Beyond Forever - Rocha Kit(ang.)

TABLE OF CONTENTS O'Kane for Life Blurb Opening Night The Safe Nessa The Broken Circle The Legend The King Inked In Queen Grand Reopening Before You Leave Sector Four About the Author Copyright Information

O'KANE FOR LIFE You're holding a novella set after the end of Kit Rocha's bestselling Beyond series. If you have not read the series yet, please be warned: this novella contains massive spoilers. It is intended for readers already familiar with the series and characters, and if you pick it up without context you may find it confusing and unsatisfying! Please proceed with caution!

the beyond series #1: Beyond Shame, #2: Beyond Control, #3: Beyond Pain, #3.5: Beyond Temptation, #4: Beyond Jealousy, #4.5: Beyond Solitude, #5: Beyond Addiction, #5.5: Beyond Possession, #6: Beyond Innocence, #7: Beyond Ruin, #8: Beyond Ecstasy, #9: Beyond Surrender

BLURB Before they were the King and Queen… Six years before the Beyond series started, an ambitious bootlegger named Dallas O’Kane caught a very pretty thief named Lex with her hand in his safe. The rest is very sexy history. In Beyond Forever, follow Dallas and Lex through the turning points in their relationship, from the night he caught her trying to rob him, through his rise to successful bootlegger, to legend, to Sector Leader—with Lex always there, willing to give him the push he needs. Beyond Forever is a prequel novella that jumps through time to tell the story of the biggest moments in the formation of the O’Kanes and their King and Queen. It will be far more enjoyable if

you’ve already read Beyond Control, and contains spoilers for the entire Beyond series.

OPENING NIGHT After nine months of rebuilding and weeks of planning, Dallas did his final walkthrough of the new Broken Circle alone. Most of the others had scattered for the final couple of hours before the official opening. Over in the barracks, makeup was being applied, and silk and leather donned like pieces of armor. Tonight, the O’Kanes would be on display like never before. The triumphant heroes of war. The indomitable, undefeatable hedonists. The demons who lurked just beyond what was left of the wall encircling Eden—demons that brave souls could venture forth and see firsthand, if they dared. Tonight, Dallas expected a lot of people to dare. The bar gleamed just the right amount as he ran his hand over it. The wood had been polished to a glossy shine, but beneath the shine were scratches and dents, signs of hard living and rough handling. He’d won that battle with his contractors, demanding recycled materials with a familiar edge of grit instead of new and shiny. They could drag him into Eden and make him sit on their fancy fucking councils, but Dallas had no intention of letting the city tame him. His hard edges would always be proudly on display—a

reminder and a warning. Tables clustered around the new dance floor, surrounded by sturdy but mismatched chairs. The VIP booths had expanded to accommodate his growing family, and it didn’t take much imagination to envision a hundred nights to come, with everyone gathered around him, laughing and drinking and teasing. Living. Because what the fuck good was money if you couldn’t enjoy it? He heard footsteps only a moment before Cruz stepped through the door marked STAFF ONLY. “It’s done,” he said. “Jas and Zan already left to get ready. I’ll head out, too, if you don’t need anything else.” “I’m good,” Dallas assured him. Cruz inclined his head, still so very serious, and disappeared back down the hallway. Dallas took one last look around the empty main room and smiled. They were ready to write the next chapter in the legend of the O’Kanes. And he was ready to revisit the first. The staff hallway was lined with offices. Noelle had her own now. So did Noah, a claustrophobic room filled with computers and wires and so much tech it gave Dallas a headache. But the largest office by far was his own, marked by a solid oak door at the end of the hall.

Ace had burned the O’Kane logo into the wood before staining it a deep brown, and when Dallas pushed it open he exhaled with a sigh of pleasure. His desk matched the door, and so did most of the furniture, done in dark woods and luxurious leather. A round table with six chairs sat on one side, enough room for a friendly game of poker or a quick strategy session over a meal. The couch on the opposite side of the room faced a stone hearth with wood stacked inside, just waiting for a romantic fire. And there were plenty of plush pillows on the expensive rug, enough to cushion Lex’s body when he stretched her out in front of the flames and took his time. There was even a cabinet on one wall with leather cuffs and silver chains and shelves waiting for all the other little toys he might collect. He had a lot of possibilities in mind. But the prize was behind his desk, rescued in secret and restored at an expense so extravagant that the first crafter had looked at him like maybe his injuries during the war had damaged his brain. No one who looked at it could understand why a battered old safe had been worth the effort of digging it out of the rubble of the original Broken Circle and lovingly, carefully repairing it. No one who hadn’t been there that night...

six years ago...

THE SAFE There was a broken spring digging into his back. Dallas shifted his weight on the sad, sagging mattress and chided himself for getting soft. Sure, the bed was a piece of shit, but he had a bed, which was a vast improvement in his general living conditions. When he’d first landed in the sectors, he’d slept on naked cement more nights than not, and had considered himself lucky to be under a roof. It was more than a lot of people had in the crap-heap of Sector Four. But that fucking spring was driving him nuts. Sighing, Dallas rolled upright and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. His boots were right where he’d left them, ready for him to shove his feet into them at the first sign of danger. He tugged them on and retrieved his shirt from the floor. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well make his nightly check of the stills. The spring was a temporary annoyance. So was the hole in his jeans, the worn sole on his left boot, and the irritating squeak the door gave as he pulled it open. They were all living lean right now, trimmed down to the barest of essentials. The payday from their first quality batch of rum may have filled his pockets, but Dallas wasn’t about to

blow that cash on meaningless luxury. Dallas O’Kane had a goddamn plan. The warehouse was silent and dark except for the hum of the generators that kept the stills and vats running, but the dials and displays and indicator lights provided enough illumination for Dallas to navigate the metal staircase down to the first floor. Ace always claimed the glow from the equipment cast the cavernous space in hellish reds and menacing shadows, but Dallas liked the eerie effect. Lights meant they were in business. Business meant money. Money meant power. Eventually. Dallas navigated the crates of liquor branded with his newly designed logo with a swell of satisfied pride. Ace hadn’t been the obvious choice for a man looking for hardened recruits to build his gang’s reputation. Sure, Ace could throw a punch when he needed to—and he was even deadlier with his guns —but Dallas could have found a dozen hulking street toughs to fill out his growing army. It wasn’t enough. Intimidating fellow criminals would only get Dallas so far. True business dominance was going to be about branding. And Ace wasn’t just an artistic genius. He’d also banged the wives of half of the fancy

fuckers running Eden during his brief but illustrious career as an extremely expensive hooker. Ace knew how to get the rich assholes in Eden to open their wallets. Dallas planned to clean those wallets out. Checking the stills didn’t take long. Everything was running smoothly, churning out subpar moonshine—hopefully their very last batch of it. Everything was about to change. He stopped in front of the door to his office. Most nights after he checked the stills, he spent the next few hours locked in there, drawing up plans for the future, guessing at yields and prices, trying to make the math work faster. But he didn’t have the patience for numbers tonight, not with nervous anticipation buzzing through him. He could go out back and build crates, maybe. Burn through some of this extra energy. Or he could grab his jacket and head out into the sector, find a better way to burn through it. Maybe not a fistfight—Bren and Jas would never forgive him if he went out and got into a fight without them—but the pretty black-market dealer who supplied their liquor bottles had been dropping hints along with her shipments for the last few weeks. A good, enthusiastic fuck might clear his head. And he’d bet her bed didn’t have any broken

springs in it. Eager now that he’d made his decision, Dallas took the stairs back to the second floor two at a time and swung open the door to his bedroom— All of his warm feelings fizzled. His safe was open. And a thief had her fucking arm elbow deep in it. She froze, then slowly turned to face him. “Well. This is awkward.” It was sure the fuck something, but he didn’t know if awkward covered it. He hit the light switch next to the door and squinted at his intruder through the sudden brightness. The woman looked all of twenty-five—probably not even that—and woefully out of place in his shitty little bedroom. Because she was stunning. Not pretty, not hot, not even of this fucking world. Her dark brown eyes watched him with amusement, like he was a curiosity in some traveling circus, and her full, perfect lips looked poised to smile. He’d bet men had killed each other to earn that smile. Yeah, no doubt about it. This one made men stupid. Dallas refused to fall for it. “It’d probably get less awkward if you took your damn hand out of my safe.” “Right.” She complied, still moving carefully, like she was trying not to spook a wild animal. She

rose and stood there, both hands raised. “I surrender.” She said it low. A little sultry. Dallas couldn’t tell if that was just her voice, or if she knew what the word surrender could do to a man when she wrapped her lips around it all soft and loving. Either way, he raised his estimation of her danger level another few notches. “Somehow I doubt it.” She displayed her empty hands. “I didn’t take anything.” He let his gaze slide from her hands down her body, which was clad in black, skin-tight clothing. The curves were killer—even beneath her jacket, he could tell her tits were amazing—but Dallas’s attention lingered on the sleek muscles. Her obvious strength. If he got close enough to pat her down, she might try to murder him. That shouldn’t be hot. He jerked his chin at her. “Take off the jacket.” With a quirk of one eyebrow, she obeyed. Except obey wasn’t even the right word. She made it look like it had been her idea all along as she peeled off the scuffed leather and held it out. When he reached for it, she dropped it on the floor. So much for his intimidating bootlegger presence. Scowling at her, Dallas bent to snatch the

jacket off the floor and rifled through the pockets. After coming up empty, he tossed it onto the rickety table beside his safe. “You know I’m gonna have to check you, too, right?” “By all means.” She was still looking at him like he was an amusing bug she hadn’t decided whether or not to swat, but when he stepped closer, her muscles tensed, and her gaze flickered toward his bed. Fear. Perversely, that irritated him. Her brazen lack of fear might be a little damaging to his ego, but he didn’t like the way she stiffened as his hands touched her shoulders. Like she was waiting for him to slide his hands all sorts of places they didn’t need to go. Like he was the fucking bad guy here. As if he needed to grope an unwilling woman. “Cut it out,” he muttered as he patted his way down her sides and over her hips. “Your tits are nice, darling, but I can get better without all the backtalk.” She stifled a yawn. Impertinent little bitch. He would not smile. He kept up his grumbling as he checked the waistband of her pants and down her legs. Strong legs—he’d have to remember not to let her kick him anywhere sensitive. Because when he glanced up at her eyes, the fire burning there made it clear she was

envisioning the heel of her boot crushing his balls. Good. He almost avoided her tits entirely, but a slight bulge between them ruined the line of her shirt. When he slid his fingers over it, he knew exactly what she’d pinched. Without releasing her gaze, he dipped his fingers under the neckline of her shirt and came out with a rolled up wad of cash—the entire payroll he owed his boys. “Didn’t take anything, huh?” She flashed him a disbelieving look. “You caught me burglarizing your bedroom, and you’re surprised that I lied?” “Honor among thieves, darling.” He tucked the cash into his pocket and reached for her coat. Being this close to her was dangerous. After all, he’d lied too—he was pretty sure better didn’t exist inside the sectors or anywhere else. And his body was taking a distinct interest in making him stupid. “Get your ass out of here, and don’t come back. I won’t be nice next time.” Her fingers brushed his as she took her jacket, and she smiled. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone.” “Probably,” he agreed with his most dangerous smile. He’d sent criminals scurrying for cover with it, but she just kept grinning. “I do love crazy things that’ll most likely get me killed.”

She edged past him, nudging his shoulder with hers, and slipped through the door. “See you around, O’Kane.” She vanished into the darkness, and Dallas followed just far enough to make sure she really did leave the warehouse. The last thing he needed was her trying to pull another job—they still hadn’t managed to smooth the Special Tasks edges off Bren, who was likely to pull the trigger on an intruder before he even woke all the way up. It would be a shame for that face to end up shot. When Dallas got back to his bedroom, his safe was still hanging open. He crouched down in front of it and tossed the roll of cash back in on top of a stack of files and recipes and plans. Then he froze. Even with the lights on, the room was dim, and the shadows were deep. He slid his hand into the safe and felt around every fucking inch of it, inside and under the paperwork and around the edges in case it had gotten knocked aside. The credit stick was gone. Their entire fortune from the rum, all those carefully squirreled away credits, all the sacrifice, all the shitty nights on his lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling... He was meeting the rep from the illegal farm in three days. This shipment of grain was supposed to

be the one—the good stuff. The first batch of high quality whiskey. Their future. And that bitch had stolen the payment. »»» § ««« Lex didn’t slow down until she made it back to Sector Three. She felt naked, unnerved not only by getting caught like a fucking amateur, but by the encounter that had followed. She was painfully aware of the stolen item she’d hidden in her left boot, and the urge to go to ground as quickly as possible almost overwhelmed her. She forced herself to be smart instead. She took a winding, circuitous route back to her apartment, doubling back once or twice, primed to run at the first hint of trouble. But there wasn’t any, a rare goddamn occurrence in Three. She had to dodge a few drunks and a couple of roving gangs of assholes looking for trouble, but she could do that in her sleep. She slipped past them, finally reaching the pitted brick façade of her building. No electricity tonight. The landlord turned it off whenever someone hadn’t paid their rent, and there was always someone who hadn’t paid their rent. Still, intermittent power was better than none at all, and the place was solid, relatively speaking. It had

walls and a roof, and that was more than many tenements on the block could boast. Lex hurried up the stairs and finally—finally— bolted the door behind her, and she could breathe again. Shake it off, Parrino. She lit a battery-operated lamp and peeled off her clothes. When she’d laid them carefully over the back of her chair, she regarded her prize. The tiny credit stick didn’t look like much, but they never did. That was the beauty of them, part of the gamble. What was on it? It could be barely enough for a meal or two at the grubby cafeteria down the street—or it could be thousands, so much she’d have to launder it through a broker so O’Kane couldn’t trace it back to her. She stretched out on her bed, flipping the credit stick between her fingers. Dallas O’Kane already had a reputation. He was smart, ruthless, with a growing number of dedicated members in his organization. Not someone you wanted to cross, because he didn’t need his men to handle his shit for him. If he wanted you dead, he’d pull the trigger himself. The thought set off a flutter in her belly. He could have killed her tonight. He should have. The fact that he hadn’t even hurt her was...incongruous. And it made her curious. Suddenly, she caught

herself remembering all the other words people had used to describe him—determined, stubborn, capable. Words that would make him damn good in bed. Groaning, she squashed that thought and reached for her handheld scanner. Even if she wanted to see him again, it would be suicide now. She’d made it out of his place unharmed, but once he figured out she’d robbed him, after all... No one’s luck lasted forever. Not even hers. Lex slid the stick into the reader and almost dropped the whole damn thing. Because the number that came up on the display wasn’t just enough to buy a meal at the cafeteria, it was enough to buy the cafeteria. A preposterous number of zeroes stared up at her. Stunned, she stared back. A knock on the door kicked her heart into her throat. Her hand was already on the loaded pistol tucked under her pillow before she realized that O’Kane’s men would have just broken the damn thing down. “Who is it?” “It’s me, Rosemary.” Lex hid the scanner beneath the pillow, right next to her gun, and slipped from the bed. She paused to haul an oversized T-shirt over her head, then listened for a moment at the door. If anyone else was out there besides the kid

who lived down the hall, they weren’t making a sound. She pulled open the door, and Rosemary greeted her with a strained smile. “Hi.” “Hey.” Maybe she should have brought the gun, after all. Maybe someone had come by already, asking questions. “What’s up?” “I was wondering—” The girl shifted nervously, and Lex’s grip tightened on the edge of the door. “Do you have any spare candles? For Benny.” The girl’s baby brother was a ball of fearless energy, with one exception—the dark. “Bad night?” “Yeah. I tried singing to him, but it’s not working. Nothing is.” Lex relaxed her hold on the door and stepped back. She’d let Dallas O’Kane—and all the goddamn zeroes on his credit stick—into her head, and now she was jumping at shadows. And harmless teenage girls. “Come in.” “Thanks.” She closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry to drop in like this, but I saw the light under your door—” “It’s fine.” Lex knelt to rummage through the cupboard beneath the sink in what passed for a kitchen, though it was really just a section that had been curtained off from the main room. “Is your mom at work?”

“Yeah.” “Have you two eaten?” “Yeah.” Rosemary shrugged helplessly. “It’s just...the dark.” No candles. Lex swallowed a sigh and reached for her battery-operated lamp. “Here, take this.” The girl hesitated. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure. I’m going to bed anyway, and your mom can bring it back tomorrow.” “Thanks, Lex.” The girl’s eyes shone in the lamplight, and she kept murmuring her thanks for a solid minute-and-a-half, until Lex gently reminded her that her kid brother was waiting. With the door locked firmly behind Rosemary, Lex climbed back into her bed. For a long time, she sat there in the darkness, her knees drawn up to her chest. Then she retrieved the scanner and activated it again. The screen cast a soft blue glow over the room—and silently damned her with the numbers it displayed. She hadn’t just stolen from Dallas O’Kane. She had, quite possibly, ruined his life. »»» § ««« When Dallas needed a job done competently, efficiently, and with a minimum of fuss, he called

Jasper. When Dallas needed advice on dealing with the viper pit that was Eden and its surrounding sectors, he called Bren and Mad—and usually got an earful. A loud, opposing-viewpoints earful. “She doesn’t matter,” Mad said firmly, leaning forward in his chair. His wavy black hair and earnest brown eyes complemented a face that skated the line between handsome and beautiful— but Dallas knew that all of the man’s smiles and friendliness masked a bone-deep darkness. “Whoever she was, she’s long gone. Our focus has to be the meeting. If we don’t show up with money in hand, this opportunity is gone.” “She does matter,” Bren argued. “Symbolically, if nothing else. People need to know what happens when you fuck with O’Kane.” He turned to Dallas. “I can find her.” No doubt that was true. Bren had been trained by the scary motherfuckers inside Eden, the shiny, terrifying city that lorded over the sectors like some ancient king walled away from the unwashed masses. As a former Special Tasks soldier, he’d been trained to find a criminal needle in a haystack made of thieves and drunks and murderers. That didn’t mean he could do it in time. “We’ve got what, seventy-two hours? That’s not long enough.”

“But I can give it a shot. And you and Mad can be working on something else in the meantime.” “I can get the money—” “No.” Dallas cut Mad off before he could finish his offer. “I don’t want a loan from your godly cousin.” “It wouldn’t be a loan,” Mad protested. “Gideon has always said I can claim my inheritance at any time. It would be more than enough to pay for the shipment. Supplies, too.” What a simple solution that would be. Mad’s cousin ran Sector One like an honest-to-God cult leader, and he had the wealth that went with it. The high and mighty Gideon Rios probably had the cash Dallas needed stuffed between his fucking couch cushions. If Dallas asked, Mad would do it. Return to the sector he’d fled, dive back into the complicated tangle of noble families and family pressure. It would hurt him in ways Dallas still didn’t fully understand—but it would hurt. No one turned their back on princely luxury in this world without a whole lot of pain. But if they didn’t get their hands on this money, everyone would be hurting. “Maybe I can help.” That voice was branded on his brain. Husky and low. He spun toward the door, and even with wild

rage whipping through him, he couldn’t not appreciate the way she looked. Jeans hugged her curves, riding low on her hips. Her black top was cut deep enough to show off tits that were, indeed, spectacular. Bren moved. In what seemed like the span of a heartbeat, he had her hands pinned above her head and one forearm across her throat. “This is her?” The woman stared back at him mildly, like he wasn’t within an inch of crushing her windpipe. “Do you mind?” “Yeah, I kinda do.” “Bren.” Dallas forced himself to relax back into his chair, echoing her casual demeanor. “I thought the doors were locked.” “They are.” He leaned in, forcing her chin up until she winced. “Which means she broke in. Again.” “Bren.” Dallas wrapped his fingers around the edge of his desk. “Let’s hear her out before we choke her, yeah?” He wasn’t happy about it. His displeasure was written in every tense line of his body, and it took him a moment longer than it should have to release her and step back, both hands raised. Warily, she approached the desk. But when she reached it, she stopped and turned her head, not quite looking back at Bren and Mad.

Waiting for Dallas to dismiss them. It was stupid as hell. She’d already played him once. But he liked to think all of his brains weren’t in his dick—and Bren’s volatile presence would increase the likelihood of this going sideways. “You guys go check the security. Figure out how to improve it.” Bren wanted to argue. He started to, then snapped his mouth shut. Mad rose from his seat, quietly obedient, and snagged him by the arm. “C’mon. I’ve been wanting to upgrade the door locks for a while.” Mad got Bren out the door, and when it clicked softly behind them, Dallas transferred his gaze to the thief. “Darling, your survival instincts could use some work.” “Tell me about it.” She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “And my name isn’t darling. It’s Lex.” “Lex.” It suited her. Short and to the point, but if he wanted to wrap his drawl around it, he could drag it out nice and slow. “I’m Dallas O’Kane. And I believe you were about to tell me why I shouldn’t let my angry, ex-Special Tasks soldier kill you?” “Actually, no. I don’t have a good reason why you shouldn’t.” She leaned closer. “I just came to bring this back.” His precious credit stick clattered softly on his

desk, and for a few moments, he wondered if he was wrong. Maybe his brains were in his dick, because they sure as fuck must have vacated his head. This made not a damn bit of sense. Without taking his eyes from her, he jerked open his side drawer and found his scanner by touch. It beeped after he slid the stick in, and he had to look down to read the number on the screen. It was all there. Every last credit. A fortune. This lady was fucking insane. “Sorry for the hassle.” She took a step back. “You won’t see me again. That’s a promise.” “Wait.” He slipped the credit stick free and into his pocket—the thing wasn’t leaving his direct possession again until he handed it over in exchange for his grain—and tossed the reader aside. “Why’d you bring it back?” “Does it matter?” “Indulge me.” “Honestly? I’m not sure.” She blew out a breath. “It was more than I’d planned to take. Or I’ve just lost my damn mind.” It had to be more than that. “So you’re a thief with a conscience,” he drawled, letting his disbelief color his words. “Lucky me.” Her eyes flashed. “I don’t take things from

people who can’t stand to lose them. And this—” With another sigh, this one almost frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair. “You know what? You have your money back. You don’t get to know what I’m thinking, too.” “Fine.” He turned and retrieved a bottle from the shelf behind him—Nessa’s first batch of really good rum. The glasses sitting next to it were smudged, and one had a chip on it, but they were good enough for this. Spinning his chair back around, he set them on the desk and poured two drinks. “Let’s talk business.” “Business,” she echoed flatly. “You don’t steal from people who can’t stand to lose the shit.” He pushed the glass without the chip across the desk toward her. “I assume that means you’re okay stealing from the assholes who can. I have a few of those I’d love to rob.” “Uh-huh.” She nudged the glass aside and bent over his desk, stretching out until her breasts were pressed against all his sales projections and her fingers wrapped around the edge closest to him. “What if I want to talk about something else?” That shirt wasn’t hiding a damn thing. He could ponder the magnificence of her tits at his leisure now—and that might be safer than imagining what the view was like from the other side. Her denimencased ass waving in the air, practically begging

for him to grab on and— Down, boy. He peeled her fingers off his desk one at a time and then prodded her shoulder. “Don’t even try it, darling. You might be real good at getting my dick hard, but I’m not stupid enough to stick it in you. God only knows what you’ll leave with next time.” “And here I was, thinking that was part of the fun.” She straightened with a shrug and reached for the rum. “Oh, well. Your loss. Mine too, I bet.” She licked the rim of the glass, then tossed back the liquor. Sweet Jesus. Dallas knocked back his own rum, and the warm burn of it didn’t help a damn thing. His body wanted what it wanted—but Dallas O’Kane hadn’t gotten this far by giving in to anyone or anything. Even his own painful erection. “Business,” he repeated. “I need a chemical printer. I haven’t been able to find one for less than a couple years’ earnings. Think you can help me out?” “Sure.” Her empty glass hit the desk with a thud. “For a price.” “Nothing’s free, darling. What do you want?” “I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll let you know.” She flicked the glass with her fingernail. “It’s good stuff.” “It’s passable.” He lifted the bottle and swirled

the liquor inside it. Nessa had done a good job, proving herself a tiny copy of her brilliant grandfather, but even they couldn’t turn cheap shit into liquid gold. “That credstick you brought back is gonna buy us what we need to make some real liquor. Then I’ll show you good.” “Can’t wait.” She wandered toward the door, tossing a wave back over her shoulder. “I’ll be back when I have your printer.” He tried not to watch her ass. He really tried. But she was rolling it like she wanted him to know just what he’d missed, and he really hated his dick. Or his dick hated him. Fuck, there wasn’t enough blood left in his brain to be sure. “Get out of here,” he growled. It was a good growl, his intimidating one. And Lex just laughed, strutting out of his office like she owned it, and him, and the warehouse besides. Fuck, she was going to be trouble. Fuck, she was going to be fun.

