Beyond Innocence

by Kit Rocha

  "I have a kitchen. And I'd love to see you in your element, Miss Lili."

  The way he said her name made her shiver. "I'll have to check with Lex. She might not want me to leave the compound."

  "Here, then."

  "All right. How soon?"

  "Friday night?"

  Two days. Two days to second-guess her decision while anticipation made her skin too tight. Whatever Jared could be called, it certainly wasn't safe. But maybe he didn't have to be a threat to her.

  She smiled and told him the truth. "I can't wait."

  Ace

  Ace had always had trouble warming up to prissy rich girls.

  It was easier to admit it now, with his name etched across the two people he loved most. Self-reflection wasn't as painful these days, though Ace didn't need to reflect hard to come up with a reason for his distrust. Rich, prissy women had tried to buy pieces of his soul for too many years not to leave a mark.

  He'd gotten over it with Noelle, but she'd been easy. Just a wobbly-legged bundle of earnest horniness and sweet affection, and it was hard to stay irritated at someone who got off so damn hard on being scandalized. But Lili…

  Lili wasn't eager. She wasn't horny. She was chilly, brittle repression wrapped around enough pain and trauma to be explosive. She was going to go off in someone's face without careful handling—and not in a sexy way, either.

  And Rachel had adopted her as a pet.

  Ace trailed behind them in the marketplace, his arm going numb from the weight of the purchases they'd already made. But Lili was taking her sweet time over the produce carts, examining vegetables like the fate of entire sectors depended on picking exactly the right fucking tomato.

  Rachel slid one arm around his waist. "You're scowling."

  Not anymore, he wasn't. He never was, once she touched him. "That wasn't scowling. That was seething with intensity. It's an artist thing."

  "Mm-hmm." She steered him around the side of a stall, until they were half-hidden by hanging sacks of potatoes and braids of onions. "What's wrong?"

  "It's nothing," he promised her, smoothing his fingertip over her collarbone. His name was there, in swooping, beautiful permanence, and it still didn't feel real sometimes. "Just...wondering what the hell is going on in Jared's head."

  "Baffled or worried?"

  "Do I have to pick one?"

  "No." Rachel stared up at him, her eyes bright and smiling. "Maybe he thinks she could use another friend."

  It was sweet, and no doubt exactly the reason she'd swooped in to tuck Lili under her wing. "Impossible. She's got you now."

  Her only reaction was a pretty blush as she continued. "And maybe he wants to be more than her friend. Is that so terrible?"

  Ace leaned past the sacks of potatoes to make sure Lili hadn't wandered off and found her peering at a row of herbs he couldn't have identified if his life hung in the balance. Her expression was so serious, as if, to her, it really was life or death.

  "Not terrible," he murmured, looking back to Rachel. "Unless she doesn't want it. Men have delicate hearts, angel."

  "Worried, then." She stroked her fingers through his hair, drawing her nails down his scalp to the base of his neck. "It can be worth the risk, can't it?"

  Pleasure shivered down his spine, even at that simple touch. If they'd been alone, he'd be finding a secure alcove already, someplace to push her against a wall while he teased her with the threat of discovery.

  He'd have to do it later. With Cruz's help.

  She laughed softly. "I'll take that filthy look as a yes."

  He had to scramble to remember her question. "Some risks are bigger than others. And Jared's never been big on the emotional ones. I don't want your little friend to end up hurting either, sweetheart. Lord knows the last few months have knocked her around pretty hard."

  "Do you want me to talk to her?"

  If Jared was working a slow, delicate seduction, barreling into the middle of it would go about as well as bothering Bren when he was elbow-deep in a bomb. Or maybe that was exactly what needed to happen. "I don't know. I don't know her as well as you do."

  Rachel kissed him, just a quick brush of her mouth at the corner of his. "Do you trust me?"

  "Always, angel."

  "Then let it be. See what shakes out." She gazed up at him like he was the king of the world, and she was so damn adorable his chest ached with it. "You might be surprised."

