Beyond Innocence

by Kit Rocha

  "Come on, she can't blame Dallas for that."

  "It's not about blame. Tatiana ended up an O'Kane. At this rate, Jeni will, too."

  Jared schooled his features and gestured toward Ace's wrists with the bottle. "You wear the man's ink. You're uniquely positioned to explain to Gia how that's not a bad thing."

  "Oh, trust me, I've tried." Ace rubbed one thumb over his O'Kane cuff, tracing the ink almost absently. "Maybe it's harder for her, after the kinds of clients she had to take, especially in the beginning. I don't know if she can let a man own her, even if it's just symbolic."

  "And she doesn't have to. But she can't begrudge others following their own path, even when she doesn't understand it." It was one of the first things Eladio had taught them, back when they were all still kids he'd plucked out of the gutter.

  Escúchame—come on. Sit down and listen. Sometimes, people won't like what you do. Do it anyway. It's better to be happy and hated than miserable.

  Ace's frown only deepened. Brooding artist was a common enough look on him, but it seemed worse tonight. "Sometimes…" He trailed off, shifted upright to rest his elbows on his knees, and finally met Jared's eyes. "I feel like I left you guys behind."

  At one point, Jared might have agreed. But he'd been more heartsick than anything, saddened by the harsh realization that Ace didn't love him, not like that, and he never would. "You belong exactly where you are, Ace. And no one was happier than Gia when you hooked up with O'Kane's crew."

  "Yeah?" Ace half-smiled. "Figures, I guess. Is there anyone she doesn't want to save?"

  "No. She's that much like Eladio."

  "And as likely to admit it." Ace lowered his voice. "I won't push. Just tell me you're still thinking about it. Joining up, or even just getting out. None of us can do it forever."

  The irony was enough to choke a man. For a moment, Jared considered telling Ace the truth—but the risks far outweighed his friend's peace of mind. "As a matter of fact, I have been thinking about retiring. It's time."

  Ace's sudden smile was radiant. Jared had gotten over his foolish infatuation a long time ago, but that open, brilliant grin still hit him square in the chest. "Well, thank fucking God."

  "None of us can do it forever," he agreed quietly. "And I have enough money now to do whatever I please. Go wherever I please."

  "Buy pianos for whoever you please."

  "That, too." He flashed Ace an arch look. "Should I take it back?"

  "Nah. At this point, we'd just have to get her another." Ace lifted his drink with a wry grin. "Turns out? Girl can play."

  "Then do me a favor, would you?" Jared set the bottle on the coffee table with a thunk. "Stop busting my balls."

  "Nope. Someone's gotta." Ace sprawled back and picked up the plate of cookies. "You gonna eat these?"

  He shouldn't. He'd have to spend hours in the gym working them off, but they smelled—and looked—damn good. Nothing like the ones the bakery carts in the market burned to a crisp, but golden and still soft around the edges.

  He leaned forward and took one from the plate. Only a hint of warmth remained as he turned the cookie over in his hand. "Did I ever tell you my aunt used to bake?"

  "Did she?" Ace seemed to take it as permission and picked up two cookies. "Was that her job?"

  "Mmm. She worked for a baker who'd set up shop near the border between this sector and Three, back before the marketplace was established. She made bread—hand-shaped peasant loaves the baker charged way too much for." Jared broke off a bit of the cookie. "When she could, she'd sneak enough ingredients to whip up a pie or some brownies. She even made a cake once."

  "My mother never had money for sugar and all that crap. She blew it all on art supplies for me." Ace shoved half a cookie in his mouth and groaned. "Fuck yeah, this is the good shit. Not like that time Eladio tried to bake for us."

  "He was terrible at it." But he'd tried, and that effort had meant more to a young child than anyone would ever know. "Refined sugar, real butter—is there anything O'Kane can't get his hands on?"

  "You?" Ace joked.

  The truth would shock, even anger him, so Jared only smiled. "One thing in the world? Not a bad track record for your fearless leader."

