by Kit Rocha
Because it wasn't enough, not for someone like Miller. He should have to confront death, stare it in the face and know it was coming for him. "Too many variables."
"Liar."
Bren's temples throbbed, and his hands clenched into fists. He relaxed them and shook his head. "You don't know Miller."
"I know men like him don't get less dangerous when you're face-to-face and they know you're there." Mad held his gaze. "It's okay to say it, Bren. It's okay to just fucking admit it. You want his blood on your hands."
"If you knew what he'd done--what he made the men and women under his command do--you'd want it too."
"That depends on the cost." Mad pushed away from the wall. "Anyone could see Six was worried about the people in her sector, and you and Dallas shredded her."
Guilt didn't sting--it burned through Bren, closing his throat. "Dallas was harsh, and Lex'll give him hell for it."
"Dallas made the wrong fucking call because you're lying to yourself. He really thinks the only way to get Miller is to wait." Mad stopped a few feet away, burning with unfamiliar intensity. "Have you ever been there, Donnelly? Have you ever been the one in chains? They're worse than helpless, less than human, and if you corner Miller because you're so hungry for blood you can't think straight, they're as good as dead."
"I want to kill him slow." Admitting it felt like admitting a lie, even though that wasn't what he'd done--was it? "I can do both, Mad. I'm good at this."
"It's revenge, man. I feel it, I know it. But you have to own it and know it's eating you up inside, or you'll make stupid decisions and maybe get more than yourself killed."
Revenge. It called to him. He'd waited for it, waited for years--all for Dallas, because risking the security of the O'Kanes wasn't worth nailing Miller to the wall. All the while, he'd comforted himself with the knowledge that, one day, he'd have his chance.
This was it. His moment.
"I can't," he muttered. "I've spent half a fucking decade, Mad. I've followed that bastard before, trailed him right through the sector streets--did you know that? Close enough to kill, but I held back, because the gang didn't need that trouble." The bag swayed behind him, bumped into his side, and Bren slammed one fist back into it and stepped forward. "The second he knows his deal went bad, he'll vanish."
"Why the fuck would he do that?"
Bren stumbled over the question. "If he gets word that I'm coming for him, I mean."
"And who's gonna tell him that?" Mad pressed. "Besides, before you said he'd set up a new operation, not disappear. Which is it?"
Both. Neither. Trapped by the scattered rationalizations, Bren scrubbed his hands over his face. "I need this, Mad. Me, all right? Is that what you want me to say?"
"Yes." Mad squeezed his shoulder. "Christ, man, do you think anyone here would judge you for that? Did you think Six would?"
"Judge me? No." He spun away. "But you sure the fuck expect me to set it aside."
Mad moved without warning, without sound, slamming into him so hard he put Bren face-first up into the wall. He twisted his arm behind him, holding him still with a lock far meaner than the one Bren had been teaching Six.
"How about you check that fucking attitude and consider the facts?" Mad ground out. "Everyone here wants Miller dead, for what he did to you and what he's doing now. Between all the brains in that room, we could have come up with a damn good plan to rescue those people and give you a chance to bathe in that motherfucker's blood. Your bloodthirsty little girlfriend would have probably been first in line to help. But you didn't give us a chance, and now your leader's making stupid, dangerous decisions because you lied to him."
Red. Rage throbbed through Bren, hazing his vision. He twisted, breaking the hold to catch Mad in an identical one, reversing their positions. "You don't know. You don't know shit."
Mad didn't struggle or fight back, but his words landed like blows. "I know you feel something for that woman that I've never fucking seen in you before. And I know you're going to lose her if you don't snap the hell out of it."
The words shredded Bren's justifications, all his safe reasons why this had to work. His plan was solid--take out Miller and free the captives--and the aftermath was equally simple. Once he'd managed to get it done, Six would understand. She'd forgive him, because what would be the point of staying angry after everything had turned out all right?
But Mad's words were so certain, so sure. What if he was right, and this was something she couldn't move past?
What if she didn't forgive him?
Reeling, he released his hold on Mad. "You believe that."
Mad turned, his expression serious. "Did you tell her any of this? That it was Miller doing the kidnapping, and how fucking much you needed this revenge?"
Bren couldn't even remember. It hadn't seemed as important as making sure he could deliver on all his promises, as an ironclad end result. "You've been there--in the chains. Would you forgive me for it?"
The other man paused. Groaned. "Jesus fucking Christ, Donnelly. Tell me she wasn't kidnapped by traffickers."
"I never said I wasn't an idiot," Bren growled. This was what he did--he tore down, ripped apart. Destroyed.
Only Six had ever expected anything different from him, and now he'd fucked that up, too.
Mad seized both of his shoulders. "All right, listen to me. That girl came in here fucked up and scared, and I get it. She triggered something in you, and you want to protect her. Am I right so far?"