  "Oh, I'm sure I will be." He snuck his free arm around her waist and tugged her tight against his body. "She's lucky she has you. Don't make me too jealous."

  "Of what?"

  "Of having you." He brushed his lips over her ear and summoned his lowest, darkest whisper. The one he used for filthy promises of pain and ecstasy. "I know you have a big heart. But it's still ours."

  Rachel shivered. "In my heart and on my skin. No one else, Ace, ever. Just you and Cruz."

  "Damn straight." He kissed her again and reluctantly released her. "Let's go round up your little lost lamb, angel. Before any big bad wolves get ideas."

  "Uh-huh." She took two of the bags from him and slung them over her shoulder. "You know she's likelier to be scared of you, right?"

  "Me? I'm a tamed man."

  "Doesn't matter." She turned to face him, her expression serious and her voice low. "She's from Five. She's spent her adult life—plus some—drugged and numb. I don't think anything can scare her the way feeling can."

  Ace glanced over Rachel's shoulder again. Lili was tracing her fingertip over the curve of an apple now, tentative in that same brittle way she seemed to be about everything. But he had seen her the first night she'd dropped on their doorstep, doped so heavily her eyes were beyond blank.

  The dead eyes were gone, but Rachel was right—it wasn't just repression that had taken over. It was restraint, a desperate grasp at controlling herself in a world where everything felt bright and intense after a lifetime of shadows and numbness.

  Ace knew how that felt. "All right, I hear you, Rae."

  "Do you?" She framed his face with her hands, smoothed her thumbs over his cheeks and jaw. "You make people feel—happiness, excitement, laughter. Love." A smile curved her lips, and she winked at him. "Must be an artist thing."

  The warmth and affection in her eyes heated him more than her touch—and that was heating him up plenty all on its own. "Must be. I'll try to tone it down for her. Be really boring. Practice my Bren impression."

  "Good luck with that, baby."

  Ace suspected her of more than a little bias, but he took her to heart nonetheless. He'd tone down his scowls and his smiles and cut the girl a break. If Rachel saw someone worth caring for buried beneath all that armor, she was probably right.

  He had to believe that now, because she'd been one of the first to see it in him.

  Chapter Six

  The stylus slid silently over the tablet's smooth surface as Jared scrawled his signature, filling the final empty box of the contract. "There, it's done." For better or worse, he was now the owner of record of a grungy, unnamed—and illegal—underground club in Eden.

  "You sure this is what you want?" Dylan Jordan was uncharacteristically sober as he accepted the tablet. "It's not exactly an easy retirement by anyone's definition."

  "I'm not cut out for easy." He'd tried it. For the last five years, his life had been easy, with all the wealth and security he could ever want falling into his lap. Hell, he'd had the satisfaction of seeing his best friends well settled.

  And none of it made him happy. He wasn't even content. He was drifting, as lost as all the rest of the people Dallas O'Kane liked to snatch up.

  "Well," Dylan said slowly, "there's easy, and then there's quitting your job to become a fucking sp—"

  Jared shot out of his chair and clamped his hand over the man's mouth. "Don't say it, Dylan. Not even here."

  He stared back at him, his eyes glinting, until Jared moved his hand. "Come on, lover boy. Don't tell me you haven't swept this place recently.
No one's listening."

  "That's not the point." Not entirely. He couldn't let that word get into his head—spy—or it would move the fuck in and live there. It would color everything he did, everything he said, and someone would figure it out.

  Dylan caught his wrist, held it. "So what is the point? You want to pretend that's not what's going on here? That it's not what O'Kane asked you to do?"

  Such a fine line, and so hard to explain to someone who didn't have to live it. But Jared took a deep breath and tried. "The best acting happens when you're not acting. You have to believe what's happening, feel it—even if it's just for a little while. So I'm going to run a club, the best damn club I can, and whatever comes of that is—"

  "A happy accident?" Dylan sighed, twined his fingers with Jared's, and pulled him closer. "I understand perfectly. This isn't retirement at all, just a change of venue and clientele."