  "Who knows? Maybe Lili and her cookies will get you yet."

  Jared groaned and dropped the cookie back on the plate before absently licking a smudge of chocolate from his thumb. "If the rest of Dallas's courting hasn't worked, what makes you think big eyes and desserts will?"

  "Hey, maybe they won't." Ace straightened and dragged his shirt back on. "You busy tonight? We could give Gia the cookies, if you don't want them. You know she can't resist sweet things."

  In more ways than one. Jared capped the bottle and rose. "Deal. We'll bring the liquor, too. Do some catching up."

  Him and Ace and Gia, just like old times. No matter how guilty Ace felt about moving on and leaving them behind, he never had, not in the ways that mattered. He was always there for them, the one constant in their lives.

  There was comfort in that, in having someone who'd seen you at your worst and still wanted the best for you. Lili didn't have that, but if she stuck with the O'Kanes, maybe someday she would.

  Chapter Five

  Lili's quarters were generous, to be sure, but she didn't have room for a piano.

  So she made room.

  Deciding what to sacrifice wasn't easy. The bed had to stay, obviously. So did the freestanding wardrobe that held her meager but growing collection of outfits appropriate for Sector Four.

  It came down to the vanity or the table. The place where she hid with her meals, reading and eating in solitude, or the place where she put on her makeup—her armor—and gathered the courage to face the world.

  Not really a choice at all, in the end. The table went, and the piano took its place, all but filling one cement wall. Noelle vanished while the men were moving it into place and reappeared as they were leaving, dragging a dusty but elegant stool that was almost the perfect height.

  "I was never any good at it," she confided as she filled Lili's tablet with sheet music she'd somehow hacked from the network inside Eden. "If you want hard copies of any of these, Ace has a chemical printer. Rachel can show you."

  And that was that, as far as the O'Kanes were concerned. If any of them found it odd that Jared had gifted her with something so extravagant, they gave no indication. And Lili couldn't tell if that was soothing or even more alarming.

  The rules of Sector Four were varied and incomprehensible. Maybe a gift like this had a meaning, one they all assumed she knew. Maybe accepting it had a meaning, too. She should have rejected the gift, should have insisted Lex put it someplace public, somewhere everyone could use it, so it wouldn't be her piano. Her bargain.

  She should have, but she hadn't. The piano had seduced her from the very first note.

  And playing it was heaven. She stayed up late, remembering how to move her fingers. Not gracefully, not at first. She hadn't played in the months she'd been in Sector Four, or for some time before that. Not after she'd gotten her hands on the newest drugs, the most exclusive ones that delivered the sweetest, numbest oblivion.

  Her husband had been pleased to have her so uncaringly obedient—but less pleased that the fog made it harder for her to find the right notes or care when she didn't. He'd stopped demanding that she play for his guests, and it hadn't felt like a loss. They'd tarnished something that had been hers.

  Now, one missed note at a time, she could take it back.

  By the second day, she'd almost forgotten the piano came with an unknown price. She bathed and dressed with every intention of venturing out of her room to find Rachel, but the keys beckoned and she gave in. Just one piece, but one turned into two, and one hour into four.

  She could feel the music again. The thrill of success when her fingers raced ahead of her mind, when she felt poised on the edge of a mistake because she was going so fast, but thinking didn't matter anymore. Just her instincts, her mem
ory. Her heart.

  She made it through a simple sonata without a single error, and was still basking in the satisfaction when a knock at the door dragged her back into her body, into her cement-walled room in Sector Four.

  Back into her trap.

  She knew before she opened the door. Somehow she knew, if only because instinct and experience had taught her that two days was as much respite as anyone could hope for, and already too generous for most. But even with all of that—

  God, he was perfect.

  She of all people knew what a lie perfection could be, but his didn't feel shallow the way hers always had. Jared was flawless, from his carefully disheveled hair and chiseled features straight down to his tailored clothes and polished shoes—though how anyone kept their shoes polished in Sector Four was a mystery.