NESSA It took Lex a month to get her hands on the damn printer Dallas O’Kane wanted—a week to find one, another week of surveillance and planning, and two weeks of waiting for the right moment to pull the job. No way would he pay her enough for it to be worth the effort. If she were smart, she’d hawk the printer to someone else, take the loss, and move on. Waltzing back into the O’Kane warehouse again was risky, even if she had been invited this time. Lex had never been able to resist a good gamble. For once, she knocked, and a giant hulk of a man she’d never seen before opened the door. He looked her up and down, a frown furrowing his brow. “Yeah?” “I have something your boss wants.” She handed over the heavy black bag and watched as he unzipped it to look through it. “Hey, what’s that?” The voice was young and high, and a moment later the owner appeared from behind the huge man —a kid, maybe a teenager, dressed in baggy jeans and a shirt four sizes too big for her. Her hair had been drawn up into a sloppy ponytail, but most of it

was too short and had slipped out. What remained in the plain rubber band had a pencil tucked into it. She didn’t look like Dallas, but that meant jack shit. “Are you O’Kane’s kid?” The big man snorted. The girl dragged her attention away from the bag long enough to give Lex the same assessment she’d just given her—and obviously didn’t like the conclusion. She pushed self-consciously at the rolled up sleeves on her flannel, shoving them up thin arms. They slid right back down. Color flooded her cheeks. “No,” she said, her tone an inch shy of outright surly. “I’m his distiller. Who are you, his new girlfriend?” It was Lex’s turn to snort. “Hardly. I’m his thief.” She held out her hand. “Lex.” After a moment, the girl reached out to grip Lex’s hand. Hard. “I’m Nessa. What’s in the bag?” “Chemical printer. For you?” “Nah.” She reached for the bag. “Flash, can you go find Ace? Tell him his printer’s here. We’ll be in my office.” “Got it.” He locked the door and headed off between two rows of stacked crates. The girl hefted the bag, even though it was almost as big as she was, and spun to the right. “Come on. I assume Dallas said he’d pay you for this or something, but he’s out on a job.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.” Lex trailed her fingers over a logo burned into the side of a crate as she walked past. “I can wait.” “Must be nice,” the girl muttered. “It is.” Nessa led her into a room just across from Dallas’s office, one cluttered with crates and shelves laden with jars and bottles. There was a patched recliner in one corner, and a couch along the wall. Nessa hoisted the bag onto the desk with a grunt and then turned to study Lex again. “You’re the one who broke in, aren’t you?” “Yeah.” She still couldn’t decide if it counted as her worst failure ever because she got caught, or her greatest success because she made off with her score, anyway. “Call it a job interview, I guess.” The girl’s lips twitched, almost like a smile was struggling to break through. “I like your bracelet. Where’d you get it?” Lex toyed with a charm on the bracelet. She’d bought it during one of her recon trips, when she was casing the O’Kane warehouse. “Just down the street. There’s a lady in your marketplace here who sells them.” “Oh yeah? Maybe—” “Hey, munchkin. What’s this about—?” The newcomer was hot, with the kind of appeal measurable on an empirical scale. He had dark hair

pulled back from his face, features just a smidge too rough to be considered pretty, and gorgeous eyes. He looked at her, and he didn’t just see her. He knew her, everything that was going on in her head. It was uncomfortably like gazing into a mirror. He acknowledged it with a wry smile. “Let me guess. You’re the one who almost robbed us blind.” “Did O’Kane tell everyone?” “He trusts us, sister. It’s a thing.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Probably not where you come from, though. Sector Two, I’m guessing?” Lex matched his expression—and held her tongue. That made him grin again. He tapped his nose. “Hey, that can be our secret, beautiful. Professional courtesy.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” Nessa demanded from behind her. “Nothing, kiddo.” The man extended his hand. “Alexander Santana. My friends call me Ace.” Of course they did. “Lex.” “Nice to meet you, Lex.” He shook her hand for longer than necessary, and the flirtatious appreciation in his gaze was so damn cheerful that she wondered if he was trying to annoy her. “So let me see my loot.”

She stepped aside, and he went to the desk and lifted the chemical printer out of the bag with a low whistle. “Oh, shit. This is the latest gen. Who the hell did you rob to get this? The fucking Council?” “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Santana.” He snorted. “Well, Dallas won’t be back until dinner, so I hope you don’t mind cooling your heels for a bit to get your money.” Lex had a better idea. “Actually, I was thinking of taking Nessa out to the market.” She turned to the girl, who stared back at her with big, wistful eyes. “What do you say? I can show you the stall where I bought my jewelry.” Ace’s friendly smile stayed fixed on his face, but his eyes turned wary. “I don’t know if that’s a good—” “Yes!” Nessa hopped away from the desk so fast she almost slammed into Ace. “I wanna go. I have a bunch of credits and I never get to go out and spend them.” “Because it’s dangerous out there,” Ace said. “We should ask your granddad—” “Go ahead,” Nessa told him, already headed for the door. “It’s only a few blocks to the market. And she’s some super thief. We’ll be fine.” They made it less than one block, barely down the street at all, before Lex noticed the hulking man

who had been guarding the door trailing behind them. “I see your friend decided to join us. Flash, was it?” Nessa glanced over her shoulder and groaned. “Yeah, that’s Flash. They all freak out every time I put a toe outside the warehouse.” “Because you’re young, because you’re a girl, or because you make the money?” “Yes, yes, and definitely yes.” She blew out a gusty sigh, which stirred the hair hanging in her face. “It’s not fair, you know? I mean I’m a grownup when they want me to work, but I’m a kid whenever anything serious is going on.” So much for O’Kane’s much-lauded trust. “Why do you put up with it?” She shrugged and kicked at a dented can on the road, sending it careening over the cracked pavement. “Have you ever been outside the sectors?” A couple of times, and never far. It was a wasteland—and that was saying a lot, since the sectors were pretty shitty to begin with. “Is that where you’re from?” “Texas. It’s down south. Dallas’s mama had a family ranch, and that’s where I was born.” They caught up to the can, and Nessa kicked it again. “Pop and I just came up to join Dallas not that long ago. If you think the sectors are a shithole, you

never wanna see what it’s like out there. So I get it. They worry. They just don’t know how to express it without being overprotective jerks.” The other guys in Dallas’s organization probably thought they were protecting her from all sorts of things, but that didn’t help anyone, really. Not around here. “I was born in Sector Two. Grew up in the brothel district.” Nessa jerked to a stop and whirled to face her. “What? Like those houses they sell the kids to?” “Uh-huh. I ran away when I was...a little bit older than you, I guess.” “Shit.” Nessa resumed walking and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. “You’ve been on your own?” Lex was glad the girl wasn’t looking at her anymore, because it still hurt to think about. If going back to Two wasn’t so damn dangerous —especially for her younger sister—then she’d do it in a heartbeat, just to find out what had become of Avery. As it was, she couldn’t bring herself to stray too far from Sector Two. But that wasn’t what Nessa had asked. “Yep. On my own, every day. No one to tell me what to do—but no one to care if something happens to me, either.” “That sucks.” Nessa stole a glance at her. “But you work for Dallas now, right? Kinda. I mean, you

stole shit for him. So he cares now. He cares about everyone who works for him.” It was a nice sentiment, but one that didn’t work so well, practically speaking. Oh, Lex was sure that he took care of the people closest to him —that was just good business, never mind sentimentality. But she was equally sure he didn’t give a rat’s ass about her. “Okay.” “You don’t believe me.” Nessa gave a little laugh. “It’s okay. No one ever does. But no one knows Dallas better’n I do. Except my grandpa.” They’d reached the edge of the market. The lunch rush was just about over, but with the overcast skies clearing, there was more traffic than usual. Lex took Nessa by the arm and dodged a food cart, then gave in to curiosity. “What’s O’Kane’s deal, anyway?” “What do you mean?” Hell, she wasn’t sure herself. “You know, what’s he after? What’s his endgame? Booze, I get that, but there’s plenty of it already out there. What’s he gonna do different?” Nessa grinned. “Everything.” »»» § ««« Pop was the closest thing Dallas O’Kane had ever had to a father.

Tam O’Malley had been a fixture on the family ranch by the time Dallas came into the world. The son of an Irish rancher and a Vietnamese bootlegger, Tam had embraced both legacies— which made him a very useful man when the Flares ended life as the world knew it. He could tame a horse, milk a cow, pluck a chicken, and grow damn near anything, even in the shittiest soil. But his true passion—his art—was his liquor. Everything Dallas knew, he’d learned from Pop. But Dallas had never had the flair for it that Nessa did, which was why he was downright nervous as he watched the old man pour a finger’s width of whiskey into a glass and swirl it around. By the time Tam raised the glass nearly to his nose and inhaled, he was already scowling. After his first sip, he grumbled. Then he downed the rest of it in a single swallow and grimaced. Damn it. “I know this isn’t ideal—” “Too much oak. And the finish is shit.” “We’re not gonna get it perfect using the sticks instead of aging it in barrels. I know that. But it’s not bad. It’s a damn sight better than what we were selling before.” “Anything’s better than raw.” Tam picked up one of the charred white oak sticks and waved it in the air. “The problem with sticking one of these things in there and calling it a day is speed. Aging

isn’t supposed to be fast. It’s not as bad as just adding color and fake flavors—nothing’s as bad as that—but it’s still a shortcut. And shortcuts won’t get you where you wanna be.” “Yeah, well, starving in the next five years while we wait for this whiskey to age right isn’t gonna get us anywhere we want to be, either.” Dallas picked up another stick and turned it over in his hands. “Mad’s working on getting us more oak, but we have to make a call. Barrels or sticks. And we need product, Tam. We need it yesterday.” “It’s your show. Your call.” Tam drove his fingers through his silver hair. “It’s better than what anyone else has—for now. But that’s about it. If you want everyone to know that O’Kane Liquor is the best, know it like they know their own goddamn name, then it has to be the best.” “Tam—” “Take care of today, Declan, but don’t forget about the future.” Damn the man for being right. Dallas turned the charred stick over again, rubbing his thumb along the rough edge. One of these dropped into a jar of moonshine could give them passable liquor in a week. They could sell it for five times what they moved the raw alcohol for. But if they did it right, they could sell it for twenty-five times that. Because the people

cluttering the streets of Four might not know the difference, but the people with real money did. And if they didn’t start casking shit now, they wouldn’t have anything to bottle in three years or five or ten. Keep the lights on. Build their legend. He couldn’t do both—and he had to do both. “How about small barrels?” he asked finally. “We could put a quarter of the wood to those. The increased surface area’ll make it age in...what? Six months? A year?” Tam shrugged. “It’s a decent stopgap. It still won’t be quite right, but I can work with it.” “Okay. So the next big batch of grain we get...” He did the math in his head, skimming off enough to give his men a bonus—enough cash to make the sacrifices of the last few months worth it—and nodded. “I’d say we can start with at least twentyfive percent into casks. And we’ll put aside enough for you and Nessa to start a few special limited editions—the shit we’ll milk those rich motherfuckers for in a decade.” “You will, anyway.” The old man rose, his bones creaking as he carefully levered himself out of his chair. “I’m heading upstairs. A quarter of that oak for casks—I’m holding you to it.” “You got it.” As he watched Tam move painstakingly toward the steps and up the first one, he made a mental

note to shift a little of their resources toward retrofitting one of the empty downstairs offices into a bedroom. Hell, he’d take it out of his own money if he had to—though he’d bet the guys would kick in, too. Everyone loved Pop. “Hey.” Ace slid into the seat Tam had abandoned, clutching a folder full of paper. “I’ve been playing with that printer your cat burglar brought, and it is beautiful.” Jasper grabbed the chair on the opposite side of Dallas. “Ace already has about fifty label designs for you to look over. At this rate, he’s gonna wear the damn thing out, and you’ll have to steal another one.” Ace waved his middle finger vaguely in Jasper’s direction. “By the way, your thief took Nessa on a shopping trip. And hasn’t shown back up with her yet.” “So I heard.” He’d been uncomfortable about it, too, for more reasons than Nessa’s safety. That wasn’t in much danger, not with Flash trailing along behind them. But Nessa knew way too much about him and rarely shut her mouth. Thinking about the kinds of personal details she was dropping in Lex’s clever ears made him nervous. That woman didn’t need any more advantages over him.

Ace flipped open his folder. “You can’t trust her, you know.” “I figured that out when I caught her robbing me, but thanks.” “Yeah. You caught her, and she still got away with all our damn money. Because she made your dick stupid.” Dallas opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, too irritated to speak. Or too embarrassed. “Don’t feel bad.” Ace patted his arm. “You didn’t have a chance. After your new friend introduced herself to me, I had a hunch. So I ran down the street and checked with Gia. I’m not in the loop anymore, but she is.” Gia ran an up-and-coming brothel on the other side of the marketplace, but she’d started life as a highly-paid courtesan, trained by the same man who’d trained Ace. Which made Dallas’s gut sink. “Don’t tell me—” “Oh, yes. Lex isn’t just from Sector Two. She was Cerys’s star protégée before she cut and ran. She’s trained to steer a man around by his dick like it’s the rudder on a damn boat. Gia’s begging me for an introduction. She thinks Lex could kick her up to the next level.” Jesus. The girls in Sector Two were trained from childhood in all sorts of manipulation—a fucking

unsavory practice, as far as Dallas was concerned. At least Ace had been old enough to make his own damn decisions when his mentor had swept him up. Lex had likely been sold to Cerys when she was younger than Nessa. The thought turned his damn stomach. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for her. Shit, considering what Ace had just told him, he needed to be more guarded than ever. But the sectors were a hell of a place to make your way alone, much less as a woman. Much less as a girl. It made her bringing back his money even more inexplicable. Jas was watching Dallas with unblinking interest—and surprising sympathy. “Fuck that, man. Tell Gia she already has a job. She’s working for us.” “Jas—” It was all he got out. The warehouse door swung open, and Lex herself strolled in, all smiles. And behind her... It took Dallas a second to recognize Nessa. Her messy, shoulder-length hair had been cut in a short style, with bangs falling across her forehead at an angle. Her hand-me-down clothes had vanished, too. The jeans she was wearing actually fit her, and the bright, colorful patches spoke of pre-Flare vintage. Her T-shirt was the same, a black V-neck

with faded pink and purple cartoon characters emblazoned on the front. She looked...cute. More than that, she looked happy. Fuck, she looked happier than Dallas had seen her in years. The pain of failure hit him square in the chest. Luckily, Ace covered for him, rising out of his chair with his arms spread wide. “Look at you. Nessa, don’t get a big head, but you’re adorable.” Nessa laughed and spun around, showing off her new outfit. “I know, right? I am. And look!” She freed one hand from the bags she was carrying and held it up, wiggling her fingers so the light caught her nails—pink, with glitter sparkling from each one. “Lex knows all the vendors, and they give her deals.” Jasper took her hand and peered down at her polished nails. “Nice. Did you bring some back for me?” “I don’t think pink is your color.” Nessa bumped him with her hip. “Maybe purple?” “With my skin tone? No fucking way.” Lex leaned against the wall, with that familiar not-quite-smile almost curving her lips. “Red, definitely.” “Listen to her. She’s smart.” Nessa hoisted her

bag. “I got Pop some dinner. Is he in his office?” “He already went up.” Dallas made himself smile through the ache in his chest. “Go show him your new haircut. I’m sure he’ll love it.” Nessa beamed at him and swept down to kiss his cheek. In seconds, she was clattering up the stairs like a tiny tornado, leaving devastation in her wake. Shit, he’d been fucking up with her. Dallas cleared his throat and rose from the table. “Come on,” he told Lex, tilting his head toward the back. “Let’s do our business.” “Sure.” As she brushed past him, she whispered something too low for Ace or Jas to hear. “Tease.” Oh yeah, he was the tease. She was the one swinging her hips back and forth as she strolled to his office, and Ace’s words drifted back to him. Like a rudder on a boat. Fuck that. He made it into his office and leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks for taking her out. You didn’t have to do that.” “I didn’t do it for you.” That hit him right in his pride. It didn’t matter that her tone was mild. The words were damning enough. She’d done it for Nessa, because someone

had to. Because Dallas wasn’t getting it done. And if he didn’t lock his shit down, he’d be begging her to stick around and tell him what else Nessa needed—which was probably the fucking point. There were a million ways to manipulate a man. Dallas knew his share of them, but the star pupil of a woman clever enough to run her own sector probably knew every goddamn one. She sighed. “He told you.” “Who, Ace? Yeah, he told me.” “Figures.” She ran over finger over the top of a filing cabinet, then wiped her hand off on her jeans. “You’re not nearly as much fun when you’re looking at me like that, you know.” “I’m not trying to be fun.” He flexed his fingers on his arms and blew out a breath. “Tell me she’s not part of some fucking game, that’s all I want. Because maybe I don’t know how to do right by her, but I will sure as fuck murder the shit out of anyone who hurts her.” In their limited acquaintance, he’d seen a lot of different things flash through her dark eyes— wariness, amusement, flirtation, even a hint of the kind of lust that could twist a man into knots. Right now, he saw ice. “Excuse me?” Oh, shit. If looks could kill, Dallas O’Kane would be burning to ash on his office floor. “Hey,

I’m the only one she has looking out for her. I have to ask.” She crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring his stance. “Your price for the printer just doubled.” “Fine. Name it.” “Tripled.” “Jesus Christ, woman, what the fuck do you want from me?” He threw up his hands. “You want me to not give a shit about her? You want me to assume everyone who wanders in off the street and wants to be her best fucking friend has good intentions? That girl’s brain is worth more credits than either of us have ever seen and I happen to not like people knowing that.” “She’s not just your ticket to riches, O’Kane, she’s a kid. You say you care, so act like it.” One step brought her close enough to poke him in the chest. “And make all the assumptions you fucking want, but don’t make them about me.” “Why not? You’re making them.” He caught her wrist, shocked at how delicate it felt beneath his fingers when her presence seemed to fill his office. “I don’t want people knowing it because then she’ll never be safe outside these four walls.” “Of course. It’s the only part of your bullshit posturing that makes any sense.” She leaned closer. “Ask yourself why she’s so desperate to get outside these four walls that she’d leave with a complete

stranger, and you’ll figure it out.” He hadn’t realized she was. Nessa had been subdued when they’d finally made it all the way to the sectors. The trip had been hard on her and Tam —Dallas knew that. At first, she’d seemed terrified of the idea of leaving the confines of the warehouse, eager to throw her time into the business and setting up shop under her grandfather’s experienced eye. That had changed at some point, and he hadn’t noticed. “Fine,” he growled, releasing Lex’s wrist just to get her out of his personal space. Anger wasn’t tamping down his lust. If anything, they were blurring together. “I’ll think about it. Happy?” “Thrilled,” she muttered, sounding anything but. Then she smiled, a terrifying expression with her eyes still iced over. “A favor—that’s my asking price for the printer. You’re going to owe me one, Dallas O’Kane.” He’d rather give her cash, especially with that look in her eye. But right now she’d probably ask for more than he had—and what was the worst that could come of it? “Fine. A favor. I owe you one.” “The big guy out there—not Santana, but the other one. He’s your second?” “Jasper? Yep.” “You want anything else nicked, I deal with

him. Not you.” It should have been a relief, the best of all possible worlds. He got to use her skills, Nessa got to keep her new friend, and Dallas’s dick was safely out of reach. But as he held out his hand to seal the deal, he couldn’t completely squash his disappointment. A man with a ten-year plan as ambitious as his couldn’t afford anyone else trying to steer. But he’d bet Lex made you feel real good when she curled those nimble fingers around your rudder.

THE BROKEN CIRCLE Dallas loved his new bar. It wasn’t what it could be, not yet. But after two months of retrofitting his latest acquisition, they’d finally thrown open the doors to the public. In a few short weeks, they’d already begun to pick up regulars, old men who filled the tables along the wall and drank whiskey—at retail prices—to warm their bones. The only thing Dallas loved more than his new bar was retail pricing. He finished counting his stash of cash and slid the box back under the counter. “It’s not too bad.” Jas grunted into his whiskey. Not exactly an endorsement. Dallas set another glass on the counter and poured himself a drink. The small-barrel stuff was good. Not up to Pop’s standards yet, but better than anything this sector had ever seen. And the mark-up on selling it by the shot was making them money faster than ever. “You’re cranky this morning.” “He partied too hard last night.” Bren stowed his broom behind the bar and shook his head. “I told him three girls and two bottles was too many— on all counts.” “Jesus, Jas.” Dallas leaned on the bar. “Where

the fuck’s your sense of friendship? You could have invited me.” “Took the words right out of my mouth.” Lex was standing by the back exit, a bag slung over her shoulder. “Flash said you guys were over here, but I think I came in the wrong door.” The sight of her kicked him in the gut. Dallas hadn’t seen Lex in months—in five months, not that he was counting, because he was definitely not counting—not since the night they’d fought over Nessa. He caught glimpses of her sometimes as she came and went, but for the most part he’d tracked her presence in the subtle changes around him. A new piece of tech, some obscure additive they needed for a particularly good distillation. Nessa’s evolving wardrobe and the wild color that had appeared in her hair one night—pink, and then purple, and now blue. Actually seeing her was like catching sight of a ghost. “Lex!” Ace swooped in from the other side of the bar to smack a kiss on her cheek. “Sister, that paint you got me is sublime.” Okay, it was like catching sight of a ghost to him. Everyone else apparently saw her all the goddamn time. “Don’t use it too fast. I’m not sure when I can

get more.” She held up the bag. “Can you take this to Nessa for me? More bleach, and two new colors.” “Absolutely.” He plucked it from her hand and grinned. “Remember what I said—your next tattoo is on the house.” “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone else near my skin.” She slid onto the barstool next to Jasper and placed a credit stick in front of him. He picked it up and turned it over between his fingers. “You managed to move the gold?” “Not all of it. It’ll take a while to sell it as jewelry instead of melting it down, but you’ll make more eventually. Besides.” She shrugged. “It’d be kind of a shame. There are some beautiful pieces in there.” That kicked Dallas in the gut in a different way. Not that he usually considered himself sentimental, but making the call to fence his mother’s jewelry had been harder than he’d expected. Stupid, since he’d rarely seen her wearing it, and she lived on more vividly through his memories than some bits of rock and gold. The money would be put to good use. Fixing up the bar to maximize their retail profit was a priority, but it still sucked. To distract himself, Dallas set another glass on the bar, poured a double, and slid it across to Lex.

“Why don’t you try our latest?” he drawled, just to see if she’d keep ignoring his presence. Her answering smile was polite and vague. “Thank you.” Still mad. Dallas had to appreciate her commitment—he didn’t often come across a woman who didn’t forgive him eventually. He tried again. “So what color is Nessa’s hair going to be tomorrow?” The mask dropped, and Lex eyed him with a mix of exasperation and mild irritation. “You’ll have to ask her.” Bren made a noise caught somewhere between a cough and a sigh. “Jas, can you help me haul some more stuff over from the warehouse?” “Sure.” He slid the credit stick across the bar toward Dallas, then nudged Lex with his elbow. She seemed to have no trouble interpreting the silent entreaty. She rolled her eyes and exhaled roughly. “Fine, I’ll play nice.” Dallas glared at Jas and Bren. Jas and Bren busted ass to get the fuck out of the bar. More aggravated than he wanted to admit, Dallas thumped the liquor bottle back onto the bar and picked up his glass. “Don’t play nice on my account. I can take it.”

