Beyond Addiction (2 page)

Ryder arched one eyebrow and tilted his head down the hall in the direction of Fleming’s office. “Talk him down. Tell him we’ll fix it before things go too far.”

How were they supposed to do that, drop the girl at the edge of the sector and hope she didn’t blab? That was assuming any bird with O’Kane ink wouldn’t turn around and go for their balls.

No, Finn had been laying this groundwork for far too damn long. Chipping away at Mac’s base of power, delivering frustration instead of victory. He’d known it would all blow up in his face eventually.

Hell, he’d counted on having a front row seat. He hadn’t bothered with an exit strategy because he hadn’t wanted one. He deserved the fall that was coming.

Ryder didn’t.

Finn grabbed his friend’s arm and hauled him into the nearest empty room, slamming the door behind them with a bite of temper. This was why making friends was stupid. Caring about people complicated shit.

Finn had never planned on liking Ryder. The other man was nothing like him. He was smart. Ambitious. He’d rocketed up the ranks of Mac’s organization through wits and stubbornness, somehow always finding that line Finn wove back and forth across, the one that made a man decent, even if he was ruthless.

He held up both hands now. “Whatever you’re about to say—”

“Shut up.” Finn braced his hand against the door, as if he could hold it shut if Ryder really wanted to get through. Not that Finn wasn’t tough, but Ryder had always been in a different league. A better league. Everything about him screamed polish, from his fitted leather jacket to his tattoos—high-quality black and gray etched into his brown skin, the kind of artwork Finn couldn’t have afforded when he got his first ink.

Ryder had never belonged in a hellhole like Five, so Finn was going to get him out. “There’s no fixing this. O’Kane will burn us to the ground, but you’re new enough to make it out first. So you need to take that girl over to Four and buy your way into O’Kane’s good graces.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll distract the guards, and you—”

“I can’t leave,” Ryder repeated flatly.

Final fucking words, and they were out of time. Mac would send someone to fetch him if he didn’t arrive like a good guard dog, and he couldn’t
make
Ryder save himself.

Finn’s best intentions had never been worth much.

Exhaling roughly, he jerked open the door. “Fine. Do you know which woman he grabbed?”
Please don’t let it be Lex.

“I don’t know—some redhead.”

Fuck. Damn near four years, and it still felt like getting kicked in the gut. Thank God redheads were rare—he’d known just a handful, and only one who really mattered. Maybe he’d never be able to think of red hair without imagining her the last time he’d seen her, sprawled lazily across his bed, floating on the rush, her long red hair a tousled halo around her pale face.

He hadn’t given her the drugs that killed her that night, but he’d given her enough over the years to have no illusions about his involvement. Her death was on his shoulders, her blood on his hands.

He could almost feel it as he approached Mac’s office. He was shocked not to see his fingers dripping red when he reached out to rap on the heavy oak door and waited for permission to enter.

Instead, the door slammed open to reveal Dom’s glowering face. “Don’t get any bright ideas,” he sneered. “That bitch is mine.” He shoved past Finn and stomped down the hall.

Finn tilted his head, and Ryder headed after Dom with a short nod.

Bracing himself, Finn swung into Mac’s office—and stopped cold.

Tracy.

It couldn’t be. He blinked and let his gaze sweep over the woman, trying to discount that first disorienting impression. She was tied to a chair, the plastic ties digging into skin marked by O’Kane ink. She was disheveled, her clothing askew, ripped in places, her red hair wild. Killer curves, a pointed chin, a split, bloody lip that someone needed to die for giving her—

Glassy, blue-green eyes.
Familiar
eyes.

Tracy was alive.

She stared back at him—frozen, scarcely breathing—and Mac stepped into the silence with a quiet hum of approval. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”

Finn barely heard him. Barely saw him.

Fucking hell,
Tracy was alive
.

She sat there like a statue or a ghost or a fucking hallucination until Mac brushed her cheek. When she flinched away, he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back.

