Beyond Ecstasy (Beyond #8)

by Kit Rocha

  The second part was really fucking hard, considering she could barely sit down.

  Jeni set a fully planted sprouting flat on a shelf inside the greenhouse's protective structure, then slid gingerly back onto her stool at the high worktable. Her bruised ass throbbed in protest at being unceremoniously perched on hard wood for the third time in less than an hour, but she refused to give up.

  Part of being an O'Kane was not letting your recreational activities interfere with your duties.

  “Want me to get you a pillow, cowgirl?”

  The best thing about Ace was how much he cared about people. The worst thing was how much he cared when you didn't want him to. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

  Ace made an amused noise. “Good's relative. Rachel woke up starving, ate, puked, and cried because she was still hungry. So Cruz tried to take her over to the hospital in Three, Six yelled at him to stop hassling Rachel and find her some damn food, and Rachel got so upset that Lex kicked us all out.”

  Jeni hummed her sympathy and pulled out the stool next to hers. For all his complaining, Ace wore an air of smug satisfaction like a second skin these days. It fit him as casually as his faded jeans, his ink, or the long, dark hair spilling across his forehead. It was a part of him, had been since the day he'd first opened his heart to Rachel and Cruz.

  He dropped to the stool and studied her, his gaze sharp and knowing. “I'm not gonna let it go.”

  “I figured as much.” Jeni pushed away the bucket of soil and turned to him. “Go ahead.”

  Ace tilted his head. “You gonna get snarly if I ask to see how bad it is?”

  Christ, things really were dire—he wasn't even flirting with her. “Relax. It's no worse than some of your handiwork.”

  “Not exactly the same, darling. I know what I'm doing.”

  There was no quick retort to that, no snappy rejoinder. The truth of his words was a constant weight on Jeni's shoulders—not because Hawk was new to the delicate dance of dominance and submission, or to the even more delicate interplay between sadism and masochism. But because she'd known he was new...and still agreed to accept his collar.

  It was reckless. No, it was something beyond reckless. It wasn't safe, to put herself completely in the hands of someone who didn't know how to handle that responsibility. It wasn't a failing of his, just reality. He didn't know better, but she did.

  Hawk would never hurt her, not on purpose. But it was tragically easy to go too far without even realizing it.

  “We're being careful,” she said finally. “Going slow until he gets his bearings.”

  “Good,” Ace drawled. “Because if he fucks up, which one of us is gonna stop Cruz from taking him out back and breaking a bunch of his bones? Or maybe we should just let him, because that'll be a slap on the wrist compared to Dallas and Lex coming down on him.”

  The mental image of that beatdown came all too readily, and Jeni scrubbed her forearm over her eyes to banish it. “No one's more worried about Hawk fucking up than Hawk, okay?”

  Ace sighed and tossed an arm around her shoulders. “I know, Jeni. Christ, if I wasn't sure that was true, I'd be beating his ass down. That's why you gotta do this shit right.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest thinking like an O'Kane.”

  Which meant asking for help. “Ace, darling? You may have forgotten—what with your blinding, happily-ever-after kind of threesome—but I've fucked most of the people Hawk could talk to about this. That could get awkward.”

  “Maybe.” Ace kissed her temple. “Or maybe you're underestimating him. Six isn't a fan of anyone getting their hands near Bren, but she wasn't going to learn how to give him what he likes spontaneously. Besides, you never know what's hiding under the hood with some of these tightly wound motherfuckers. Trust me.”

  He loved to brag about how much Cruz had loosened up. “Uh-huh. You still owe me for that one, by the way.”

  “I know. And trust me, cowgirl, if Rachel wasn't puking and Cruz wasn't ready to stab anyone who gets too close to her, she would have already invited you both over for dinner and some light flogging.”

  But she was, and he was, so that left them out. And Dallas and Lex weren't even an option. “Jas and Noelle?”

