Beyond Shame

by Kit Rocha

  "All right." Noelle slipped her hand over Lex's where it rested on Dallas's chest. Maybe this was what family was supposed to be. Anger and rage, but never lingering when someone needed comfort. "We'll all be okay."

  "Dallas is still a jerk." Lex rubbed her cheek against his shoulder before tilting her face up to kiss his jaw.

  Dallas chuckled, his chest rumbling under Noelle's ear. "I love you too, smartass." It was a joke. Easy words that were safe because everyone knew he didn't mean them.

  Except Noelle was pretty sure he did.

  Someone pounding on the door interrupted the moment, and Lex sighed. "What?"

  The door opened a crack, and Bren stuck his head through. "Heads up, Dallas. My friend is on his way. He has something I think you want."

  Dallas's arms tightened. "ETA?"

  "Should be rolling up any minute." Bren hesitated. "He had to burn himself over this. We gonna make that right?"

  "If he brings me the bastard who pulled the trigger, he can name his price."

  "Okay." Bren ducked back out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Lex struggled upright and grimaced down at her skimpy tank top. "I need some clothes."

  "Lex." Dallas gripped her shoulders. "I need something from you, honey. One thing. I need you to stay here."

  She flashed him a look of disbelief. "Oh, you're kidding me."

  His jaw clenched, and Noelle held her breath as Dallas leaned closer. "I'm asking." Asking, not ordering, and even she knew how rare a thing that was.

  Lex must have realized it too. Still, it seemed like forever until she lifted a trembling hand to his face. "Okay. But only because you've had a really bad day."

  Dallas caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "It's looking up. I'll be back soon."

  "Don't lose your temper," she warned him softly. "Information first."

  "I know." He grinned, the expression so predatory, so full of anticipation, that Noelle shivered. The look in his eyes meant death, and his smile said he'd enjoy it. Not just enjoy—revel in it.

  It was hard to tell what scared Noelle more—Dallas's thirst for violence, or the realization that she shared it. Lust wasn't the only vice the sectors taught, and it was time for her first lesson in revenge.

  Jasper didn't know what Alistair Martel looked like, and that bothered him more than it should have.

  Oh, he knew the face that came up onscreen when they scanned Martel's bar code, and he knew the man's thumb reactivated the rifle used to hurt Noelle and Lex. He had no doubt about the man's identity, no qualms about the beatdown Dallas was currently administering.

  No, what rankled was the way the man's swollen eyes and broken, bloody nose obscured his true features. Jasper would never be able to haul the man up by his collar, threaten him, and watch the fear gradually shadow his face. Too late for quiet, violent promises, the kind the man deserved.

  Far too late, especially since Dallas seemed intent on beating the truth out of him as slowly as possible. Jasper had seen Dallas work an adversary with nothing but terror and the mere whisper of violence until words spilled free unchecked, but such a light touch seemed beyond him today. He smashed his fist into Martel's gut with a snarl, doubling the man over and leaving no breath to answer a question.

  Not that Dallas had asked one.

  He needed to, though, so Jasper did it for him. "Who do you work for?"

  Martel spat blood on the concrete floor. "Eden. I work for Eden."

  Jasper fought to keep his face impassive, but a growl escaped him. "If he's not talking, we should get this over with. Bren's friend probably has the intel we need."

  Martel's eyes widened in panic, but Dallas was already turning toward the table to retrieve his brass knuckles. "Good point. Bren and Cruz can tell us everything we need to know about what went—"

  "Gareth Woods," Martel said, his voice edged with panic. "I work for Gareth Woods."

  Dallas turned and slipped the heavy brass knuckles over his fingers. "The councilman?"

  Martel nodded jerkily.

  There was only one reason another of Eden's councilmen could have wanted Noelle dead. "This was a fucking frame job?" Jasper demanded.

  Another jerky nod. "Nothing personal, man. Just had to take the girl down with a city weapon. None of your people were supposed to get in the way."

  Rage boiled up. Jasper reached out, and he had to take a hasty step back before his hands closed on the man's hair. "Nothing personal?"

  Dallas backhanded Martel, whipping the man's head to one side. "Noelle's one of my people." He didn't give Martel a chance to respond before hitting him again. "Why frame Cunningham? What did your boss have to gain?"

