Beyond Pain (36 page)

"I want Miller's head."

Lex arched an eyebrow without looking up from the papers on her desk. "Yeah? Get in line."

Six slammed her hands on the scratched wood and leaned down. "Bren doesn't think any of us give a shit how bad that bastard hurt him. He thinks his feelings don't matter enough."

"No, he thinks they don't matter to
you
." She focused a mild look at Six. "He usually knows better than to bring that shit to the table when he's dealing with me and Dallas. We all have our traumas and our skeletons, honey, but we check them at the door when shit gets tricky. We have to."

It hit hard, and no doubt Lex had meant it to. So Six took a careful breath, dragged her emotions back into line, and straightened. "You told me Dallas was taking care of it. Does that mean Miller's dead?" If not, there had to be a way to get to him. A way to end him.

"Miller? He's getting something better than dead."

There were fates worse than death, but this wild, protective rage gathering inside her wouldn't be satisfied with less than blood. It had clicked into place somewhere between her room and Lex's office, something that transcended forgiveness and love and even words.

Bren was
hers
. He could forgive the hurts Miller had done him, could decide his pain wasn't worth it. That he had to move on. She never would.

"Tell me," she whispered. "I need to know."

"Banished," Lex said simply. "I don't really doubt Miller was operating with the approval of someone in Eden, but that seems to have dried up. And human trafficking is enough to get his ass kicked out into the sectors."

Six blinked. "Dallas got
Eden
to kick him out?"

"All Dallas did was tip off some concerned citizens to Miller's crimes. They decided their own punishment."

She couldn't think of a single
concerned citizen
who would give a shit what a sector gang leader thought, much less listen to one, until she remembered all the hugs she'd been drowning in over the past week.

Noelle's father. The most moral fucking man in a city terrified of sin. "Cunningham?"

Lex waved away the question. "It's been taken care of. That's all you need to know."

"Just tell me he won't last long in the sectors."

Lex grinned. "You've got our ink now, girl. You should know better."

She should, and she did. Her fire was newly formed, awkward and uncertain. She was still learning how to love people, how to belong to a family and protect them. And Dallas and Lex wouldn't take chances.

The rest of her temper dissipated, and she sank into a chair. "Learning how to care shouldn't be this damn hard. Are normal people born knowing how?"

"Hell, no." A pause. "But some people are lucky enough to have someone to teach them."

Six stared at the cuffs on her wrists. The O'Kane emblem was the same for everyone, but she'd noticed that Ace got whimsical with how he framed each person's ink. Twisted barbed wire curled around her wrist, the same that edged Bren's. But hers was a mesh of intersecting lines, like the cage where they held their fights.

She'd reclaimed her pride here, reclaimed her body. "I have a whole family to learn from now."

"Yeah, you do." Lex dragged open a drawer and pulled out a small ring loaded with keys. "If you're gonna work the door at the Broken Circle, you'll need these."

She leaned forward, unable to hide her eagerness. The weight of the keys felt like trust, and she folded her fingers around the hard edges with a smile. "Thanks."

Lex covered her hand, holding her still as their eyes locked. "You're right about Bren. He needs to know he matters. But you don't take that on unless you need it too, okay?"

"We're both broken." Saying it out loud sounded stark and rough, but the realization changed everything. "I didn't get it before. Maybe that should make it worse, but it doesn't. If I'm not the only broken one, maybe I can be good for him, too."

Satisfied, Lex released her and sat back. "Then remember that you're an O'Kane now, and don't give up until you have everything you want."

Six uncurled her hand and stared at the ring of keys, the symbol of what she could have when she had enough faith in herself and her abilities to go after the impossible. "I guess that's the part I've got to figure out."

"You'll get there. Trust me."

She did, and it wasn't even scary anymore.

Within hours of watching the light fade from Russell Miller's eyes, Cruz had a woman sucking his dick.

Not just a woman, a prostitute. And she wasn't just sucking. She was going down on him with the sort of enthusiasm money couldn't buy, her tongue slick and hot, her moans so low and real they vibrated in his bones. He had both hands buried in her masses of curly hair, but not to guide her movements.