  “Now that has potential.” Ace tilted her face up. “And if it doesn't work out and you need me, it doesn't have to be a party. I can be there for you like I was there for Bren and Six. To show him how it works, and to make sure you're both safe. Rachel and Cruz understand.”

  “Thanks, Ace.” She hesitated, then forged ahead. “I know I probably shouldn't have taken the collar. But things are so crazy now, and Hawk…” Her voice failed her. She swallowed hard and tried again. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

  “Hey, hey now.” Ace slid off the stool and tugged her into his arms. His hand smoothed over her back. “I know, Jeni. I know. The world's fucking upside down. But we're gonna put it right again, because that's what Dallas does. And I want you to come out the other side whole and happy. That's all.”

  “I will.” She would. Somehow.

  Hawk had been braced for a private summons from the leaders of Four from the moment he'd rolled back into the sector with Jeni wearing his collar.

  When he closed the door and turned to face a table covered with maps of Sector Six, he knew this meeting was something else.

  Something worse.

  Dallas nodded, acknowledging his realization, then pointed at the chair next to Lex. “No one wants to have this talk, but it's too important not to have.”

  Hawk sank into the chair and studied the map. He'd helped Ace with the details, penciling in the individual farms and distances based on a decade of driving between them to deliver smuggled goods and stimulants. They sprawled out to the west of the city, following the line of the reservoir and the river beyond. Miles and miles, creeping out more every year as Eden's demands heightened and eldest sons drove past the borders of the farthest farms to try and reclaim more of the desert. To squeeze a living from the land as much as to satisfy Eden's hunger for too much.

  “I talked to Shipp.” Hawk traced his finger over the cluster of buildings that represented his family's farm. “They're used to keeping in touch with the other farms via radio, but he knows the first thing Eden will do is take out the towers.”

  “We were ready to offer them tech,” Lex murmured, “but I'm guessing they found a better early-warning system all on their own.”

  “Rocket flares,” Hawk confirmed. “They go up loud, burn bright, and drift down on little parachutes. Everyone who sees them will fire their own, which should spread the message fast.”

  Lex leaned forward. “Will they be able to do it?”

  And there it was, the crux of the issue. No more evasion, no more pretending they were talking about a fight to defend the land or a simple, orderly retreat.

  They were talking about burning his home sector to the ground.

  Hawk leaned across the table and picked up a marker. “Shipp will get it done,” he said, circling their farm in red ink. Old man Anderson was hit-or-miss, but once Alya's fields went up in flames, it would be impossible to stop the spread. He skipped over that one and circled all the farms he knew Shipp could sway, the men who had been angry enough to put down their tools and face starvation if Eden kept taking everything from them.

  When he was finished, twenty-nine circles covered the piece of paper, scattered from the border with Seven all the way down to the edge of Five, from the farms closest to the wall out to the very edge of the territory. “Some of the others might, but these are the ones I'm sure of. Just over half.”

  Dallas studied the map before tracing his finger over one of the blank spaces between circles. “Will it spread?”

  It probably would have on its own, but Shipp wasn't taking any chances. “They're distributing accelerant with the flares. It'll burn fast and hard, and Eden isn't equipped to stop it.”

  Lex studied him, then sighed. “
Are you all right?”

  He couldn't answer her question without thinking about what those red circles really meant, and that hurt too fucking much. The practicalities of war were easier. “If Jyoti has the communes and illegal farms under control, this is the only option. We don't need Six, but Eden does.”

  “Hawk.”

  He ignored her and stared at Dallas. “Does my family have a place here?”

  “Yes,” Dallas said without hesitation. “Finn's already organizing the new recruits to expand your sisters' setup.”

  “Then I'm all right.”

  Dallas leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised. “That's nice, but I'm not the one who asked.”

  Hawk didn't want to look at Lex. Dallas was casually ruthless, cold enough to keep this safely impersonal. Lex's ruthlessness ran hot, her passion so tied up in protection that she seemed a hundred times more dangerous.

