by Elle Kennedy
“It doesn’t make sense to spread out all our resources,” Mick was arguing, his dark eyes flickering with annoyance.
Reese gave herself a mental head slap and returned her focus to the task at hand. “Why do you say that?”
He jammed one finger against the map in front of Connor. “We have the location of their headquarters. And your woman”—he scowled at Con—“is related to goddamn Dominik. You said they’re still in contact, right?”
Connor nodded, but his expression held a trace of reluctance. “They communicate, yeah.”
“How?” Mick demanded.
“Over a sat phone that Dominik gave her when he helped her escape the compound.” Connor’s features hardened before Mick could ask another question. “Don’t get any ideas about using Hudson to get to the Enforcers. Dominik is keeping the colony sweeps away from our coordinates, but he’s on thin ice over there. The Commander doesn’t trust him anymore.”
“I don’t trust him either,” Brynn muttered. The tall, curly-haired woman was standing against the wall opposite the torn sofa, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Me neither,” Garrett said brusquely.
Of all the leaders, Garrett was the oldest. He was in his late forties, with a weathered face marred with burn scars. Reese had never been able to pry any details out of him, but someone had told her he’d been badly burned in a fire after an Enforcer unit torched one of his old camps. Garrett’s people were now living up north in a bunker they’d stumbled on. Other than Reese’s people, they were the most skilled when it came to combat.
“We don’t need to trust Dominik,” Reese said testily, “because he’s not part of this plan.” She turned to scowl at Mick. “And the plan isn’t to ambush the Enforcer compound. At least not right now.”
“Why the hell not?” he argued again. “We have the guns, we have their location—”
“The location doesn’t mean shit if they’re not all there,” she interrupted, resisting the urge to rip her hair out. They’d been over this ten times already. “There are only two hundred Enforcers at the base, but there are hundreds more stationed at the outposts all over the colony. We need to target them before we can attack their HQ. Otherwise the base will send an alert and then we’ll end up facing off with the reinforcements. Tell me, how is that a better plan?”
Mick’s jaw slammed shut.
Connor spoke up again, sounding as annoyed as Reese felt. “I’m with Reese on this. You’re being a fucking idiot, Mick.”
The other man glowered at Connor. “Go fuck yourself, Mackenzie. We’ve been strategizing for almost a year while you’ve been doing shit all.”
“Shit all?” Connor echoed in disbelief. “I’m currently stashing hundreds of stolen weapons and thousands of live rounds at my camp, you asshole.”
“Congratu-fucking-lations,” Mick shot back. “You finally decided to help your people out—doesn’t excuse the fact that you joined this party real late, man.”
“Because I wasn’t invited,” Connor said coolly, his gaze flicking toward Reese.
She shrugged. Yeah, she’d taken a long time before deciding to bring Connor on board, but she wasn’t about to apologize for it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she retorted, her tone equally cold. “You haven’t given two shits about your fellow outlaws in the past. All you’ve ever done is shut everyone out and hide away in your camp. You refused to take other outlaws in, you refused to lead the people who were already following you—why the hell would I ever include you in something this important?”
His hazel eyes flashed. “Well, I’m leading them now. So my opinion means something.” Connor shook his head irritably. “And for fuck’s sake, we’re arguing the same goddamn point right now, Reese. I’m agreeing with you.”
She drew a breath, forcing her pulse to steady. He was right. Why was she condemning him for his past actions? Connor was here now, and they needed to look toward the future.
“We’re targeting the outposts,” she announced, and the finality in her voice finally shut Mick up. “Once we eliminate the threats outside the city, we’ll turn our attentions to the ones inside it. Yea or fucking nay?”
There was a beat of silence, then four low-voiced yeas.
From his spot by the door, Sloan met Reese’s eyes and offered a smile. Or rather, the tiny quirk of his lips—which, for Sloan, constituted a huge grin.
“Thank you,” she muttered. “Now can we go over these maps and make some actual progress?”
* * *
The meeting went on for another hour before Reese kicked everyone but Sloan out. Her temples were throbbing, her patience was nonexistent, and she needed sex so bad she could taste it, though the latter was probably the source of the headache and impatience.
She’d been fending off Rylan’s advances for two days. If it were up to her, the annoying bastard would be back at his camp already, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, not while Connor was in Foxworth. Rylan wouldn’t leave until his leader did, which meant Reese’s aching body would continue aching, at least for a little while longer.
Give in to him, whispered the seductive devil inside of her.
But nope. Not happening. She wasn’t going down that path again. One night with Rylan had turned her into a crazed animal. Even worse, it placed her in an intimate position with Sloan, the one person who meant most to her in this world.
A part of her was still terrified that Sloan would distance himself from her because of it, but so far, he remained by her side. Where he’d always been.
“Do you think they’ll be able to handle this?” she asked after everyone piled out the door.
Sloan rubbed his beard. “Garrett’s people? Definitely. Same goes for Con’s. But Brynn only has a few decent fighters in her camp, and Mick lost most of his after the last southern sweep.”