Finn’s fingers flexed, and he could already feel Mac’s throat beneath them. He’d crush the fucking life out of his boss and consider it his best day ever. “Get your hand off her.”

“I don’t think so.” Mac bent low, putting his face close to hers. “She stole from me.”

That got her attention. She turned her head so fast she almost bumped into Mac. “I did not, you lying asshole. You gave me those drugs.”

It made a sick sort of sense. The leader of Sector Five didn’t mess with common girls. Only the best for him—young, pretty, and drugged out of their minds. Eager to do anything and everything to stay that way. It was a soft, blissful life, a
short
one, which meant Mac was always on the prowl for a replacement.

He would have taken Tracy just to prove he could. “You told me she overdosed.”

“I honestly figured she had.” Mac studied her. “But you sold it all and ran, didn’t you, love? Over to Sector Four.”

So casual. Curious, but only vaguely, as if he didn’t care about the answer one way or another but was simply going through the motions. Finn knew better. Mac had staged this melodramatic reveal for him, and this was just the opening act.

Finn had to get them both out of there before Dom came back for the big finale. “Yeah, she ran straight into Dallas O’Kane’s arms. Is this really how you want to start a sector war?”

“War was inevitable, and it’s already begun,” Mac said absently. He was focused on Tracy, staring at her like he was trying to decode an unfamiliar language. “We all thought you were dead. Finn, too. You walked away and never looked back—that’s stone cold, darling. Color me impressed.”

Her jaw clenched, her gaze clashing with Finn’s before she looked away, and it didn’t matter that four years had passed. He knew what she’d been thinking the day she’d walked out of Sector Five, out of his life. Once Mac set his sights on a girl, her opportunities narrowed to two—survive as long as she could as a high-class junkie whore, or die trying to get out.

Tracy had picked the path that wouldn’t take Finn down with her.

He rolled his shoulders, letting himself really feel the familiar weight of his shoulder holster. His gun was right there in easy reach. Two big steps and he could have it shoved under Mac Fleming’s jaw. He owed her that much.

Christ, he owed her everything.

“You cost Dom his O’Kane ink,” Mac continued, his voice taking on a wicked, sharp edge as he pulled her hair harder, pulled until a whimper escaped her. “Have you seen his scars? He’s eager to show them to you. Every...single...one.”

Finn didn’t choose to move, but then he never made choices when it came to Tracy. Every damn time she brushed his life, he stumbled forward without control or reason.

He didn’t stumble now, just took those two steps and dug the barrel of his gun under Mac’s chin. “Let her go. Now.”

Mac’s eyes went wide before narrowing as he barked out a laugh. “You stupid bastard.”

Finn ground the gun deeper into the man’s flesh, pressing up until Mac had to stretch onto his toes. “I’m not telling you again. You can let her go back to Sector Four and fuck what Dom wants, or I’ll blow off the top of your head right now.”

Mac stared back at him, his eyes burning with outrage. “Do it. Neither one of you would make it out of here al—”

Finn squeezed the trigger. One shot, and it splattered Mac Fleming’s fucking brains all over his office.

It was loud, reverberating through the room as Finn watched his boss fall to the floor. Putting another round in his head as insurance would have been smart—just to be sure he was well and truly beyond saving, even with regen tech—but Mac’s last words had been truth.

If Finn wanted to get them out of Sector Five alive, he didn’t have bullets to waste.

Her nightmare had taken a turn for the better.

Trix stared down at the blood on her clothes, frozen in an interminable moment of confusion and torn between a laugh and a scream.

Mac Fleming was gone. Better than gone—
dead
—and the laugh won. Only it didn’t come out sounding like a laugh at all, more like a frightened, strangled whimper.

Warm hands cupped her face, and a broad, calloused thumb swept over her cheek. “I got you, girl. Stay with me.”

Finn’s words echoed in her ears, as surreal as the sensation of his hands on her face. “This isn’t real.”

“I know how you feel. Look at me, Tracy.”

