by Kit Rocha
“Then I want Bishop with them.”
Bishop nodded. “I know the head of Isabela’s household guard. I can work with him.”
“Good,” Gideon said shortly. “Debrief with Deacon before you go, but I’d like you there tonight. As for Kora--”
“Kora’s pregnant,” Ashwin said abruptly. In the silence that followed, his gaze sought and found Gideon’s, and there was something wild and dangerous there. “Kora stays with me.”
Gideon stared back at him, so stunned that this was obviously news to him. Deacon took a step closer to Ashwin, then another, until he could lay one hand on the man’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have considered anything else. You’re the only person I trust with her safety.”
A little of the tension in him faded, but then he rose. “I should go find her.”
“Not yet.” Gideon held up a hand. “I’ll sit with her until you’re done here. But I need you to help Zeke figure out how we can get up-to-date intelligence on the Suicide Kings’ headquarters. We’re going to take the fight to them and end it.”
He pinned them all with one last imperious look, then swept out of the barracks.
Shit. Deacon turned to Hunter. “I should have let you handle--”
The man shook his head, a tiny smile kicking up the corner of his mouth. “You got this. Right, guys?”
“Damn straight,” Zeke agreed, and the others murmured agreement. Even Gabe gave a sharp nod without quite meeting Deacon’s eyes.
“Okay, then. Ashwin, get Zeke going on the drone so you can get back to Kora. If he needs anything from you, he’ll come to the palace.”
“Got it.” Zeke bounced out of his chair. “We’ll probably need two or three days, minimum, if we want to do this without getting Ashwin’s fancy drone shot out of the sky. So factor that into your planning.”
Deacon caught his arm. “The important thing is to get it right.” Zeke and Ashwin headed down the hall, and Deacon turned to Lucio. “You have your favorite rifle scoped and ready for long-range shots?”
Lucio lifted one eyebrow. “Always.”
“Then use this time to brush up on your fundamentals. And what the hell?” He flipped the playing card across the room, where Lucio snatched it out of the air. “You may as well use that for target practice.”
Reyes shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, the restless dance of someone ready to fight. “What about the rest of us?”
Ana was watching Deacon. Tense, wary--and maybe a little suspicious. As if she was remembering his offer to walk into the den of the Kings alone.
That wasn’t an option, not anymore.
“Stay paired up, if you can,” Deacon told them all. “And you heard Zeke. We have a few days--a week, tops. Use it.”
Most of them heard the dismissal. Gabe rose and followed Reyes and Hunter toward the door. Lucio trailed after them, flipping the Kings’ calling card between his fingers. Then it was just him and Ana, staring at each other across the expanse of the smooth wooden table.
“Tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid,” Ana said finally. “Promise me.”
The same restless energy and anticipation that would have had him as riled up as Reyes any other time was absent. He felt numb. Exhausted. “Not in the next five minutes.”
She watched him for a few silent moments, her huge brown eyes unreadable. Then she pushed slowly to her feet and circled the table. Her hand sought his, and their fingers twined. “Come on.”
She led him down the hallway and up the stairs, bypassing his room in favor of hers. With the door closed firmly behind them, she urged him to sit on the bed, then knelt at his feet.
She deserved the words. “I’m not running off to Kings’ Canyon by myself. It’s too late for that.”
“Good.” She tugged at the laces on one boot, working the knot free with patient fingers. “If you did, I’d have to follow you.”
“That’s not funny, Ana.” Especially since he knew she wasn’t joking.
She got the laces loose and dragged his boot free. “You’re just going to have to face reality. Loyalty to fellow Riders isn’t conditional.” She stripped off his sock and started in on the other boot. “They took you back. They’d follow you into hell.”
For once, the statement wasn’t hypothetical, meant to capture a sentiment more than an explicit plan. “Think about what you just said,” he told her quietly. “Tomorrow, I’m going to show Maricela a picture of the leader of the Kings. And I already know she’ll remember Seth’s face, because he was the one who came here. He smiled at her, handed her that card, and asked her for a blessing. That’s the kind of man he is. That’s the kind of place we’re going--hell.”
“They’ve been there before. It’s what we signed up for.” She jerked his second boot and sock off and braced both hands on his knees, staring up at him. “Deacon, even if you’d never met Seth in your life, we might still be facing off against him. But without any of your knowledge, any of your insight.”
And without Seth’s very personal vendetta. “Ana--”
She tightened her fingers on his legs. “Do you know what kind of man Seth is? A stupid one. If it had been me, I would have put three bullets in you in that alley and called it a day. I’ve never had the luxury of being emotional. But that’s all he is. Taking risk after stupid risk just to fuck with your head. He’ll give us an opening, because he can’t stop himself.”
An opening to take him down, sure, but one that could cost them dearly. But he was in no mood to argue. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
“I know.” She rose and hit the switch on the lamp next to her bed. Then she nudged him gently on the shoulder. “Move over.”
“I can go back to my place, you know.”
“Shut up.” Ana urged him onto his back and vanished into the darkness. He heard the soft whisper of fabric over skin and the rattle of a desk drawer.