  "I don't know." Martel recoiled when Dallas lifted his hand again, jerking against the chains that bound him. "I fucking well don't. I shoot whoever I'm told to shoot. That's my job. That's all I ever know."

  Jasper believed him, which meant the man was stupid on top of everything else. It was one bit of wisdom Bren had passed along—assassins didn't ask, didn't often care about the reasoning behind their jobs. But they always, always knew why, because they couldn't afford not to.

  "This is useless," Jasper muttered, more to himself than to Dallas. Martel was a dead man already, and only information could delay his execution. If he didn't have that, he was out of time.

  Dallas watched their captive, icy rage gathering behind the blank expression he'd worn since he'd first seen Lex, unconscious and bleeding. "I agree," he said. "Unless you want to take a couple swings for Noelle, why don't you go see if Bren's friend is any smarter than this sorry bastard?"

  Jasper shook his head and turned. Even if he had the stomach for it, it wasn't his style. "Martel's yours." He tossed the words back over his shoulder.

  "Damn right he is," came Dallas's reply, a claim reinforced by the sound of a fist hitting flesh, along with Martel's pained grunt.

  The cries rose into screams, and Jasper closed the door behind him to shut them out. Bren's friend, Lorenzo Cruz, sat at the square table in the center of the room, his shirt stripped away. Rachel perched beside him, swabbing antiseptic on his shoulder.

  Jasper watched as she set the gauze aside and reached for a wickedly sharp scalpel instead. One cut, shallow and slow—and Cruz didn't blink, showed no sign whatsoever that he felt the incision.

  Ace winced at another muffled scream from behind the door. "I don't know what's creepier. That guy's screaming, or the fact that Rachel's cutting a tracker out of this motherfucker's flesh without drugs, and he's not even twitching."

  "I have a delicate touch," she murmured, then flashed Cruz a reassuring look. "It's okay, right?"

  "It's fine." Cruz shared a tight smile with Bren. "I've been through worse."

  "He's being modest." Bren tapped the table. "We were running an undercover op once. Dipshit here got shot in the leg and still managed to con his way through a sector checkpoint without blowing it."

  "You do what you gotta do to get the job done." Cruz met Jasper's gaze. "When it's a job you can live with. Fewer and fewer of those coming down from on high these days."

  "Or you've worked your way too far up the food chain to keep your conscience clean." Jasper dragged out an empty chair and sat. "Can you connect this guy to Gareth Woods?"

  Cruz nodded. "No doubt. Martel's been tasked to Woods's security detail for the last six months."

  "Why would Woods want Noelle dead? How did he even know where she was?"

  Both of Cruz's eyebrows swept upwards. "You must not have access to the vid network out here."

  Ace answered with a frown. "Not without patching in, which is usually more trouble than it's worth. Why, has Noelle been in the vids?"

  "Nonstop for the last couple days," Cruz replied. "Someone leaked a video of her serving drinks at that club of yours, and now everyone in Eden thinks her father's doing dirty business with Dallas O'Kane."

  It made killing her the perfect way to discredit Cunningham. Everyone in Eden would assume
he'd done it to cover up his dealings with Dallas. "How many others would jump at this chance?" Jasper asked. "Even if we deal with Woods, is she still in danger?"

  Cruz blinked and glanced at Bren. "Is this guy for real? He's just going to deal with a councilman?"

  "Him? No." Bren inclined his head toward the door. "But Dallas? Yeah."

  Jasper bit his tongue, but not even that could hold back his vicious curse. "Fuck that. I'm not passing everything off to Dallas, not this time."

  "You can't waltz into Eden and double tap the guy with a forty-five, either. Hitting Woods is going to take money, planning, and a hell of a lot of favors." Bren lit a cigarette. "Dallas is the only one who can get it done, no matter how much you want to be the one protecting Noelle."

  "Shit." Cruz's face shuttered. "As long as she's in the sectors, she's a liability for her father, which means she's a target for any of his enemies. Cunningham knows that. This morning he put out a press release talking about how he was going to rescue her."

  Jasper bit off a curse. "So the only way to stop the attempts is either to scare the shit out of anyone who even thinks about trying it...or to send her back to her family."