Someone had to keep it out of Ace's way.

Leather slapped against the woman's back, the sound as hypnotic as the noise that always followed, a throaty groan rising up from deep inside her. The flogging was turning her on.

It was turning them all on.

No heroes here,
he thought darkly, letting his gaze drift down the woman's spine and up Ace's body. His chest was leanly muscled, but it was his ink that always caught Cruz's attention, a riot of color from his wrists to his shoulders, the patterns shifting with the flex of his arms. Dark hair swept over his brow, but did nothing to cover the intense set of his eyes as Ace landed another precise blow, and his lips curved into a pleased smile at the groaning response.

He was living, breathing sin, and Cruz was tired of resisting temptation. What was the point of scraping through a proper life here, in the barbaric, uncivilized sectors? There had to be a reward for living without the comforts he'd grown up with.

This was a start. A filthy, illicit, too-fucking-hot start.

The woman lifted her head, the firm stroke of her hand taking the place of her mouth. "Harder," she pleaded.

"No," Ace drawled, dragging the falls across her shoulders teasingly instead. He looked up and smiled. "Jeni always asks for it harder. Don't you, pretty girl?"

"Ye--" The word cut off in a throaty squeal. "Yes."

Cruz followed Ace's arm down to the hand between Jeni's thighs. He stroked her like he'd done it a thousand times, working his fingers just right, making her squirm and wiggle.

He snapped his gaze back to Ace's, and there was something there--a challenge. A question. Ace's smile had melted into a little smirk, the kind that said
I know your secret
and maybe
just let go
.

The dark hunger Cruz had spent so long choking into silence swelled, testing the bonds of his self-control, straining the cage he'd built around it. It seemed so pointless now. Trying to live up to the ideals of the men in Eden, men who'd never followed them, never really believed them. He was a weapon, built to kill on command. He'd done that tonight. He'd do it again.

It was his fucking turn to issue the commands.

He tightened his grip in Jeni's hair, savoring her sweet noise of approval. She liked it rough and hard. He'd seen her on the stage at the Broken Circle, screaming in pleasure as Ace worked her body. He knew enough to take control of this moment.

"Tell Ace what you want," he whispered, a quiet command that he half expected her to disobey.

Instead, she
melted
, the tense lines of her body softening into lush submission. "I want him to help me."

The words were deceptive. He almost misunderstood them, but Ace's sudden laugh held a sharp, dangerous heat as he swatted at Jeni's hip. "Be more specific, or he'll think you want me to move some furniture."

Jeni laughed too, scratching her nails up Cruz's chest as she rose to her knees on the bed. Close enough to kiss, yet she bypassed his mouth and dipped her head to lick the hollow of his throat. "I want him to help me get you off."

The bed shifted as Ace moved closer. Jeni was small for all her curves, fitting neatly under his chin. Nothing stood between his mouth and Ace's except half a foot of empty space that suddenly seethed with obscene promise.

The hunger inside him pulsed. The cage cracked.

"Do you want to help her get me off?" Cruz asked, the words screaming into the tension. He couldn't take them back, so they hung there, rough and demanding, a challenge that could change everything.

But Ace didn't answer. He rocked forward, closing the distance. Four inches.

Three.

The tension between them wouldn't fit in so small a space. It pressed against Cruz's chest, made it hard to breathe. Jeni had gone still against him--maybe she was aware of the stakes of this endless, terrifying moment.

Two inches. Ace stopped so close, Cruz could feel his breath as he spoke. "That's not what you wanted to say, brother."

No, it wasn't, and he hated Ace for seeing through him, for
knowing
. All these damn weeks, leading him down the path of temptation, step after step. Ace didn't seem like the type to have a strategy and a mission, but Cruz still felt like he'd stumbled into a trap.

Two damn inches.

Cruz had climbed fifteen-story buildings without a safety rope. He'd jumped out of helicopters. Hell, he'd started a riot once, a full-scale fucking riot that had torn apart what was left of the city of Las Vegas. He could conquer two inches of empty air.