Then the bed dipped next to him, and she pulled him into her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. Her fingers traced softly through his hair, fingernails scraping gently against his scalp. “It’s going to be okay, Deacon.”
He relaxed into her touch, letting her soothe away the tension. He needed it, needed her, but it was too much to ask for, this gentle acceptance--especially when he didn’t have the energy to return it.
“He came after Gideon’s baby sister,” Deacon whispered. “What if leaving was the right thing to do, and I missed my chance?”
“You can’t take it all on yourself.” Her fingers drifted through his hair. “You don’t even know if offering yourself would have stopped any of it. Maybe he’d have locked you away somewhere and kept on trying to kill us all, just to hurt you more.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” The scent of her shampoo and soap wreathed him, along with something uniquely Ana. He breathed it all in as they stretched out on the bed, this time with Ana’s head on his shoulder.
Her hand settled over his heart. “Together,” she murmured. “We’ll find out together.”
It seemed like ages ago that he’d been proudly watching her spar with Hunter. Was it really only that morning? The prospect of the coming days stretched out before him like a gauntlet he had no choice but to run.
It would be one thing if they mounted up and headed out to the canyon immediately. But they desperately needed that intel--Gideon was right about that. In the meantime, they could increase patrols, train, and prepare their equipment, but they mostly just had to wait, and nothing was more exhausting than that.
Still, a part of him was glad, because it meant that, no matter what went down with the Kings, at least he’d have a few more days with Ana.
Chapter Fifteen
The soft glow of dawn had barely kissed Ana’s window when her tablet chirped an insistent reminder to get up. Moving carefully, she reached out to silence it before turning under the arm Deacon had flung across her.
He’d slept through the sound, a sign of just how weary he was--or how safe h
e felt curled in her bed. His arm tightened reflexively, tugging her closer, and she couldn’t help but smile as she stroked the hair at his temple.
Vulnerable Deacon. Every day truly was an opportunity for miracles.
It had been a long time since Ana had enjoyed the luxury of showing vulnerability. When she was fifteen, she lost her temper when the son of a guard suddenly decided that Ana, with her growing curves, was a girl-girl now, and no longer a fit sparring partner.
Ana had kicked his ass, of course. And when she was kneeling on his back, her fist in his hair, rubbing his stupid face in the dirt, her father had arrived on the scene. He’d plucked her off her opponent, marched her to the stables, and unceremoniously dumped her into the water trough.
Stunned by the betrayal as much as the shock of cold water, Ana had dripped and shivered in silence as her father laid out the hard truths of her future life in stark, uncompromising terms.
People who wanted to challenge the status quo didn’t get to have temper tantrums. They had to be smarter, and calmer, and faster, and better. Beyond reproach, beyond critique. As perfect as a human being could be, because you could whine about fair and unfair all you wanted, but at the end of the day, you did the extra work or you failed.
With humiliation burning in her gut and water dripping down her back, Ana had made a tactical error. She’d channeled all the fifteen-year-old petulance she possessed to snap, “What would you know about it?”
William Jordan had never been a soft man, but the hardest parts of him had never been directed at Ana before. Not until that afternoon, when he’d crouched down to put himself on eye level and delivered a blistering lecture that remained carved into her mind.
You don’t know how good you have it, girl. You don’t know how lucky you are to have been born into a sector where the color of your skin will never hold you back. Your grandparents and every ancestor who came before them had to fight every day for the life you take for granted. And some people in other sectors are still fighting.
She’d been too young to fully understand what he meant then, even as she’d sheepishly taken his lessons to heart. She’d learned to leash her temper, control her emotions. To focus on smoothing away any rough edges that someone could point to and say--see, she’s not good enough. She doesn’t deserve this.
When she grew old enough to accompany her father into other sectors, she saw the truth of his words. Some people still dealt with prejudice and hate over the stupidest of things--how they looked, how they dressed. Who they loved. If her father had been right about this, he must have been right about everything.
The lessons learned in childhood always seemed so simple. Right and wrong. Good and evil. She traced a finger over Deacon’s brow and had to acknowledge that he was both. Capable of horrible deeds as well as heroic ones. A man who had done so much harm, but also so much good.
Maybe her father had been wrong, even when he was right. She’d had to learn self-control in order to earn her spot. She’d had to prove herself in a way the men never had, fair or not. But she was here now. A Rider, until the day she died.
And she was creating the reality of what a female Rider was. Any bright-eyed little girl who followed behind her would have to live in the box she had built, survive in the narrow, claustrophobic space she’d carved out for herself inside all this control and perfection.
Was this the dream she was making for them? A life without love? Without passion? A life where she was terrified to be seen touching the man who made her heart race, all because some bitter asshole who had no power over her fate might decide she wasn’t worthy?
Gideon’s was the only opinion that mattered, and Gideon believed in her. The assholes would just have to stew in their own misery for a while. Ana was tired of giving a shit about what they thought.
Deacon wrinkled his nose without opening his eyes. “It’s too early.”
“I know, but I have an appointment.” She smoothed her finger down the strong bridge of that nose, lingering on the bump where it hadn’t healed right after some long-ago fight.