“Yeah, but most of us get tired of treating people like something we scraped off the bottom of our shoe.” “Eh, it’s cute when you do it.” She arched one eyebrow and sipped her drink. “Is there a reason you wanted my attention, or can you just not help yourself?” A good fucking question. Could he help himself? Maybe not. “Just trying to be civil. Seems like if I can get past you almost ruining my damn life, you can get past me being a bit of a jerk.” “Is that what you call it? Huh.” She lifted her glass. “The rum was better.” “What?” His brow furrowed. “This shit is amazing.” “I don’t like whiskey.” “That’s tragic. Because this?” He lifted the bottle and waved it at her. “This is liquid gold.” Lex laughed. “You’re so offended. I’m sorry I disparaged the whiskey. I’ll go right back to disparaging you.” “You better.” He huffed and sipped his drink, taking his time to let it roll across his tongue. It was better than the shit they’d quick-aged with the oak sticks. Pop had been right about that. He always was. “Or you can tell me what you think of my new bar.”

Her laughter died away as she looked around. She finished off her drink, then took his right out of his hand. “You don’t want to know.” Ouch. “I asked, didn’t I? C’mon, darling. I’m tough.” “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” She looked around again, more slowly, taking her time. There wasn’t a ton to look at. They’d converted the shop that had been here before into a huge open space. The bar dominated one side, with their slowly growing kitchen behind it through the swinging doors. They’d managed to salvage a ton of tables and even a few booths so far. After a few rounds of polish, the rough gouges almost looked like they’d been put there on purpose. It wasn’t much. But considering what they’d started with, it was a bloody miracle. “Well?” “The decor’s not bad,” she said finally. “But there’s nothing here. No reason for me to come out and spend hours every night in this badly-lit cave. I already have a badly-lit cave. It’s called my apartment, and I can drink there for a lot less.” Dallas let his gaze slide across the—mostly empty—tables again, settling on the old men in the corner. Most of them didn’t have a better place to be. They came in to be together, to trade stories about the time before the Flares, to bitch about achy joints and impertinent kids.

“The old guys will come,” she went on, like she could read his goddamn mind. “But they’re coming here for each other, not for you. If you close down tomorrow, they’ll find someplace else to hang out.” It was the simple truth, and in his gut he’d already known it. If he hadn’t, hearing her put it into words wouldn’t make him so fucking defensive. “You have a better idea, I assume?” “Sure—entertainment.” She drained his glass and handed it back to him with a lipstick print on the rim. “Give them something they can’t get at home. Something that won’t fit in a bottle. I’d suggest live music, but that’s hard as hell to find. Tits and ass, that’s easier.” Dallas felt his eyebrows creeping up. “You think I should get...strippers?” “Why not? You’ve got room for a stage, plenty of muscle for security. All you need now is a show.” It would bring in a crowd, that was for sure. Tits usually did. Ace had been harping on the same thing just last week, insisting that he could find a few willing dancers who could shake their hips and keep the men fixed to their chairs, drinking until their wallets were empty. Maybe the bastard had been right after all. “It’s a nice idea, but I don’t know shit about selling sex. Liquor’s my wheelhouse, darling.” “Bullshit.” She stretched over and wrapped her

fingers around the neck of the bottle. “You put a pretty label on this bottle, didn’t you? That’s sex. Your men—the tattoos and the leather? Sex. Even your whole thing.” She waved her other hand. “Tough, untouchable leader, intense but somehow above it all? Sex.” Yeah, he wasn’t feeling above it all with her lips wrapping around the word sex that many times in a row. He couldn’t quite tear his gaze from her mouth —and if he let himself open that door, he wouldn’t be able to stop imagining her wrapping her lips around his cock. A hard-on was not conducive to business planning. “I don’t think most of my patrons wanna fuck me, Lex.” “Maybe not.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you can make them want to be you.” When she put it like that, the ideas fell into place easier than breathing. He could close his eyes and see it—the refurbished bar, with a VIP section where he could hold court. Definitely more leather and chains for him, not just clothing, but a style. The dancers on the stage would have to be good, a fantasy the average guy off the street in Four could only dream of obtaining. But that sorry bastard could get close to the dream—with O’Kane liquor. “Damn,” he whispered. “You’re smart.”

“Try not to sound so shocked, honey.” Dallas huffed and pointed a finger at her. “No, you’re fucking brilliant. Here.” He shoved the credit stick across the bar at her. “You should help Ace set it up.” “I don’t know...” She dragged out the words as she pushed the credit stick back towards him. “What if you don’t like the way I handle things?” “Then it’s my fucking fault for letting a thief run away with my renovation budget with only Ace to supervise.” He slid it right back to her, pushing it far enough for his fingers to brush hers. “Trust me, darling. I may be an asshole, but I got no problem taking responsibility for my choices about who I let handle my business.” Lex grinned and snatched up the credit stick. “Remember that when you’re watching my first show.” “I will—” The impact of the words slammed into him too late, and his teeth snapped together so loud she probably heard them. Her first show. Jesus Christ and all the fucking saints. She must mean the first show she produced. The first one she planned. Because there was no way Lex liked him enough to build a stage and then climb up on it and shake those fabulous tits at him. For him.

She winked and slid off the stool, striding out the door before he could pick his brains up off the floor. Oh yeah. She was gonna do it. And he was going to regret this. »»» § ««« Somewhere along the way, Lex had become mildly obsessed with the idea of tormenting Dallas O’Kane. And while she had to admit that it was going well, she hadn’t anticipated one thing: getting caught up in it herself. “These two are good.” Ace circled two names on the list in front of him. “They know how to put on a show. On their own, or together.” Good might not cut it, not for the plan she’d talked up—and the amazing results she’d all but promised. “Did you take our proposal to your friend Gia?” “Yeah. She was a little dubious at first...” Ace rolled his eyes. “Gia and Dallas circle each other like cats who haven’t decided if they’re gonna share or pee all over everything.” “Sounds about right.” Lex set a sheaf of papers aside and reached for her bottle of water. “Everything aboveboard. I can give her my word, if that means anything to her.”

“Possibly more than Dallas’s. But I got it, sister. If I promise the girls will be looked after—and we won’t be selling anything more than dances—then I think Gia can find us some stars.” “Good, because I promised your boss the kind of show money can barely buy.” “Maybe you need my sweet ass up there.” Ace waggled his eyebrows at her salaciously before sitting back in his chair. “I don’t think it’d play as well, though. You’re going for the barbarian king angle, right? Sell Dallas as a virile conqueror and the liquor as his magic elixir?” “You work with what you’ve got, and he fits the part.” A little too well. Sure, he’d managed to rope her into this project, but the problem ran deeper. He wouldn’t have been able to rope her into it if she hadn’t been around. But she had. In fact, she’d found herself looking for excuses to be around, which probably meant she needed to get the fuck away, as soon as possible. Ace snapped his fingers. “Hey, don’t get lost in fantasy land, sister. What was your schtick? Or did you split from Two before you developed one?” “I thought you knew who I was.” She bought herself a little time by digging a cigarette out of her case and lighting it. “I had one job. The job. Find a rich older patron who would croak after a decade

or so, then go back home to Orchid House and help Cerys with her empire. You don’t need a schtick for that.” “Everyone needs a schtick.” Ace gestured to himself. “Me? I was a passionate, stormy artist. I could only create when inspired by the shy smile and fathomless eyes of my one true muse.” He waved a hand at her. “You? I’m guessing you were like Gia. All sharp edges and danger, and when the moment came he’d really feel like a man, because only a real man could tame a wildcat like you.” “Only a real man would ever get the chance.” She would not think about O’Kane. Would not. “You said Mad is handling the sound and lights?” “Yeah. He’s good with tech. And he’s got connections because of the whole, you know...” Ace wiggled his fingers. “His schtick. Runaway prince in exile.” “Prince?” “Oh, you didn’t know?” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “His real name’s Adrian Maddox Rios. As in, grandson of the prophet of Sector One.” “I see.” Now she knew why he’d been tossing around words like Gideon and inheritance when she’d first come back to the warehouse. She had wandered around Sector One a little. It was close enough to Two for her to consider settling there, but

in the end it was all a bit too touchy-feely for her tastes. People there wanted to know their neighbors, something a runaway from Orchid House could ill afford. She hadn’t had time to learn much about the ruling family, but everyone knew about Gideon Rios. “Yeah.” Ace shrugged and sat back. “Dallas doesn’t like to lean on his contacts more than we have to, though. So he’ll probably hire local and oversee whatever we decide to do.” “Whatever works.” She checked off the next item on her stupidly long list. “Decor. I don’t think we should change a goddamn thing. I might regret that when we get better lighting in here, but I think rough-and-tumble is exactly what O’Kane should be going for.” “Really?” Ace pursed his lips and slowly perused the room again, his eyes narrowed. “I guess I can see it. I might even be able to enhance the overall look. One of my first side-gigs was turning mass-produced shit out of Eight into priceless vintage antiques.” People in the city liked to think they could get their hands on something priceless by spending a little extra money, as if that didn’t go against what the goddamn word meant. “I don’t think it needs to be enhanced. All it needs to be is real. A place they recognize that just happens to have some magical

shit going on inside.” “Then I’ll trust you.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I was never as good at this shit as Gia is. I retired for a reason.” “I’m not sure being good at it is aspirational.” She rubbed the curve of her hip, where Ace had inked her first tattoo. “I wasn’t being funny when I asked you for this.” “Your scorpion?” It was beautiful, but even Ace’s clever hand couldn’t turn it into something it wasn’t. It coiled high on her hip, poised to strike. “Be glad you weren’t any good at it, that’s all I’m saying. Once it’s in your head, there’s no getting it out.” Ace reached out to cover her other hand. “I know, sister. Gia and our other friend Jared? They’re both good at it. Really fucking good at it. And you know, they always worried about me because I wasn’t stone cold like they can be. But that’s a hell of an exhausting way to live.” Her eyes burned, and she pulled her hand away. “Be glad about one thing—your boss is sharp. He gets it. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him.” “He doesn’t—” Ace tilted his head and squinted at her. “Girl, he just gave you all the money he made hawking his dead mama’s jewelry to spend however the fuck you want on his bar.” “He did what?”

“You heard me.” Ace stole the pen from her and started doodling on the edge of her list. “He wanted to make sure we got paid, but he wanted to fix up the bar, too. So he gave Jas the jewelry he brought with him from Texas and told him to get it fenced.” “Motherfucker.” It was gone now, and trying to get it back wouldn’t just ruin some solid business relationships, it was a good way to get stabbed. “That asshole.” “Excuse me?” “He could have borrowed the money. He’ll have made every cent back within a week. Even the scariest loan shark would have walked away from the deal happy. But that jewelry’s gone.” And she would always be the person who had sold it. “That’s not how Dallas operates.” The doodle twisted down the page and became the ocean with sharp fins bursting through the waves. “You know the whole barbarian thing isn’t him, right? He loves to play it—hits him right where it counts, if you get what I mean. But he’s smarter than anyone guesses, and willing to sacrifice to get what he wants.” Oh, she got what he meant. She’d seen Dallas’s eyes light up at the prospect of a nice, belligerent argument, and she’d seen them cloud with frustration when she tried to ignore him. He wanted to be challenged, and he wanted to conquer.

And if she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d be just as invested in that game as he was. “None of that means he trusts me,” she murmured. “I think he’s just trying to find the line.” “The line?” She plucked the pen from Ace’s hand. “The one where I finally sting him.” »»» § ««« The bar was...still kind of a dump. But it was a dump with a stage, good lighting, and a VIP booth, which was where Dallas found himself sitting to celebrate the official launch of the newer, more-debauched Broken Circle. The VIP area was nice. The wall behind him sported a pair of massive crossed swords along with a collection of pre-Flare vintage revolvers. Dallas reclined on the end of one of the U-shaped padded vinyl booths where the table wouldn’t block his view of the room—or the room’s view of him. He was as much on display tonight as the girls on the stage, apparently, a fact that he’d only discovered when Lex showed up with his outfit for the night. It wasn’t anything he would have bought for himself. The jeans were all right—dark denim ripped in just the right places, not too expensive. But the rest of it...

The real leather vest, smooth and supple against his skin, bore their new logo emblazoned across the back on a massive patch. The matching belt, with its huge silver buckle, basically demanded that people stare at his dick. He wore a wide, studded leather cuff and heavy chains and even rings—a huge skull for his thumb, two engraved with Celtic knots, and one that slipped onto his pinky and sported a black opal. He felt ridiculous. But judging by the wary and awed looks he got from the people trickling through the door, Lex knew what the fuck she was doing. He might be more irritated about that if there weren’t so many people trickling through the door. “Word’s out, I guess.” Jasper slid into the other side of the booth, a bottle in each hand. “I think I just saw someone with a fucking bar code.” “Yeah?” Dallas stretched his arms out along the back of the booth, forcing himself not to forsake his casual pose and crane his neck looking. Dallas O’Kane, Barbarian Bootlegger, wouldn’t give a shit who was here. “Well, if these city motherfuckers want thrills, we better provide them.” “Girls seem to be a hit.” Jas nodded toward the stage, where a brunette with mile-long legs spun around the pole sticking up out of one side of it. The third act of the night, she earned shouts and whoops as she peeked back over her shoulder with

a look that was pure, sexually-charged teasing challenge. Dallas had seen his share of strippers in his day, but he’d never seen anything like what was unfolding on the stage tonight. They were good. Not just hot, or skilled at wiggling their asses. Every woman who strutted out onto the stage owned it—and every man who looked at her. Dallas didn’t even know how. There was no one thing he could point to, no specific look or move. Their dances had been wildly different, one projecting sweet playfulness while another flipped knives over her fingers before cutting the clothes from her body. This one was working the pole like gravity— and the basic physics of possessing a spine—didn’t apply to her. But just like the first two, every move screamed confidence and power. Look but don’t touch. You can enjoy me, but not as much as I’m enjoying myself. Lex’s clever fingers were all over every fucking inch of it. The song faded out. The girl drifted backstage while Zan hovered nearby, arms crossed over his massive chest, ready to snap some bones if anyone got grabby. So far, there hadn’t been any problems, but the more people drank, the likelier it became. Apparently, Jas was thinking the same thing.

“We’re gonna need more guys.” “Yeah.” Dallas glanced at the bar, where the two new waitresses Lex had hired were having trouble keeping up with the orders, even with Mad and Ace hauling the heavier trays and restocking the liquor. “Good news is, I guess we’ll be able to afford them.” “No fucking kidding.” The lights dimmed, and another song started, one with a slow, throbbing beat. When the lights swelled again, Lex was strolling across the stage, tracing one finger along the low neckline of her delicate, see-through pink lace top. Dallas’s fingers dug into the vinyl of the booth, but he refused to show any other reaction. He couldn’t. She might be on the stage, but this was a two-person show, and the Barbarian Bootlegger had to be lazy, casual. Utterly in control of himself and everything around him. Even if finally getting a decent look at those more-magnificent-than-he’d-even-imagined tits was making him crazy. She turned, and the lights glinted off metal. She wore thin gold chains draped around her neck and hips, and they glittered as she wrapped her fingers around the pole and swung around it once, her movements unhurried. When she faced the audience again, she lifted

her arms over her head, stretching lazily. With her tousled hair and lightly smudged eye makeup, it made her look like she’d just climbed out of bed. Dallas tore his gaze from her long enough to survey the rapt crowd. They were all imagining her climbing out of their beds, soft and sleepy and toofucking-glorious for this shithole of a sector. She was selling them fantasy, and they were knocking it back faster than the liquor. The pink lace top hit the floor. Lex was wearing even more glittering chains beneath it, and she toyed with them as she moved. By the time she slipped her thumbs under the top edge of her panties and rolled her hips, Dallas’s fingers were digging dents in the booth and he’d stopped breathing entirely. The chains slid over her skin, taunting him with image of a more intimate performance. He’d fuck her with those chains wrapped around her. Hell, he’d add more, until her moan at every thrust competed with the sound of them rattling against his headboard. If he got her chained up in his bed, he wouldn’t let her out for days. Weeks. Jasper cursed. “What the hell do they teach the girls in Sector Two?” “Everything, I’m guessing.” No wonder Ace had warned him. He’d thought those first three girls

were dangerous, but their pride and power were tangible things, almost clumsy compared to Lex’s silken promise wrapped around deadly steel. Dallas didn’t even know how she managed to project you want me and you could have me and you could never touch me at the same time—it didn’t make a goddamn bit of sense. But the message was unmistakable. He chanced a look at Jas, who was staring at the stage torn between impressed awe and bafflement. When the crowd erupted in gasps and whistles, Dallas jerked his attention back to the stage in time to see those tiny pink panties go flying. Lex was standing in the middle of the stage, shamelessly, gloriously naked—and Dallas knew in that moment that he was gonna be rich. Really. Fucking. Rich. She dropped to the floor on her hands and knees, her bare ass in the air, and crawled toward the front of the stage. Stalked, like she was a predator on the prowl, and she knew her prey wouldn’t just go down easy—he’d love every second of whatever she decided to do to him. And she was staring right at Dallas. Oh, he was so, so fucked. She rolled to her back at the edge of the stage with her head tipped over it, hair spilling down

nearly to the floor. Her back arched, thrusting her tits up like they were begging for attention. Then she cupped them, squeezing her fingers tight on her nipples as she licked her lips. Dallas bit back a groan. But he couldn’t quell the darker feeling rising up in him, prodded on by the appreciative shouts coming from the crowd. His cock was throbbing, but his muscles were tensed to launch him out of his seat at the first sign of movement toward the stage. Lex might be feeding off the crowd’s energy, but he wanted to slap every fucking one of them down and chase them out of the bar so the way her lips parted around a moan of pleasure was for him and him alone. Not a very sound business plan. But fuck. She rolled upright in a smooth, slow arc and turned to swing her legs over the side of the stage. She slid off of it and sauntered out between the tables, into the audience. Only one asshole had the drunken gall to reach for her, and she knocked his hand away without veering from her path. She didn’t stop until she reached the booth where Dallas sat, using every scrap of self-control he had to keep his lazy, amused mask in place. Her fingers slipped into his hair, clenching as she climbed onto his lap. Right onto his aching dick.

“Having fun?” he gritted out. He gripped the back of the booth until his fingers ached to keep from reaching for her, but not even he had the iron will required to keep from arching up against her. A low, tortured noise escaped her, caught midway between a gasp and a groan. Oh, fuck this. Fuck everything. What was the good of this conquering barbarian act if he couldn’t use it to his advantage? Dallas locked his hands around her naked waist, nearly groaning at the erotic contrast of the chains against her bare skin. With one smooth movement, he rose and hoisted her up and over his shoulder. He slapped one hand onto her ass to hold her in place and grinned at the crowd. “Enjoy the next act, boys. And try the whiskey.” Lex laughed, an exultant sound full of triumph and anticipation that garnered answering laughs from the patrons. It was still ringing through the air when he strode through the staff doors into the back hallway, though it died away as she gripped his vest. “Regretting any of your life choices yet?” she purred. He lowered her to the ground, biting back another groan as her body slid along his. One of the chains caught on his belt buckle, trapping her against him until he managed to fumble it loose.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman. Jesus Christ.” “I told you I’d get it done.” She didn’t step away. “Did you like it?” A sarcastic reply hovered on the tip of his tongue, but when he met her eyes, they were soft and warm and...earnest. Like she was really wondering. It had to be an act. No one could own a room the way she had and still wonder. “Of course I did,” he replied gruffly, setting his hands on her shoulders and spinning her around to urge her down the hallway toward some fucking clothes. “People who weren’t even here liked it. Dead men liked it.” “Surely dead men are beyond earthly concerns like pussy. Where are we going?” “To find you some damn clothes before you bring the building down around our ears.” “Why?” She faced him again and scratched her nails down the front of his vest. “You can’t go back right now anyway. We might as well have a little fun.” Lex gazed up at him like it was a foregone conclusion, like she’d done her dance and hypnotized his dick and now he was wrapped around her little finger, helpless in the face of her undeniable allure. The hallway was dim. The walls were concrete

—rough against bare skin, but not dangerous. Dallas backed Lex up against one and planted a hand on either side of her head. “If you got hot and bothered and need a little relief, just ask for it, darling.” “Are those the magic words? Pretty please?” Her hand curled around his ridiculous belt buckle. “I won’t beg you to fuck me. I won’t do that for anyone.” “Oh, I won’t make you beg. This time.” He caught her wrist and dragged it up the wall, and the chains jingled as they slithered over her skin. “All you gotta do is tell me you want it.” “I want it,” she whispered. “I want you.” The words burned through him way too hot. He had to tamp down on his reaction in a struggle to reclaim control of the situation. She wasn’t the only one who could play dirty. He grabbed her other hand and guided it up so he could capture both of her wrists in his left hand. He watched her face as he carefully tightened his fingers, measuring her response as his grip turned forceful. Rough. Hitched breaths. Slowly-spreading flush. Naked eagerness, even when he was grinding her wrists into the wall like his conquering barbarian persona come to life. No, especially then. Lex didn’t want gentle. So he didn’t give it to

her. He’d stroked his cock more than once, imagining how her breasts would feel beneath his hands, but the reality shattered the fantasy. Her nipple was deliciously tight against his palm, so he caught it between his fingers and pinched hard. The chains around her jingled again as she arched off the wall with a shudder. She lifted one leg, rubbing the inside of her knee against his thigh. His hazy plan had involved a slow seduction, but her act had compressed about five hours of foreplay into a four minute song. He edged between her thighs and traced his fingers down the center of her body, groaning as he found the slick heat of her pussy. “Which part of that show got you this wet, darling?” She trembled. “What makes you think it was the show?” Her body offered almost no resistance as he rocked a finger inside her. He pushed it deep and shuddered with the effort it took not to imagine her clenching tight around his cock. He withdrew and worked a second finger into her, and she sucked in a sharp breath and sank her teeth into her lower lip. Her hips moved, tilting to his touch. Opening to him. That’s right. Even as he lifted his thumb to start a slow, stroking rhythm across her clit, he couldn’t

tear his gaze from her face. Pleasure darkened her eyes. Flushed her cheeks. He had her trapped against the wall, helpless to do anything but roll her hips and ride his thrusting fingers... And he still wasn’t sure which of them had the power. Because every gasp, every moan, every flutter of her goddamn eyelashes entranced him. The moans melted into low cries that only got louder when she twisted in his grip, trying to free her hands, and he held her tight. Her whole body was shaking now, tense and taut. She whispered something—he couldn’t make out the words, but the husky, pleading tone of her voice was enough to shake his control as her tension exploded. She came hard, convulsing around his fingers until he had to grit his teeth against the need to tear open his pants and thrust into her. He leaned into her instead, closing his teeth on her jaw with a growl of satisfaction. Panting, she turned her face and nuzzled his ear. “Holy fuck.” “Nah, nothing holy here. Just us sinners.” He eased his fingers from her body and stroked her trembling thigh. “Feeling better?” “Getting there.” Her lips brushed his earlobe, followed by her tongue. Control threatened to veer away from him again. With supreme effort, Dallas released her

hands and pushed back from the wall. “Then go get dressed.” For a moment, she just lounged against the wall, looking disheveled and fuck-drunk. Then she smiled and brushed past him. “Yes, sir.” He told himself not to watch her go. But it felt even stupider to stand there staring at the concrete like he wasn’t hard enough to hump the fucking wall. He turned and watched her saunter away, her hips swinging and her ass begging for his hands. “Hey, O’Kane?” “Yeah?” She didn’t stop or turn around, just called back over her shoulder, “I knew it would be that good.” Lex turned the corner, and Dallas sagged back against the wall and rubbed a hand over his face. So much for regaining his power in the situation. He’d pinned her to the wall and stripped away her defenses—at least, that had been the plan. But there had been no vulnerability in her pleasure. No weakness in her submission. She’d strolled away sated and pleased with the world, and he was stuck with an aching erection and the sensation of being balanced on a precarious ledge. Two things had become abundantly clear tonight. One—by the end of the month, he was going to be rolling in cash.