She nodded. “But we’re sending each of them ten of our people. Hopefully that balances shit out.”
“Hopefully.”
Biting her lip, Reese rose from the sofa and walked over to the window. Sloan’s cigarette pack was on the ledge, along with a lighter and a cracked glass ashtray. She didn’t smoke often, but right now she was too on edge.
Were twenty people enough to send to the other camps? Or should she ask for more volunteers? She knew the teenagers in Foxworth would jump at the chance to join the ragtag army she’d raised, but she didn’t feel right putting any of them in the line of fire. Yes, Rylan and Pike had given everyone intensive weapons and hand-to-hand training last month, but that didn’t mean she wanted kids like Randy or Sara or Ethan being sent to the front lines. She’d simply wanted them to be prepared.
She lit a cigarette and sucked on it so hard she got a head rush. As she exhaled a cloud of smoke, Sloan came up beside her and rested one forearm on the window ledge.
He stared at the setting sun on the horizon, the burnished orange tint of the sky. Then he asked, “Want me to track down Rylan?”
She took another deep drag and ignored the question.
“Teresa.”
Her spine prickled. She hated it when he used her full name. Only Jake had gotten away with calling her that. Before Jake, it had been her mother who’d used it. Now the honor fell to Sloan.
The damned man knew how much it bothered her to be reminded of the woman—no, the girl—she’d once been, but that didn’t stop him from calling her Teresa. He usually did it when she was being stubborn.
“Don’t give me that Teresa shit right now,” she muttered. “I’m not in the mood. And I’m not in the mood for Rylan either. Did I tell you that bastard jerked off in front of me the other day? I turned him down, so he took matters into his own hands. Literally.”
Sloan chuckled.
She narrowed her eyes and jabbed her cigarette in the air. “I don’t need you laughing at me right now, Sloan.”
That got her another chuckle.
“Fuck you,” she growled.
“You should’ve helped him out.” Sloan shrugged. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get off on screwing the guy.”
Which was just another source of anger for her. She hated how desperate she’d been that night with Rylan. Hated that she’d been so out of control she’d needed Sloan to be there. To keep her in line. What the hell did it say about her that she couldn’t even fuck without needing a chaperone?
“You’re losing control again, sweetheart.”
“No, I’m not,” she answered through clenched teeth.
But he was right—she was. Control wasn’t something she’d ever been good at maintaining. Even as a kid she’d had trouble checking her emotions, her temper, her lust. From the moment she was old enough to recognize what a shit show her life was, she’d harbored rage and resentment that threatened to consume her.
Reese still remembered taking the crayons her mother gave her and drawing pictures of dead council members. GC buildings in flames. Enforcers hanging from the power lines running above the city. She’d hated the council for taking her mother away from her, despite her mother’s reminders that they should be grateful to the GC. Grateful. Ha. Why? Because they’d let Sylvia keep her firstborn daughter? That wasn’t exactly a grand gesture on their part. Every breeder was allowed to keep her first baby.
It was all the babies that came afterward that were whisked away.
Reese never let herself think about the fact that she had nine siblings in the city somewhere. Sired by different studs, of course, but they all shared the same mother.
Her mother.
The sight of Sylvia’s pregnant belly used to enrage Reese. For the first twelve years of her life, her mom had been pregnant. Always fucking pregnant. It made Reese sick to see it, and not even the nice little house they were given in exchange for Sylvia’s “services” had made the situation easier to stomach. She hated that house. Hated being banished to her room every week when the city doctors stopped by to monitor the latest pregnancy. Hated the depression her mom would spiral into after each pregnancy.
Reese had never seen anyone cry more than her mother. Sylvia cried when she found out she was pregnant. She sobbed when the babies were taken away. She was inconsolable the day she was ordered to bring her daughter to the clinic. Reese had been prepared for it, though. She’d been warned what would happen when she became a “woman.” The sterilization process was supposed to be painless, and it was. Physically, anyway.
But it left behind the kind of pain that never, ever went away.
Rage and shame and sorrow rose in her throat now, bubbling to the surface along with the memories she usually tried to suppress. She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab her gun and empty the clip into someone’s head, but Sloan was the only person in her vicinity, and she couldn’t very well shoot him.
“Reese.”
His eyes had taken on a worried light. He started to reach for her. Maybe he would’ve made contact this time, actually touched her, caressed her, but she wrenched herself away from him before either of them could find out.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled.
“You’re not fine.” He cursed under his breath. “Fuck. I knew this would happen the closer we got to executing the plan.”
He’d known, huh? Would’ve been nice if he’d given her a heads-up, then. Over the years she’d told Sloan only the barest amount of details about her childhood in the city. He knew she was born there, knew her mother was a breeder. The rest wasn’t any of his damn business, but Reese would have been naive if she’d believed he hadn’t put some of the other pieces together all by himself.
And goddamn him for always being goddamn right. Getting this close to taking down the people who’d stolen her life from her was stirring up all those old memories.
