by Kit Rocha
The men who stood around the cars here weren't farmers, strictly speaking. Their cars were a little beat up, and everything that wasn't essential had been stripped out of them to make room for hauling. Half the cars had engines that were too big for them, so they'd had to weld counterweights to the back frame to maintain stability.
The cars were rough, but they ran like a dream, and so did the men who drove them. This was Shipp's crew, his family, and it showed.
“Big John.” Shipp caught his towering friend in a one-armed hug. “Hold down the fort okay while I was gone?”
“Still here, ain't it?” Big John grinned and tossed Hawk a nearly empty bottle of liquor. “If you can stand to drink anything but O'Kane's finest these days.”
Shipp grimaced. “Don't do it, Hawk. You have too much to live for. John's moonshine tastes like shit.”
Not drinking wasn't an option. Big John wasn't just Shipp's oldest friend—he was Shipp's oldest friend, a legitimate badass who'd been orphaned during the Flares and had still come through the aftermath kicking.
The bottle was a test. A dangerous one—the worst of the rotgut the O'Kanes peddled still went down smooth compared to the shit John cooked up. Hell, diesel went down smoother. That didn't stop Hawk from twisting off the top and letting the moonshine burn through his tongue on its way to his stomach.
“All right, all right.” Big John retrieved the bottle with a grin as the rest of Shipp's team hooted and cheered.
“That's enough.” Something serious lurked beneath Shipp's lazy amusement. “It's time to show the boy our Plan B.”
Big John nodded and popped open the trunk of his car. Inside were wooden crates and weathered jugs, all packed in there as tightly as possible.
Shipp pried open one crate. At first, Hawk thought there were weapons nestled amongst the hay. Then he looked closer and saw that they were flare guns, the simple kind that were nothing more than large tubes and triggers.
He whistled as he lifted one from the crate. “Where'd you get your hands on these?”
“A man's gotta have his secrets,” Shipp answered flatly. “If city forces breach the sector, we need a way to warn the others. We'll distribute these to the farmers and settlers, make sure they know how to use them.”
It was a clever solution, one Eden couldn't thwart. And Shipp wouldn't just be distributing them. By the time he was done, everyone would have an evacuation plan in place. They'd know what to grab, where to go, how to get out.
If only that was enough. Hawk set the tube back in the crate and made himself say the damn words. “If it comes to that, you know what you have to do. The whole damn sector has to burn.”
“What do you think these are for?” Shipp thumped a jug, then grabbed the bottle from Big John's hand and swirled it around, one eyebrow raised. “Least this shit's good for something.”
“I was drinking that,” John said mildly.
Shipp relinquished the rotgut with a snort. “It's your liver, old man.”
They were still cracking jokes, and Hawk couldn't tell if they didn't believe the danger was real, or if they'd skated past horror and straight into laughing in the face of the inevitable. He was still stuck in between, having to imagine Shipp hauling a screaming Alya away from her burning farm.
It was gonna take a while for that mental image to stop hurting.
Shipp sobered, his morbid humor fading. “Go,” he told him quietly. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”
Hawk squeezed his shoulder again, then turned toward Jeni. She still stood in a tight knot with two of his sisters. Not even that far away, but getting to her…
In Sector Four, folks melted out of his path. It only took one glance at the O'Kane ink on his wrists to clear the way. Here, the crowd contracted. People were eager to see him, to ask questions about the world beyond the farm, about the O'Kanes, about him. It was a welcome that warmed his heart and tried his patience at the same time.
He broke free of the final circle—three of his youngest brothers begging him to come look at the car they were working on—after promising a longer visit in the morning. Then it was just Bethany and Luna, and he braced himself for whatever stories they had to be telling Jeni. Especially Bethany—she'd been born the week before him, to their father's second wife, and had witnessed the most spectacular embarrassments of his childhood.
“—is amazing,” Bethany was saying as Hawk slid up next to Jeni. “Where did you find it?”
“The city has a ton of old books in their files,” Jeni answered. “I can get you a copy.”
“We'd owe you big.” Bethany grinned at Hawk. “You brought us a smart one. She's going to cure your mama's horse.”
Of all the conversations he'd been imagining… He quirked an eyebrow at Jeni. “You know about horses?”
“God, no.” She laughed and shook her head. “I read a book.”
And clearly remembered it well enough to impress Bethany, which was its own miracle. Bethany might not be Alya's daughter by blood, but she was heir apparent to Alya's empire and took the farm seriously.
Luna bumped her shoulder against his. “If you're thinking about stealing your girl away, forget it. We're having a discussion here.”
His girl. No matter what he said to Shipp, the words felt right. Hawk looped his arm around Jeni's waist. “She'll still be here tomorrow, but the dancing won't be. You gonna spoil her first rally?”
Luna dropped her head back with a disgusted noise. “Ugh, fine. Still plenty of time to tell stories, I guess.”
Hawk made a mental note to keep Jeni far away from his sisters for the rest of the night. Maybe for the rest of the trip. “Behave,” he shot back, already tugging Jeni toward the shadows. “I know stories, too. Stories I could tell a certain smuggler…”
Luna's face went red, and she muttered something under her breath, something foul enough to make Bethany burst out laughing.
