Beyond Jealousy

by Kit Rocha

  An ultimatum on obedience, and it was still a struggle to nod. "Understood."

  Dallas turned to Lex. "You got this?"

  "Yeah, I'm on it."

  The leader pivoted and strode after Ace, leaving Cruz to the mercy of Lex's stare. Cruz met her gaze for a few seconds before deliberately dropping his attention to his bruised knuckles. "It won't happen again."

  "Right." She stepped closer, gingerly prodded his split lower lip, and sighed. "Oh, honey. We've got to talk about your methods of coping with grief."

  It hurt like hell, but he refused to wince. "I think that was anger more than grief."

  "Eh, you're full of shit. Sit down." She retrieved a bottle of water from the electric cooler against the wall and handed it to him. "For the lip."

  He didn't even choose to sit, not really. Adrenaline faded, and he let gravity carry him to the sagging couch. "I'll be fine, Lex. I'm more worried about Rachel."

  "You and everybody else." She sank down beside him. "Me? I'm worried about you and Ace."

  Cruz lifted the bottle to his lip and said nothing. What was there to say? Lex knew people from the inside-out, so she probably saw the truth--whether Cruz wanted her to or not.

  Lex rubbed her hands on the legs of her faded jeans. "If there's one person in this gang that I just get, without even having to think about it? It's Ace. So I understand why he'd flip his shit and bug out on you and Rachel. I'm not saying he did the right thing...but I get it. What it really means."

  "That we're not worth the risk?"

  Lex cast a somber look his way. "Not even close. It means he's so crazy in love with you both that it's all he can see--how fucking flawless you guys are. It's not a long way from there to wondering why you'd want to waste your time on someone like him."

  Cruz rubbed a hand against his chest, and it didn't help. That ache was back, worse than before. "I can't tell him if he won't listen."

  "Sound travels faster than a good left hook, last time I checked."

  "The right sounds might." The right words. If he was anything close to flawless, he'd know what those were.

  "Yeah," she agreed, then slapped him on the leg. "That big damn heart of yours? You'll figure it out."

  Cruz twisted the top from the water and drained half of it, buying time and gathering courage. There was one question he didn't want to know the answer to--the one that would break his heart with or without Rachel. "What if he only loves her?"

  Lex rose and shoved her hands in her back pockets before turning and fixing Cruz with a thoughtful look. "What if he doesn't?"

  The front door slammed open, crashing back against the wall, and Jasper strode in. "We've got trouble."

  Lex's easy demeanor vanished. "What kind?"

  "Big fucking group of guys smashing their way through the market." His lips pressed into a thin line. "Looks like someone didn't like having his booze blown up."

  "Back office." She jerked her head in that direction and spun to face Cruz, and only the tight set of her shoulders betrayed her sudden tension. "A street brawl. That's straight-up old school. Kind of quaint."

  Not quaint at all in the parts of Eden where Rachel had grown up. It was exactly how her father and their rivals had settled things--man to man, fists and blood. Guns ran too much chance of bringing the military police down on all of them, but a quiet, vicious fight...

  His blood was pumping again, his body alive at the opportunity. To hit something, to vent his anger and hurt and frustration. To have an excuse to bloody his fists and exhaust his body and deaden his heart.

  Cruz flexed his hands and smiled. "You coming with us?"

  "A bunch of shitheads causing trouble in my sector? I wouldn't miss it."

  Dallas

  The people of Sector Four had long memories.

  It had been years since Dallas had faced a real challenge to his authority, even longer since something like this. An honest-to-Christ street fight, and the people of his sector still knew how to get the fuck out of the way. The O'Kanes strode through empty streets on their way to the market, and Dallas could feel the heavy weight of hundreds of eyes.

  Not everyone in Four loved him, but most of them would be rooting for him. The devil they knew.

  This time would be different, and not just because Lex stalked at his side, brass knuckles glinting on her fists. He might regret not fighting her on this point, even though Lex was deadly when she wanted to be, and half the sector knew what Six could do to a man with her fists. Denying the women the right to defend their territory would discredit the ink he'd given them, and it sent a message he couldn't get behind anymore.

