Beyond Pain (35 page)

Noelle slipped from Jasper's lap and dragged him up. "Trix and I should be checking inventory in the bar anyway."

"Way ahead of you." Trix's lips curved into a smile as she hurried toward the door with a little wave at Six. Noelle rose on her toes to kiss Jasper's cheek before following her.

That left Six to be herded out the door with Mad and Jas. Doc snapped the door shut behind them, and they stood there in awkward silence.

The women had been welcoming her for so long that the ink seemed like a formality. The concept of sisterhood that had baffled her so completely only a few months ago was reality now, a truth she felt in her bones. Brotherhood must be the same, and the men towering on either side of her were Bren's friends, his brothers. For all Lex's promises, it was hard to believe a little bit of ink could change that.

Jas watched her for several long seconds before finally shoving his hands into his pockets. "Tomorrow morning, eleven o'clock."

It was a struggle not to blink stupidly at him. "What's at eleven?"

"Lex says you're gonna work the door at the club. You need to train, right?"

Still guarded, she nodded.

"Jas'll do it," Mad said, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "I'll help. It'd be good for you to practice with different people who've got different styles."

Goddamn, she had to stop underestimating the O'Kanes. A lump formed in her throat, but at least she could pretend she was moved by the offer and not mourning those quiet afternoons with Bren. "That'd be good. Thanks."

"Yeah." Jas rubbed her shoulder, his expression neutral. "I'll see you then. Come prepared to kick ass."

It was hard to remember how rare her smiles had been when they came so easily now. "I always am."

"That's what we like to hear." He slung an arm around Mad's shoulders, and they headed down the hall toward the warehouse, unaware that they'd tilted her world on its ear.

She hadn't let herself think about working the front door, not from the moment Ace had started her tattoos. Dallas and Lex were offering her the world, safety and family and a place to belong. Without Bren to train her and vouch for her, she wouldn't have blamed them for sticking her back behind the bar until she proved herself in other ways.

But no one was punishing her for standing up to Bren. Instead of beating her back into the dirt, his brothers were reaching out a hand to pull her up. To pull her as high as she was willing to climb, as high as she
dared
, out of the grime and fear of her past, out of being afraid and alone.

First, she had to learn how to dream.

The garage was a safe haven.

Bren swabbed sweat and dust from his forehead with a swipe of his arm, then wrapped a fresh sheet of sandpaper around the rubber block in his hand. If he kept going, he could get the left fender finished and primed before collapsing into his bed.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

He paused just long enough to glance up at Dallas. "Need something?"

"I wanted to check on you." Dallas leaned back against the workbench and studied him. "I haven't seen you in and out of Amira's room like the rest of 'em."

"I'm not good with babies." Or people.

Dallas scoffed. "None of us are good with babies."

"True enough." Bren set aside the sanding block and sat back on his heels. "I'm fine, Dallas. Working."

"Hey, I'm not here to force you to spill your secrets. That's not my thing. But if there's anything or anyone you'd like to avoid, I need to know so I can work that into my plans for what we do next in Three."

Christ, he hadn't even thought about it. "Is Six--will she still be helping out over there?"

"Probably. It's important to her, and she's useful." Dallas hesitated before heaving a rough sigh. "I'm sorry, man. For my part in what happened."

"I'm a grown damn man." Bren rose, wiped his hands, and reached for a beer in the open bucket of ice by the worktable. "You're not responsible for making sure I don't fuck up. That's on me."

"You're
my
man," Dallas said quietly. "My brother, my friend. I let you get away with it for my own reasons--lazy, cowardly reasons. We've gotta draw the line between right and wrong, because no one else will."

"No one else," Bren agreed. Which meant it was up to him to make amends. "I need to do something good, Dallas. Build things instead of tearing them down. But I also need to stay out of her way, and that means staying out of Three."

Dallas nodded. "We can figure something out. Just--" He shook his head with another sigh. "If I thought you might push her, I'd beat you into the ground. But don't make the opposite mistake. Don't give up on her."

Every cell in his body screamed at him to grab on to Dallas's words. But the truth wasn't nearly so simple. "It'll take a while for her to get it, really understand that she doesn't have to be with me to be an O'Kane. Safe. Until I know she believes it, one step in her direction is too many."

"You're a good man, Donnelly."

"Not good. Honest. Usually," he added with a snort. Time to do some tough self-examination, figure out how and when he'd first let that honesty fail him.

Dallas caught his shoulder, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Bullshit. You're a
good
man. You don't let those bastards in Eden, or me, or even that girl convince you otherwise."

"You didn't." More of the truth he'd rededicated himself to. "I managed fine on my own."

"You made a mistake. Good men do that all the damn time. I have it on the highest authority that what makes them good is that they can admit it. And fix it."

Lex's words, no doubt, and Bren had to smile. "Sounds like a smart authority."

Dallas laughed. "You better fucking believe it, man, or she'll take you apart."

In the grand scheme of things, he could see how Dallas wouldn't think he'd fucked up irreversibly. He hadn't murdered anyone, and everything worked out all right in the end. How could he explain an invisible wound? A betrayal made all the more devastating by the fact that he knew--he fucking
knew
--Six would forgive him, even at her own expense?

