “You're Ashley's daughter. Jeneva.”

  “Jeni,” she corrected. “Why did you stop him?”

  Edwin slipped a hand into his pocket, pulled out a key, and tossed it to Hawk. Hawk reached for Jeni's wrists, fitting the key into place and sighing with relief when the first cuff fell away from her chafed skin.

  “I abhor everything Dallas O'Kane is,” Edwin said quietly. “I loathe the fact that he's dragged my only child into sin with him. But I prefer the devil who owns his perversions to a liar who cloaks his sin in righteousness.”

  Jeni didn't have time to argue right or wrong with a true believer—and she didn't care to. Only one thing mattered to her as she climbed to her feet. “How do we get out of the city?”

  “I've arranged—”

  The shot was so loud, it was like thunder in the room. Hawk covered her body with his, but she could still see over his shoulder. And it was like Sector Six all over again, but worse, because Edwin Cunningham was standing there without most of his face. Just standing there, as if time had frozen in the new worst moment of her life.

  Then he fell, and she caught sight of the man behind him. The man with the smoking gun.

  When Jared had opened his bar in town, Smith Peterson had made his life a living hell. He'd even gone as far as to have him picked up by MP thugs and beaten. Jared had chalked it up to a small man with a very personal vendetta—Peterson's wife was a longstanding client of his—but looking at him now, over Edwin Cunningham's corpse…

  Hatred blazed in his eyes as he stared at them, but so did something else. Hunger, anticipation. Interest, but not in anything as base and simple as sex or even revenge.

  Smith Peterson was after power.

  He stepped over Cunningham, the barrel of his pistol trained on Hawk's forehead. “My best interrogator couldn't break you, so I won't try. But I think it's only fair to give you one more chance to talk.”

  Hawk met Jeni's gaze. The chains still attached to the cuffs on his wrists clinked softly as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “Remind me again what we're going to grow on our farm.”

  She knew what he was doing, what he was saying. Even if this had to be how they went, it could still be on their terms, not Peterson's. Fighting tooth and nail to your last gasping breath wasn't the only way to die with grace.

  Jeni was so fried she didn't try to hold back her tears. All the back and forth, the ups and downs. They were going to die, they were going to live—she couldn't even process it anymore, the surge of hope only to have it snatched away. Here she was, facing the unimaginable again—the worst thing she could think of in the world—

  She couldn't do it. She couldn't do it.
>
  “Strawberry,” she whispered. Not an answer to his question, but the safe word she'd chosen by candlelight, a lifetime ago. Hawk stared down at her, the soft confusion in his eyes melting into realization too late.

  She turned to Peterson. “Wait.”

  Cruz

  After so many weeks of tense waiting, there was a kind of sick relief to being at war.

  Cruz walked the line of Five's growing fortifications, a row of trucks usually used for the sector's product deliveries. Men were busy at work on both sides, digging trenches and putting up barbed wire.

  The same quick-expanding cement they'd used to block the tunnel exits was being used farther down, creating staggered barricades that would provide cover in a firefight and make it harder to move an army into Five.

  Of course, there were downsides to ever-expanding sectors. Dallas and Ryder would have to pick a border for their southern defense—and warn everyone beyond that line to move closer or run for the damn hills.

  Not everyone could. The communes would be vulnerable. They were too spread out to be defended effectively, and too reluctant to work together. Jyoti had badgered and cajoled, had bribed and outright threatened. Some had refused to ally themselves with the sectors, foolishly thinking that neutrality was an option.

  When Eden sacked the first farm and stripped them bare, with nothing but the empty promise of a payment they'd never see…

  Well, by then it might be too late. But Cruz suspected the stragglers would fall in line quick enough.

  Cruz stopped next to a truck and lifted a hand to activate his earpiece. “How are we looking from up there?”

  Bren's voice crackled over the speaker. “I'm in position. Just waiting for a shot.”

  “Good.” Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder and seek out Bren's vantage point, Cruz continued to the cluster of men gathered around Ryder's makeshift command point. Ryder himself was there, looking calm and collected on the surface, but with an eager edge that was all too familiar.

  Cruz wasn't the only one relieved that the waiting was over.