  The sector wouldn't change until Dallas changed it. For Lex, he would. For Lex, he'd fight to his dying breath to make a world where she could do anything.

  Today was about keeping the power to make that world happen.

  They heard the crashing and laughter from one street away. Boards breaking, glass shattering--and even if Dallas hadn't been determined to put this bastard down, the waste of it would have tipped him over the edge into rage. A careless bit of destruction could mean the difference between a crafter's survival and starvation. The senseless loss aside, a starving man couldn't pay his dues.

  Stupid. Fucking stupid, and when he broke free of the last building and stepped into the market square, he got a good look at just how destructive some stupid motherfuckers bent on making a point could be. "All right," he shouted, giving it enough force to roll across the empty space. "I'm here. Is one of you fuckheads in charge?"

  The man who strolled around the edge of old man Miller's food stand had red hair and a wiry build. His features were thin, as well, angular and hard, marred by a vicious scar that cut across his right cheek and up through his eyebrow. He carried a battered club in one hand and had two wicked blades strapped to one leg. "That would be me."

  A vaguely familiar face, but that only meant Dallas had seen him somewhere before. Someone he'd met in person or seen in Eden's files--half the sectors fell into that category. He didn't know who, but he could guess at why.

  The whiskey. Nessa's instincts, Ford's business savvy, Dallas's ruthlessness. He'd built an empire--a name--and if this guy couldn't play off it, he'd try to straight-up take it.

  Dallas kept his expression lazy as he quirked an eyebrow. "And you are...?"

  The man swung his club in an equally lazy arc. "The new king of Sector Four."

  Cocky fucking bastard. "Not yet, you're not."

  "His name's Tierney." Cruz stepped up next to Dallas. "Another associate of Liam Riley's."

  Then Rachel's father had a serious personnel problem--one Dallas had already seen coming. Liam's belief in family and blood was noble and all, but constantly overlooking your ambitious, competent employees in favor of screw-up nephews didn't buy a lot of loyalty when other opportunities presented themselves.

  "Former associate. I remember this one," Bren added. "He wanted to branch out into liquor, but Riley shut him down. He pressed the issue, and Liam gave him the boot." He tilted his head and grinned. "And the scar."

  "Smart of Liam," Dallas drawled, putting an extra bit of lazy disdain into the words. "Tierney's not so good at the liquor business, is he?"

  The man tensed. "I worked hard to build it. Years, and you tore it down. Guess I'll have to take yours."

  "Guess you'll have to try," Dallas corrected, reaching out a hand. Lex slapped his club into it, and he hefted it, testing the weight as he gave himself one final moment to second-guess the fight.

  He could have done it fast and dirty, thrown Bren up on a roof with a sniper rifle and come in, guns blazing. Unsporting against a bunch of sorry fuckers armed with bats and knives, but no one had the power to take Dallas to task for picking the safe route of a bully. He didn't owe the chance at bloodshed to anyone, not anymore.

  But guns were dangerous in a brawl. Bullets went wide. Found friends, family. Found innocent bystanders. Kids. This was the risk he took for everything they gave him, the protection h
is sector's inhabitants bought with their money. O'Kanes lived the comfortable life because they were the ones who would bleed when that life was threatened.

  So it would come down to what it always did. Fists and strength and beating the life out of your enemy, because Sector Four was only safe as long as everyone knew in their guts that Dallas O'Kane was so damn strong, he didn't need the easy path.

  Besides, swinging his club at Tierney's head would be a real, honest-to-God pleasure.

  Chapter Twenty

  Thirty seconds into the fight, Ace wanted to kick back and laugh himself sick. It wasn't like the fight really needed him, not now that Dallas had let Lex off the chain.

  The bastards from Eden couldn't handle ladies kicking their asses.

  It was nice to know he could still feel the urge to laugh. Not much had seemed funny in the past forty-eight hours. But watching Lex duck a punch before swinging to connect with her attacker's baffled face was gold. Pure fucking gold.