  Maybe it was true, and he'd still be whoring himself, just in a different capacity. But they'd all reached a point where information was more precious than money, and Jared could trade in drinks and easy smiles just as effectively as he had in sweaty nights of earth-shattering pleasure. "It's worth it."

  His fingers tightened. "It's dangerous."

  "So is everything else in the sectors, Dylan."

  "No." The hoarse word seemed torn from his throat, reflected in the darkness haunting his eyes. "Don't laugh it off, Jared. You think Dallas has anything on those motherfuckers in Eden? Sure, you cross him and he'll take an acetylene torch to your face, but that's clean. Physical. If you wind up in a little room in Eden where there are no windows and no cameras, you'll wish all they'd done was set you on fire."

  The words were enough to elicit a shudder, but it was the hopeless, helpless tone of his voice that made Jared's blood run cold. The man they all called Doc had always had demons, as long as he'd known him, but this was unimaginable. Unthinkable. "Dylan…"

  He broke away and took a step back. One hand closed into a fist, and the other lifted the tablet. "If you're absolutely sure," he said, his voice clear and steady, "then I'll have this delivered immediately. But be sure, Jared. There are other ways."

  He thought of Dallas and Lex, who were trying so hard to keep everything together. Of Ace and Rachel and Cruz, who'd just stumbled into each other's arms—and deserved a lifetime or more to explore what that meant. He thought of the craftsmen and the people who relied on protection from the O'Kanes.

  And he thought of Lili—of her shuttered blue eyes, and the millions of unspoken questions tumbling end over end behind them. She was just waking up, and if he could have a hand in making sure that the world she woke up to was a good one, a decent place where things made sense…

  He had to.

  "We've been on the fringes for too long," he whispered. "Safely on the outside. Pretty soon, that won't be an option. Do-or-die time, Dylan."

  But the moment was over. "Indeed," Dylan said blandly as he bowed his head and took another step back. "Watch yourself out there."

  The door clicked shut behind him, jarring Jared into motion. He finished his drink, grabbed his jacket, and headed out into the waning light. The sector was quiet, with the only real activity still bustling in the marketplace.

  He skirted the square, sticking to the darker streets as he made his way toward the O'Kane compound. He rarely walked through the sectors anymore, let alone after dark, but he could remember when shots and screams had split the silence on a regular basis. When you didn't dare venture out without the comforting weight of a gun in your pocket, or three friends watching your back.

  Dallas had changed that. Not overnight, and not completely, but the difference was stark—and a good reminder.

  Dallas O'Kane might be a dictator, but at least he was a benevolent one.

  The back gate was locked, so Jared rounded the block, to the main entrance of the Broken Circle. Six was working the door, decked out in leather and glinting knives that made a statement to those who hadn't seen her take a man apart in the cage.

  Her expression had been fixed in a scowl, but it vanished when she saw him. "Hey, Jared."

  "Good evening." From this spot, he could barely see the stage, just a glimmer of flesh now and then through the crowd. "Who's up tonight?"

  "One of the new girls. But Jeni's about to go on." Six grinned. "Zan better get his ass down here before she does. Last week, she damn near started a riot."

  "I believe it." Everything about seduction that he and Gia had been taught seemed to come naturally to Jeni, and she could do it all without saying a single word. "Say hello to her for me?"

  "You got it."

  He bypassed the bar and the crowded tables. The side door beckoned, and he made his way down the steep stairs and into the industrial-sized basement kitchen.

  Lili was already there, chopping carrots at the kitchen island as chicken sizzled in a skillet next to her. She was wearing a little black dress with a pink and black apron, and he couldn't see behind the island, but she was probably wearing high heels, too. The perfect picture of domesticity, like some pre-Flare television show about perfection in the suburbs.

  Even her hair was up. Jared watched as she tucked an errant lock behind her ear, and suddenly wished that the image she presented wasn't so perfect. On her, it looked like shackles, chains. Being forced into a box that didn't quite fit.

  He cleared his throat.

  She looked up, surprise widening her eyes for a moment. "Jared. I'm sorry, I'm running behind."

  "No, you're not. I'm early. I hope that's okay."