  Or just plain magic, because he didn't seem entirely real. That had made him comforting, with drugs to soften the edges of her fear. Now, he made it hard to breathe.

  Then he smiled. "Miss Lili."

  "Mr.…" She tilted her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know your last name."

  He only nodded. "Everyone calls me Jared. May I?"

  She stepped back and pulled the door wider, forgetting until he'd crossed the threshold that she'd gotten rid of the chairs that went with the table. "I'm sorry, there's not really any place to sit."

  "I don't mind standing."

  Which meant she must, as well. She started to close the door, but thought better of it at the last moment. That could be another signal she didn't understand—or, worse, an invitation she couldn't afford to issue. Leaving the door ajar, she turned and summoned a smile. "I hope Ace conveyed my gratitude for the gift. It's a beautiful instrument."

  "Yeah." The corner of his mouth quirked as he leaned against the wall beside her vanity. "He brought me the cookies."

  Her cheeks heated. "It's hardly adequate repayment, I know—"

  "They were good. You're very talented."

  He was flattering her. Simply being polite, that was all. But even perfunctory compliments fed some sad, lonely place inside her she hadn't known was there until now. "Thank you."

  "It's true," he argued gently. "And I would know. My aunt was a baker by trade."

  "But they're still just cookies." She gestured to the piano and made herself say the words. "This is... It's too much."

  "Relax, Lili." His smile widened, and he rubbed his jaw with one graceful hand. "I didn't build it."

  No, he'd just spent a significant amount of money on it. Maybe he had so much that he wouldn't notice the loss, but people rarely acquired that much wealth by spending it on whimsical gifts for strangers.

  Why? It hovered on the tip of her tongue, but it wasn't the polite, civilized question, and he seemed like a polite, civilized man. More so standing in her bare concrete room surrounded by so much wildness.

  "Thank you, just the same," she said instead. "And if you ever need anything…"

  He nodded, then tilted his head as he studied her. "It's a whole different world, isn't it? Not just Sector Four, but here. On the compound."

  Laughter rose, and she couldn't hold it back this time. "It's a different universe."

  "Which begs the question, I suppose." He hesitated. "Do you want to be here?"

  Such an odd question. So few people had the luxury of caring about the answer. It was better not to ask it, not to even think it. "I'm grateful to be here."

  "Of course you are. But I didn't ask if you were grateful."

  Lili shrugged helplessly. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Eden might be more familiar, but—"

  "But it might not be as hospitable," he finished. "I understand." He drew his finger along the scarred wood edging her vanity mirror. Once upon a time, it had been a beautiful piece—rich wood, elegant design, solid construction. But it hadn't weathered quite as well as her piano, and the finish had worn away in places, leaving gouges in the once-smooth surface. "You want to ask me why, but don't feel it's appropriate, I gather?"

  It was perceptive enough an observation to make her shift uncomfortably. Being ignored by men who didn't care about her feelings had never been pleasant, but sometimes it made things less awkward. "It is an extravagant gift. I suppose I'm worried I can't repay your kindness."

  "Have you considered that no repayment is necessary?"

  He looked earnest. Handsome and godlike, and fully capable of benevolence toward mortals. She wanted to believe him. She imagined every woman wanted to believe him when he smiled at her.

  She was sheltered, not stupid. "No. I'm afraid not."

  It was his turn to laugh. "Probably the smartest thing, generally speaking."

  A tightness between her shoulder blades loosened, and she smiled—a real smile, for once. "It's not personal. I hope you understand. But I don't know the rules here. A gift like this in Sector Five would come with...specific obligations."

  "Mmm." He arched one eyebrow. "Tell me, Lili—do I strike you as someone who needs to buy women?"

  "Not particularly," she conceded. "But most men of my acquaintance found it easier, whether they needed to or not."

  "I'm not most men."

  No, he wasn't. "Then...why? Why give me a piano?"

  "Because the piano will mean more to you than the money did to me."

  An unfathomable answer, the latest in a long line of things that made no sense to her. Maybe she'd never understand the rules of this place enough to blend in, but she had to keep trying.