  A blow to the shoulder spun him around in time to throw a punch of his own. His brass knuckles weren't as fancy as Lex's--they weren't even his--but they broke bone just as well with enough temper behind them, and Christ knew he had that.

  The fight was chaos. Ugly, fantastic anarchy, and it didn't matter that the O'Kanes had started off slightly outnumbered, not with Cruz and Bren cutting twin paths of destruction through the tangled horde of attackers.

  More than one person broke under Cruz's advance, bolting for an exit only to be smacked down by Flash or Zan. One idiot ran toward Six, and Ace tried to remember his first sight of her--a tiny brunette with skinny arms and a sharp, delicate face. If you'd never seen her in the cage, maybe she looked like an easy target.

  She let the poor bastard take a swing at her before executing a block that turned into a throw, and then she was on him, her knee at the small of his back, her knife at his throat, her contained fury burning so bright the next man pivoted and ran back toward Cruz.

  He got his face pounded, too.

  A fucking garbage can sailed through the air, narrowly missing a man striding toward Lex's back, his features set with fury, as it clattered to the ground. Emma swept it up and used the heavy metal can's momentum to her advantage, cracking it into the side of the man's head.

  That was his girl.

  One of the guys Bren had left in his wake tried to roll to his knees. Ace booted him back to the pavement and snatched the knife out of the sheath strapped to his thigh, coming up in time to sink it into the shoulder of someone hauling back to punch him.

  The man screamed with pain, lashing out fast enough to catch Ace aside the head. His ears still ringing, Ace got in two more punches before a third finally laid the man out. He spun toward the sound of Flash's furious shout and came face-to-face with someone familiar.

  Skinny Pete, Rachel had called him. The bastard who'd been so close to her family he'd taken her to school. A virtual uncle, someone who should have had the sense to be loyal.

  He didn't look so loyal now, sneering at Ace, blood dripping from a busted nose and a cut on his temple. "O'Kane collects trash." He spat blood at his feet. "Even little whore boys."

  There'd never been a time when those words had stung. He felt more moral conflict over selling his art than he ever had selling his body--but someone from Eden would never understand.

  So he smiled. "Someone's mad they couldn't afford me, huh?"

  Skinny Pete snapped his arm out to his side, low toward the ground, opening a wicked-looking telescoping baton. "Rumor's out about you and Liam's girl. That kinda thing doesn't stay secret for long."

  "I don't listen to rumors." Without taking his eyes from Pete, Ace swooped and wrenched the bloody knife out of the unmoving man's shoulder. "They're almost never right."

  The fucker was fast. A flick of his wrist, and pain exploded across Ace's unprotected side--searing at first, followed by a dull ache that throbbed in his ribs.

  He wasn't messing around, so Ace didn't either. Ignoring the pain, he pushed forward, slashing at Pete's ribs. The other man twisted, leaving the knife to slice through his shirt. The man raised his arm again, but only as a distraction. He swung a punch that glanced off Ace's jaw and knocked his teeth together painfully.

  Fuck, he'd had enough of being punched in the face today.

  Not that he could afford to think about Cruz, not with Skinny fucking Pete doing his damnedest to put him in the ground. Ace channeled the pain, the hurt, the twenty-four hours of outright misery--

  Dallas probably wanted this bastard alive to hand over to Liam. But his entire existence was Liam Riley's fault. Rachel's father was careless with his people. Careless with the ones that mattered.

  Skinny Pete was one mess Ace wouldn't leave behind him.

  Ace saw the next feint for what it was. He ignored it, waiting for the pull back, the wind up, the split second of vulnerability.

  A split second was all it took, if you knew how to use it.

  When it came, Ace launched a distraction of his own, a page right out of Six's How to Terrify Men handbook. He went for Pete's balls and didn't care when his knee smashed into a hip instead of the man's undoubtedly tiny dick.

  It didn't matter. His knife was already headed for Pete's throat. The blade found its mark, blood spurting as it sliced deep, and Pete's eyes bugged out as he staggered back.

  Sorry, Dallas.

  But he wasn't sorry, not until Pete slumped to the pavement and Ace saw Cruz standing there, his gaze wild around the edges. He hopped over Pete's body and almost slammed into Ace, but stopped short of actually touching him.