“Plan’s not going away,” she said. She ground the cigarette into the ashtray in frustration.
“Which is precisely why you should take Rylan up on his offer. You can let off some steam, regain some of your control.”
Yeah, but she needed that control with Rylan too. Together they were too wild, burned too fast. Just like it had been with Jake. No, it was worse. She’d been insatiable with Rylan, and she knew the only thing that kept her sane that night was Sloan there as her rock.
But how many times could she ask Sloan to be there with her when she knew his lust rode under a thin layer of skin? It wasn’t fair to him, and frankly, she could not lose Sloan. She’d rather be celibate than lose him.
So, no, there would be no dipping her toe into the Rylan pool again, even if the mere mention of his name made her core tighten in excited anticipation.
“No,” she said firmly.
“I don’t understand why you’re cutting off your nose here. You couldn’t get enough of him—”
“Christ, Sloan!” Reese exploded. “If you’re so into Rylan, fuck him yourself.” She slapped the pack of cigarettes into his chest and stomped down the hallway to her bedroom.
Sloan didn’t follow. She heard his footsteps at the front door, and a moment later, the door clicked shut.
* * *
Sloan dug a crumpled cigarette from the pack and stuck it between his lips before he even exited the building. He lit up and stumbled down the cracked sidewalk toward . . . toward who the hell knew where. He had no idea what he was doing.
Goddamn her.
No other woman had ever gotten under his skin the way Reese did. He’d fallen in love with her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but sometimes he wondered if he hated her as much as he loved her.
He hated the way she made his heart pound.
Hated that just the sound of her voice could get him hard.
Hated that she thought she had to be strong for him.
Most of all, he hated that she’d picked Jake. That she’d asked Jake to rule alongside her. That she’d spent her nights tangled up in Jake’s bed.
She’d fucking picked Jake.
Sloan drew a cloud of nicotine into his lungs, holding it in until his chest ached. The smoke sputtered out on a harsh cough, and he walked even faster, eventually making his way to the redbrick building that housed the town infirmary. Frank, one of their medics, had mentioned that the generator down there was acting up. Sloan had planned on checking it tomorrow morning, but screw it. Might as well do it now. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
Resentment burned a path up his throat. He should have better things to do. In fact, he should be balls deep in someone right now, instead of withering away in self-imposed celibacy.
Three years. He hadn’t had his dick in a woman in almost three years. Not since the blade of his knife had sliced a clean line across his best friend’s throat—
He pushed the memory aside as hard as he pushed open the door of the building. His boots thudded on the tiled floor as he stalked toward the stairwell.
He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. This torturous self-punishment had to end. His uncontrollable desire, his all-consuming love for Reese . . . it had to end.
The problem was, there wasn’t a single female in this whole town that interested him. When Jake was alive—when Jake was with Reese—Sloan had turned to Cassie for comfort. The quiet brunette had lost her man not long after they’d settled in Foxworth; Ken had died from pneumonia, and Cassie had grieved hard for him.
Sloan knew she was pretending he was Ken when they were in bed together, but that was fine, because he was pretending she was Reese. The arrangement had worked because they were both using each other. But Cassie was off-limits now. He couldn’t even look at her without remembering what Jake had done to her.
Besides, he didn’t feel right using another woman simply so he could release all the turbulent emotions that Reese instilled in him.
He’d just have t
o make do with his own hand. Later, when he was in the privacy of his bedroom. And definitely after Reese was asleep, so he wouldn’t have to hear her moving around the house they shared. Then again, if she was sleeping, that meant he’d be picturing her lying in bed when he had his hand around his cock. Picturing her long red hair fanned on the pillow, one silky leg hooked around the thin blanket, her bare breasts pressed against—
“Sloan, wait up.”
He halted at the bottom of the stairwell, his entire body tightening at the sound of Rylan’s voice. Son of a bitch. He hadn’t even heard the other man’s footsteps.
A blond head appeared at the top of the stairs, and then the man was bounding down to the basement landing.
“What do you need?” Sloan barked.
Rylan’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Sloan gritted his teeth. Usually he was better at masking his emotions, so either he was doing a shit job of it right now, or Rylan was more perceptive than he’d given him credit for. “Nothing’s wrong. What do you need?” he repeated.
There was a pause.
“Spit it out. I’ve got shit to do.”
Rylan ran a hand through his hair. “Was hoping you could help me out with something.”
The anger rose again. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what kind of help Rylan needed. “If this is about Reese, go harass someone else. I’ve got a genny to fix.”
He took a step toward the stairwell door, but Rylan stepped in front of it. “How ’bout this? I’ll help you fix the genny, and then you help me by coming to a private party.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Let me guess. It’s a party of three.” When the other man grinned, Sloan’s patience eroded to dust. “Not interested. Now get out of my way.”
Rylan’s groan of annoyance bounced off the cinder block walls. Under the flickering fluorescent lights, the man’s eyes were an even more vivid shade of blue, as vibrant as the cornflowers Reese liked to keep in pots on her windowsill.