  And she reminded him of his mother. “It's gonna break her, Lex. Shipp's gonna have to torch the place and drag Alya away and it's gonna break her fucking heart.”

  “Yeah.” She reached across the map and touched his hand. “I know what it's like to make something out of nothing, Hawk. And I would never, ever ask someone to tear down what they'd built with their own fucking hands unless I was willing to do it myself.”

  “I know.” He exhaled and finally met her eyes. “It's been coming. I've known it for years. I'm all right because you guys made a place for them. That's all you can ask for in the middle of a damn war.”

  “We all know what's at stake here,” she agreed. “If we win, Alya can rebuild. And if we lose, none of it will matter. So we're going to win.”

  When she said it like that, matter-of-fact and confident, it was impossible not to agree. “Yeah, we are. Tell me what I have to do to help.”

  Lex rose. “What we need most right now is information. Noah can get anything we want from Eden, but it could be a one-shot deal. We need to keep that ace tucked up our sleeve for now. Which means doing this the hard way. Human intelligence.”

  “Eyes open. Ears open.” Dallas rolled up the map. “Gideon's helping Jyoti maintain a presence in Two, but Six doesn't have the infrastructure she needs yet in Three. We'll be spread thin until the new recruits are ready to fly solo.”

  A month ago, Hawk would have nodded and taken his leave, content to be an obedient foot soldier with his eyes on the distant prize. But that map and its vivid red circles made the future seem a lot more immediate, the stakes impossibly high.

  And he could be more than just another foot soldier. “Can I make a suggestion?”

  Dallas raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

  “I haven't had time to make a full round of all the roof gardens since the wall went hot. I got to know the people in all those buildings while we were setting up. I fixed a few leaky faucets, patched some broken furniture.” He shrugged. “I helped out where I could, and they talked to me. They'd probably keep talking if I came back around.”

  Lex eyed him before shrugging. “It's worth a shot. We have a few other things in motion already, but we need everything we can get, Hawk. Everything, no matter how silly or inconsequential it might turn out to be.”

  “Hell, it might be good for morale.” Dallas shoved his chair back and gathered the maps. “If we're still worried about growing food, that means we think we'll be around in a few months to eat it. I need every goddamn person in this sector to believe that. So go convince them.”

  No big challenge, just fight back the swell of desperation devouring the sector. But oddly, Hawk felt encouraged. If life in the sectors taught you anything, it was how to get back up every time you'd been kicked down. How to dig in hard, stubborn even in the face of the impossible.

  They could raze Alya's life to barren rock, and she'd sweep it clean and rebuild. Sector Four would do the same—but they'd all fight easier with a little hope in their lives.

  And Hawk could give them that.

  Ashwin

  By the ninth anniversary of his birth, Ashwin had learned the fundamental truth of humanity: people are irrational.

  Irrational behavior in and of itself wasn't the problem, though. Even the DNA modification they'd performed on Ashwin before his birth couldn't erase all his emotions. That would have been counterproductive. Too much of what made a soldier elite was rooted in instinct, and instinct was nothing more than evolution's slow honing of the basest human emotions—fear, mistrust.

  Rage.

  Ashwin had been angry when anger served no practical purpose. He'd felt the sharp prickle of fear urging him to alter course, to fall back and protect himself from pain. He'd been trained to recognize those sensations for what they were—chemical stimulus, nothing more. Most of the time, he considered them, processed them, and proceeded on a logical course.

  Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes Ashwin was irrational. But the difference between him and the people around him was that Ashwin never lied to himself about it.

  Breaking into the clinic on the Base was irrational. He numbered the reasons to himself as he overrode the electronic lock and slipped inside, the layout so familiar he barely had to look around him.

  Three reasons this was a bad idea. One reason it bordered on madness.

  And one reason to do it anyway.

  He heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol's safety being disengaged in the darkness, followed by a long-suffering sigh.

  Ashwin supposed there had been a time—a time before training and harsh conditioning—when he'd felt fear the way everyone else did. A shiver up the spine, a clench in his gut. Now, it was almost a taste, bitter and sharp. Unwelcome.