Two—he had to keep his dick out of Lex and his hands off her. Everything about her was a trap, and it didn’t matter that she wasn’t trying to ensnare him. He’d do it himself, drunk on the challenge she represented, chasing after her until he lost sight of the goal he’d set the day he first landed in the sectors. A man could only achieve one impossible dream at a time. And something told him becoming the richest man in all eight sectors would be a walk in the park compared to gaining the upper hand over Lex.

THE LEGEND The couch in Nessa’s office was a pretty damn good place to sleep. It was more comfortable than Lex’s bed at her apartment, there was a shower in the bathroom attached to the office, and crashing there was a hell of a lot closer than dragging her ass all the way back to Three after dancing into the wee hours of the morning. Not that she couldn’t handle the dancing. After a year of working at the Broken Circle, the muscles in her arms and legs no longer burned at the end of a few sets, and she could carry trays all night in her platform heels and still spare a smile for the regular customers. Something slammed out in the warehouse again, and Lex groaned. For the first time, she regretted not accepting the newly renovated room Dallas had offered her. She’d told him that just because she liked dancing in the club, it didn’t mean she was ready to throw in with the O’Kanes. But the truth was that something about the offer felt off. It was a nice room, nicer than she’d expected—and as far away from Dallas’s bedroom as possible. Thanks, but no thanks. Nessa’s couch had seemed like the perfect solution, and it was. But right now, she just wanted to get some

fucking sleep. She reached over the edge of the couch and fumbled around until she found her shoe, then pounded the bottom of it against the wall. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep in here!” The reply drifted in, harried and exasperated. “Fuck you!” Jasper McCray was a solid second-incommand, eternally loyal to Dallas O’Kane, and way too mouthy for his own good sometimes. Lex snatched up her tank top and hauled it over her head as she stomped barefoot out into the large main room. “You want to say that again to my face?” Jas was standing at a low wooden table laden with weapons, sorting through the pistols and knives. “I’m not afraid of you, Lex.” “A half-naked chick who doesn’t mind talking shit to a bunch of armed men?” Zan elbowed his brother, who stood next to him, grinning. “Maybe he should be afraid.” They weren’t just sorting through the weapons, they were loading them. Lex crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s going on?” Mad flipped one of the knives over in his hand. “Another bootlegger popped up.” Technically, anyone who wanted to set up a still nearby could do so freely. It wasn’t like Dallas had

some kind of monopoly or claim on the territory, just whatever he could hold on to with muscle alone. And that was exactly what he’d been doing, squashing his competition as soon as it appeared. Matthew Stone, the leader of Sector Four, let the burgeoning turf war go on, either because it amused him, or because he didn’t give a shit. Sooner or later, the constant fights and raids would bite them all in the ass. “What are you planning on doing about it?” Jas shrugged. “Don’t know yet.” “Bullshit.” He squinted at her. “Dallas is out, meeting with a supplier. Got to wait ‘til he gets back for the order, but probably the usual.” The usual. Which meant the boys would roll out, carefully shoot the place up, and haul back all the equipment they could carry so they could add it to Dallas’s stash. Not that he needed it, or would use it under damn near any circumstances. It was almost always subpar, not remotely close to his exacting standards. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. And it was causing problems. Rumors had already started to circulate about why Dallas was stealing other people’s equipment. If he was doing so damn well, he shouldn’t need it. It never seemed to occur to anyone that he didn’t need it, because

why else would he take it? What a fucking mess. Jasper walked out through the back. Zan and his brother drifted after him, still grumbling about the logistics of this particular raid. Mad was headed that way, too, when Lex grabbed him by the arm. He turned to face her, arching one dark eyebrow. “Yeah?” If anyone in Four could fully grasp the importance of image, it was Mad. He came from Sector One, where their entire culture had been built on it. “I know you’ve heard people talking. This is hurting him.” “Maybe,” he acknowledged, crossing his arms over his chest. That eyebrow was still raised. “Do you care?” She shouldn’t. Dallas had been studiously avoiding her for almost a year—and when he couldn’t avoid her, he kept careful distance between them. “If he goes broke, how is he gonna pay me? Of course I care.” “Uh-huh.” Mad sighed and leaned against a stack of crates. “I mentioned it to him last time. The boys are tired of hauling this crappy equipment back, and even more tired of trying to find places to put it. I told him we’ll be sleeping on top of it soon, and he told me to see about buying that warehouse next to the new barracks for storage.”

Dallas’s operation could weather some grumbling from otherwise loyal men. But there was one thing it couldn’t survive. “I overheard someone in the marketplace the other day. He said word on the street is that Dallas doesn’t shut down the new stills because of competition, or even because he wants the equipment. He said it’s because Dallas needs their liquor.” Mad pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s his one weakness, you know. His blind spot. He’s smart and he’s ruthless and he can be harder than fucking diamonds when he has to be. But he never forgets not having enough.” “Can you talk to him?” “He won’t hear me on this, Lex. I’m a damn prince. I didn’t have to grow up hungry, and he knows it.” If one of his closest men couldn’t make Dallas listen, then a woman he didn’t trust and could barely bring himself to look at didn’t stand a chance. “Well, then. Looks like we’ll have to handle this one ourselves.” “Lex...” His voice held a note of warning, but he was already wavering. Lex patted his cheek. “You gather up what we’ll need. I’ll get dressed.” “Are we gonna do what I think we’re gonna do?”

As if he had to ask. “I want a sledgehammer, I think. A big one.” »»» § ««« Dallas O’Kane was having a shitty night. After hours of haggling, the deal he’d been working on for new shipments of cheaper grain had fallen through, and he’d come home to discover that another competitor had sprung up on the edge of their territory. And no one could find Mad, which meant Dallas was gearing up to go out and bust some fucking heads himself. “When’s the last time you saw him?” “I don’t know—this afternoon, maybe?” Jasper shrugged. “We were getting ready in case you came back early, and Lex came in to yell at us.” Tension tightened his muscles, and Dallas focused on relaxing them one by one. The chances that Mad and Lex had gone off somewhere to fuck were slim—but even if they had, Dallas didn’t give a shit. He didn’t. He did not. “Why was she yelling?” he asked, picking up his favorite pistol.

“Aw, hell if I know. We woke her up making too much noise, I guess.” “Well, if she’d taken the damn bedroom I offered her, she wouldn’t have that problem, would she?” The side door opened, and Lex and Mad walked in, laughing. He was carrying the biggest sledgehammer they had, and Lex had an axe over her shoulder. “Did you see the one guy?” She shook her head. “Like he couldn’t decide if we were brave or crazy?” “I think he pissed himself while he was running away,” Mad retorted, grinning wider than Dallas had ever seen. They were disheveled. Giddy. And they both smelled like liquor and sour mash. Oh, fucking hell. “Adrian Maddox,” he roared, his anger spiking so fast his hands were shaking. He dropped his gun to the table and curled his fingers into fists as he spun on them. “What the hell did you just do?” Lex stepped between them. “Nothing. If you have a problem, it’s with me.” It was possible to get more pissed off. Dallas covered the space between them in three long strides and wrapped his hand around the handle of the axe propped on her shoulder—just in case. “I know you’re not a fucking idiot,” he snarled. “So

you couldn’t have taken on a goddamn gang of bootleggers with one man as backup.” “Dallas—” Mad started. “No.” With one flex of muscle, he jerked the axe out of Lex’s grip and embedded it three inches into the table next to them. “You,” he snarled, pointing at Mad. “I’ll deal with you later.” Before anyone else could argue with him, he caught Lex’s arm and dragged her toward his office. She let him, but when they stepped across the threshold, she yanked her arm out of his grasp. “I would have walked. You didn’t have to go caveman on me.” “Oh darling, you haven’t seen caveman yet.” He slammed the door behind them and leaned back against it. Having her trapped someplace she couldn’t escape slowed his racing pulse enough to let him examine her for injuries. “What the hell were you thinking? You both could have gotten killed.” She scoffed. “Please. They ran like scared little boys. And if they’d tried to fight?” She bent and unzipped one boot, then the other, and kicked them off. “I’ve handled bigger numbers all by my lonesome. I bet Mad has, too.” She straightened and unbuttoned her jeans. He’d seen her strip enough times to know when

she was trying to make it sexy. This was practical, efficient—and a perfectly reasonable reaction to having jeans covered in mash. Which meant he knew exactly what they’d been doing. “Mad talked you into wrecking their shit.” She pinned him with an indignant glare. “Actually, it was my idea.” “So you think I’m being stupid, too?” “No.” Her expression gentled. “But I think there are some things you need to do that you won’t. Maybe can’t.” Dallas closed his eyes against the tenderness on her face. Anger, he could handle. Even disdain. But softness? Sympathy? He was Dallas fucking O’Kane, barbarian bootlegger. He didn’t have time for soft. “You think I’m being stupid,” he repeated, not making it a question this time. “Tell me what the smart move is. Tell me why.” Lex sighed. “They only know what they see, O’Kane. People don’t understand that you have complicated reasons for your shit. So they assume motivations that make sense to them—like maybe you don’t smash the equipment up when you shut someone down because you’re going to finish off their run and sell their liquor as your own.” Dallas’s eyes flew open. “They think what?”

“You heard me.” Lex stood there in just a Tshirt, her arms crossed over her chest. “They think you’re a fraud, and you’re giving them room to do it.” “That is the most ridiculous—” He bit off the words with a growl, though his anger was selfdirected now. He should have guessed this was coming. The people who weren’t willing to do the work just loved to sit around and talk shit about the people who got it done. Dallas had never had time for their petty jealousies, but he should have known what they’d do as soon as he got big enough to pose a real threat. Most of them probably didn’t even believe it. But they would spread the rumor because it was finely honed to undercut the image he’d struggled to build. And they’d find people who would believe it. The rumors would chip at the foundation of the O’Kane mystique and seep into the cracks like water waiting for one good freeze. Then everything could come crumbling down. “So I fuck up their shit.” He watched her, wondering how a woman half his size, standing there in a T-shirt and panties, managed to loom so large. “Just smash it all to hell like I’m not just a barbarian, I’m possibly a psychopath, too.” A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Sounds like one hell of a deterrent to me. I wouldn’t chance

setting up in O’Kane territory.” No, not if he played it right. Cruise through, smash their equipment to shit, scare the piss out of them. Make it clear that next time, the sledgehammers would be cracking skulls, not stills. “Fine.” He pinned her with a glare. “But you shouldn’t have gone out there and done it by yourself. You’re going to give me gray hair, woman.” “Ah, but it’ll be worth it.” Her eyes gleamed. “You’re a rich man already, Dallas. If you let me, I can make you a legend.” He huffed. “You know what legends get? They get their asses shut down by Matthew Stone. Our sector leader doesn’t like competition.” “So get rid of him.” She said it so casually that Dallas barked out a laugh. But his laughter died as her gaze met his, amused but deadly serious. “Shit, you’re not kidding.” “What? I figured that was your endgame.” She levered herself up to sit on the edge of his desk. “You do so like being in charge. What else are you gonna do?” It had always been there, lurking in the back of his head. The jackpot. The ultimate, out-of-reach dream. He’d never expected to come this far, this fast. To be sitting on the most profitable bar in all

eight sectors, making money as quickly as he could get the liquor out of the casks. Lex had been a part of that. The heart of it. He’d slid into the persona she’d crafted for him like a perfectly tailored jacket he’d never realized he wanted, and it was comfortable here. Even back then, she’d seen him so clearly, she’d known exactly what he needed. Who he was. Dallas O’Kane, barbarian bootlegger, was an act—and he wasn’t. He was part of Dallas—the best parts of him as well as the worst. His ambition and his protective instincts. His ruthlessness and his hedonistic pleasure in life. He was the king of his own domain, and he kept the people who lived inside it safe. But there was a shithole sector outside his walls, and Matthew Stone took glee in playing the predators against each other, watching them wound and weaken themselves while he consolidated his position and fed off the prey. A noble reason. And a fucking lie. “You want it,” Lex whispered. “Go on. Say it out loud for once.” He wanted so many things. Control. Security. So much fucking money that the world could end a half-dozen more times and he’d know in his bones that the people he cared about would still be safe. And he wanted her. He always wanted her.

Dallas took a step, and then another, until he was standing against the desk, his hips driving her thighs apart, so close he could feel her breath on his throat when he reached out to twine one lock of hair around his finger. “I want control. Of all of it. Of everyone.” Of you. Her eyes hardened even as her smile stayed the same, soft and vaguely amused. “You haven’t so much as spoken to me in months. What makes you think I’d let you touch me now?” “You’re the one who wants to make me a king,” he murmured. “Don’t you know? Kings get whatever they want.” She tilted her head. “Do they?” “Fuck yeah. Otherwise, what’s the point of all that damn work?” He slid his fingers deeper into the silky strands, twisting his fingers through them until the pressure pulled her head back. Dangerous —reckless—but he’d let himself have this one moment before he stepped back and put the necessary space between them. “Maybe if I was a king, you’d take the fucking room I prepared for you and stop sleeping on couches like you’re homeless.” “Doubtful.” She held his gaze as she reached out and slipped her hand under his shirt. “When you start giving me the right things, I’ll take them.”

Her fingers were warm against his skin. Gentle —until she gave him the first bite of her nails, and his whole body shook. His plans to retreat shattered into dust. Her lips beckoned, full and red, soft and dangerous. He hadn’t kissed her that night in the hallway, and he’d regretted it every damn day since. He wanted to know how she tasted, how she yielded. If she’d let him in, or if she’d use her teeth to warn him off. He wanted to know everything. The first brush of lips was electric. His nerves sizzled and the air crackled, like he was out in a storm and lightning was about to strike. He tightened his grip on her hair and tilted his head, licking her lower lip, demanding she meet his kiss. She did. She opened her mouth readily, eagerly, but the moment his tongue touched hers, she bit him. It felt more like a test than a warning—Lex’s warnings came with crushed balls and blood. So he bit her back, nipping her lower lip sharply and sweeping his tongue back into her mouth when she gasped. She slid her arms around him, under his shirt, and raked little streaks of fire over his back as she pulled him closer. Her moan melted into a pleading noise, and he groaned and kissed her harder, knowing he had to pull back, knowing he had to put

some space between them— He couldn’t remember why right now. But he knew it was important. He broke away with a rough snarl and backed up until his shoulders hit the door. Lex stayed right where she was, sprawled on his desk—eyes closed, lips swollen, face flushed. Waiting. One heartbeat. Two. Then she slid off his desk and reached for her clothes. She gathered them in silence, not even looking at him. “The room. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” He blinked. “Did what?” “Put me in one as far away from yours as possible.” His head was so far from thoughts of floorplans that it took physical effort to jerk his attention to her words. “That’s stupid,” he retorted—maybe too quickly. But fuck it, he wasn’t going to admit to running away from her. “Most of the rooms near mine are shit. I thought you’d want a nice one.” “Sure.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll take it.” It should have felt like a victory, especially if he was going to start seriously thinking about moving against Stone. Having Lex under his roof, where he knew she was safe—that would matter when the time came to fight for the sector.

But it would have felt more like a win if he wasn’t pretty sure she was wishing she still had that axe in her hands. She shifted her weight from one delicate bare foot to the other. “I can’t leave when you’re standing in front of the door.” Good. No, that was the inner barbarian she’d awoken, hungry to claim and conquer. But she’d stirred something far more dangerous in him tonight—a potential king. And a king could take what he wanted. In silence, Dallas stepped aside. But when she opened the door, he caught the edge of it. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” Did he imagine that tiny flinch? He must have, because by the time she faced him, she’d locked it all down—the vulnerability, the passion, everything he’d tasted in her kiss. “No problem. Maybe someday you’ll return the favor.” With that slashing comment, she jerked the door out of his hand and disappeared, leaving him bleeding from an invisible gut wound. No one else had ever been able to needle him so easily with words, much less eviscerate him with one lazy stroke. And that’s why you’re not supposed to touch her, you horny bastard.

Somehow, he knew he would anyway.

THE KING “You got another one.” Jasper hovered in the doorway, a box in one hand. “This one’s from Eight. Jim Jernigan.” Dallas flipped his notebook shut, hiding the list he’d been making, and jerked his head at his second-in-command. “Oh, boy. Might as well open it up. Bren checked to make sure it wasn’t a bomb, right?” “If the other sector leaders wanted to send you bombs, they missed their chance. Should have done it yesterday.” He set the box on Dallas’s desk and nudged it. “They have to make nice with you now. You’re one of them.” Yes, he was. And pretty soon he’d have to put on his best lazy smile and go out to join in the celebrations. He would toast the fallen and drink to victory and let the liquor run a little more freely— and cheaply—than usual, so that everyone left feeling warm and happy about the new world order. He’d have to fake it. Hard. Because no one could know that Dallas O’Kane wasn’t sure the price had been worth it. Reaching out, he flipped open the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of black tissue paper, lay a silver flask embossed with the logo Dallas had chosen for

O’Kane Liquor—with one slight change. A crown rested on top of the skull. Of course. Dallas picked up the small card and flipped it open. A single line was printed inside in neat handwriting. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Wasn’t that the goddamn truth. “Well, this is better than the box of guns I got from that asshole in Three,” Dallas forced himself to say as he crumpled the note and tossed it in the garbage. “This group’s gonna be fun to deal with.” “Better you than me.” Jasper narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing in here, anyway?” Dallas shut the box and set it firmly on top of his notebook. “Just reviewing some of the intel Mad got for me about the other sector leaders. They’ll be holding a meeting soon to welcome me officially, and I want to make a good show of it.” “You’re gonna miss the party.” Dallas leaned back in his chair and eyed Jasper. The man had a bruise on his cheek and a bandage peeking out from under one sleeve, remnants of the last brutal fight that had gone down in the streets of Sector Four. The convenient delivery of a crate of med-gel—along with congratulations from the leader of Sector Five—meant that the more obvious

scars of today would heal. The survivors would go on. But only the survivors. “I don’t think the party’s winding down anytime soon,” he said, tapping his finger on his desk. “Things are gonna change, you know. There’ll be times when you have to hold down the compound because I’m dealing with sector shit.” “I learn fast. I’ll figure it out.” Jas stretched his wounded arm and winced. “Fuck, this hurts. I think I’ll have a few more drinks, find a pretty lady to take the edge off. You coming?” “I’ll be there in a minute.” He tapped the box in front of him. “I better put this with the rest of them.” “All right.” Jasper hesitated at the door. “You did the right thing, you know. Stone didn’t give a damn about this sector.” “I know.” The grin came easily—he was getting good at this. “I don’t know how much better I’ll do, but I sure as shit can’t do worse.” “Truth. See you at the celebration.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Dallas alone. He picked up the box and spun his chair. The table behind him was littered with gifts—some from grateful crafters eager to ingratiate themselves to the new king, some from the men and women who plied trades or sold services in his sector and knew

the value of a good investment. And some from the leaders of the other sectors —the men and one woman who were now his peers. Gideon Rios of Sector One had sent him a crate of their family’s wine along with a set of exquisitely delicate glasses that had no doubt been hand blown. Cerys of Sector Two had sent him a gilded dagger so heavily crusted with gems that it was basically unusable. Three’s useless box of guns had been balanced out by Five’s extremely useful supply of medicine. And, of course, the cheap assholes in charge of Six and Seven had yet to send him anything. Dallas set the flask with its pointed warning next to the pile of gifts and turned back to his desk. The notebook was still there. He flipped it open and stared at the two lists of names, the slashes of black ink across the crisp white paper still a punch in the gut. Four O’Kanes had given their lives in the war to take down Matthew Stone. So had seventeen fighters who had taken to their side when the battle poured into the streets. Twenty-one of his own dead to secure an entire sector. Most people would count that a bargain. A barbarian king certainly would. Dallas could only see the losses. The people left

behind. Zan, whose older brother had gone down in the fighting. A waitress who lost a son. A dancer who lost her lover. One of their newly hired bouncers had taken a bullet meant for Dallas and had left a pregnant wife and a three-year-old daughter behind. At least Matthew Stone’s fortune—though much smaller than the former leader had always pretended—would expand Dallas’s already bulging coffers. He could take care of the people left behind. His people. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Except let anyone know how much it had hurt. The lives of everyone who depended on him— of everyone in this damn sector—depended on his ability to play this game. To give them what they wanted—a strong leader. To give his enemies what they feared—a dangerous, ruthless barbarian. To do both so exquisitely that they never saw his deeper game. Declan O’Kane could grieve for the dead later. Dallas, king of Sector Four, had a party to get to. »»» § ««« The battle for control of Sector Four seemed to have left the O’Kanes with a new appreciation for the vicissitudes of life. When you were down, you

worked like hell to get back on your feet. And when you were up... Well, you partied your ass off. The Broken Circle stage had been turned into a dance floor. Even though the night was wearing on, it was crowded with bodies, people dancing with feverish abandon. Of course, with so much liquor spilling through the club, clothes were starting to come off. And Dallas O’Kane, newly minted leader of Sector Four, was nowhere to be found. Lex had caught sight of him once or twice earlier, dancing and drinking and grinning and flirting. Everything he was supposed to be doing on the day he’d liberated a sector from near-tyrannical rule. But he was doing it all so hard that it made her teeth ache a little. She couldn’t watch anyone try that hard, especially Dallas O’Kane. And now he was gone. She supposed he could have peeled off a couple of women from the adoring crowd and taken them upstairs to show them exactly how rewarding the attentions of a king could be, but somehow she doubted it. Lex skirted around the bar and picked up a bottle from a crate stacked by the kitchen door. Flash narrowed his eyes at her, and she waved the whiskey at him. “If I don’t pay for it, you know

where to find me.” Now the question was where to find Dallas. She closed her eyes and tried to think—if I were him, and I wanted to hide, where would I be? But she didn’t know the answer. She never did, and maybe that was why she always, always had to find out. The warehouse was empty, and so was Dallas’s office. Lex drifted from place to place, telling herself the entire time that what she needed to do was head back to the party, crack open the bottle, and drown herself in both. She found him in the garage. One of their salvaged cars was parked there, a door hanging askew and the hood up. Dallas’s leather vest lay across a table, leaving only a tight white T-shirt that hugged his flexing muscles as he worked on the engine. “Need a hand?” A wrench banged against the metal frame as he cursed softly and straightened. “You get bored with the party?” It was a motivation he’d believe, and that was reason enough to let him. But that wasn’t what she wanted, not tonight. “Just thought you might not need to be alone.” He turned to the bench and set down the wrench. Tension carved every muscle in his back

from stone. “I’m fine.” He was locked up as tight as the safe in his office—but Lex had cracked that, hadn’t she? “Yeah, you look it.” She unscrewed the cap from the bottle. “Here.” Dallas accepted the whiskey and took a swig straight from the bottle. Then he offered it back. “I thought you didn’t like this.” “I’m acquiring a taste for it.” The liquor flowed over her tongue, sweet and a little sharp. “Talk to me.” “What about, darling?” She jerked her head back toward the door. “The stuff you can’t say to them.” His expression stilled. When he reached for the whiskey again, his fingers curled over hers for a moment, warm and rough. “Who says there’s anything I can’t tell them? I trust my people.” It wasn’t about trust. It was about security, about the burdens he had to carry alone because sharing them might make it seem like he didn’t have things under control—even if no mere mortal could ever hope to. “People are dead, Dallas. I don’t want to play this game with you right now.” He closed his eyes and tugged the bottle out of her hand. This time, he drank deeply—three long swallows that had to burn. “I know who’s dead,” he said roughly, his eyes still shut. “I know how many

people they left behind. I know it all.” So did she, and her chest ached with the weight of it. “So let me help you.” “How?” His sudden laugh was all sharp edges. “I can throw money at it, but money doesn’t unmake orphans. I did this. They died for me. Nothing will change that.” He’d do what he could, they all would. Tomorrow, they’d start rebuilding what had been broken, bit by bit. People and families and businesses. But first, they had to get through tonight. “I’m talking about you.” She took the bottle, carefully capped it, and set it aside. “I’m here for you.” “Are you?” He leaned back against the workbench and spread his arms wide. “Is this what you expected, when you dressed me up that first time? Did you see this coming?” Yes and no. None of the leather was new anymore, and the scuffs and creases suited him. He’d taken some of the pieces and left others behind, adapting it all so that the two were now inextricable, Dallas O’Kane and Sector Four’s barbarian king. It wasn’t a costume anymore. He owned it, the way he slowly but surely took over everything. The way he owned her.