  Ace interrupted for the first time. "She's inked. Will they even take her back? How much juice does her pop have?"

  "He has plenty," Rachel answered. "At least, he did when I lived there. I'm sure he'll spin it like she's gone nuts, but he couldn't leave her out here, so he brought her home to recover."

  "The trauma of the sectors," Cruz drawled. "She could strip naked and walk down the streets of Eden, and people would eat up the scandal. If her father managed to bury the original charges, he could play the martyr. The loving father struggling to save his daughter's eternal soul. Of course, he'd have to ruin the men who originally arrested her..." He glanced at Bren. "But most of the councilmen aren't above framing good men for their own gain."

  "It's been known to happen," Bren agreed mildly.

  "There." Rachel dropped something tiny into a metal bowl with a clink, then smoothed down the edges of a small, square bandage on Cruz's arm. "No more tracker."

  "Thanks." Cruz flexed slightly, testing his shoulder. "I guess there's no going back for me. The Cunningham girl is lucky the rules don't apply to her."

  "Yeah." But something told Jasper that Noelle wouldn't agree.

  The door to the back room crashed open, and Dallas stepped through, wiping his bloody hands on a rag. Through the doorway, Jasper could just make out the still, unmoving form of Alistair Martel.

  Bren rose. "It's done?"

  Dallas nodded shortly and met Cruz's eyes. "I know what you gave up to bring us Martel. I'll make sure we're square." Dallas shifted his attention to Rachel. "You and Ace take our new friend out front. Get him something to eat, and anything else he needs."

  They hustled the man out of the room, leaving Jasper staring at Dallas and Bren. "Tell me this isn't as fucked up as it seems."

  Dallas listened in silence as Bren relayed everything Cruz had told them, and shook his head when the man finished. "This is what I've been trying to tell you all along, Jas. Politics in Eden are like a vicious, bloody game of chess." He sighed. "I'd bet my boots a story about the attempt on her life is about to hit the vid network, if it hasn't already. Noelle's on the board now, and the game doesn't end until she's either back in Eden or dead."

  All that mattered to Jasper was her safety. "I'm going to see what Mad can set up. We need to monitor the situation in Eden."

  "Bren can do that." Dallas gestured. "Go now. I need to talk to Jasper."

  Jasper wasn't remotely in the mood, and he told Dallas so before the door even snapped shut. "The pep talk's gonna have to wait, coach."

  "This isn't a pep talk." Dallas braced both hands on the table. "What are you going to do if her father shows up to rescue her? If he offers her a free pass, all sins forgiven, right back to her cushy, safe little life? What are you going to do when she looks to you to help her decide?"

  He'd tell her that it wasn't his decision, that she was the only one who truly knew what to do—except he knew it was a lie. He'd do everything he had to do to keep her out of danger. "I'll tell her she needs to go," he snarled.

  Dallas didn't look surprised. He didn't look happy, either. "Can you live with that?"

  "I don't exactly have a choice."

  "You have two choices, and they're both shit."

  Let her go, or keep her and maybe get her killed. "They're both shit," Jasper echoed. "But they're all I've got, unless you're cooking something up in that head of yours."

  "I have a few ideas," Dallas said, but held up his hand before Jasper could say anything. "But nothing that'll make her any safer than she is now. Hell, for all I know, we're headed into a territory war. I'll protect Noelle like she's one of us—but you know what war means."

  First Trent's bomb, and now a sniper from Eden. Things were going to shit all over the place, just like the days when they'd had to scrounge and fight like hell for every scrap of peace that came their way. If they were smart, they'd take precautions.

  Some of the men hadn't hesitated to take women then, even knowing they might not come home to them at the end of the night, but Jasper had never been one of them. "I won't keep a woman I can't protect. That hasn't changed."

  Dallas sighed. "Can't say I fault your logic, Jas...but maybe that means we're both looking at cold, lonely lives."

  "There are worse things." Like more gunshots, and Noelle's eyes blank and unseeing instead of snapping with life.

  "All right." Dallas straightened and rubbed a hand over his hair. "I'll reach out to Cunningham and let him know I'm open to talking. Maybe you won't have to make the choice at all."

  "He'll want her back." Jasper took a deep breath. "What do we do with Martel's body? Make it disappear, or make sure they find it?"

