by Kit Rocha
Bracing herself for another battle over rent, Mia stepped into the rectangle of light. “Mrs. Jones.”
“Mia.” Gone was the woman’s customary derisive glare. She kept her gaze downcast, deferential. “You had a delivery today.”
Mia had almost forgotten how true terror felt. Like ice in her guts while her nerves misfired, seizing every muscle with the animal instinct to run, to flee for her fucking life. But she hadn’t forgotten how to hide it. Her smile felt brittle as she lifted one brow in a poor imitation of curiosity. “Oh? I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“I let him put it in your apartment. One of O’Kane’s men, it was.”
Oxygen returned. Exhaling roughly, Mia forced her muscles to relax. Not that it wasn’t unsettling to realize her landlady would let anyone wearing O’Kane ink into an apartment that was supposed to be private...
But it could have been worse. It could have been so much worse.
“I’m sure that’s fine, then,” she said, digging her keys out of her pocket. “I’m sorry if they put you out.”
“It’s no bother,” the old lady protested. “You tell them anyone is welcome to stop by. Any time, okay? I’ve got nothing to hide here.”
Caught in the awkward position of comforting a woman who’d been haranguing her twenty-four hours earlier, Mia managed a barely believable pat on the arm...and took shameless advantage of her new status. “I’ll let him know,” she promised, careful not to indicate who he might be. Let the old bat imagine she sat down to morning tea with Dallas O’Kane.
At least it would keep her rent low.
“You do that. And, uh, let me know if there’s anything you need.”
The woman was following her down the hallway, so eager to please, and Mia was beginning to understand why Ford had seemed so outraged at the suggestion that someone would hassle an employee of the O’Kanes. Unless excessive obsequiousness counted as hassle.
She shoved the key into the sticky lock and wiggled it until the deadbolt released. “I will, Mrs. Jones. Have a good night.”
“You too, Mia. And remember what I said about—”
Mia closed the door and only felt a little guilty about it.
The light from her one barred window had already faded, but hopefully there had been plenty of sunlight during the day. She traversed the room carefully, catching up her unlit lantern on her way past the table.
Her most valuable possession—a tiny solar recharger—lay on the windowsill. Not a very nice one, since it took a full day of strong sunlight to power her lantern for a few hours, but it was better than spending her night in the dark.
She fit the battery into place by touch and was rewarded with a bright, cheerful spill of light. Her apartment was so small it reached all but the farthest corners, which meant it didn’t take long to realize what was out of place.
The “delivery” sat in the corner between her mattress and bathtub, narrow and boxy, with vents on the front, a neat row of buttons...and no power cord. She brushed her finger over the power button and almost yelped in surprise when blessedly warm air gusted over her.
One of O’Kane’s men had shown up, bullied his way past her terrified landlady, and left her a battery-powered space heater.
Utterly perplexed, she picked up the folded piece of paper resting on the top.
The battery should last twelve hours on high power. You can recharge it at work.
No signature, but she’d been digging through paperwork filled out by Ford all day. It was his handwriting, sparse and neat and abrupt, just like him. A peace offering of his own, maybe, or an easy way of buying out of his guilt at being such an asshole.
Or maybe he really hated wet hair.
“Too bad, Derek Ford,” she muttered, dragging the heater closer to her bed. Talking to herself wasn’t a good sign, but the gift was. It meant there was something under all that pain and bitterness, even if Ford couldn’t see it himself. Something she could find if she pushed hard enough, something she could make him remember.
He was wounded, lashing out at anyone who witnessed his moments of supposed weakness, as if someone who’d walked a dozen miles on a broken leg could be weak. God must have put men on the Earth with a surplus of social advantages because it was their only hope of surviving their incapacitating egos.
She was a damn Orchid. Not exactly an accomplished one, but even the rawest initiate ate delicate male ego for breakfast. Starting tomorrow, she would embrace the stubbornness that had gotten her this far, as well as the skills that had kept her alive.