A momentary victory, but enough of one to make their escape. Hawk caught Jeni's hand and led her between two cars and out into the darkness. “Horses, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.” She squeezed his hand. “Your family is nice.”
“Most of 'em, most of the time. But it's not much like Sector Four.”
“No, it isn't.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “It helps, though. I might even be starting to figure you out.”
He turned them both toward a gentle rise covered with trees—the closest thing to privacy on a rally night, when the barns would be full of people stealing kisses. “And what are you figuring out, Jeni?”
“Too early to say,” she demurred. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace quiet.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Someplace where I don't have to share you.”
She fell silent, following him as he crested the hill. Then she sucked in a breath and stared out at the horizon, away from the city, at a sky heavy with stars. “How did you ever leave this place?”
Hawk gave in to temptation and stroked his fingers lightly over her hair. “I didn't have a choice the first time. My father kicked me out. It happens a lot with sons who disappoint.”
She looked up at him with questions in her eyes, her gaze sliding over his face like she could find all the answers there if she just stared long enough. Eventually, she smiled. “But you came back. And then you left again.”
“Because someone had to help Trix and Finn get back to Sector Four.” He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and tugged lightly. “I stayed for the wrong reasons at first. And then I stayed for the right ones. Dallas is worth supporting.”
Her smile deepened, and she turned her face back toward the darkness.
That smile tugged at the parts of him he didn't like, the jealous, dark parts. She'd smiled at Dallas like that during the last meeting, as sweet and affectionate as the touches they'd exchanged. Dallas had stroked her hair, just like Hawk was now. Jeni had kissed his cheek.
And Hawk had seethed with envy.
“Is that the re
ason?” he asked, not wanting to know the answer and still unable to stop himself from asking. “Dallas and Lex. Are they why you're not ready?”
Jeni stiffened. “I wasn't thinking of them at all, actually. I was laughing at myself a little. For a minute, I thought…” She exhaled sharply. “I thought you might say that part of the reason you stayed in Four was for me.”
He let his thumb drift to her cheek and traced down to her jaw. “I can't say it. I'm already worried about scaring you off. If you find out how long I've been watching you, you'll run for it.”
“You offered me a collar, Hawk. I assume you've been thinking about it for a while.” A breeze blew strands of hair across her parted lips, and she brushed them away as she turned to him. “Show me.”
She was so small. He never really noticed until they were this close, until he was staring down at her lips, calculating how long it would take to close the distance between them. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her firmly against him and up, until she was balanced on her toes, and he still had to bend down to claim her lips.
Jeni wound her arms around his neck and tilted her face to his, upsetting her already precarious balance. But she didn't cling to him for support. Instead, her hands skated over his back, slowly exploring as she trusted him to hold her.
She was at his mercy, even if only in the tiniest way, and it felt good. Dangerous, because reveling in that small victory twisted into craving more, and he was moving before he could stop himself. Kissing her harder, sinking his fingers into her hair as he bent her back over his arm.
Her tongue traced over his, teasing more than stroking. Licking and then dancing away, inviting him deeper. Daring him to take.
He groaned and caught her lower lip between his teeth, but that wasn't enough, either. Panting, he bit her jaw next, mere heartbeats from spilling her to the ground in a tangle of grasping hands and rent fabric.
“You're both,” he whispered instead. “I stayed for you when it was wrong. And when it was right.”
She was panting too, soft, maddening puffs of breath against his ear, and her hands trembled when she touched his face, held him there. “Thank you.”
The moonlight filtered through the trees in teasing patches. He could see her eyes, her smile, the masses of hair curled around his fist. But so much was in shadow, just like that night in the courtyard behind the warehouse.
Except no one would see them here. No one would witness the fracture in his self-control except for Jeni.
He claimed her mouth again, rougher this time, driving his tongue between her lips before she could tease him. So she teased him in other ways, gliding her hands down to the small of his back. She made a low, approving noise in the back of her throat when her fingers encountered the bare skin beneath his shirt, and another when he tightened his hand in her hair.
Three steps behind them was a flat, knee-high rock, a popular place to sit and stare up at the night sky. Hawk sank to it and pulled Jeni with him, tugging her astride his lap. The thin skirt of her sweet cotton dress rode up her thighs, but he was focused on the ties at her shoulders. One firm tug and her dress slipped open on one side, baring the swell of her breast.
He still had one hand buried in her hair. It was so easy to guide her head back, to stroke his other hand down the soft skin of her exposed throat. Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips, and he lingered there for a moment before sliding lower, scraping her skin lightly with his nails. “You're so beautiful.”
She wiggled closer, pressing her hips tight against his. The contact made her shudder and flush beneath his touch.
Slow down. His brain knew the right thing to do, but his body wouldn't listen. He tugged at the cute little bow on her other shoulder and pushed the fabric down to her waist. Her skin was far too delicate to suffer his work-roughened touch, but she only squirmed harder as he circled the tight peak of one nipple.