On second thought, perhaps Dallas did understand. "Lex lets you off the hook way too easily, you know that?"

"Of course I do." No laughter now. Dallas's expression was deadly serious. "Why do you think being a better man matters so damn much? The sex, that's good, but it's not the prize. Trust is the prize, and the fight's not about winning it or keeping it. It's about deserving it, and that's a fight a man's got to have with himself. Every fucking day."

"Point taken." He twisted the cap off the beer and handed it to Dallas. "I'll get there. Someday, huh?"

Dallas lifted the bottle in a salute that felt more like a reprieve than anything. "Maybe sooner than you think."

I'm not asking for another chance, Six. I wouldn't. I don't deserve one.

Six dragged her pillow over her face to muffle a frustrated snarl, but the lack of sound stole all the satisfaction. Bren's words had wiggled into her mind, repeating in an endless, taunting refrain.

I'm not asking for another chance.

She'd wanted him to. She'd
needed
him to, every bit as much as she'd dreaded it. Her feelings were still a sick tangle of guilt and hurt and wounded pride, but as wary as she was of her urge to forgive him anything, she couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something deeper.

Bren was no Wilson Trent. They'd both lied to her. They'd both made her doubt herself. But what Trent had done out of childish cruelty, Bren had done out of...

That was the question, wasn't it?

I don't deserve one.

Impossible to imagine those words coming out of Wilson Trent's mouth. He'd been unerringly confident in the truth that he deserved everything. Six's body, her emotions, her secrets. Her mind, heart, and soul. He'd picked them apart, pushing her across the line in steps so small she was already broken before she realized what was happening.

Six threw the pillow away, rolled to her feet, and stalked toward the couch. The tablet was where she'd left it, rammed down beside the cushion. Maybe Bren was telling the truth. Maybe he'd done worse things, horrifying things, things he could never fucking come back from.

There was one way to find out.

The video list picked up right where it had left off, with Bren in a plain, brightly lit room.

This time, the voice that spoke from behind the camera was lower. Angrier. "Your CO reported that you disobeyed a direct order."

Instead of answering, Bren stared down at the table.

"Insubordination is a capital charge, son. You'd better answer the question."

Bren spoke, his voice flat. Lifeless. "I didn't hear one."

The video cut to Cruz. He looked different, younger and clean shaven. His hair was cropped close to his head, his eyes hard. "Donnelly attempted to fulfill his orders, but the mission parameters were--"

"You're saying he couldn't deliver the package?"

Only a moment's hesitation, but Six could tell he was on the verge of lying, and so could whoever was on the other side of the camera. Cruz's jaw clenched, and he ground out a grudging, "The circumstances weren't optimal."

A hand slammed down on the table from outside of the frame. "Miller's orders were clear."

"We achieved every other mission objective. We disabled ninety-two percent of Nevada City's weapons resources. Poisoning their water supply when they were no longer a military threat--"

"Take him to the stockade."

Two stone-faced soldiers stepped forward and lifted Cruz out of his chair. He didn't struggle, though from the tensing of his shoulders, Six thought he was considering shaking free of them.

But he didn't. He went along, enduring the rough handling as they dragged him off to face punishment for refusing to poison an entire town--or maybe just for refusing to pin the blame on Bren.

Her stomach twisted, imagining what they'd done to
him
for his disobedience.

The video jumped again. The same room, and Bren looked older.

Exhausted.

"I didn't miss the shot." He said it as though he'd said it before, like he was trying to explain to someone who wouldn't listen. "I flubbed it. Harrison hasn't done anything to merit a proper arrest, much less an execution. And I don't do personal hits."

A woman sighed. "If I put that on your evaluation, do you know what will happen to you?"

"I know. You should ask me if I give a shit."

Six thought back to Noah's note. Noah's stupid, vague, misleading note.
Make sure you watch it all
, he'd said, and she'd ignored it because she'd been so sure he was setting out to show her Bren's descent from man to monster.

This was so much better and so much worse. A progression, all right. Eden, breaking Bren's spirit. Breaking his heart.

A monster waking up because he knew he could be a better man.

"They won't execute you, if that's what you're after." Papers rustled, and the woman sighed again. "You're too valuable a resource to squander, even when you're bucking orders. But if they ever need someone disposable--"

"Yeah." Bren nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. "I can live with that."

Six stopped the video. Bren's face froze, that terrible choice clear in his eyes. If she'd had a mirror in the moments after Wilson Trent had thrown her to Dallas O'Kane, she probably would have seen the same thing.

Death is better than more of this.

Russell Miller was the man who had shattered Bren. The man who had pushed him, used him, hurt and discarded him. Yet with that betrayal shredding his heart, Bren hadn't reached out to her--to anyone--and asked for help, for vengeance.

He'd made up a hundred reasons, because he'd truly believed his own broken heart wouldn't be important enough.

I'm not asking for another chance. I don't deserve one.

She'd forgotten the one advantage she had over him, over so many of them. Daydreams or not, she could close her eyes and remember soft hands running through her hair and the warmth of her mother's voice, the feeling of being loved and cherished.

Bren didn't have that. He didn't know how to be loved, maybe didn't believe he deserved it.

Tossing the tablet aside, Six lunged for the door.