“I knew you wouldn’t be happy with Matthew Stone—or anyone else—telling you what to do. But the rest of it—the loss—” She swallowed the words. “I don’t blame you.” He reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers painfully gentle. But the thumb that pressed against her lips was rougher. Possessive. “I made the choice. I got them killed. I don’t get to forget that, because now I have the power to get everyone killed.” “You can’t forget it.” Her lips kissed his thumb as she spoke. “But you can’t let it torture you, either. You won’t be any good to them then.” “I gotta go back in there and smile and let them know all of this was worth it. How do I do that, Lex? How do I stop fucking thinking?” He knew the answer already. It was there, burning in his gaze, as she lifted her hands and threaded her fingers through his hair. His thumb pressed harder, edging between her lips. “Am I your king?” She licked him, then closed her teeth on his thumb. His eyes flared. He pushed deeper, letting her teeth drag over the pad of his thumb. “Show me.” How many times had she imagined those words, low and silky with invitation? Often enough for it to seem familiar as she stretched up and kissed his

jaw, his throat, the tiny bit of shoulder left uncovered by his collar. It wasn’t enough. Her hands shook as she slid them under his shirt and pushed it up. His free hand caught one of her wrists, trapping her fingers against his abdomen as he watched her, his thoughts impossible to read. Not again. Not here, now. “I think it’s time to settle up on that favor you owe me.” “What favor?” “The chemical printer,” she reminded him. “I haven’t collected yet.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” She was holding a sector leader’s marker. A smart person would use it strategically, for money or power or influence. For survival. But she was on fire, so consumed that she couldn’t remember what it felt like not to burn. “You said show me.” She curled her fingers, digging her nails into his skin. “Just this once, I want you to let me.” Tense silence grew between them, and she knew Dallas would have preferred a demand for money or influence. Anything that let him stay locked up tight, all his vulnerabilities guarded, his weaknesses protected. Anything that let him keep all the power.

Finally, he released her wrist and he held his arms out to his sides, as if inviting her to do her worst. So she pushed his shirt higher, urging his arms up until she could pull the worn cotton over his head. It fell to the floor, and he grabbed the workbench, curling his fingers around it on either side of him as if to hold himself forcefully in check. His bare chest beckoned, broad and strong, and she brushed her lips over his collarbone. Dallas sucked in a breath. “Why this? Out of everything you could have asked for?” “It’s what I want.” He had a tattoo on the right side of his chest, fanned out cards showing a royal flush with the king on top, and she traced its edges with her fingertip. “We can have a safe word.” He quirked one eyebrow. “Do I need one?” “Only you can answer that.” She leaned in and started following the path she’d traced again, this time with her tongue. “Fuck.” His head fell back, and his groan made his chest rumble beneath her lips. His skin heated, and all she wanted was to strip naked and press against him, let that heat warm her, too. But this was a delicate dance—one wrong step, and it would be over. She bit his nipple instead. His groan turned to a growl, and she swore she heard the wood creak under the force of his grip.

“Lex—” “Shh.” She placed her fingers over his lips, then snatched them away before he could bite her. “Don’t distract me.” She had one night, one chance to satisfy the curiosity twisting her into knots, and she took it. She explored him slowly, filing away each discovery. The way scraping her teeth over his shoulder made him shudder, or the delicious moan when she blew softly into his ear. Raking her nails over the back of his neck elicited a sigh. And when she ran the back of her hand lightly down his abs, he stilled under her touch and held his breath. Through it all, his tension grew, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he was just as fucking turned on as she was, or if he resented having her know these things. If he saw it as a weakness she could exploit. To know, she would have to ask, and that would be the gravest sin of all where Dallas O’Kane was concerned. So she held her tongue and reached for his belt buckle. A word finally escaped him. Just one. “Yes.” It echoed through her, and she leaned closer, until their mouths almost touched. “Alexa.” “What?” The warm leather slipped free of the buckle. “It’s my name.”

“Alexa.” It rolled out of him in a low drawl that made those three syllables last forever. “I like it.” She toyed with the button on his jeans. “Yeah?” “Oh, yeah.” The muscles in his arms flexed as he adjusted his grip. “You gonna torture me all night? Is that how you treat your king?” He was teasing her, and she hid her smile against his jaw as she pulled the button free. “Every king needs a reminder—there are some things you can’t buy or command.” She tugged at his zipper slowly, opening it with a low, unending rasp. “Some things have to be offered. Given.” “And here I thought a king could have whatever he wanted.” He turned his head just enough for his stubble to scrape tauntingly over her skin, and his whisper fell hot on her ear. “You never did like following the rules, did you?” “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.” She kissed him, licking past his lips as she edged her hand into his pants and wrapped her fingers around his cock. His hips arched forward, thrusting into her grip. One of his hands tore free of the bench, and he groaned as he sank it into her hair, tangling his fingers in a brutally tight grip. It felt like possession, the kind she craved. If he could only bring himself to give it to her here, like this, she’d take it. Every stolen moment, every uncontrolled touch, even if it hurt. That way,

when he finally, inevitably withdrew, at least she’d know she hadn’t dreamed it. She kissed his throat, his chest. Lower. She pushed his jeans down as she dropped to her knees, and his cock sprang free, rigid and thick. So hard it had to ache. She looked up at him. “How long has it been?” “Does it matter?” His free hand curled around his shaft, stroking once as his gaze fixed on her lips. “It’s never been you.” She trailed her fingertips lightly over his erection and his hand and back again. “Why not?” “You think I would have gotten out of bed to take over the world if I had this mouth waiting for me?” He tugged her closer and traced the hard crown over her lips. “You think I would have done anything else?” “Yes, I do.” She licked him once, then closed her mouth around the head of his cock. “Oh fuck.” His fingers flexed at the back of her head, as rough and demanding as his voice. “God, yes.” He’d accused her of planning to torment him, but it didn’t seem right, no matter how long she wanted to make this last. He was already trembling, so she took him deeper, faster, letting his hand in her hair guide her as she fluttered her tongue over him.

And he needed it. Oh, he’d never admit it with words, but his body betrayed him in a thousand tiny ways. The low, desperate sounds he made. The jerky thrust of his hips. The tension in his body— for weeks he’d been made of tension, but now every single molecule in his body was entirely focused on the next flick of her tongue or glide of her lips. Entirely focused on her. It was a heady feeling, headier than the pleasure or the power or even the fulfillment of this particular fantasy. She’d spent so long yearning for Dallas’s attention, and now that she had it... It wasn’t the kind of thing you could walk away from. And yet, she had to. Somehow. She took him deep, and he groaned again, clutching at the bench with one hand as his other twisted tighter in her hair. His hips moved to meet her, matching the rhythm of her mouth rising and falling as if they’d been doing this forever. And, as if they’d been doing it forever, she knew exactly when he gave in. She knew the second before a guttural growl escaped him. His hips jerked, and his whole body went rigid as he came. He spilled over her tongue, and she swallowed him with a moan, stroking his hip to soothe him as he gasped and shuddered. His head fell back when it was over, leaving his

face bathed in harsh light. His hand gentled at the back of her head, fingers stroking softly. “Damn,” he whispered. “Almost speechless,” she teased. Then she rose and kissed his cheek. “Better?” “Maybe.” But he was smiling as he reached for his pants. “Was your favor worth it?” “It’s not over,” she countered. “When’s the last time you slept?” That wiped his smile away. A furrow appeared between his brows as he zipped up his pants and gripped his belt. “I gotta make another appearance at the party. No rest for the wicked, Lexie love. Or for kings.” How could a nickname be more intimate than his dick in her mouth? “Just an hour. Maybe two.” He exhaled roughly and somehow managed to buckle his belt crankily. But when he pushed off the workbench, he turned toward the leather couch against the side wall. “Fine. If I lie down for an hour, will that pay my debt?” “Free and clear.” She held out her hand. Dallas accepted it, and she led him to the couch. When she sat down, he stretched out and laid his head in her lap. “One hour,” he reminded her as his eyes drifted shut. Lex stifled a sigh as she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “I promise, Dallas.”

“Declan.” She froze mid-stroke, then bit her lip even though he couldn’t see her smile. “Declan.” “Mm-hmm.” He fell asleep almost instantly, and Lex sat there, motionless, as the minutes ticked by. A blowjob and a nap. What a weird fucking way to end a flirtation. And it was ending. It had to, for the sake of her sanity. She’d chased Dallas so long and so hard that it almost seemed normal to knock on a door only to have him slam it in her face. It wasn’t like he meant to hurt her—in the strangest way, she could tell that he didn’t—but intentions mattered less than the end result. He had solid steel walls three feet thick. She wanted to get past them, and he wouldn’t let her. Full stop, end of story. Because if she didn’t lock it down now and walk the fuck away, she’d keep throwing herself at him. Sooner or later, she’d grind herself into nothingness. Better to end it. If he wanted to see her, he knew where to find her. And if he didn’t, she’d manage. One foot in front of the other, just like always. Just like always.

INKED IN Lex hadn’t come home yet. Dallas took a drag of his cigarette and watched the tip flare in the darkness. Most of it had already burned away to ash, and his excuse for lingering outside was fading. His current girlfriend was naked in his bed, waiting for him to come in and work out the frustrations of the day with her in the filthiest ways he could imagine. He shook another cigarette free of his pocket and used his current one to light it. Something clanged and scraped in the alley near the side entrance of the warehouse. Dallas dropped the cigarettes to the pavement and reached for his gun as he edged around the building— —and bit off a curse when he swung around and found himself aiming right at Lex’s face. She ducked the barrel. “What the fuck?” Dallas holstered his gun. “Jesus Christ, woman, are you stupid?” “You’re the one who almost shot me,” she snapped. “I’m just heading up to my room.” She’d already disengaged the lock, but the door was solid, heavy steel, and she was trying to slide it open with one hand.

He stepped closer. She was dressed all in black —her stealing clothes—and almost melted into the shadows of the alley. But he could see the tightness in her eyes when he drew near, not to mention the pallor of her features. “What happened?” A muscle in her jaw ticked. “Got jumped.” “What?” He wrapped his hand above hers on the metal door and hauled it open in a surge of temper. Light spilled out of the hallway, illuminating the way her shirt clung wetly to her skin—and the ragged slice across the front. “It’s barely a scratch.” She tried to brush past him, but stumbled and fell against the door frame. Panic surged as he urged her inside and slammed the door shut. Ignoring her protests, he swung her up into his arms and headed for their makeshift first aid room. “You are ridiculous, you know that? I thought you were supposed to be smarter than all the idiot men who pretend their guts aren’t about to fall out.” “My guts are fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t like blood. Especially mine.” The only thing more terrifying than a bleeding Lex was Lex confessing a weakness. Dallas hurried his steps and nearly kicked the door off its hinges when he reached the oversized closet where they stashed the medical equipment. He set Lex carefully on the table and hit the

lights. “Take that shirt off,” he said gruffly. “I don’t like your blood a whole lot when it’s on the outside either, so let’s fix that shit.” “You’re so cranky.” She stripped the shirt over her head, smudging blood on her cheek in the process. “You’re not the one who just lost three weeks’ worth of work to a punk-ass kid with a tiny little knife and shaky hands.” No, but he was the one who had to track the guy down and kill him now. Publicly, if he could manage it. Bloodily. Slowly. So horribly that everyone within fifty miles had nightmares about what would happen if they so much as bumped into Lex too hard in the marketplace. Not that she’d approve of any of that. Dallas got a bottle of filtered water and some gauze and set it next to her on the table. A suture set, med-gel, and a bottle of whiskey followed. “Drink that,” he ordered, dragging the stool over so he could sit in front of her. “I can do this myself.” “You can shut up and drink the whiskey,” he countered pleasantly, wetting the first piece of gauze. Now that he was closer, it was clear the wound looked a lot worse than it was—but only because Lex had twisted her body at just the right moment. If she’d been a little slower, or if the guy had had a bigger knife, her guts really would have

been on the street. That made him mad all over again. Lex took a deep drink of the whiskey, then another, and paused before a third gulp. “This isn’t for the cut,” she informed him loftily. “I need it so I can deal with you.” “Whatever lets you sleep at night, darling.” He applied some of the topical numbing agent and started cleaning the cut. “And you know what’s going to let me sleep at night? The fact that you’re retiring from stealing shit you don’t need.” “Says who?” “Says your sector leader.” She let her head fall back with a groan. “That’s it, I’m moving.” “No, you’re not.” But she wouldn’t listen to him. The more he forbade her from going out to steal shit, the more she’d find excuses to do it. Orders didn’t work on Lex, and if he ever did manage to come down on her hard enough to keep her in line, she really would vanish. Nessa would never forgive him. Neither would Rachel. Neither would half the men. Maybe it was time for Plan B. He took care of her stitches first, partly to keep her from jumping up in an outrage and storming off half-sutured, but mostly to give the liquor time to

work. If she was mellow, maybe she wouldn’t stab him. “I want you in Ace’s chair tomorrow,” he told her as he smoothed gel over the wound. “Nessa and Rachel, too. He’s giving all three of you cuffs.” Lex stared at him. “Ink,” he clarified, waving his wrist at her. “It’s the only thing that’s gonna keep Rachel from getting eaten alive the first time she steps out the door.” She took another drink of whiskey, her expression so bland and relaxed that it could only mean she was furious. “I’ll be first in line to congratulate Nessa and Rachel, but I’m afraid I have to decline.” It should be impossible to be this worried about her and still want to throttle her. “And why’s that?” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I like my freedom. You’re already pulling rank on me as sector leader. I can’t imagine how insufferable you’d be if I let you mark me.” “And you’ll ignore me, like you always ignore me.” It took three adhesive gauze pads to cover the whole cut. Dallas smoothed the last one into place with forced gentleness, then curled his fingers around the table on either side of her legs and let the wood take the brunt of his anger. “For fuck’s sake, woman. Just let me do one thing to protect

you, okay? The ink matters now. If that little asshole had seen it on your wrists, he wouldn’t have stabbed you. He would have fucking well known better.” She was going to say no again. The denial seethed in her eyes and the set of her jaw, and Dallas braced himself for it. Then she dropped her gaze. “Fine.” She shoved past his arm and slipped off the table. Her shirt went into the trash can, and she swept up the open bottle of whiskey on her way to the door. “Better wash up quick. Your girlfriend’s probably wondering where you are.” Natalie was used to waiting. And she wouldn’t give him a lot of backtalk and attitude, either. A king shouldn’t have to go home to a war zone in his damn bedroom, and that’s what Lex would be. If she’d proven one thing over the past year, it was that her soft moments never lasted—and if he let down his guard, even a little, she was as likely to plant an elbow between his ribs as she was to kiss him. Easy was better. He liked easy. He was going to go home and revel in easy. And not think about the fact that, in twentyfour hours, his mark would be on Lex’s skin.

»»» § ««« Drinking in was usually a far more solemn occasion. It was a time of revelry, sure, but at the same time, everyone seemed to recognize the gravity of accepting new members. You weren’t just getting the good things when you signed up to ride with the O’Kanes, money and power and liquor and sex. You were also getting all the hard— and sometimes deadly—living that went along with the lifestyle. Not tonight. Instead of setting up in the warehouse, Dallas had closed the Broken Circle. Everyone crowded around the bar now, watching with amused fondness as Nessa argued with Dallas. Nessa had celebrated her sixteenth birthday a few weeks ago with a spiky new haircut and cotton-candy-pink hair dye. Her T-shirt was an equally outrageous pink with a glittering heart decorating the front. Facing down Dallas’s dark scowl, she looked like a tiny, angry fairy as she slammed her fist into the bar. “Oh, come on. You don’t think I can do the shots? I make the damn shit, I can fucking well drink it.” “That’s a fair point.” Rachel leaned against the table beside Lex, her arms crossed over her chest. “Then again, taste testing is a lot different than

pounding half a dozen shots at once.” Rachel Riley’s father Liam was the most infamous brewer operating inside the city limits. But the blonde herself looked...delicate. Even innocent. “What do you know about pounding shots?” “Good question,” Rachel observed—but she didn’t answer it. Instead, she winced as Nessa’s voice rose in volume. “You could help him out, you know.” “Who, Dallas?” He deserved every ear-splitting decibel. “Nah, he doesn’t want my help.” Rachel didn’t say anything. When Lex glanced over, she was staring at her, nose wrinkled in confusion. “I can’t figure you two out,” she admitted finally. “You run this place like his wife— you remind me a little of my mom, actually. So I thought you just weren’t into each other. But—” Her cheeks turned blood-red. “Right before he hooked up with Natalie, there was this party...” Lex remembered. She’d been ass-deep in a flirtation with one of the local street fighters when Dallas had decided to step in and flex a little. He’d glared at the man until he fled, then spent the rest of the night eyeing her like he was going to take her upstairs and fuck the holy living hell out of her. No wonder Rachel was confused. She didn’t know what had actually happened after the party.

Instead of dragging Lex upstairs to follow through on all that caveman possessiveness, he pulled her into a back hallway. He got her off twice—once with his fingers, and again with his mouth—then walked away, because the only thing worse than having Lex spend the night with another man was having her spend it in Dallas’s bed. “Dallas is Dallas,” she told Rachel lightly. “Only a fool or a masochist would try to change him, and I’m neither.” A round of cheers signaled the end of the argument at the bar, and Nessa hopped up onto the wooden surface next to a row of eight empty glasses. Ace was already filling the first one with the cheapest rotgut they sold. As he reached for the next bottle, Nessa lifted the shot glass, grinned at Lex, and knocked it back. Her face immediately twisted into an expression of horror, and she made an overdramatic gagging noise. “Oh my God, you better not be putting my label on this shit.” “Your label?” Dallas asked ominously. “Aww, did you make this batch, Dallas?” She shuddered. “Somebody needs to light that shit on fire.” She reached for the next shot. There were eight, total—too many for a tiny sixteen-year-old, but far fewer than the normal number. Still, Lex made a

mental note to have everything ready for hangover cures in the morning. If Nessa didn’t need it, she probably would. Ace caught Lex’s eye across the bar and winked as he poured the next shot. The tiny glass ended up only one-third filled, but Nessa, flushed with the victory of having shouted down Dallas O’Kane, didn’t even notice as she downed it. On it went, until Nessa lifted the last scant shot, the smoothest whiskey she produced. She was still steady on her feet, something that would change soon enough. Rachel straightened. “Looks like I’m just about up. You think Ace is going to be just as stingy with my shots?” He already called her angel, and it wasn’t because she had wings. “Probably.” “Maybe I can convince him otherwise.” She strolled over to the bar as Flash lifted Nessa down from it to a round of cheers and hugs. Nessa high-fived Bren, hopped up to reach Zan’s cheek with a sloppy kiss, and practically danced her way to Lex’s side. “Dallas is a dickhead!” she announced, flinging both arms wide. Then she wrapped them both around Lex. “And that was a stupid waste of the good shit. I couldn’t even taste it by the time we got there. Dallas’s moonshine burned my tongue off.”

Lex helped Nessa up onto the table to sit beside her. “Rachel seems to have come to the same conclusion.” The blonde whispered in Ace’s ear as she indicated the whiskey. He gave her a dubious look but shrugged and lined up sixteen glasses. “Why does it take us women to understand this stuff?” “Because men are idiots. Who the fuck needs ‘em?” Nessa leaned into Lex’s side and dropped her head to Lex’s shoulder. Then she held up her arms and examined her newly tattooed wrists. “Except Ace. Ace is okay. You know he went and found the chemical compound for liquor just to do my tattoos?” The structural formula framed her O’Kane tattoo in rows of little Hs and Cs and Os. Lex’s own wrists were no less a testament to Ace’s skill, but more subtle—and damning. Brambles lined her wrists, complete with wicked thorns. The new ink itched, and Lex smiled. “Your cuffs are beautiful, Nessa. Congratulations.” “So are yours.” Nessa tapped their wrists together, like she was clinking glasses. “About time. We make the money happen.” In Nessa’s case, that was true. Dallas’s entire empire was built on her efforts, and she deserved all the recognition and inclusion he could offer her. Lex didn’t have the heart to tell her that

Dallas’s motivations were a little different where Lex was concerned. Her marks weren’t about loyalty or contribution. They were about control. Ownership. Even if he didn’t feel like he owned her —which Lex wasn’t sure about at all—he wanted others to think he did. He wanted the world to know that there would be consequences for damaging his property. Her wrists itched worse as she looked up and locked eyes with Dallas. He was standing with his arms crossed, giving every appearance of watching as Rachel downed shot after shot to increasingly raucous cheers. But his gaze was fixed on her. Watching. Lex turned her attention back to Nessa. “Rachel’s going for it. Who knew a girl from Eden would drink us all under the table?” “Hey, she knows her shit.” Nessa bumped her boot against Lex’s. “Pop was never as big on brewing as distilling, but we worked with what we had. Dallas has almost closed on that new warehouse, you know. I’m gonna talk him into laying in some equipment for Rachel to brew beer. God knows we’ll have the space over there.” “Good. She deserves it.” Rachel finished her last shot, then heaved the glass up in the air, where Zan caught it with a laugh. Then the cheers melted into catcalls and whistles as

she turned to Ace, framed his face with both of her hands, and kissed him deeply. Ace seemed momentarily stunned. Just as he was reaching for her hips, Rachel turned, slipped her arms around Dallas’s neck, and drew him into an equally blistering kiss. Dallas chuckled against her lips and swatted at her hip as his girlfriend stood there, nonplussed, and Lex was officially having the most fun ever. She elbowed Nessa. “If you’re not into girls, you better run before she makes her way over here.” “Girls have got to be better than boys, right?” Nessa kicked her legs. “But it’s your turn next. Better get moving.” At least she’d have the chance to tell Ace to go easy on her pours. But when she stepped behind the bar, Dallas was the one who reached for the first bottle, one eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna give me shit if I only pour you one line of shots?” “Not at all.” She knew her limits—but she also couldn’t resist a little dig at him. “You’re the boss.” The look he gave her screamed suspicion. But he lined up the eight glasses and started pouring. “How’s Nessa holding up?” he asked in a lower voice. She matched his tone. “She’ll be fine once she pukes. But you should have held your ground. She’s too young to be drinking like that.”