  But not unwarranted. The man behind him was the closest thing Ashwin had to a friend—and Samson wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in his skull.

  Ashwin turned slowly, raising both hands as he moved. Palms open, forward. An almost universal sign of surrender—and a good position from which to launch an attack, if Samson hadn't been smart enough to stand out of reach. “You're not on guard duty tonight.”

  “What can I say? I had a feeling. Lights.” The bulbs in their recessed fixtures obeyed the command immediately, flooding the room with a harsh glare that drove away the darkness. The light glinted off Samson's sandy hair, as well as the polished nickel of the weapon in his hand. “You're not supposed to be here, Ashwin.”

  “I'm not forbidden.” Which was simple fact. His bar codes provided access to every exterior door on the Base, and his retinal scan and fingerprints could get him into plenty of classified areas. But scans left a record, and Ashwin couldn't afford that.

  That was one reason this was a bad idea.

  “There's a hell of a wide stretch between not forbidden and supposed to be here.” Samson flicked the safety back on, holstered his gun, and sighed again. “If this is official business, spit it out.”

  Spit it out. So casual. Samson had always been like this, even when they were young. On the rare occasions they'd been allowed free time to mingle with the other children on the Base, the unmodified recruits had avoided Ashwin, dissolving any game or contest he tried to join, abandoning any table when he sat down. He couldn't mimic their slang or their informal speech, and the comfortable rhythms of their banter eluded him.

  But Samson could make himself one of them. No, not just one of them—their king. The other young soldiers had flocked to him, shown off for him, done anything it took to win his regard and respect. And they'd been fools, assuming that Samson must be different from the rest of the Makhai trainees simply because he could smile and joke.

  That was how Samson trapped you. He put away his obvious weapons and acted like you were old friends, and you never saw the death blow coming. The only reason Ashwin hadn't closed in to attack was the fact that they were old friends. Ashwin didn't want to kill him. But he'd have to, if he couldn't talk Samson around.

  Since one or the other of them would die if he couldn't, the truth was a calculated but necessary risk. “It's not business. I'm trying to reca
librate.”

  “On your own?” Samson asked skeptically.

  “I can't afford to be taken out of the field right now.” Not now that the O'Kanes had locked down the tunnels. Eden had lost any hope of resupply, no matter how minor. The councilmen would be looking at the food in their increasingly sparse pantries—and plotting action.

  “And how exactly do you plan to recalibrate yourself?”

  Distaste flavored the word. Ashwin couldn't blame him. Recalibration was merely a polite word for carefully regimented torture.

  Moving slowly, he unsnapped one of the pockets on the leg of his pants and withdrew a glass bottle and a syringe. “I need to disrupt an obsessive thought pattern.”

  Samson stared down at the vial in Ashwin's hand, not bothering to hide his horror. “You can't be serious.”

  Ashwin ran his thumb over the label on the bottle. Not the worst drug available on the Base, but it would go in like acid and get worse. He'd feel like his blood was boiling free of his veins, eating its way through his organs. Men injected with it had betrayed brothers, lovers—even their own children.

  If he remembered that kind of pain every time he thought of Kora, maybe he wouldn't tear the sectors apart trying to put his hands on her. “I'm serious.”

  “Well, then you need to be yanked out of the field, because you've lost your fucking mind.” Samson stepped closer. “There's a reason they only use that shit with telemetry and a dozen goddamn doctors clustered around. It kills people.”

  If he told his supervisor, he'd have the doctors. He'd have the psych team. And they'd drag the truth about Kora out of him, because those doctors were nothing if not efficient. Even if he managed to hold back the secret of what she was, they'd know that she mattered. They'd see another chance to experiment with a Makhai soldier in the throes of a fixation.

  They'd find her and use her against him. In his worst nightmares, they found her and gave her to him. They wouldn't care if he ravaged her, if she was unwilling or terrified. If he hurt her.