  "As long as you don't mind watching me cook." She nodded to the stools on the other side of the island. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Please." He unbuttoned his jacket and eased onto the stool. She was in her element, perhaps, playing the hostess, but she was still nervous. On edge.

  She poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass for him, but nothing for herself. Her hand trembled a little as she slid the drink across the steel surface. "I should have asked what you like to eat," she apologized. "Ace said you get enough fancy meals in Eden, so I picked something I used to make for my brothers and sisters. But it's not very sophisticated."

  "Whatever you chose is fine." He reached for the glass before she could draw her hand away. His fingers brushed hers, and a sliver of heat kindled low in his gut.

  Her breathing hitched. Her gaze dropped to the glass—to their fingers—and her cheeks flushed lightly as she gently drew her hand away. "Chicken pot pie," she said, turning to the skillet. "Well, sort of. The children didn't like the pie part, but they loved biscuits."

  She said it almost conversationally, but pain lurked beneath the words. "I was sorry to hear about them. And your mother."

  "Thank you." Her attention stayed focused on the skillet as she added more ingredients—flour and then broth, her movements so practiced as she whisked them together that it seemed like comfortable habit. "It's odd. It hurts to know they're gone, but I lost them the day I got married."

  Losing contact was one thing. Knowing they'd been murdered was another. "Grief is an odd thing. It doesn't much care sometimes how many years have passed."

  "I suppose that's true." She glanced at him, curious but undemanding. "My mother always told me I was fortunate. That people in other sectors often didn't have families to lose."

  Surprising, the pain that lanced through him. "Everyone has a family. How long they get to keep it is the variable."

  "I'm sorry," she said softly. "That wasn't very graceful of me."

  "You don't have to be perfect all the time." He sipped his whiskey and tried to reduce the flood of memories to mere words. "My mother died a few days after I was born. Childbed fever. My aunt raised me on her own. Then she died, too."

  "Your aunt was the baker?"

  "Yes. A gang hit the shop where she worked for a shakedown. The owner hadn't been paying the extra protection money, so they planned to smash it up. But he'd left her in charge that day,
so she tried to stop them."

  Lili reached for his hand this time, resting her fingers lightly on his. "That's terrible."

  "It's—" It's life. "It was a long time ago. And that's when I met Eladio—and Ace and Gia. They were my family, too."

  "I don't think I've met Gia."

  She wouldn't appreciate his smile, so he hid it behind his glass. "No, I can't imagine you have."

  Lili drew her hand away and returned to her cooking. "I take it she's not an O'Kane, either?"

  "No. She runs the most profitable brothel in the sector."

  If it shocked her, she hid it better this time. "An independent woman, then. I'd never met one before coming here."

  "Plenty of them in Four. We all prefer it that way." Maybe she was getting used to how O'Kane ran things, after all. "What about you?"

  "Do I prefer independent women?" She smiled a little. "I could, though I'm not sure I have the skills necessary to be one."

  "Why not?"

  She waved a hand at the stovetop. "This is what I do—all I can do. Cook dinner, play the piano passably well, and make conversation with people I cordially loathe."

  "Ouch." Jared feigned an exaggerated wince. "Really, now?"

  Lili wrinkled her nose. "This isn't making conversation. That's polite and bland and empty. We're talking, which is why I'm not very good at it."

  He didn't hide his smile this time. "It's nice to know I merit the distinction. Friends always should."

  "Friends," she echoed, returning his smile shyly. "Another thing I didn't know existed before coming here."

  She'd always possessed a chilly, aloof sort of beauty, the kind they prized highly within the city. But here, warmer, softer, her apron smudged with flour and her hair falling from its chignon—

  She was gorgeous.

  "A toast, then." He lifted his glass. "To friends."

  After a heartbeat of hesitation, she wiped her hands on her apron and poured a second drink. She held her own glass to his and inclined her head. "To friends."

  She had to be nervous. She had to wonder what it all meant—the gift of the piano, his attention, his offer of friendship. Things in the sectors were never free, and rarely worth the price you had to pay.