  Dallas stared at the wall and flexed his hands thoughtfully. "Put him on ice," he said finally. "Let me hear what Cunningham has to say, and then we'll decide."

  "Speaking of ice, get some on your hands," Jasper advised.

  "Yeah." Dallas stared down at his bruised knuckles. "I need to go tell Lex it's over before she crawls out of bed and hurts herself again."

  It was his job to check on Lex, to make sure she was recovering and safe. It was Jasper's equal responsibility to do the same for Noelle, but he needed distance. He needed to let go. "Will you...?"

  "I'll take care of her," Dallas replied quietly. "You go find Bren and Mad. It's going to be a long night."

  That it was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jasper was avoiding her.

  At first, she thought it was her imagination. Dallas had returned late and grumpy, and Noelle had been too wrung out to traverse the warren of hallways back to Lex's empty bed. But sleep had been fleeting and restless, interrupted whenever she slipped her hand into the vacant space to her left. Every time she woke, she forced her eyes shut again by promising herself that the next time she flung her arm wide it would slam into the unforgiving wall of Jasper's chest.

  It never did.

  She'd edged out of the huge bed at dawn, fleeing a loneliness that was more cutting in Dallas and Lex's presence than it could have possibly been alone. Dallas had cracked open one eye to squint at her as she pulled on her clothing, but after admonishing her not to leave the compound, he tucked Lex's sleeping form more firmly against his side and closed his eyes again.

  He'd probably assumed she was going to find Jasper, but she hadn't. She'd already felt it then—something beyond sneaking suspicion. The certainty that Jasper wasn't simply not present, but absent. Deliberately not there.

  It wasn't until she was huddled in a cooling bath in Lex's quarters that she understood the conviction. Her hands trembled as she scrubbed a washcloth over her newly healed skin, and she needed him. She needed to see him, touch him, know he was safe. She needed to curl up in his arms and know she was safe.

  She needed him, and he was supposed to know that. He
had to know that. If he didn't, how could she trust him to know everything else she needed? And if he did know but was ignoring her...

  No. It was too soon for such thoughts, especially with all the danger. Dallas had admitted to sending Jasper out on some unspecified errand. Maybe it had taken most of the night. Maybe he'd fallen into his bed not long before she'd crawled out of Dallas's, and if she went to him now he'd open his arms and fold them around her—

  She didn't. She told herself it was because he needed rest, and because it didn't matter anyway. She drained the tub and dressed for the day, braided her hair in a crown around her head and picked out a short-sleeved T-shirt that left her arms—and her tattoos—bare. Paired with heeled boots and jeans and one of Lex's studded leather belts, it felt like armor.

  She was an O'Kane. One night of uncertainty wouldn't change that. Nothing could change that. That was the promise tattooed into her skin—her loyalty in exchange for their protection. Forever.

  Besides, she wasn't entirely helpless anymore. She didn't need Jasper or Lex to hold her hand and give her something to do. The stage had been cleaned of Lex's blood, but the club still needed tending. Trix would be there to open the doors by noon, ready to serve the truly dedicated drinkers and sell individual bottles of liquor to anyone unable to strike a special deal with Dallas.

  Life had to go on.

  Noelle had swept the floor and taken down the chairs by the time Trix arrived, trailing a quiet bouncer named Zan. Zan nodded to her and positioned himself just outside the door, a solid wall of muscle that could—and would—turn deadly at the slightest hint of danger.

  Noelle had traded her broom for a cloth to wipe down the scarred wooden tables when the door swung open again, admitting two men almost as large as Zan—and tragically familiar.

  Her father's bodyguards.

  She barely had time to wrap her brain around that—her father's bodyguards—before he followed them inside, blinking against the darkness and skirting tables with a wide berth, as if merely touching them would contaminate him.

  Her father. Here.

  Noelle clenched her fingers around the cloth until the nubby fabric dug painfully into her skin. Her father looked impossibly older, as if months or even years had passed instead of weeks and days. The grooves carved around his steely eyes were deeper, the furrows that formed when his brows drew together more intense. He seemed tired, stressed, and she knew with a certainty borne of painful experience that her absence couldn't possibly account for either state. Not on its own, anyway.