He'd watched her touch herself on that damn stage night after night, had gone home hard and aching only to close his eyes and imagine his hands in place of hers, stroking and teasing and pinching. But he of all people knew that the Jeni who danced on that stage was a character. An act that stood a little off-center, holding parts of her but never all of her.
The command bubbled up from deep inside him, slipping free before he could stop it. “Touch your nipples. Show me what you like.”
She obeyed with whisper-soft caresses, her fingertips barely skimming her flesh. In the darkness, it could have been an illusion that she was touching herself at all, except for the way her nipples hardened more with every delicate brush of her fingers.
Then, suddenly, she pinched them—hard, hard enough to drive her teeth into her lower lip and elicit another, longer shudder.
Fucking hell. “Again.”
She dropped her hands to her lap—and dangerously close to his dick. “No.”
Not a denial, but a challenge. He recognized the spark in her eye, the mischief, the dare. How many parties had he attended where Noelle sassed Jasper with that gleeful light in her eyes, only to end up over his knee or over his shoulder, hauled away to some private, far more intimate punishment?
Hawk imagined it. He couldn't fucking stop himself. Jeni, across his legs, her little pastel plaid skirt tossed up over her ass. Squirming and whimpering as he spanked her until her skin was red and her thighs were slick with arousal, and he barely had to touch her to have her sobbing with relief and release.
When had his imagination gotten this damn vivid?
“Jeni,” he growled, dragging her head up with his grip in her hair. “Do. It. Again.”
She wanted to push him. He could see it in her eyes, lurking beneath the glazed pleasure. But she did as he commanded, cupping her breasts and squeezing her nipples between her fingers until he couldn't stand just watching anymore, so he bent his head and licked her fingers.
Jeni muffled her moan against his temple. “Please.”
The plea shot through him, straight to where she was rocking against his dick like she was going to grind herself to orgasm. A part of him he hadn't realized was there drove him to drop a hand to her hip, stilling her restless movements, forcing her to endure the tease of his breath feathering over her. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” Her chest heaved, brushing her nipple against his lower lip. “I ache. And it doesn't matter how many times I get myself off, it never goes away.”
He dragged his tongue across the straining tip and relished her tiny, desperate noise. She was electric under his touch, so responsive he knew he could get her there. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”
Her fingers dug into his neck and shoulders, clenching, as if testing his strength through his thin T-shirt. He left one hand on her hip and slid the other up to tease his thumb over the nipple still wet from his tongue. “Try it now. Make yourself come.”
Her eyes locked with his. She held his gaze, even when the first tiny rock of her hips had her lashes fluttering down in pure, agonizing pleasure. She watched him, riveted, as she did it again, and again—nothing as coordinated as the way he'd seen her move on stage, but something new. Desperate.
Something that was only his.
Need throbbed in time with the rhythm of her hips, an ache that warned him he was too far gone to come back. But he didn't give a shit if he exploded in his jeans like an anxious teenager—as long as she kept moving, kept moaning, kept trembling like she felt just as lost, just as untried.
He rolled his thumb over her nipple again, earning a hitch in her breath. But soft wasn't what either of them wanted.
His head swimming, he brought his thumb and finger together and pinched until she choked out a curse and covered his hand with hers, holding his fingers to her ravaged skin.
Pain and pleasure. She wanted both, needed both. And it felt so very, very good to give it to her.
Jeni ground against him, harder with every pounding heartbeat. He could feel her heat through their clothes, so seductive he had to grit his tee
th. She threw her head back like she was going to scream, so he started to cover her mouth, but all she did was breathe his name, one syllable wrapped in a whispering sigh and a groan of sheer, absolute relief.
His heart pounding, Hawk dragged her close to his chest, wrapping both arms around her to protect her bare skin from the cool evening breeze. “You okay?”
“Yes.” The word left her on a soft laugh, one that tickled the crook of his neck. Her teeth scraped his skin, and she sat back, as if she couldn't even feel the night chill.
Then she dropped her hands to his belt. She unbuckled it without looking away from his face, and the only thing more arresting than what she was doing was the way she was watching him—waiting, a question in her eyes.
He could stop her. Maybe should. But every brush of her fingertips across the denim covering his straining cock stoked his arousal, and he was flesh and blood. Just a man, unable to resist temptation when it stared at him with huge, pleasure-glazed eyes.
He cupped her cheek and pressed his thumb to her lips. The soft command he uttered was absolutely wrong—and so, so right. “Use your mouth.”
She slid off his lap, rising before dropping to her knees at his feet. Every movement was careful, deliberate. Perfect obedience, a submission that went beyond the illusion of power and straight into the very heart of it.
Unbuttoning. Unzipping. By the time she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, he was grinding his fists against the rock to keep from tangling his hands in her hair and jerking her mouth down.
She licked her lips and then licked him, drawing her tongue in a lush, wet circle around the head of his cock.
“Fuck.” It was better than his imagination ever could have painted it, better than any goddamn thing he could remember. Because she was on her knees for him, her clothes askew, so disheveled she looked like he'd already fucked her, and he wasn't going to last if she kept teasing him.
His self-control snapped, and he laid one hand on the back of her head. “Now.” He tried to whisper, but it came out rough and dark instead, a snarl. “Suck me.”