“I know.” He sounded mildly perturbed. “Turns out there’s a few flaws in a business plan that rests entirely on a hormonal teenager not locking herself in her room.” “Your secret’s safe with me.” She drank her first shot and turned the glass upside-down on the bar. Solemn-faced, Dallas picked up the second shot and held it out to her. Her fingers brushed his as she accepted it. “So how come Nessa and Rachel and I aren’t getting the speech? You know, all of that stuff about standing with our brothers and dying for them if we have to?” “Because Nessa’s sixteen fucking years old and, as I was saying, the key to our business plan.” He picked up the tequila. “And I made a promise to Rachel’s father that I’d keep her safe.” “Right.” She reached for the salt shaker and the bowl of lime wedges beneath the bar. “Your wrist, please.” “What?” “I’m not pouring salt on a new tattoo.” She lifted his free hand, licked the inside of his wrist, and sprinkled it with salt. “So what about me?” “What about—” His fingers curled into a fist. “You want the speech, Lex? You want me to tell you to fight for your brothers and fuck with your

brothers and live and die for your brothers?” “No.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “We both know that’s not why I have these cuffs.” “Yeah,” he rumbled. “Because what the fucking hell did I take over this sector for if I can’t use my power to keep my people safe?” “Uh-huh.” Instead of licking the salt off his skin efficiently, she glided her tongue over his wrist, following it with one of the quick little flicks he liked so much. His breathing hitched, and a hint of a growl rattled his chest. Lex downed the tequila, popped a lime wedge in her mouth, and smiled at him around it. Dallas jerked his wrist free and offered her the fourth shot. “You wouldn’t listen to the damn speech anyway.” Everyone was watching them with varying degrees of awareness. Ace’s expression was shocked and knowing, all at the same time. Jasper stood there, stone-faced. Bren seemed to hover perpetually on the verge of a wince, and Mad looked ready to intervene in case of bloodshed. Only Nessa seemed truly oblivious, probably because of the liquor. She chattered happily with Natalie, Dallas’s girlfriend, who looked on with resignation—and something dangerously close to pity.

Lex threw back the next few shots, one after the other. By the time she picked up the last one, Natalie was gone. Just as well. Lex raised the last shot to salute Dallas. “You’ve always wanted to own me, and now you do.” He glowered as she swallowed the liquor, then shoved the empty glass into his hands. He was still glowering when she turned to walk away, but the scowl was already starting to give way to something... Hotter. She didn’t stop to hug anyone. She didn’t have that luxury, because the tension brewing between her and Dallas was getting too fucking close to the breaking point. She had to put enough space between them to give it a chance to cool, or something irrevocable would happen. If that much space existed in the world. »»» § ««« Dallas’s blood was pounding with thwarted adrenaline by the time he headed back to his room. Nessa was tucked into bed next to Rachel, both of them having—as anticipated—thrown up in spectacular fashion. The new waitress, Amira, had agreed to sit with them to make sure puking and a

hangover were the worst souvenirs they ended up with from their big night. By the time he’d taken care of that mess, Lex had vanished. Which was fine. Which was good. He could still feel her tongue on the inside of his wrist, wet and hot and far too familiar. He knew how that tongue felt other places, all sorts of places— The blood started pounding its way back to his cock. Growling, Dallas slammed open the door to his room, intent on finding a way to work through all this tension. And stopped cold. The collar he’d given Natalie as a symbol of their relationship sat on the table just inside the door, its black leather a silent accusation. But not as much of one as the fact that she had a bag open on the bed and was silently, efficiently folding her clothes up to shove into it. “What the hell?” She glanced up. “How are Nessa and Rachel?” Dallas shut the door and snatched the collar up from the table. “They’re fine. Amira’s watching over them. What the hell is going on?” She hesitated in her folding, but only for a moment. The shirt went into the bag, and she took a

deep breath. “I’m leaving you. It’s something I should have done months ago.” It shouldn’t have hit him in the gut like this. Most of the women he collared stayed for a few weeks or a few months, enjoyed the perks of warming a sector leader’s bed, and moved on. But Natalie had stayed longer than any of them, and they’d fallen into a routine. The guys liked her. The girls liked her. She was cheerful, she was down for as much domineering shit as he cared to bring in the bedroom, and she was blessedly uncomplicated. And she was packing her shit. “Is this about tonight? About the ink?” Her gaze didn’t waver. “You mean am I jealous? I used to be, a little. I saw the way you looked at her, and I couldn’t help it. But after tonight—” She broke off and looked away. “It’s not about Lex.” He hadn’t even been talking about Lex. Giving Rachel ink was a savvy political move—it solidified his relationship with Liam Riley. Giving it to Nessa and Lex made sense, too. They were fixtures, part of the O’Kane empire, and not likely to go anywhere. But it hadn’t even occurred to him to offer the cuffs to Natalie. Because he’d known this day was coming. “I can’t say no one warned me.” Instead of

folding clothes neatly, she began quickly shoving them into her bag. “Adelaide told me. She said it always goes down like this.” Adelaide had breezed out of his life with a bag stuffed full of jewelry and a merry kiss to his cheek. Dallas had assumed that meant all was well between them. Off-balance and irritated, he jerked out a chair from the table and straddled it. “Okay, tell me what Adelaide said.” “That we’re all temporary,” she muttered. “A way for you to pass the time until you can’t stay away from Lex anymore.” “That’s bullshit,” he snapped. “And I didn’t fucking do anything with Lex.” “Not while I’m here—that’s a line neither of you will cross.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she dashed at it impatiently. “I thought I was gonna be different, Dallas. We’d be real. I would love you, and that’d be enough.” The tears were too much. He cared about Natalie—he never fucked anyone he couldn’t care about—and the flip-side of his possessive urges had always been bone-deep protectiveness. He shoved out of the chair to pace away from her, just so he wouldn’t have to look at her crying. “I thought we were doing fine. I know you like the sex, and I take care of you. I find you all the old cameras and lenses you want, and I had the guys build you a

damn darkroom.” “I don’t want fine, Dallas, and I don’t care about the money or the stuff.” She sighed. “Do you love me?” What the fuck did that matter? What did it even mean? Money and stuff was easy to write off when you had enough of it—and Dallas had worked goddamn hard to make sure he had enough of it. That was how you proved you cared—you got the job done so other people could live soft, easy lives. “If everything I do isn’t enough, words aren’t gonna help.” “It seems so reasonable to you, doesn’t it? All I’m allowed to want is what you’re willing to give.” She hefted her bag with a curse. “I’m lucky, I guess. All I had to do was take off that collar. God help Lex, because she’s fucking stuck with you now.” Guilt careened back into anger. “Watch your mouth, Natalie. And you sure the fuck talk about Lex a lot for someone who’s not jealous of her.” “You still don’t get it. I wouldn’t trade places with her for a million goddamn credits.” She brushed past him, not bothering to keep her bag from slamming into his shoulder. “She’s a cautionary tale—this is what happens when you try to love Dallas O’Kane.” “Natalie—” He reached for her arm and caught

the strap of her bag instead. Better, probably—the bag wouldn’t mind if he closed his fist around it tight enough to throttle it. “Wait. Just—give me a fucking second, all right?” “I’ve given you too much of my time already.” “You can’t go out there in the middle of the fucking night, woman. It’s too dangerous.” “I’m willing to take my chances.” “Natalie.” He tugged hard enough on the strap to pull her back a step. “I will leave the fucking room, okay? It’s all yours. Don’t go get yourself mugged in a gutter because you’re pissed at me.” She stopped and stared at him, her eyes wide and red. Slowly, she started to laugh helplessly. “That—that’s it, isn’t it? The only reason you can possibly think of that I might want to get the hell out of this room. Fuck the memories and the temptation to just take it all back and let us be fine. Fuck six months of my life. What is wrong with you?” She needed a lot of things he didn’t have to give. But he could give her this—safety until dawn and a clean break. And a bad guy. He was real good at being everyone’s bad guy. He went to his desk and jerked open a drawer. The key ring he kept there rattled as he picked it up and dropped the collar. It disappeared with a swat

of his hand. “There’s no taking it back now,” he said, working a key with a white dot off the ring. “Here, take this. It opens that new bedroom on the second floor, to the left of the stairs. Crash there until you find a safe place to go. If you need help, tell one of the boys.” Natalie took the key, regarding him as she ran her thumbnail over the ridges cut into the blade. “Do yourself a favor, Dallas. Next time you put that collar on a woman, get ahead of this. Make sure what you’re willing to give is all she wants, okay?” “Okay.” A bad guy couldn’t reach out and wipe that last tear from her cheek, or tell her he was sorry for fucking up, so he jerked his chin toward the door. “Go get some rest.” She gripped the key. “I’m sorry. I think I could have done this better if...” But she didn’t finish, and the words were still hanging in the air when she hauled open the door and hurried out. Dallas didn’t chase her. He counted to three before closing the door, then counted to ten before heading back to his desk. The other drawer yielded a bottle of liquor—not the good stuff. The moonshine went down rough and burned through his stomach, but he kept drinking it. Some nights, he didn’t want the good stuff.

Some nights, he wanted to remember how far he’d come. And how far he could fall. »»» § ««« Only two things came knocking on your door at three in the morning—heaven or hell. Dallas O’Kane was both. “You’re drunk,” Lex told him, a statement of fact. Not that he needed it, judging from the way he leaned heavily against the door frame. “Everyone’s drunk tonight, aren’t they?” He had a mostly empty bottle of rotgut in one hand— the kind that was going to leave him thinking something had died in his mouth tomorrow. “I was feeling left out.” “Evidently.” She left the door hanging open in invitation as she reached for her discarded shorts and pulled them on. “What’s up?” “Natalie dumped me.” He strolled in and kicked her door shut. “Kicked my ass to the curb. Went home and found her packing.” “No kidding.” She couldn’t even feign shock. Natalie was a sweet enough girl who’d made one fatal error—falling for Dallas. “I’m sorry, that sucks.”

“Yeah.” He dropped to her couch and cradled the bottle between his hands, his gaze following her. “It sucks.” He wasn’t just watching her the way you pay attention to someone in a conversation. He was watching her, studying her like there might be something new to discover. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she turned to her night table to find her cigarettes. “What?” “Natalie says you’re in love with me.” Thank Christ she wasn’t facing him. It was the closest thing she had to a shameful secret. Not because being in love with Dallas was wrong, but because it was foolish. And Lex had been called a lot of things in her life, plenty of which she deserved, but foolish had never made the list. “Hmm.” She bought herself a little time by pulling two cigarettes out of her case. By the time she walked back to the couch, she had her mask back in place—amused but not laughing, vaguely curious but not quite interested. She sprawled casually on the other end of the couch, lit both cigarettes, and handed him one. “And what do you say?” He took a long draw and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “I say hate and love are probably confusing from the outside.” Typical Dallas. She should have kept drinking.

“You want my advice?” “Not really. I’m kinda over advice for the night.” This time, there was nothing fake about her amusement. “Probably a smart move. It’s not like I have my shit together, either.” Dallas snorted. “You’re a mess, Lex. I’m a mess. We’re fucking messes. We’re just really fucking good at hiding it, so it keeps surprising people when we turn out to be big fucking, ugly, dumb-as-shit messes.” That stung. “To be fair, O’Kane, you’re way worse than I am.” “That’s ‘cause I do everything bigger and better.” “Yeah, I don’t think that’s how that works.” “Sure, it is.” He passed the sloshing bottle of moonshine over to her. “I don’t want you to hate me, Lex.” “I don’t,” she said automatically, then admitted, “Most of the time.” The liquor was pungent, strong enough to make her eyes water. If he’d drunk even half of what was missing from the bottle, it was no wonder he was here, being maudlin on her couch. “The thing about you, Declan, is that you want people to trust you with everything—their loyalty, their safety. Their lives. And you honor that trust...but you don’t return it.”

“I trust my people in the ways that matter.” He snatched the bottle back, his eyes dark and his expression foreboding. “But you wanted a king, Alexa. And now you’ve got one.” “There, see? I hate you a little right now.” She leaned closer. “You like things in boxes. When they don’t quite fit, you get snotty and pull rank.” “Snotty?” He snorted and twirled the bottle, making the moonshine slosh. “Maybe I like boxes because I’m trying to clean up my mess.” “You like them because they’re safe,” she argued. “You can keep things—and people—neat and separate.” “I can try,” he retorted, glaring at her. “Some of you hate boxes.” She’d moved closer somehow, close enough to feel the heat of his skin even though they weren’t touching. And maybe she was foolish, after all, because she sure as hell wasn’t being smart right now. Smart meant backing off. Smart meant running for her life. But Lex wrapped her hand in the front of Dallas’s shirt, twisting it tight in her fist. “Some of us aren’t afraid of accidentally feeling something.” His eyes narrowed. His gaze dropped to her lips. And though he wasn’t leaning in, he wasn’t pulling away, either. “What are you feeling?”

Angry. It wasn’t enough to do all the things he asked of her, she also had to do the things he pretended didn’t happen. She advised him, supported him, reassured him. And he always left convinced that she’d given him hell, made his life more difficult somehow. Worse, she had to stay angry, because sadness lurked beneath her fury, ready to claw its way free. He had to be drunk off his ass to come to her room in the middle of the night, and even then it was just to tell her what a giant fucking mess she was. “Tired,” she said finally, untangling her hand from his T-shirt. “That’s what I feel. It’s been a long day.” “Yeah.” He caught her wrist and held it, running his thumb over one twisting vine and the sharp edge of a thorn. “Thank you for doing this.” A lump formed in her throat, and she forced herself not to snatch her hand away. A single deep breath did nothing to head off the sob that welled in her chest, so she used an old trick she’d learned in Sector Two—she bit her tongue until she tasted blood. At least that still worked. Her throat was clear by the time she shrugged. “It was time.” “Past time.” His thumb found the skull at the heart of his logo. “I know I’m the bad guy. Running a sector takes a bad guy. I’m glad they have you,

too. You’re good. Even when you’re mean, you’re always just...good.” Forget tears. She was going to throw up. “It’s under control, Dallas. I can handle it.” “I know.” He released her abruptly and leaned over to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You’re always gonna hate me sometimes. But can’t we be friends the rest of the time? I’m a better leader when we’re friends.” As if that was something they could simply decide. What was he really asking her to do? Put forth a greater effort? Forgive him more easily when he shut her out? It didn’t matter. She crushed out her untouched cigarette and nodded. “Sure, no problem.” He watched her in silence for a few tense seconds, then sighed and rolled unsteadily to his feet. “I’m doing it again. Fuck.” It was probably stupid to let him leave this way, but she desperately needed him gone. “Drink some water and get some sleep. You’ll be square in the morning. We can talk then.” “You don’t want to talk. You want to hate me right now.” His grin bordered on feral as he abandoned the booze on her table and moved to the door. “It’s okay, darling. I’m a big boy. I can take it.” Throwing the bottle at him meant she’d have to

clean up afterwards. And speaking was even more dangerous. She stared at the table until the door shut behind him, then drew her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. “That’s right,” she whispered to the bottle he’d left behind. “Put me in my little box, Declan.”

QUEEN Dallas had found that the roof of the Broken Circle was a convenient spot from which to survey his growing empire. Hard to remember, now, that the warehouse across from him had been the whole of their world for so long. Now those doors were flung open into the crisp evening air, an invitation to the spectators who’d arrived early to get the good seats. Fight night was a roaring success. He’d been dubious, after they moved production to the newer, bigger warehouse on the far end of the block that was coming to be known as the O’Kane compound. Some small part of him had wanted to cling to the old stills—as a memory, as a legacy, or just as insurance. It was still hard for him to let go of potentially useful resources, even after two years of ruling the sector. Lex had talked him around. They’d fallen into an oddly comfortable rhythm after she’d taken her ink. Friendship, maybe. Less than what he could have had, but probably still more than he deserved. At least she was still here. And every goddamn thing Lex touched turned to gold. People flocked from the surrounding sectors to participate in the fights they hosted in the warehouse, and most

nights it was a toss-up on how the O’Kanes pulled down more credits—the booze or the betting. In addition to the new warehouse and the increasingly luxurious living quarters, they had a building for product storage, a wood shop, a garage full of cars in various states of repair, and three huge buildings they’d joined together into a jumble of storage space so he could hoard resources and supplies to his heart’s content without anyone getting grumpy because they were tired of tripping over it. An empire, indeed. His, down to the last nail, and not bad for a mere five years of work. Not bad at all. After giving his compound a final, contented look, Dallas turned and retreated down the back stairs. On his way up, he’d passed by Amira, who’d promised to make him dinner. He’d have just enough time to enjoy a meal and a few moments of solitude before it was time to make his appearance as king. He followed the tantalizing smell of food to the kitchen, where Amira was flipping a burger on the griddle next to toasting buns and several strips of what smelled like real bacon—honest-to-God pork, not the protein-powder knock-off they cooked up in Sector Eight. “Where’d you get that?” “Mad brought it back from his trip to One this

week. The beef, too. And I made the bread.” Amira beamed at him. “Nothing freeze-dried in this meal.” That smile was dangerous. She’d been kicking around long enough for Dallas to know when he was being buttered up—but it was hard to mind when she was slapping real butter down on that flat-top. Besides, one of the best perks of being a king was getting to be indulgent with the ladies in his life. “Aren’t I just the luckiest man in Sector Four?” “You could make a pretty successful argument for that fact.” She fetched a plate and loaded it with steaming fries. “How are things set for the fights?” “Good. I heard fighters from Three might be coming in tonight, so you girls stick close to the guys, okay? Those motherfuckers don’t mind their damn manners.” “Right.” Amira slid the plate in front of him. “Better eat these before they get cold.” The fries were crisp and salty, just the way he liked them—another sign of how serious Amira’s impending request was. He ate a few to give her time to futz with the burger and bun and then quirked an eyebrow when she glanced at him again. “What’s up, Amira?” She served the burger, wiped her hands on a towel, and leaned back against the counter. “I wanted to talk to you about ink.”

“Yeah?” The first bite of the burger was heaven —juicy and full of flavor and a definite argument for striking up a better relationship with either Mad’s family or the farmers over in Six. Why the hell was he working this hard if he couldn’t enjoy the perks? “What about ink?” “Well, it’s just—” She pulled out the single chair across from him at the tiny table and sat down. “Some of the new guys have their cuffs already. The really new guys.” He nudged the plate over so she could share the fries. “None of them are giving you trouble, are they?” “No, of course not.” “Any other reason you think they shouldn’t have ink yet?” “No, they should.” Her brow furrowed. “But I should, too. That’s...what I’m talking about, Dallas. My ink.” He almost choked on his burger. Amira wanted cuffs. She wanted to join the goddamn gang. Giving Nessa ink had been one thing. She was the heart of the whole damn operation, and anything that kept her happy kept the booze rolling out and the credits rolling in. Lex could take care of herself as well as most of the men and better than some. And Rachel—well, her lot was tied to theirs,

thanks to the debt he owed her father. Giving them ink was a symbol, a calculated risk that the tattoos around their wrists would offer more protection than they did trouble. And it was protection now. More and more every day. Which made him wonder why Amira wanted it. “Is someone hassling you?” he asked, setting the burger down. “Someone outside the gang, I mean. Because if anyone is giving you shit, you know I’ll take care of it.” “No. I mean, yes, but no more than usual.” Her cheeks turned red, and her chair scraped across the floor as she rose abruptly. “You need something to drink.” He watched her walk to the fridge, her movements stiff enough to indicate anger as she pulled it open and retrieved a beer. She didn’t meet his eyes as she returned, and Dallas gentled his voice. “Hey, ink isn’t a lark, Amira. The guys are signing up to take orders and risk their lives. You don’t need to do that for us to protect you. We’ll always take care of you.” “I understand, Dallas. Perfectly.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she placed the bottle in front of him. “I’m going to help stock the bar in the warehouse. Enjoy your dinner.” She turned and froze. Dallas followed her gaze to see Flash standing just inside the swinging door,

a huge, silent presence. He inclined his head to Amira and stepped aside, clearing a path for her to dart past him. When she was gone, he turned his unusually disapproving eyes on Dallas. “What the hell, man?” No sign of the man’s usual cheerful obedience lingered in his expression. Dallas drained half of the beer before pinning him with a forbidding look. “This is a gang, Flash. Not a fucking tea party. You think a sweet girl like that needs to be in a gang?” “Nessa is. Rachel is.” “They’ve got ink,” Dallas retorted. “Doesn’t mean they’re in the gang. Not really. Or do you wanna take Rachel out the next time you have to crack some heads? Bring Nessa to your next street fight?” “Shit, no.” Flash crossed both huge arms over his chest, an aggressive signal that he wouldn’t be backing down. “You know what else I don’t wanna do? Organize all the other waitresses. Sweet-talk the old-timers. Smile nice at every asshole who rolls in here. You don’t even know how much money Amira makes you by being damn good at her job, do you?” He knew she was good, and he paid her very, very well for her skills. But the anger in Flash’s eyes had taken on a personal edge, and Dallas suspected this unexpected display of defiance had a

very simple motive. Flash had it bad for their adorable little waitress. Dallas slapped the burger onto his plate of fries and picked it up. If he wanted to relax, he’d better eat in his office today. “Hey, if you want to offer her a different sort of ink, you go right ahead. But I said what I fucking said.” For a moment, he thought Flash would block his path to the door. But even when they were annoyed with him, his men put loyalty first. The big man swung out of the way, and Dallas carried his dinner to the relative sanctuary of his office. But when he was settled behind his desk, all he could see was the giant safe now tucked away in the corner of his office. He never had been able to look at the damn thing without thinking of the woman who’d robbed it, and that safe was a reminder. Flash was the least of his concerns. If Lex got riled up over this... He’d better enjoy this last peaceful meal. »»» § ««« Lex heard the yelling before she even reached the back door to the kitchen. “I said no. Flash, will you please just drop it?”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t have to be real. I won’t make any demands on you. But I could keep you safe. No one would fuck with you ever again.” “It’s not about that—” Lex opened the door, cutting through Amira’s words, but not the tension that flooded the kitchen. “Do we need to get you two in the cage to settle this?” Amira snorted, and Flash snarled and whirled around, jabbing a finger toward Lex. “Good, you can talk some damn sense into her. Dallas won’t give her cuffs so I told her I’d mark her.” “But it’s not—” Amira rubbed her temples. “I don’t want your pity.” “It’s not pity,” Flash growled. “Flash.” Lex laid a hand on his arm. He was tense, tense enough to argue if she started ordering him around, so she waited for him to take the hint. His muscles trembled under her fingers. After a few moments, he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “Fix this,” he muttered at her before spinning on his heel and slamming through the doors so hard they rebounded and swung inward. Amira flinched, and Lex soothed her with a soft noise. “You talked to Dallas?” “I asked about ink.” Amira’s brown eyes sparked with bitter anger, all of it directed inward. “He didn’t even understand what I was asking at

first. I didn’t realize...” “That he never planned for you to have it at all?” Lex finished. She dug her teeth into her lower lip and nodded. “We’re not really part of it, not to him. We’re here, but we don’t belong.” It would be so much easier to face her if Lex could deny it. But the truth was stark, irrefutable. Damning. “No, we don’t belong. Not the way his men do.” “Not even you.” It wasn’t a question. “Oh, especially not me.” It was difficult enough to understand and impossible to explain. Dallas had marked Nessa out of practical necessity, Rachel out of obligation, and Lex... Well, he’d marked her the only way he could. But it didn’t serve the same purpose as the ink he offered the men. And Lex had made the mistake of playing along, because fighting for the sake of fighting was a luxury she didn’t have with Dallas. Every fight brought them closer to the big one, an explosion she wasn’t sure the sector would survive. She wouldn’t challenge him on principle anymore. But she’d do it for Amira. “I fucked up,” she admitted. “I let him get away with this bullshit because I didn’t realize it was hurting anyone. I was wrong.”

“Flash heard.” Amira wrapped her arms around her waist. “I know he means well, but you have to get him to stop. I don’t want it. Not like this. I don’t want to be someone’s...duty.” “I’ll talk to him first,” she promised. Then she’d talk to Dallas. She’d reason with him, of course. If that didn’t work, then she’d yell. And if that didn’t work, she’d make sure he thoroughly regretted ever being born. »»» § ««« Dallas knew he was in trouble when Lex appeared at his bedroom door the night after the fights wearing a clingy red silk robe and heels that gave her a good four inches—and were sharp enough to impale a man. Taking in the sleepy, sensuous look in her eyes, most men would have assumed impaling was off the table tonight. Dallas knew better. “Lex? You get turned around?” “Clever.” She stroked one finger down the front of his chest. “I know exactly where I am.” “Yeah?” He should hold his ground. Bar the door. Wait for her to turn around and leave. Letting her into his bedroom when she was riding whatever mood this was seemed like the kind of stupid that got men killed.