Her vision swam as she lifted her gaze. Finn had always been a rock, the only solid, reliable thing in her old life. Surely if this was a dream or drug-induced hallucination, he’d look the same—serious, intense, the barest hint of one of his rare smiles lifting the corner of his mouth.

Instead, he looked worn. Not just older but haggard, his beard scruffier than she remembered. His eyes were bloodshot and red, as if he hadn’t slept in months, and her mother’s voice drifted up somewhere behind her.
Ten miles of bad road.

“Fuck,” he whispered roughly. “Close your eyes and breathe.”

He bent to tug at the plastic tie securing her hands. The room went dark for a moment, and Trix opened her mouth to remark on the darkness before she realized she’d only closed her eyes.

She licked her lips and winced at the pain—and the taste of blood. “They gave me something—”

The door opened and slammed shut. “Holy fuck,” a new voice growled.

Trix snapped her eyes open. The man who had come in was dark—dark clothes, skin, eyes, hair. He locked the door behind him and stepped forward, but all of his attention was focused on Fleming’s body.

Finn pulled a knife and cut her hands free. “Ryder, meet Tracy.”

That stopped the man in his tracks. “Tracy?”

“Yeah.” Finn rubbed Trix’s wrists before rising, the knife still gripped in a steady hand. “Shit’s about to get real ugly.”

Ryder’s jaw clenched, and he dropped to quickly check the dead man’s pockets. He came up with a small pistol, which he pressed into Finn’s hands. “Come on. Hurry.”

Finn didn’t ask if she could stand. Instead, he hooked an arm under her legs and one behind her back, lifting her with familiar ease. “I’m going to get you out, girl. One way or another, you’re going home. You hear me?”

Ryder headed for the back of the room and the narrow, cleverly concealed hallway leading to the exit from Mac’s office. Trix had stumbled down it before, and she closed her eyes now to block out the memory.

“I can’t help you much,” Ryder bit off, his words clipped and urgent. “But I have some resources in place.”

Finn’s body tensed. His arms tightened, crushing her body to his chest. “What kind of resources?”

“The kind that just might save your life.”

They burst through the back door, and a wave of cold air cleared Trix’s head a little. “The border,” she mumbled, gripping Finn’s vest. “If we can make it back to Four—”

“You won’t,” Ryder said flatly. “Not on the streets. Any minute now, the whole goddamn sector’s gonna be swarming with Fleming’s men.”

“Beckett’s men,” Finn corrected with a rumble. “He’ll need to make a good show of it.”

“He gives zero fucks,” Ryder agreed, heading down the shadowed alley toward a back street cluttered with delivery trucks. “But there’s no time for him to gloat. Especially when he could have your fool head on a platter, too. What the fuck were you
thinking
, man?”

A grunt. “Doesn’t matter now. All that matters is getting her back to O’Kane.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Ryder took a left down a narrow gap between two buildings.

The space wasn’t wide enough to be considered an alley, and Finn let Trix slide to her feet before urging her into the darkness. She tripped over a loose brick and pitched forward, landing hard against Ryder’s back.

He turned and stared down at her, backlit by the faint moonlight filtering down between the buildings. He looked like an angel—not the kind with harps and halos, but an angel of war, fierce and terrifying.

“Hopkins picked her up,” he growled. “He uses hallucinogens.”

“Christ, that explains it.” Finn caught her chin and tilted her face toward the light. “Shit.
Shit
. She can’t be stumbling around the sector in this condition.”

“She won’t be.” Ryder shoved a tall crate aside, revealing a dented door behind it. The lock was new, electronic, and advanced. Out of place in a shitty, narrow alley behind Mac Fleming’s office.

Trix blinked at him. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, he opened the door and snatched up a small black duffel before waving them in. “I didn’t pack enough supplies for two people,” he said, thrusting the bag at Finn. “Three days, tops. There’s a map of the tunnels in the side pocket.”

Finn caught Ryder’s arm, and the two of them exchanged a look Trix couldn’t decipher, some sort of silent communication that ended with Finn biting off a curse and seizing the bag. “You’re crazier than I am, you know that?”