He opened his eyes wide, then smothered a yawn with the back of his hand. “What kind of appointment?”
“I’m going to visit my aunts.” Ana touched her fingers to the silk scarf she’d wrapped around her hair in the darkness last night. “Aunt Naomi’s going to braid my hair. And Aunt Olivia will send me home with more donuts than Zeke needs.”
He sat up and stretched. “Let me grab a shower and I’ll come with you.”
Last night, he’d let himself be vulnerable. And still, she hesitated. There was letting the other Riders see this thing happening between them, and then there was taking it outside the compound walls. Her aunts would circle and interrogate, and every person who came through the bakery or salon would see them together and gleefully carry the story to all their closest friends.
Which meant the gossip could hit the sector borders by nightfall.
“Are you sure you want to?” she asked to buy herself a little time. “I know you don’t want us going out on our own, but I’ll probably be there until lunch.”
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and studied her for a moment. “Is it a problem?”
Fuck the assholes. Fuck the bitter, hateful fools. “No.” She sat up and offered him a wry smile. “But I won’t blame you if you cut and run partway through. My aunts are gonna get ideas. And they could convince Ashwin to tell them all his deepest, darkest secrets if they wanted them badly enough.”
Deacon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was already sticking out in all directions. “I meant what I said about going out alone. I can send another one of the Riders with you, but...” His jaw tightened. “I don’t want to. I want to be there, just in case.”
She didn’t have a name for the funny tickle in her chest. Warmth that he cared, maybe, or irritation that he felt the need to protect her. Guilt at that irritation--she would feel a whole hell of a lot better if she could keep an eye on him, too.
And if Deacon was with her, he couldn’t have any second thoughts about charging off to sacrifice himself.
“Okay. You shower. I’ll grab some gear and a walkie and meet you by the bikes in twenty. I’ll let Zeke know where we’re going, too.”
He grunted and rose. “Got it. And Ana?”
“Yeah?”
“I can control myself.” He swept up his boots with a look of determination. “Your aunts will never know.”
Ana went up on her knees and grabbed his shirt, pulling him to her for a brief, glancing kiss. It had to be glancing, or she’d drag him back down into the bed with her and finish what had been interrupted last night.
Her lips still tingling from his, she grinned up at him. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Have a little faith, woman.” But he was smiling and rubbing his mouth as he slipped out the door.
Flying high on the adrenaline, Ana washed and dressed in record time. Zeke answered her firm knock with a sleepy mumble, so she stuck her head into his room. “Hey, wake up.”
His blond head poked out from under the quilt. “Is something on fire? Something better be on fire.”
“No.” She tossed one of the walkies onto his bed. “Deacon and I are going to be at my aunts’ place this morning. If anything happens, call us.”
He gave her a thumbs-up as he disappeared back under the quilt. Hiding a smile, Ana started counting down from ten.
At four, his head shot out again. “Hey, bring me donuts.”
“If they have any to spare, I guess.”
This time she got his middle finger, and she laughed as she hauled his door shut and headed for the parking lot. Deacon was already there, freshly scrubbed, with his beard neatly trimmed again. She took a moment to admire him in his denim and riding jacket before hauling her helmet off the back of her bike. “You ready?”
“Yep.” He flipped his helmet up in the air and caught it. Then he grinned as he slid his helmet on and threw his leg over his b
ike.
Ana decided she liked that--grinning Deacon.
The way his jeans hugged his ass wasn’t bad, either.
Ana donned her helmet and slid onto her bike, savoring the first rumble as it roared to life. She peeled out of the parking lot and let Deacon follow, and the thrill of the wind rushing past her and the wide-open road ahead of her still felt new, even after all this time.
She’d been seven the first time her father had let her climb behind him on this bike. Their brief, exhilarating ride around the neighborhood had addicted Ana and resulted in the first and only screaming match she’d witnessed between her parents.
William Jordan didn’t take orders from a lot of people. But Fiona’s prohibition against letting their daughter on his bike had held for two long years after her death. At twelve, Ana was better equipped to take the responsibility--and the lessons--seriously. She’d learned to ride on this bike. She’d learned to love riding on it.
And when her father had died, she inherited it.
A few hundred yards down the winding road through the orchard, Deacon roared up next to her. It was safe to ride side by side out here, especially this early in the morning. They took the slow, wide turns together as the sun rose high enough to break through the trees in dappled light, and finally turned toward the center of the sector.
Ana’s aunts’ shop was on the western side of the sector, in the shadow of the large apartment buildings that had gone up in the first years of the Prophet’s reign. Plenty of people were out and about here, heading to jobs on various noble estates or to the market shops where they plied trades or sold services. But they jumped out of the street with alacrity at the rumble of the bikes, with waves or greetings or blessings.
The parking space behind her aunts’ duplex was tiny, with just enough room for both of their bikes next to the space marked off for delivery vans. Ana hauled off her helmet as she dismounted, and waited for Deacon to do the same. Then she quirked an eyebrow at him. “There’s still time to chicken out. My family was never overly impressed with my dad’s lofty status, so don’t expect them to be awed by you.”