Derek Ford could be as hopeless as he wanted. She’d fucking well hope enough for the both of them.
Chapter Four
The damn man never had any good news.
Dylan Jordan slipped on a pair of glasses and peered down at the open folder in front of him. By the time he raised his head, he wore an expression of utter disgust. “I don’t care what the hell you want, Ford, we can’t try the regeneration therapy again. With infections like yours—”
“I understand all that,” Ford replied. “But you said my infection was under control. No fevers, no nothing. My wounds are all healed.”
“That’s not the only reason we can’t do it. Look, I could explain it all to you, but it’s complicated and you really don’t give a shit about the particulars. You only care if it works, right?”
Ford couldn’t argue. “So I’m stuck, then. Med-gel isn’t an option, and neither is regen.”
“But you’re healing,” the man said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “You’re healing the way people did for thousands of years before we had this technology. Slowly but surely.”
It takes time. “I know, I know. It’s just…”
“Hard, yeah.” Doc hesitated. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”
A knock rattled the door, mere seconds before one of the newer girls, Jade, stuck her head inside. Doc straightened at the sight of her, abruptly dragging his spectacles from his face.
Ford rolled his eyes. “What’s up, Jade?”
She was the sort of gorgeous that didn’t seem quite real, like one of the pre-Flare paintings Ace collected in his studio. Her voice was warm and breathy, and all for Doc. “Dylan, I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I, uh, came by to see Ford. And I was just leaving.” He rose and gathered his bag from the floor beside his chair, then leveled a serious gaze on Ford. “If you need anything…”
“I’ll be fine, Doc. See you next week.”
Jade murmured her goodbyes, watching until the door swung shut behind the doctor. When she turned back to Ford, he didn’t get the sweet, honeyed smiles and gentle whispers.
No, he got hands on the hips and a disapproving frown. “You vex him, you know.”
“Vex?” The word almost made him laugh. “We can’t have that, can we? Not when you’re so sweet on him.”
“You’re very good at deflection. I’m not surprised you’re so successful in business.”
“You’re a sweet talker, Jade.” Ford leaned back in his chair and held his hands out wide. “So, what can I do for you?”
She relented, giving the folding chair a dubious look before sinking gracefully onto it. “I came to see how Mia was settling in.”
“Fine.” He couldn’t keep the slight tinge of defensiveness from his voice, and he damned himself for it. The woman sitting across his desk was from Sector Two, same as Mia—same as Lex—and she would hear every word he didn’t say.
Sure enough, she studied him for a silent moment before tilting her head. “That’s good. You have no idea how relieved I was when I heard she’d reached out for help. She was always such a smart girl, utterly wasted on that...” Her lips pressed together tightly.
“Her patron wasn’t the most pleasant man, I take it?” Not that Ford cared, obviously. He didn’t.
Jade seemed to weigh her words. “Lex casts a long shadow over Sector Two,” she said finally. “Especially over Orchid House. Cerys likes girls with brains, but the ones who
show too much spirit... Well, she’d rather see them a little broken than have another Lex out here working against her.”
A chill slithered up his spine. “If that were Mia’s situation, Cerys never would have let her go. I know that much.”
“You’re assuming Cerys knows she’s gone.” Jade met his gaze squarely. “I may be borrowing trouble, Ford. God knows I have reason to see malice and ill intent in everything Cerys does. She won’t move against Dallas openly, but we both know that doesn’t make Mia safe.”
She had wreathed the words in a carefully casual tone, but Ford wasn’t stupid. They were a warning, pure and simple. “So what do we need to do?”
“Make her feel welcome. Make her feel valued.” Her jaw tightened, a tiny physical clue to the sudden fury in her eyes. “And if that disgusting excuse for a patron shows up in the sector looking for her, find an excuse to kill him.”
Ford rose, drawing himself up to his full, considerable height. “This is Sector Four,” he said grimly. “I don’t need a fucking excuse.”