Basically, his kind of stupid. He took a step back, and she prowled past him, surveying the room as she toyed with the belt on her robe. “A gentleman wouldn’t have kept a lady waiting.” “Let me know if you find one of those.” He swung the door shut and leaned against it, watching her prowl with an uncomfortable mix of lust and wariness. The way that robe slid over her ass as it swayed back and forth was enough to get any man’s dick hard, especially a man who’d had that ass grinding against said dick more than once. But something about the way she was moving set off alarm bells. The husky pitch of her voice, the elegant, terrifying seductiveness in her slow, stalking movements... Cerys had thrown enough of her fancy Sector Two whores his way for him to recognize the game, and Lex was playing it effortlessly right now. Brutally. Dallas finally understood what Ace had been saying the first day he’d met Lex. All the years he’d spent twisted up, convinced she was steering him around by the dick, and she hadn’t even been trying. All that sensuality, all that temptation, all the desire she stoked in him with every movement, every breath—that had just been Lex, at ease. Her goddamn resting state. She wasn’t resting anymore.

The loose silk slithered off one shoulder, revealing one side of a black mesh halter that had clearly been designed by a sadist. Lex’s skin glowed under it, every detail visible. The indent of her belly button. The full curve of her breasts. Her nipples, tight and peeking out from over the wide neckline, like she could move just a little and the fabric would give up trying to do its job and reveal everything. And it looked flimsy enough to give way with one strong jerk of his fist. She studied him in unabashed silence, her gaze raking up and down his body with a tangible intensity. It lingered here and there, her unconcealed desire punctuated by tiny gestures— an indrawn breath, the parting of her lips. Her tongue sneaking out to glide over the corner of her mouth. Manufactured? Probably not. He knew Lex liked to look at him. Heat had never been the problem between them—just keeping it contained so they didn’t burn alive and take out everyone in a hundred-mile radius with them. She wanted him, but she never let him see it. Not like this. And that mattered. He had to remember that mattered. Remembering was harder than it sounded, with all the blood abandoning his brain.

“Lex.” Her name came out hoarser than he intended. His voice damn near cracked. Getting hold of his damn libido, he growled it again. “Lex. What the fuck kind of game are you playing?” “Game?” she echoed, her tone caught somewhere between innocence and distraction. “I’m not an idiot, Alexa.” “Oh, I think we could debate the subject, Declan.” Oh yeah, she was pissed. Knowing it was coming should have prepared him for this, but how the hell was he supposed to fight with her when she was standing there, barely wrapped in gauze, her sexuality a weapon honed sharp enough to slice through steel? Still, he had to try. “If this is about Amira—” “It was,” she interjected. “Until I spoke to Flash, and he let me know what you really think of me. Of this.” She lifted one wrist and touched the ink that surrounded it. “I already knew, of course. But I never expected you to actually admit it.” He struggled to remember the exact words he’d used with Flash, but irritation clouded the memory. “What? That I don’t want Nessa and Rachel rolling out to fight street punks? Do you?” “Is that why they’re not really in the gang? Because they don’t bash heads or kick asses?” She abandoned her robe on his bed and stalked toward

him. “You beautiful, stupid man. For someone so obsessed with resources, you’re criminally bad at recognizing them.” Her hips swayed. Her eyes glinted. Dallas didn’t know if she was coming to kiss him or kill him, and Jesus, it was hot. Like handling a live current, not knowing if all that electricity was going to light up his life or fry him to a crisp. “Just because she’s not in the gang doesn’t mean she’s not useful. I know she’s useful. You’re all useful.” “That isn’t the compliment you think it is.” She braced a hand on the door and leaned close, the peak of one nipple brushing his arm. “You had to mark Nessa and Rachel. But what about me?” What about her? He’d rationalized it a thousand times—to himself, to her, to the men—and the reasons always sounded good when she wasn’t standing in front of him. But his gaze drifted to the ink wrapped around her wrist, to that logo that had become so inextricably tied to him that anything it graced belonged to him... Dark satisfaction. Base triumph. Even if he couldn’t afford to claim her, she was still his. “Say it.” Her eyes locked with his as she jerked open his belt. “I want to hear you say it.” Yeah, she did. Because under all that danger, under the thrill of wondering if he could catch her

without losing his fingers and keep her without losing more—there’d always been the sweetest promise. Lex would bend for him. She’d kneel for him. She’d give him everything. But only if he gave just as much in return. Instead of obeying her order, he issued one of his own. “Open my pants, Lex.” She made a soft noise of anticipation as she tugged the button free, then rubbed her cheek against his shoulder as she drew the zipper down. “That’s it,” he murmured, knowing it couldn’t be this easy but still seduced by the temptation of it. A strong hand. A firm voice. His fingers curling gently around her neck as his thumb cradled the front of her throat—a collar of flesh and blood. “Touch me.” She did, but only to teasingly run her fingers up and down the length of his cock. “Why did you mark me?” He tightened his grip on her throat, just enough to let her feel it. “Because you wanted me to.” “Is that what you tell yourself?” She wrapped her hand around him with the same sure pressure he would have used, just rough enough to have his hips arching off the door, thrusting into her grip. He gritted his teeth. “Do you tell yourself you didn’t?”

“I want a lot of things from you, but these tattoos aren’t on the list.” “So tell me what you want, Lex.” He leaned in until their foreheads were touching. Their lips were brushing. Until he was breathing in her instead of air. “Tell me.” “I want you to understand what it’s like, being me. Needing this.” Her hand moved faster. She wasn’t stroking him so much as squeezing him rhythmically, a torturous, intoxicating sensation that had his blood pounding and his muscles tensing. “Even though I know the ugly truth.” It was a trap. He knew it was—but he had to know. “What’s that, darling?” Her teeth scored his chin. “You branded me, like a crate in the warehouse. Property of Dallas O’Kane.” His body tightened. It was the ugliest spin on the truth...but it was true. “I branded all of them.” “Liar.” Her mouth captured his. Her kiss was pure fire. It was lightning. It was gripping the live wire with both hands and holding on for dear life. Her tongue teased, soft and sweet, begging in the moments when her lips didn’t command and her teeth didn’t threaten. His head spun at the ferocity of it, and at the way her hand matched the rhythm of their kiss, driving him recklessly toward mindless pleasure.

When she broke the kiss, she touched his face, trailing her fingers over his cheek. “You’re far from stupid, Declan. You’re brilliant, and you’re brutal. You bought yourself an Orchid, and all it cost you was a little ink.” His blood ran cold. The words cut deep. He snatched Lex’s wrist and squeezed until she released his cock. Then he hauled her hand away, unsure what would happen if she kept touching him but knowing they’d never come back from it. “Fuck you, Lex. I’m not one of those asshole patrons from Two. I didn’t buy you. And you’re not my goddamn whore.” “Oh, I think you’d be surprised how much you have in common with them.” Her bland expression belied the tension in her body as she jerked free of his grasp. “You see, in Two, whores aren’t just good at fucking. They’re useful. They can run estates and businesses, make their patrons rich. Any of that sound familiar?” His gut twisted sickly, and he shoved the feeling away. Hard. “I didn’t make you do any of that shit. I can’t make you do anything, woman. Stop blaming it all on me.” “Wake up, honey. I’m not your only whore.” She used the word like a knife, stabbing it deep into his most vulnerable places, and he knew she

was just trying to hurt him. Lex didn’t have any problems with the men and women who traded sex for money, and neither did he. But to compare him to the sick shit that went down in Two, to twist everything he did into some monstrous fucking parody of reality... He shoved his dick back into his pants and buttoned them. Then he hauled the door open. “People work for me, and I take care of them. I pay them well and protect them. And that’s fine. That’s the job I signed up for. But I give a whole hell of a lot more than I get, honey. And if you can’t see that, you can get the fuck out.” “Men,” she corrected. “You give your men a whole hell of a lot more than you get. But you don’t even fucking see what the women do around here. If we all get the fuck out, you won’t last a single goddamn week.” Nothing he could say would hurt her as much as she’d hurt him. But one thing could. Fixing his most patronizing smile on his face, he laughed at her. “Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that.” The fire in her eyes turned to ice, and she smiled back. “Thank you,” she whispered sincerely. “I was on the verge of feeling sorry for what’s about to happen to you, but now? I cannot fucking wait.”

She gathered her robe, draped it carefully over her arm, and winked at him as she walked out, leaving him with a hard dick, seething anger, and the dull certainty that she was going to make him pay for that laugh. He only hoped he could afford it. »»» § ««« Lex kept telling herself she was organizing a protest, not a revolution. But it felt more like the latter as she stood in front of the girls and poured them all drinks—even Nessa. One more deep breath to steel herself. “Dallas is an asshole,” she announced finally. “And we’re going to have to go on strike.” “Did you talk to him?” Rachel asked dubiously. “Yes.” No. “I did, but it didn’t go well.” “How not well?” Nessa asked, sinking crosslegged to a couch. “Like, on a scale from the time you guys fought over the stage lighting to the time he caught you robbing him?” The vicious words and wounded expressions didn’t fit on any scale previously known to mankind, much less Dallas and Lex. “It was really, really bad. I may have told him that he treats us all like whores.” Amira flinched. Sandy, a no-nonsense brunette

who’d been serving drinks since the doors opened, groaned. Sylvia, one of the dancers Ace had recruited from Gia, let out a laugh. “Well, I am a whore. And I mean...don’t get me wrong, Lex, I love dancing for you. But Gia has way better perks.” “Trust me, I meant it metaphorically.” Mostly. She was the only one with sex twisted all up in her relationship with Dallas. And this wasn’t about the two of them. Not entirely. Rachel propped her chin on both hands and bit her lip, like she was trying to hold back a laugh. “What I’m hearing is that you yelled at him.” Lex shrugged. “I had the best of intentions, but yes. He made me angry.” Angry enough to turn on the full extent of the seductive danger that growing up in Orchid House had imprinted on her very bones. But after hearing what Dallas had said to Flash, she couldn’t help it. They’ve got ink. Doesn’t mean they’re in the gang. Not really. It wasn’t just insensitive or uncaring. It was cruel, every bit as brutal as she’d accused him of being, and she couldn’t let it stand. Not for her benefit, but for the rest of them. Lex had always known that Dallas had marked her not as an equal, but as a possession. But that was her burden, her choice, and it didn’t mean he could

treat the other women around his compound just as cavalierly. One of the newer waitresses, a soft-spoken blonde named Ellie, raised her hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what going on strike means.” Sandy rubbed her shoulder. “It means we don’t work until O’Kane wises up.” Ellie’s eyes widened in alarm. “I—I can’t do that. I need the money.” Lex caught Nessa’s eye. At her nod, she spoke above the murmur of the crowd. “Everyone’s getting paid. Don’t worry about that.” “Lex and I will cover your salaries,” Nessa said, leaning forward to grab Ellie’s hand. “I promise. As long as it lasts, we’ll take care of you. All of you. All you gotta do is hold firm with the rest of us.” “No offense, Nessa, but that’s easy for you to say.” Ellie shook her head. “You’re not replaceable. Neither is Lex. But what if Dallas just fires the rest of us?” He’d have more trouble than a walkout on his hands then. Lex braced both hands on the bar. “Do you trust me?” “Yes, but—” “And the rest of you?” “Yes, of course.” Sylvia leaned back and

crossed her legs, her eyes shadowed by too much knowledge. “But that’s easy for me to say. Even if Dallas and the other men withdraw their protection, I have Gia. Not everyone else can say the same.” “Hey, no,” Nessa said firmly. “Don’t sell them short. Dallas can be a total dickhead, and so can most of the guys sometimes. But c’mon. You know Jas. You know Flash and Zan. They’re not gonna suddenly turn into monsters who let bad things happen to you.” “Nessa...” She held up both hands. “Just talk about it for a little bit, okay? Think it over. Lex and I will be over there.” Nessa hopped off the couch and retreated to the corner, hoisting herself up onto the table as Lex joined her. “I’m not wrong, am I?” she asked in a low voice. “Jas is a goddamn bleeding heart. He’s still gonna look out for them, right?” “You’re not wrong.” Flash was already up in arms, angry about the way Dallas had treated Amira. Whether the other guys agreed with him or not, none of them would cross the line of abandoning people who needed protection, not without a direct order. And if Dallas gave them such a ruthless order, he’d lose them—and their loyalty. It was a dangerous ploy, one Lex would never

consider unless she was absolutely certain it would work out in the end. But they had the money to cover the girls’ wages for a while, courtesy of the expensive, meaningless gifts Dallas had given her over the years. Most of them were stuffed in her closet, but she could fence them easily if she needed to. It wasn’t like she’d be too busy with other work. And God help Dallas if he thought about firing everyone and starting fresh. “He called us useful, Nessa,” she muttered. “You know what else is useful?” “Toilet paper, that’s what.” She made an incoherent noise of frustration—an indication of just how dire their circumstances were, because Nessa never ran out of words. “He means well, Lex. He always means well. Anyway, the rest of you don’t need to worry. You’ll freak him out for a couple days while I process what’s in the stills. But after that...he won’t have time to think about firing waitresses.” No. He really, really wouldn’t. »»» § ««« Dallas was a man bleeding from a hundred tiny cuts. “Hey!” His progress to the bar was halted for a

third time when an old-timer grabbed him by the sleeve. Max was at least eighty, grizzled, missing an eye and two fingers, courtesy of wounds suffered in a war no one else remembered. He eased his old bones into a chair every morning and drank with a slowly dwindling number of friends, trading stories about a world only they had ever known. And right now he looked pissed as he shoved a glass into Dallas’s hand. “This is the third time that pretty boy at the bar has brought me the wrong fucking order. When’s Amira coming back? She always brings what we want without even asking.” Make that a hundred and one cuts. “I’ll fix it,” Dallas grumbled, taking the glass and switching directions. He reached the bar and slapped the glass down. “C’mon, Ace. You gotta take care of the old-timers. They fucking live here.” “I’m trying,” Ace snapped, lifting the drink to sniff it. “But you know, there’s like four tables of them and Flash can’t remember who’s who and he can’t make it across the floor without someone trying to order something else from him. He keeps getting confused.” “And Bren just punched someone.” Jasper dropped a tray on the bar. “The guy in the corner says he’ll have ‘the usual’ but I don’t know who the fuck he is. Do you?” Ace squinted at the corner. “Uhhh...one of the

crafters?” “No, he’s a fighter,” Mad corrected, slapping his tray down on the bar hard enough to crack it. He frowned at the split pieces and then pinned Dallas with an unamused look. “I hope you’re enjoying this.” “Mad—” “I’m just saying, Dallas. I hope whatever you said to Lex was worth this, because you know, apologies are awesome. A gracious leader—” He held up a hand before Mad could impart some wisdom from his lofty cousin, who probably didn’t have to worry about all the women in his life going on fucking strike because people didn’t do this shit to God’s appointed chosen one. “Are you telling me you sorry lot are too incompetent to sell some fucking drinks?” “We can sell drinks,” Jas protested. “We just can’t do what Amira does. Or what Lex does, for that matter. The guy Bren smacked? Was pissed because there’s no naked tits for him to look at tonight.” That was fully half of his cuts, right there. Dallas had tried to reason with the dancers. He’d tried to growl at them. One had burst into tears that felt like naked, unfair accusation, because when had he ever given any of the little nitwits a reason to be afraid of him? But in spite of her clear terror,

she’d held firm in her refusal to work. He’d even tried going to Gia to ask for a few new dancers to hold off the wave of customer complaints until he made peace with Lex. Gia had smiled, offered him a glass of wine, and pleasantly invited him to go fuck himself. Oh, she hadn’t said the words—the bitch was too clever to say the words—but even his most intimidating snarl had never done more than amuse her. Kind of like Lex, except Gia didn’t even have the decency to want to fuck him. Lex had proven her damn point. She’d proved it in spectacular fashion. As a collective group, all the women who worked in and around the O’Kane compound had simply...not shown up for work. And life for the O’Kanes had fallen the fuck apart. Suddenly there was no food in the kitchen. No leftovers stocking the fridge. No one swept up the bar at night, and after only two days, Dallas’s boots were sticking to the floor in ways he didn’t want to consider. No one had shown up for the dirty laundry. No one had shown up with clean laundry. No one counted the stock at night, or refilled the bottles in the morning. No one tidied up the lounges. No one brought lunch to Dallas’s office. Or dinner. No one restocked the ice machine.

No one took down the chairs before opening. No one showed up to the after-party looking for a hot, sweaty night of sex. That detail was probably why Ace was glaring at him as he filled another order. He was currently in the midst of two cheerfully debauched relationships with two different dancers, but Ace’s nights of kinky fun had turned into nights contemplating his own hand. Especially since Mad was too cranky to throw him a fuck just to blow off steam. In less than forty-eight hours, Lex had yanked the foundation out from under Dallas’s feet, and the only thing he liked less than the idea of facing her with that knowledge burning in his gut was not knowing which invisible comfort was going to vanish next. Zan blew that right out of the water with one sentence. “You have a problem.” Dallas turned his back on Ace’s muttered bitching to face Zan. “What now?” “The stills aren’t running.” Oh shit. »»» § ««« Lex leaned back and admired her work. “I think I like the purple better.” “I got this mica from Tatiana—you know,

Matthew Stone’s kid? She has a cart now, selling soap and shit.” Nessa peered at her toes and wiggled them with a grin. “She promised to make me some tinted conditioner, too, so the dye won’t wash out of my hair as fast.” “No kidding? Give me your other foot.” Nessa extended her foot. “So, how long do you think—?” “Nessa!” “Not long at all, I’d say.” Lex spun her chair to face the door—and Dallas’s wrath. Though when he filled the door to Nessa’s office, his eyes sparking, his expression holding all the gentleness of a hurricane, wrath didn’t even seem like a strong enough word to cover it. His gaze stuck on Lex for one furious second before sliding to Nessa. “Do you think this is a game, girl?” Nessa bounced to her feet and swept up her shoes, seemingly oblivious to the dangerous fury vibrating through Dallas. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know. When the fuck have I had time for games, Dallas? It’s not like I’ve ever been a kid.” Because Lex was watching him, she saw his flinch. A tiny, telling gesture. Not backing down, Nessa parked herself directly in front of Dallas. “Lex, I’m gonna go pick up something to eat. You want anything?”

Pretty soon, literal steam would be shooting out of Dallas’s ears. Lex hid a smile. “That depends. What’s on the menu today?” “I was thinking of trying that new taco cart. I heard the owner’s got real black market chicken.” “Then I’m in. Hell, bring me two.” Nessa stared patiently at Dallas. After a tense, miserable ten seconds, he stepped aside to let her pass. Then he crossed the threshold of her office and closed the door, trapping Lex inside with him. This was inevitable. The only question was whether he had come to double down or admit defeat. “Nessa’s a bridge too far, Lex,” he said finally, his voice tightly restrained, his rage still held in the vicious grip of his self-control. “Whatever you told her, she has got to start production again.” It was so easy for him to see her as some Machiavellian puppet master, just yanking on everyone’s strings. Lex wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he considered her capable of such feats, or insulted that he thought she’d stoop so low. “This isn’t my doing, Dallas. It’s yours.” “Bullshit. Nessa wouldn’t just do this. She wouldn’t—” He exhaled and dragged his fingers through his hair, curling both hands into fists as he made a frustrated noise. “You were right, okay? I get it. We all get it.”

“Thank you, but it’s not what I meant.” She rose and crossed her arms over her chest. “I convinced the wait staff and the kitchen workers and everyone else to walk out for a few days. But I didn’t talk Nessa into anything. You may have hurt me a little, but you hurt her a lot worse.” “Why?” he demanded. “Nessa knows how much we value her! Fuck, she’s the goddamn O’Kane princess.” “A week ago, she would have agreed with you. Not anymore.” Lex needed to put some distance between them, so she circled the desk and stood behind it. “She’s been carrying your operation on her shoulders since she was a child, but now she knows that apparently means less to you than a handful of street brawls. And I’m not sure you can get her back.” The verbal blow landed hard and did damage. She’d known it would. Nessa had always been his weak spot. He left his hair standing up wildly and scrubbed his hands over his face as if he could wipe away the truth. “They were stupid words. Thoughtless. I didn’t mean— Nessa is family, for fuck’s sake.” “God, you and your boxes, Dallas.” It would have been hilarious if her heart wasn’t currently busy breaking. “You think they’re two different things, the gang and your family, but that’s not what

you’ve built here.” He stared at her, uncomprehending. Lex gripped the edge of the desk. “You’ve told the world that there is nothing more important to you than the O’Kanes. They are your family, and you basically said Nessa and Rachel aren’t part of it. And being on the outside—” Her voice cracked, and she steadied herself with a deep breath. “It hurts, that’s all.” After another tense moment, he turned and sank onto Nessa’s couch. He braced his elbows on his knees, the fury gone from his eyes. Left in its wake was frustrated confusion. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just used to thinking about...” He sighed and clenched his fists. Then he reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. When the worn leather flipped open, he withdrew a creased piece of paper that looked like it had seen better days and held it out to her. The ink was faded, illegible in some spots, but she could make enough of it out to realize what it was—a list of names. The men who had fallen during the fight to take control of Sector Four. “I know it’s stupid, Lex,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I know I sound like a liar and a hypocrite, acting like being in the gang is too dangerous when I gave them ink to begin with because it means something now. It protects them.

But when I think about what it means to be an O’Kane, to really be an O’Kane...” His eyes fixed on the piece of paper as he swallowed hard. “That’s all I see. The ultimate cost. The men who bled and who died to get us here. And maybe it makes me an asshole, but I can’t really think about Nessa bleeding out in the street. Or Rachel or Amira.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Or you.” She couldn’t fault him for that, not entirely, but the fact that he still carried this list when he’d long since memorized every name on it meant something else. Something even more heartbreaking. “You’re stuck in the past,” she told him as she slid onto the couch beside him. “I can’t say there won’t be any more O’Kane blood spilled. That kind of thing never really stops.” She folded the paper and pressed it back into his hand. “But the fights are different now, and not all of them can be won with guns and knives.” He stared at the paper before curling his fingers around it. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” “If I wasn’t sure of that, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.” He huffed out something almost like a laugh. “So what am I supposed to do? Offer every dancer and waitress out there ink? You think they all want to sign up for a lifetime of doing what I say?”

“Holy Christ, no. Most of them want to do their jobs, get paid, go home, and not think about you or the rest of the O’Kanes until their next shift.” She reached for the bottle Nessa had left on the end table—one of her special runs, the stuff she and Pop had made together—and handed it to Dallas. “But some of them will. And some of the ones who want it will deserve it. Like Amira. And it’s not because she’s worked hard. It’s because she cares about the O’Kanes.” He didn’t answer for a long time. He swirled the booze in the bottle and stared at it. Then he looked at Nessa’s desk. At the safe behind it that held her most prized bottles. At the shelves of books and notes and recipes and empty bottles. “That’s fair,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to Ace about getting her cuffs. We can set up a party for her.” “Or...” She reached over and uncapped the bottle. “You could talk to her. She may not be ready to take ink, but she was ready to ask you about it. Let her.” “Okay.” He blew out a breath. “I can do that.” His hair was still a mess, and she smoothed it at his temple. “Of course you can.” “So that’s Amira. And Nessa and Rachel.” He turned just enough to meet her eyes. “What about you?”