  Didn't she?

  "Kindness, Miss Lili," he murmured. "It can still be found in the world. If this gift can show you that, it'll be well worth it."

  Still. Her world had never held kindness. It was a fantasy, a dream, and the thought of it made her throat ache. She swallowed, trying to banish the threat of tears, but what had been a simple act of self-control with her heart insulated by the drugs seemed impossible now.

  She had to feel it all, too bright and too raw. The sadness and the gratitude and the unfamiliar bite of hope. It wouldn't just go away this time, and she didn't know how to hide it.

  Lili turned away from him and covered her awkwardness by touching the piano. "Do you play?"

  "I'm technically proficient," he admitted.

  "I don't know if I am." She brushed her fingertips over the keys, grounding herself in the familiar sensation. "But I love it. My mother taught me."

  "That sounds lovely. And far preferable to my proficiency. I never really cared to learn, but it's expected of me."

  "It is?" It was a curious enough statement that she glanced back at him. "Why?"

  He wasn't smiling now. "The ladies of Eden have cultured tastes. Or, at least, they like to imagine they do."

  Lili studied him again. His strong features, all hard lines that seemed more severe without a friendly expression to soften them. His perfect body and immaculate clothing, both as carefully maintained as hers had been. Not just carefully—purposefully.

  Maybe that was what drew her to him, more deeply than the proper suits and polished shoes. He felt familiar because he was as shined and buffed as she'd always been, a person made up of all the talents and interests other people desired.

  But it made sense for her. She'd been a wife, with all the attendant duties. Men rarely had to please anyone but themselves.

  Jared tilted his head again. "You don't know."

  Shame at her own ignorance was another feeling she was having to get used to. "Whatever it is, I'm afraid I don't."

  "I'm sorry, I assumed someone would have told you." He shrugged. "That's my job—pleasing the ladies of Eden. I'm a whore."

  "Oh," Lili said faintly, as if the words made any sense at all. Oh, the whores in Sector Five had hardly been restricted to women—even Lili knew that—but imagining that any of them were there to cater to a woman's pleasure…

  He slid his hands into his pockets. "I've shocked you."

  "No. I mean, yes—" Her cheeks weren't the only thing flushed now. Her whole body felt too war
m, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm…" Surprised that a woman would pay for that.

  Maybe she shouldn't be. She'd been watching the O'Kane women for weeks, her certainty in their deception slipping bit by bit. But there was wondering if they were truly enjoying themselves, and there was knowing. Knowing could change everything.

  "Horrified?" he supplied ruefully.

  "No," she said forcefully. And now she had to tell him the truth, as humiliating as it was. "I didn't know women...sought out that sort of companionship."

  "I see. Well, they do. Quite often, as a matter of fact."

  He said it as if it was an understood truth. Water was wet, the sky was blue, women often paid for sex. It was more than she could process all at once, more than she'd ever be able to process with him standing there, beautiful and tempting and representing a world of terrifying possibility.

  But she needed him to know she wasn't judging him. She didn't know why it felt so vital, except that it wouldn't be fair to repay kindness and honesty with disdain. "I'm shocked. I'm a little confused. But I promise I'm not horrified."

  There was that smile again—slow, easy. Knowing. "I've trespassed on your hospitality for too long. I should go."

  She didn't want him to leave, but she had no reason to ask him to stay. "I know you said no repayment is necessary, but maybe I could make you dinner—" No, now she sounded like she was propositioning him. "Ace could bring it to you."

  He arched one eyebrow. "As delicious as I'm sure it would be, I'd value your company more than the meal."

  If it had been any other man, she wouldn't have dared consider. But surely a man like Jared wouldn't need her for sex. Perhaps he wanted the same thing she had longed for—companionship without demands.

  Or maybe she was a foolish girl who wanted an excuse to believe he was safe.

  "I could bring you dinner myself," she found herself saying without really deciding to—which might be all the proof she needed that he wasn't safe at all. But the words were out and she couldn't take them back. She didn't want to.