Ford had gotten her a new chair.
Mia eyed it as she set her thermos down on the edge of the massive desk. It wasn’t fancy, but it was sturdy and padded. Ford didn’t say anything about it—he didn’t even look up from whatever he was writing—so Mia let herself smile. “Good morning.”
He grunted.
Poor, grumpy Ford. Schooling her features into a mask of cheerful innocence, Mia unbuttoned her coat. “Do you like my new hat? My landlady was waiting with it when I left this morning. I think she was up all night knitting it.”
“Must have figured out who you worked for.” He finally lifted his head, only to tap his pen on the desk. “You need a new coat, too. When it warms up, we’ll go to the market.”
Not would you like a new coat?, and no acknowledgment of how her landlady had come by that knowledge. She was starting to get the measure of him now, even if it formed an inexplicable picture. What sort of man wasted time and effort on a woman without wanting appreciation and gratitude in return?
A wounded one. Her chest aching with sympathy, she hung up her jacket and tried to keep her voice light. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. There are about five people on my walk home who are already considering robbing me for this one.”
He turned his attention back to his writing. “Not after we make a big production of parading around the marketplace, there won’t be.”
In his world maybe it really was that simple. A woman only had to be seen with him once to be safe throughout the sector, and that was seductive in dangerous ways. Power was attractive for a reason. You could curl up close to it and bask in security, in the warmth and safety...
Until it went wrong. And then no one could help you. No one dared.
Mia tugged her new chair closer to the desk and sank into it. “It’s sweet of you to offer, but that’s not what I plan to spend my first week’s wages on. And you can’t go buying me any more presents.”
“Don’t argue with me. And it’s not a gift. Consider it a job benefit.”
Maybe she wasn’t a smart girl after all, because anyone with wits would have fallen into obedient silence. This was the job of a damn lifetime. Good pay, constant gifts, spending her days staring at a beautiful, brooding hulk of a man. She should be wary of him. Respectful.
She shouldn’t want to keep poking just to see if he’d snap. But Vaughn had been oblivious to her presence, even staring right at her. The only emotion she’d ever stirred in him had been self-loathing. He hadn’t wanted to find her desirable, and he’d hated her for holding that power over him.
Ford’s attention—his focus—prickled over her skin, though he’d done his best to ignore her.
The silence had stretched on too long. She almost let it go, but the urge was too strong to resist. Leaning across the desk, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think you like it when I argue with you.”
He froze, his gaze slowly tracking up until his eyes locked with hers. “I’ve been through worse.”
Goose bumps rose in a shivering wave, and she found herself studying his lips. They were firm, wide. She’d never kissed a man before, but she hadn’t thought it would be much different from kissing women. Maybe it wasn’t, always, but kissing him would be. His stubble would rasp against her chin, her cheeks. It would rasp against any sensitive place his lips wandered.
If they wandered. He might be abrupt and hurried, hoisting her onto the desk and working into her with a need that would curl her toes.
Her cheeks felt warm. Her voice, when it came, was almost breathless. “Do you always win arguments?”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Sure I do, buttercup. Because I don’t have them.”
“That’s not winning. That’s cheating.”
“It gets the job done.”
Her heart did a funny kick in her chest, and the next words that spilled out weren’t idle flirtation, but raw, vulnerable bafflement. “Why do you care if I have a new coat?”
“I don’t.” But his sudden, soft smile contradicted his claim. Then he reached up, touched her cheek, and she knew he was lying. And she didn’t want to move, because nothing had ever felt as full of heavy, beautiful promise as those roughened fingertips brushing over her skin.
“Okay,” she breathed, not breaking eye contact. “Okay, I’ll take the coat. Thank you.”
“Good.” His touch vanished as he sat back in his chair. “Your hair is dry this morning. I approve.”