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and it felt right, like something she could do for the rest of her life. “What about me?” “You mentioned Rachel, and Nessa, and Amira. How I hurt them. What about you?” She pulled her hand away. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything, honestly, because it wouldn’t be a simple conversation. It wouldn’t be easy, and it might not fix a goddamn thing between them. But she owed him the truth, the same truth she’d always asked him for. “Why did you mark me?” He took the bottle from her, and this time he didn’t stare at it. He took a long sip and clutched at the thing so hard it looked like his fingers might shatter the glass. “Because I didn’t want you to leave. Because I need you.” I need you. She’d waited years—actual, literal years—to hear him say it. But now that he had... “And I didn’t want to leave. But I’m not sure it’s enough.” “Not enough for what?” “To keep us from imploding.” She climbed off the couch and paced across the room. She needed space again, enough to let sharp words fall between them without shredding them both. “I was curious about the gang and your plans for it. I was curious

about you. So I stuck around. And when you needed help, I couldn’t stop myself from falling back on familiar things. Orchid things.” She shrugged. “We can’t escape who we are, I guess.” All of his muscles tightened as he seemed to draw in on himself. “Lex. I didn’t... That’s not what I want from you.” “No, I did this, not you.” It wasn’t possible to explain the tangle of responsibility and ownership and sex they taught in Orchid House—but she had to believe it could be unraveled. “But now I need your help. We should have...rules. About us.” “What kind of rules?” “Boundaries,” she clarified. “I’ll do whatever I can, Dallas. Help out with whatever you need. But I’m not—we’re not—” “Together,” he rumbled. “No.” They existed in some nebulous space that was both more and less, and completely undecided. Unsettled. “So you have to stop growling at everyone who flirts with me, because I don’t belong to you.” He didn’t like it, didn’t like admitting it and didn’t like agreeing to it. That angry furrow cut a path between his brows, but after an uncertain couple of seconds, he nodded jerkily. “Fine.” “However.” She took a step forward, then another, almost close enough to touch him. “I hope

you’ll consider doing the flirting sometimes. I would hate to give that up.” His gaze drifted up her body, making her skin prickle. By the time he reached her face, the furrow was gone. “You would, would you?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.” She held out her hand. “Deal?” He curled his fingers around hers, but instead of shaking her hand, he brushed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips soft and warm over her pulse— and his ink. “Deal.” She held on to his hand and stretched out on the couch, across his lap, her head nestled into the crook of his arm. She looked up at him as he shifted to give her a more comfortable cradle and smiled. “I’m sorry I got ugly with you the other day. I regret it.” “I’m sorry I laughed at you.” His lips twitched. “I knew you were going to make me pay. I kinda like it. At least I’ll never turn into Matthew Stone with you around.” No, never. “I would kill you first.” She meant it, and he knew it. Judging by the glint in his eyes, he liked it. “Aww, that’s sweet, Lexie. You promise?” “Shut up.” She wasn’t quite ready to give up the intoxicating intimacy of the moment. “You know, on second thought, maybe we should honor

the terms of our truce with something other than a handshake. It’s not really our style.” He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and tugged lightly. “I could think of few ways.” His teasing tone held just a hint of warm suggestion, and for once, Lex didn’t hide. “Kiss me.” Smiling, he leaned down and caught her lips in a slow kiss. A warm kiss. Gentle and restrained and barely like him at all, until his free hand dropped to her hip and his fingers dug in, and she felt the careful control in the way his muscles tensed as he spread his fingers wide in a silent, possessive claim. Someday, they’d figure out their shit. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and they’d always be like this—hot and cold, push and pull. Fight or flight. Either way, one truth was rooted deep inside her, more intrinsic to her being than her own name. No matter what came of it, she would always love Dallas O’Kane.

present day...

GRAND REOPENING Even with the brand-new cash counting machine by her side, Lex couldn’t keep up with Noelle. She slid another huge stack of banded bills across the table and waited until Noelle paused in her counting to grin at her. “What do you think?” “I think Dallas will have to add a whole new floor just to hold his ego.” Noelle added the cash to the stack next to her. “I haven’t even started on the credits Jared and Lili brought in. I peeked upstairs earlier tonight, and everyone who was anyone in Eden showed up.” Lex was disgustingly glad that Jared and Lili were happy to play hosts to Eden’s elite— especially now that the walls had come down, and it was easier than ever to move between the city and the surrounding sectors. “Better them than me,” she muttered. “I’m perfectly at home down here, thanks.” “Me, too.” Noelle started on another stack of cash. “I wondered for a little bit, you know, how it would feel to see my old friends. If I’d want to talk to them. But that seems like a different life. And we weren’t friends, not really. None of them knew me. I didn’t even know me.”

Lex grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “It was a different life.” “If you can even call it a life.” Noelle squeezed Lex’s hand. “I’m right where I’m meant to be.” “Where?” rumbled a familiar voice from behind them. “With your fingers all over my money?” After all this time, he could still send a shiver up Lex’s spine with just his voice. “Someone’s got to count it all, Declan.” His fingers slid over her shoulder, and his breath tickled her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her. “So there’s a lot of it?” “I’m not even going to tell you how much,” Noelle told him with a fake-stern face. “You’ll get a big head.” “Ahh, kitten. Lex can tell you there’s no chance of stopping that.” Lex leaned into his touch. “Yes, there’s a lot of cash.” Not that rebuilding the Broken Circle had ever been about money. This place was more than a bar or club. It was the living embodiment of every dream Dallas had ever had. Every dream she shared. “Well, Jas is gonna have to help her finish counting it.” Dallas straightened and tugged her chair back. “The king needs a few moments with his queen.”

Noelle took one look at him over Lex’s shoulder and grinned. Then she leaned in and kissed Lex’s cheek. “I’ll probably be asleep by the time he’s done with his few moments. Good night, Lex.” She rose. “Jas—” “I won’t let her work too hard,” he promised. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he took her chair, and as she and Dallas walked away, Jasper leaned over and whispered in Noelle’s ear. Her delighted laughter followed them through the STAFF ONLY door. Once they were in the dim hallway alone, Dallas wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers teasing under her shirt to trace over her stomach. “I have a surprise for you.” “Really? What kind?” “What, darling, you want me to spoil it?” She turned in his arms. “Just a hint.” Two more steps, and he had her backed up against his office door, pinned to the solid wood as he grasped each side of the frame. “Your hint is that I’m feeling a little nostalgic tonight.” He could have meant anything—that was one of the best parts of their relationship, the rich history they shared. It hadn’t always been smooth or peaceful, but it was always real. Something that belonged to just the two of them.

She reached back for the door knob, one questioning eyebrow raised. At his nod, she turned the knob and opened the door. “Show me.” He took a step forward, nudging her into his office. He waved his hand over the panel next to the door once to bring up soft lighting, just enough to make the furniture visible but keep the corners in shadows. A second step pushed her far enough into the room for him to close the door behind them. Without looking, he slowly engaged the lock. Then he put both hands on her shoulders and turned her. The safe was so old that, once upon a time, it had taken her less than two minutes to crack it. And that was before it was nearly crushed in the bombing of the original Broken Circle. “You rescued it,” she whispered. “Fuck yeah, I did. That’s the start of everything, right there.” He leaned down, his voice a suggestive whisper. “Think you can still crack it?” The thing was a veritable wreck now. Most of the bigger dents had been hammered out, but nothing could straighten the frame or restore its integrity. What Dallas had sitting in his office was, simply, four hundred pounds of nostalgia. She knelt in front of it and trailed her hand along the side, looking for the right spot. When she found it, she gave it one good whack with the flat

of her hand, and the lock popped. “This is adorable, honey,” she laughed as the door swung open. “But you really shouldn’t keep anything valuable—” There was only one thing in the safe—a tiny jewelers’ box, its blue velvet flocking worn away in spots. Her hands shaking, she picked it up and lifted the lid. Inside was a gold ring. Old, delicate. Polished up, but even the most loving care couldn’t fix the tiny dents or the deepest scratches. She rose and turned to Dallas. “What is this?” “Remember when I gave you that jewelry to pawn?” He tilted his head toward the box. “I kept that. Didn’t figure it would fetch much. Not even sure it’s real gold, honestly. My grandpa didn’t have much to his name when gave that to my grandma.” “A family heirloom?” She stepped into the circle of his arms and leaned against his chest. “Are you giving it to me?” Instead of answering, Dallas took the ring from her and lifted her hand. It slid onto her middle finger like it had been designed for her, and the metal warmed swiftly against her skin. “My mother wore this on a cord around her neck. The Flares made her hard, but this is the one bit of sentimentality she never gave up. She told me once it was a reminder that life could be sweet, too.” He rubbed his thumb over the ring and her fingers. “I think she’d want you to have it. And I don’t need a

reminder anymore. I have you.” Dallas had given her dozens of presents over the years, clothes and jewelry and weapons and art, each piece more expensive and rare than the last. Hundreds of thousands in cash and credits, and she’d kept each one, hoarded them away in her bedroom closet the way a dragon guards its gold. None of them had ever meant as much as this one. “I love it,” she whispered. “More than my Renoir. More than my Glock.” “More than your Glock?” His warm laughter washed over her as he pulled her closer, until her body was pressed to his. “That’s saying something.” “I love it more than anything.” She set the box aside and slipped her hands under his shirt. “Except you.” ‘Yeah?” He curled his hands around her waist and backed her toward the safe. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all night?” “Nope. But I fervently hope it involves fucking.” With a flex of muscle, he hoisted her onto the edge of the safe. “Fucking’s too tame a word for what I have planned. Stay here.” He crossed the room to a simple wooden cabinet, and she smiled as the jangle of chains filled

the room like music. “You wouldn’t.” “Wanna bet?” Dallas returned with his hands full of leather and delicate steel chains. The gathered metal tickled over her legs as he stepped close, blocking out most of the light. He worked in intent silence, stripping off her bracelets first and setting each one aside. His thumb rubbed the insides of her wrists before he wrapped the leather cuffs around them, working each buckle with the reverence of ritual. Her skin heated, and her muscles tensed with anticipation. Some nights, Dallas wanted to play. Others were about pushing boundaries or falling into familiar patterns, the kind you could only find in the comfort of shared experience. Tonight, he had something to tell her. Not with words, perhaps, but with every careful, considered action. She sucked in a breath as he slowly lifted the chain linking her cuffs, dragging her arms up with it. Her back arched to compensate, and her shoulders bumped back against the wall. When she looked up, she saw a hook high above her on the wall, placed deliberately. Strategically. When Dallas dropped the chain over the hook, it left her stretched out, off balance, with only enough give in the chains to move her hands a few

inches in either direction. Dallas stroked his fingers down her arms and smiled slowly when he reached her leather dress. “This is nice,” he murmured, touching one of the two zippers in the front that ran the entire length of the dress. “Convenient, too.” She arched into his touch with a shiver. “I thought you might appreciate it.” He grasped the zipper on the left and tugged, easing it down until the fabric gaped open, revealing the curve of her breast and the tight peak of one nipple. The soft stir of air against it made her ache for a stronger touch, but he just switched to the right side and did the same thing, leaving her breasts exposed. Then he reached for the bottom zippers on both sides, his fingers stroking her thighs as he started to edge them up. When his knuckles brushed her crossed legs, he pushed them open, the movement rough enough to drag her ass forward and tighten the slack in the chain. “I used to imagine this, you know,” he murmured in a low voice as she squirmed there, almost completely exposed. “Usually after we had one of those moments where we almost fucked but ended up fighting instead.” “There were a lot of those.” She tried to brace the heels of her boots on the safe, but they only

skidded down the banged-up surface. “Tell me more.” He swatted the outside of one thigh in gentle warning as he stepped closer. His shirt abraded her nipples just enough to turn the vague ache into sharp hunger, but his fingers were exquisitely gentle on her chin. “You stole something from me.” “Oh yeah? What’s that?” “A credit stick.” He ran a hand down her leg to grip her boot. Dark, familiar longing welled inside her. Years ago—in another life, as Noelle would say—she’d walked out of his warehouse with that precious credit stick tucked into her boot. Impossible to imagine now, how she’d almost overlooked the most precious thing in the room. Almost. Thank fuck she’d realized her mistake in time. But if Dallas wanted to relive that night, erase the years of thwarted desire that had kept them apart, she was in. One hundred percent. She looked up at him, batting her eyes in a knowing parody of innocence. “How important is it to you, this credit stick?” “You think you’re in any position to bargain?” His fingers tightened on her chin with a delicious edge of roughness. “You’re going to tell me where it is.” “Can’t.”

“Why not?” “Because...” She rubbed her leg up his, then poked him in the calf with her stiletto heel. “I gave it to this guy—super hot, ridiculously fuckable. Smolder for days. Just thinking about him makes me wet.” His expression stayed dark and dangerous, but warm humor filled his eyes, as if he, too, was remembering the day she’d strolled back into his life to return his stolen property. “That’s too bad for you,” he murmured, running his hand up the inside of her thigh. The backs of his fingers brushed her pussy, sliding over slick, aroused flesh. “Too bad for him, too. He let you go. I’m not making that mistake.” “No?” The chains rattled as she stretched slowly. Languidly. “Not even if I beg?” “Especially not then.” He turned his wrist and slowly stroked one finger into her. “I don’t think you want to go anywhere. I think you want this. Need this.” A second finger joined the first, wide and broad, working into her with a delicious stretch. Dallas braced his other hand against the wall and leaned over her, his words tickling her lips. “I think you want to be my toy, and I think you want me to play rough.” The words aroused her just as much as his thrusting fingers. In the early years of their

relationship, she would have fought such a claim, no matter how true it was in her secret, innermost thoughts. But she trusted him now—completely, utterly— and she couldn’t stifle her eager moan. “Yes.” “That’s right.” His teeth closed on her lower lip, a sharp, bright shock of pain before his tongue swept across the tender flesh. The heel of his hand bumped her clit as his fingers thrust deep, but he carefully kept the contact light, just enough to torment. “I’ll keep you here for weeks. Make you come once for every credit you stole from me.” “I don’t know...” She gasped as heat rolled up her spine. “It was a lot of money.” “Fine.” He nipped at her again—at her lower lip. Her chin. The line of her jaw. He bit her earlobe hard as his thumb slicked over her clit and retreated, leaving her arching her hips to chase the fleeting touch. “I’ll keep you here for months, then.” “What—” Her voice broke on another moan. “What will you do when you’re finished with me?” His dark laughter made her shiver. “Oh, darling. I’ll never be finished with you. I love how you moan. How you give in.” His thumb returned with a rough, knowing pressure that delivered a shuddering shock of pleasure. “How your pussy is wet for me before I even touch you, and how tight

you clench around my fingers when I make it hurt a little.” His teeth closed on her throat with savage, possessive force. She tugged against the chains just enough to tangle her fingers in his hair, and she pulled hard, using the leverage to ride his hand. “Hungry for it, aren’t you?” He straightened, tearing free of her grasp. He gripped her chin with his free hand and pressed his thumb commandingly against her lips. “Open.” She snapped her teeth at him. He growled and pulled his fingers out of her, leaving her empty and aching, trembling close to the edge but with no relief in sight. His grip tightened on her jaw as he lifted his slick fingers. Without looking away, he dragged his tongue up one, licking her arousal from his skin. Oh, fuck. “You’re dangerous,” she whispered, “but so am I. You might want to keep that in mind.” With that warning, she obediently opened her mouth. Dallas smiled and traced his wet fingertips over her lips, leaving the taste of her behind. “I never, ever forget it.” She licked her lips. “And you love me this way.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. He answered her with a kiss. Deep, hungry. Endless. He thrust his fingers inside her again,

fucking her fast and hard as he devoured her mouth. It hurt, and it was so good that pleasure buzzed in her ears. He knew exactly how to touch her, knowledge gleaned from endless hours of dedicated study. Of endless craving. She came with a shudder and a hoarse cry, wrenched from her throat and lost to his kiss. But Dallas wouldn’t be satisfied with easy. His fingers rode her pleasure, dragging it along, committing to it the way he did everything—relentlessly, absolutely, ruthlessly. What should have been languid aftershocks twisted into fresh waves of tension that kept her toes curled. “Have a little fucking mercy, Declan.” “No mercy for thieves,” he growled. But his mouth gentled on hers, the soft, coaxing kisses a dizzying contrast to the demanding thrust of his fingers. “I’ve got you, Alexa. Stop fighting it.” She sobbed in a breath. He was after something tonight, that point where fighting wasn’t even a thing that existed anymore, and all she could do was come, over and over, and she wouldn’t be able to stop until he let her. His fingers drove deep. Curled. Stroked over her G-spot with a pressure that took on a life of its own, thundering through her. He touched her, his free hand and mouth skating over her skin, and Lex writhed in his arms. The noise from the thrashing

chains heightened it all, because she knew this sound like she knew her own name. It was a vow, a promise. If she surrendered, he’d give her everything. Pleasure peaked again, and this time it didn’t stop. It gripped her tighter with each passing throb, until her whole body was on fire and her throat ached from screaming. Only then did his touch subside, his fingers easing from her body as he stroked her hair and her cheek, murmuring soothing words against her ear. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and tried to catch her breath. “You stole from me too, you know.” “Did I?” “Mm-hmm. Something vital.” Lex tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “My heart.” A smile curved his lips as his eyes softened in that way they only did for her. “That wasn’t stealing. That was survival. You’d already snatched mine right out of my chest.” “Well, then. I guess fair is fair.” “Mmm.” He traced a finger over her lips before edging it into her mouth. “Still feeling bitey, or are you a good girl now?” Instead of teeth, she gave him her tongue, gliding it over his finger before sucking him deeper into her mouth. She was rewarded with a hissed

breath as he stroked his finger in and out and then added a second. “Making you come on this safe until you can’t take it anymore is only the top item on a very long list of things I’ve imagined. You want to hear more?” As if he needed to ask. But she answered with a low groan, the kind that vibrated around his fingers. He used his other hand to work the zippers on her disheveled dress, guiding them slowly so the soft rasp formed a counterpoint to his low words. “Sometimes I think about bending you over it and spanking you until you’re so twisted up you’ll come with the first touch.” The zippers finally gave way completely, and her dress fell away, leaving her naked on the safe. Dallas stroked back up to her breast, his thumbs tracing slow circles around her nipples. “I wouldn’t always be that patient, though. Sometimes I’d just bend you over it and be balls deep before you could catch your breath.” Yet he kept looking at her mouth. “I think I know what you want this time.” “Yeah, you do.” He slid his hands along her arms and up, all the way to where the chain was hooked to the wall. With a deft twist, he freed her, then grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air. When the world stopped spinning, he was

perched on the edge of the safe with her between his widespread legs. As soon as she had her balance, he guided her hands to his belt. “Let me feel that mouth around my cock.” She curled her fingers around the buckle. “I have a few fantasies of my own that start like this.” “Oh yeah? Tell me one.” He’d made most of them happen over the years, whether he’d meant to or not. “This is a big one. You think you have the upper hand when you put me on my knees.” The belt fell open, and she sank to the floor. “But the minute I get my tongue on you, we both know the truth.” His eyes narrowed as he plunged both hands into her hair, tangling the strands around his fingers until it pulled just the way she liked. “Yeah, we do.” The ink on his wrists almost matched her own, and it called to her. She turned her head to lick it lightly as she opened his pants. With shaking fingers, she gripped his cock. “Say it.” “I’ll be anything you want me to be, darling.” The fists in her hair tightened. “As long as I’m yours.” He groaned at the first touch of her tongue, and she closed her mouth around him. Her need had been sated for the moment, but his still raged, evident in the hardness of his pulsing erection. In

the tensing of his muscles. In the sounds. Rough and abrupt at first, like each one was being torn from him against his will. His fingertips pressed against the back of her head, almost pushing her head down, almost forcing her to take him deeper. But not yet. She pulled back, ignoring the soft noise of protest that faded as she met his eyes. Spellbound, she held his gaze as she began to lick him, gliding her tongue over his rigid length and around the head of his cock until it was wet and slick. “Alexa.” He rumbled the warning. She hummed and blew gently on his glistening flesh. His hips flexed, pushing the head of his cock against her lips. When she didn’t take the hint, his growled and dragged her head back. “Is this what you want to do with the upper hand?” he rasped. “Destroy my self-control?” “How uncharitable.” She licked her lips as hunger stirred inside her again, heavy and demanding. “The longer I make you wait, the hotter it’ll be.” He stared at her lips, breathing hard, and she knew it was coming. It still happened so fast.

He surged to his feet, dragging her up with him. His boot collided with the wheeled chair behind his desk, sending it spinning across the room to tip over with a crash. Before the sound faded, she was on his desk. There wasn’t time to catch her breath. The chain between her cuffs slithered over her skin as Dallas grabbed her hips and dragged her to the edge of the desk, spilling her back onto all of the reports Noelle had prepared for him about the opening night plans. Oblivious to all of it, he gripped his cock, giving her one dizzy moment of anticipation as he teased the head against her slick outer lips and over her clit. Then he drove into her. Hard. Hard enough to spark fire along every nerve ending. Hard enough to shove her across the desk. She scrambled for purchase, but it was Dallas who hauled her back to him, lifting one leg over his shoulder and wrapping his hand around her thigh. Another vicious thrust stole what was left of her breath, leaving her with nothing but naked need and the sheer possession of his touch. “Fuck, you feel good.” His movements slowed. He withdrew from her inch by inch, as if he hated not being as deep inside her as he could go. But just when she was mourning the loss of him, his hips

snapped forward, the slap of skin on skin an erotic accompaniment to his hoarse groan. “Look at me.” He was fucking her rough, but the look in his eyes was soft, warm. Safe. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, his fingers cradling her head, holding her steady for his next hard, merciless thrust. His thumb brushed her lips. “I hate every day we wasted not fucking each other brainless.” “Not wasted. Getting here.” She kept her gaze fixed on his as she arched her hips to meet his. “Becoming us.” “Us.” He growled it with another thrust. And another. And then he lifted her hips higher with a grip that would bruise in all the best ways and fucked her harder. She reached for him, scratching her nails over his arms and chest as the first orgasm seized her. It wrenched another cry from her throat, one that had him grinding against her as she shuddered. Pleasure surged and receded like waves, until it stopped receding altogether and all she knew was the melting heat of release. Her leg slipped from his shoulder. Dallas hauled her upright, crushing her to his chest as his mouth descended on hers. He swallowed her cries and ground into her, riding her clenching pleasure until he stiffened and groaned in relief. The chains and cuffs bit into their skin, but

Dallas just held her there, clutched to his chest as they both panted for breath. “Damn,” he muttered finally, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I had this all planned out, woman. It was gonna take hours.” She’d been fucking up all his carefully laid plans since that first night. “That’s just how I roll, O’Kane. You sure you want to spend the rest of your life like this?” “I can’t imagine wanting to spend it any other way.”

BEFORE YOU LEAVE SECTOR FOUR If you'd like to receive notification of future Kit Rocha titles, you can subscribe to our announcement list. Interested in the BEYOND series? The Beyond novels: #1: Beyond Shame, #2: Beyond Control, #3: Beyond Pain, , #4: Beyond Jealousy, #5: Beyond Addiction, #6: Beyond Innocence, #7: Beyond Ruin, #8: Beyond Ecstasy, #9: Beyond Surrender While each novel focuses on one relationship & happy ending, each book in the series builds on the previous one, making them best read in order. The Beyond Novellas: #3.5: Beyond Temptation, #4.5: Beyond Solitude, #5.5: Beyond Possession Each novella focuses more closely on a single couple, and is meant to be accessible to new readers. You can read a novella without knowing the series well.

Learn more about the characters and the world by checking out the Beyond Series Guide. Do you know about the spin-off series, Gideon's Riders? Learn more about Sector One's holy warrior bikers and their leader. Want more frequent updates? Keep up with news, contests & chatter on Facebook at The Broken Circle Page or in the The Broken Circle VIP Lounge Group by following the authors on twitter: @kitrocha, @mostlybree & @donnajherren. Or visit the author's website at kitrocha.com Want to show off your O'Kane style? We have T-shirts, mugs, keychains and more, all available through Zazzle! You can also buy handmade custom Sector merch and get signed copies at okaneforlife.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Kit Rocha is the pseudonym for co-writing team Donna Herren and Bree Bridges. After penning dozens of paranormal novels, novellas and stories as Moira Rogers, they branched out into gritty, sexy dystopian romance. The Beyond series has appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists, and was honored with a 2013 RT Reviewer's Choice award. Get updates about their new books by subscribing to their announcement list, or visit their website at kitrocha.com

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION Beyond Forever Copyright © 2017 by Kit Rocha This novella is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.