He freed one hand from the silk of Jeni's hair. Ace's was shorter, he couldn't get a grip. That didn't fucking matter. He curled a hand around the back of the other man's neck and wrenched him across the empty space.

Their mouths collided, and it wasn't anything as pretty as a kiss. Teeth dug into his lower lip. He growled and pressed harder, taking control, kissing Ace the way he'd never let himself kiss Rachel. Rough, violent,
starving
, biting and needing and not worrying about what was gentle or right.

The cage inside him shattered, flooding him with endless hunger, and he jerked back, his chest heaving.

Jeni shuddered and bit his earlobe so hard it hurt. Her words were even harsher, hoarse and low. "You're so fucking hot together."

Together. Just like Rachel had said, and he wouldn't be the bastard who pretended Jeni's pretty red hair was blonde and straight, that her husky pleas belonged to another woman.

Ace was still watching him. Still waiting.

That's not what you wanted to say, brother.

He fisted his hand in Jeni's hair--her red, curly, not-at-all-blonde hair--and guided her back down. His gaze never left Ace's, not when she moaned her approval, and not when she slid those talented, hungry lips around his aching cock.

That's not what you wanted to say, brother.

No, it wasn't. "Help her," Cruz rasped, putting a harsh command behind the words. Giving in to the darkness. "Help her suck my dick."

Ace's smile was pure, smug victory. "I thought you'd never ask."

His night in the cage started off slow--some brand-new, wet-behind-the-ears punk who had no idea who Brendan Donnelly was. He almost felt sorry for the guy, but nowhere near sorry enough not to whoop his ass.

One lucky hit left Bren spitting blood, so he ended it quick.
Welcome to the club, kid,
he saluted silently as Jasper and Mad dragged the kid out of the cage.

He didn't know who Brendan Donnelly was anymore, either.

A charitable man would have given up the cage to other fighters, but Bren was in the mood to
brawl
, damn it. Five days of brooding and drinking and working himself to death hadn't taken the edge off the ache in his chest, so it was high time he tried fighting it out.

He chanced a glance at the cluster of couches where Lex and the other women had congregated. Six was among them, dressed to kill in a short leather skirt, tank top, and boots. She'd pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail, and the harsh lights overhead glinted off the dark strands.

Looking at her was torture, and he welcomed it. It beat the hell out of the pain of
not
looking at her.

She had an arm around Noelle's shoulders, but she was watching the cage. Her eyes met his, and she didn't look away, didn't blink. He stared right back until the cage door clanged again, and he turned to face his new opponent.

Riff stood there, his shaggy hair pulled back into a short tail, his shirt discarded to reveal a lean body laced with scars. "Bren."

"Riff." Maybe he figured he'd have to fight sometime. Maybe he just didn't like Bren's face. Either way, it didn't matter.

Another silent moment. Then Riff rushed him, fierce desperation lending him speed, and his first swing came in low and fast. Bren blocked it, but didn't strike back. Instead, he jogged back and waited.

Riff groaned and circled. "Fuck, are you going to play with me? I'm not in your league, Donnelly."

"Then why are you in my face?" He was in the mood to do some damage, not pop a guy's fight night cherry.

"Absolution." Riff took another swing, and Bren barely had to dodge. "Make it good and humiliating. She deserves to watch it."

Six. "You're assuming I
want
to hit you. I don't."

"Then I guess I'll kick your ass." Riff slammed into him again, jabbing for his jaw.

Bren let the blow land. It snapped his head back, and he embraced the pain. He embraced the pain of the fist that dug into his side, and the follow-up blow that sent him stumbling into the side of the cage.

He spun and caught Riff's wrist, using the momentum to twist it up behind the man's back in a brutal hold. "Tell me what you did."

"Nothing," Riff spat. "I walked away."

Walked away--and left Six alone to deal with Wilson Trent's increasingly sadistic torture. Bren remembered damning Riff and the others for that, telling her they should have done something,
anything
.

He didn't feel so fucking high and mighty now.

He let Riff go. "You can't have your absolution. Either she understands and forgives you, or she doesn't, but it's up to her. You can't do shit about it, not now."