It wasn’t fair to feel the loss of his fingers on her skin so profoundly. So she hid it, straightening in her chair. “Yes, the heater makes things much more comfortable. If you can figure out how to get me enough hot water for a nice long bath, life would be downright cozy.”
“I’ll work on it.” He dropped his pen and stood. “No scanning or filing today. You want to know what the O’Kanes are all about? Time for you to see.”
Excitement surged, all flirting forgotten. This was what she needed more than new clothes and idle touches—a chance to learn enough to prove herself. “You mean the liquor? Because that’s what’s slowing down my data analysis. I don’t understand more than the vague details of how it’s made, or how the ingredients impact quality and price.”
He walked around the desk, his limp barely noticeable as he strode toward the coat rack by the door. He lifted a battered, soft-looking leather jacket and slid his arms into it. “I don’t know how much of that you can glean from a simple tour, but you’ve got to start somewhere.”
“No knowledge is wasted knowledge,” she said lightly, rising to retrieve her own jacket.
The words echoed in her head as she followed him out the door. No knowledge is wasted knowledge. Not her trainer’s voice this time, but Jade’s. An unusual sentiment for someone trained as a Rose instead of an Orchid, but there had been nothing usual about the woman Cerys had chosen to exert Sector Two’s influence over one of the most prominent councilmen in Eden.
There’d been nothing usual about Jade’s spectacular retirement, either. Gossip had raced through Sector Two, claims that her oh-so-important patron was dead and she was missing—and, beneath the gossip, the quiet whispers traded from girl to girl. Whispers that Cerys had allowed the councilman to addict Jade to a drug that made her malleable and would kill her if withheld. That her life had been in danger, and her house had turned a blind eye.
The softest whispers of all passed from Orchid to Orchid, sometimes with condemnation, sometimes with hope, but always with awe. Jade’s house had turned a blind eye...but Lex Parrino hadn’t.
No wonder Cerys hated the queen of Sector Four. Knowing that Lex existed had given Mia the courage to run.
Ford led her slowly down the stairs. He took them one at a time, setting both feet on each stair before moving on to the next. He gripped the handrail, white-knuckled and careful, but he didn’t tremble, and he didn’t falter.
He had to be in agony, but she bit her lip and said nothing.
On t
he first floor, he released a breath and waved her toward a door. “The main room,” he supplied as she pushed through it. “The Broken Circle. Aside from exporting liquor, this is Dallas’s biggest moneymaker.”
It was still early, barely past nine, but the bar wasn’t empty. A gorgeous redhead leaned against the bar, checking off notes on a datapad, while a pretty brunette with a familiar face pulled chairs off tables. She turned as the door opened and smiled widely. “Ford! Are you here for breakfast? We have some toast and eggs left.”
He shook his head. “Girls, this is Mia. Mia…” He waved a hand toward the bar.
The redhead grinned. “You’re especially chipper this morning, Ford. It’s a good look for you.”
He ignored her in favor of sliding onto a stool at the bar. “Mia’s here to get a feel for things.”
Mia shot the brunette a furtive glance as she took the stool next to Ford, trying to picture her without the tattoos, heavy eyeliner, and leather.
Noelle Cunningham had been in all the news vids over the summer, the headline of scandalized stories detailing her fall from Eden royalty, but the pictures they’d flashed of a sweet, demure councilman’s daughter had been washed out and pale compared to the vibrant woman who leaned against the bar beside Mia.
There was nothing demure about her smile as she offered her hand. “I’m Noelle. She’s Trix. And Ford’s terrible at introductions.”
“I’m her boss, not her social director.”
Mia ignored him and clasped Noelle’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Have you eaten?” Noelle didn’t give her a chance to respond before pushing away to circle the bar. “Don’t take that girl out of here without letting me feed her, Ford!” she called as she disappeared through the swinging doors, and Mia hid a smile by pressing her lips together as hard as she could.
Trix stood there for a moment before taking a step back. “Right. I’m going to help her. Nice to meet you, Mia.”