  For one crazy second there was no fight, no dying bootlegger at their feet. There was nothing but naked worry in Cruz's eyes, and an intensity Ace had never expected to see directed at anyone but Rachel.

  Too much intensity. Cruz was completely focused, oblivious to the fight still raging around them, oblivious to the man coming up beside him, knife already raised.

  Ace didn't think. He shoved, knocking his shoulder into Cruz's chest. Shock distorted the other man's face. Shock and pain, and in the heartbeat before Cruz tripped backwards over Pete's sprawled body, Ace realized that might be the last thing he saw.

  The knife sliced into him.

  It hurt. Christ, it hurt, making his bruised ribs feel like an itchy tickle in comparison. Burning agony exploded through him, worse when the man crashed into him and the knife twisted, and he was going to die, because that's what happened when someone stuck a blade in you and twirled your guts around.

  Death. Nothingness. Numbness. God, he would welcome that part, if he could just get Cruz's wounded expression out of his head. But it was all he could see, fuzzy and pulsing as the light faded, and closing his eyes didn't help him because it was everywhere.

  Cruz and Rachel hurting. Hurting forever. Because of him.

  Maybe he was already dead, and this was hell.

  Noelle was losing her shit, and Rachel couldn't seem to focus long enough to calm her down.

  Her mind flitted from thought to thought, darting between worry and the certainty that surely the universe wasn't fucked up enough to take anyone from her right now, not after everything that had been said and done. Then it was right back to worry, because she knew better. Life didn't come with guarantees.

  Hell, sometimes it barely came with first chances, much less second ones.

  She tried to distract herself by straightening stacks of first aid supplies--gauze pads, bandages. Tubes of med-gel. Anything to keep her hands busy, her mind blank...and off of the fight raging mere blocks away. Sometimes she thought she could hear them, even from here. Shouts, cracking bone, cries of pain, the muffled thud of fists against flesh. But there was only nervous silence in the bar as everyone who had stayed behind waited for their family to come home.

  Please come home.

  Finally, she snatched up a bottle of water and pressed it into Noelle's hand. "Jas will be fine."

  "I know." She clenched her hands around the bottl
e as if it would hide their trembling. "So will Dallas and Lex. And Ace and Cruz. And Six and--"

  "Everyone," Nessa cut her off, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Trust me, girl. You guys are new to this, but I used to have to watch them roll out all the time. Hell, before Dallas got control of the sector, it could be damn near every week. They got this."

  It was truth. It should have settled the panic churning in the pit of Rachel's stomach, but it didn't. Anxiety swam in her gut like acid, and she could barely stand still.

  Jade folded her hand over Rachel's and squeezed briefly. No words, no empty condolences. Just a moment of solidarity that slipped away as someone shouted outside.

  The door slammed open. Mad came first, carrying one end of a makeshift stretcher. Cruz held the other. He was shirtless and covered in blood, and he wore an expression of such devastated shock that she knew. Before Mad turned, before she could see who was lying on the stretcher, she knew.

  The room exploded in a flurry of shouts, but the noise faded into a dull, faraway din as Rachel watched them lay the stretcher across the end of the stage. People rushed past her, and she barely felt them as she focused on Ace's ashen face.

  His shirt had been stripped away, as well, cloth balled up against his abdomen and soaked through with too much blood. She watched--numb, empty--and then somehow she was on her knees by the stage, reaching for him. She couldn't remember moving, only the spark of something desperate kindling in her belly.

  She had to take care of him.

  "What was it?" Her voice, clipped and calm, drifting up from somewhere.

  "Knife." Cruz's voice wasn't calm. It was raw, like he was coming apart, and his next words told her why. "He shoved me out of the way--I almost got hit in the back."

  Rachel peeled back the wadded-up shirt, and a wave of nausea washed over her. "Doc's on his way. Someone go find him. Now."

  Mad turned and ran.

  "Rae."

  Ace's voice was weak, thready with pain. His fingers were sticky with drying blood as she wrapped her hand around his and leaned closer. "Just hang on, okay? We're here."