Six was a lot of things, but not helpless, and the urge to protect her had melted into something else a long time ago. She didn't need a hero.
She needed someone to love her.
"I have to go," he blurted in a rush. "Tonight. Those people matter to her, and she matters to me."
Mad released him with a sigh. "Good. I was starting to think I'd have to lead you there by the damn hand."
"Close." Bren reached for his shirt and dragged it over his head. "You up for it?"
"Of course." Amusement sparked in Mad's eyes. "If you hadn't come around, I might have taken care of it myself."
Before he could answer, Rachel rushed through the open doorway leading toward the living quarters. "You're here," she said breathlessly. "Shit, you've got a problem."
Bren tensed. "What happened?"
"Six didn't show up for her shift, so I went looking for her." Rachel pressed a hand to her side and panted. "She's gone."
Mad sucked in a breath and let it out on a groan. "Oh, fucking hell."
Gone. The word tripped through Bren's mind, and every time he thought he had a handle on it, it threw him for another disbelieving loop. Gone meant danger, risk. Gone meant she'd set out for Three, determined to fix his fuckup.
Gone. A rumble drowned out the word, and it took Bren a moment to realize it had come from him, from someplace so deep in his chest it was a wonder Six had managed to touch it in the first place.
Fuck Miller. Fuck everything.
All he gave a damn about was Six.
Chapter Nineteen
Even crouched next to Scarlet on a litter-strewn roof, Six couldn't stop rubbing her thumb over the inside of her opposite wrist. It was like scratching an itch, touching that bare skin and aching at what she was about to give up.
No way would O'Kane give her cuffs now, no matter what Lex said. He may not have meant to shut her down in the bar, but this was something no leader would tolerate. She'd gone rogue, and Dallas wouldn't appreciate that it was Bren's words that had driven her here.
"I don't know, maybe it's unfair to be mad at him. If he'd tried to stop Trent, he would've ended up dead."
"If that were true, not a damn thing would ever change. It's something he tells himself to sleep at night, sweetness."
She wasn't putting the gang first, but at least she'd be able to sleep tonight.
"That's the place," Scarlet whispered. "You sure you want to do this?"
"No," she admitted just as softly, watching the warehouse. There was only one guard visi
ble now, his shaved, tattooed head making him easy to place. Zip had been one of Trent's low-rent thugs, one of a dozen who'd scattered when the O'Kanes started making their presence felt. "But I'm sure I have to do it."
"You really don't." Scarlet laid a hand on her arm. "Let us--me and Elvis and Riff."
Six shook her head. "If it's worth doing, I need to stand behind it. I'm done leaving you to fight this shit on your own."
Scarlet nodded and edged toward the rickety iron ladder on the opposite edge of the roof. Some of the bolts securing it to the brick façade had come loose, and Six braced herself for the precarious climb down.
Scarlet's boots hit the cracked concrete with a thump, and she pulled a pistol from her jacket. "Around the back," she whispered. "Then we wait."
As much as she preferred her fists, Six eased her own gun free and checked it, telling herself not to think about Bren's scarred hands as they slid over the pieces of his rifle, fitting them together with casual efficiency.
He'd never forgive her for this, either.
She'd figured her heart would be numb by now, but it still hurt so much she had to struggle to breathe as she followed Scarlet around the side of the building. From the crumbled wall at the back, they could hear every noise the guards made, from the murmur of conversation to the crunch of boots on gravel and broken glass.
Scarlet's brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. After a moment, she shrank closer to the wall and laid one finger over her mouth.
Someone had walked up to the blown-out window opening above them.
"I ain't doing it," the man rumbled. "You feel free, but don't expect some fucking bonus for it. Even if you managed to knock one of 'em up--"
Rough laughter spilled out, sadistic and vaguely familiar. "Who needs a bonus? A chance at some Eden pussy is all the reward I need."
Six frowned and mouthed Eden? to Scarlet, but the woman raised both eyebrows and shook her head.
"You forget who's lording it over Three now? Dallas O'Kane'll make you wish you'd kept your pants on."
A third man chimed in. "Yeah, if his bitch doesn't get to you first."
"I ain't afraid of a fucking woman," the familiar voice blustered, but the lie under the words pinged a memory, and a face to go with it--another of Trent's scummy thugs, Warner, a jackass who'd tried to climb on top of her one night by holding a knife to her throat.
He'd been real tough until she bit off part of his ear and shoved the knife into his leg. He'd cried as the other guys hauled her off him, and he hadn't been stupid enough to get within arm's reach of her again.
Killing him might restore her good mood.
"You do what you want," the third voice said. "I ain't taking any damn chances. I heard O'Kane's woman cut off a man's balls and made him eat them."
God, she was going to miss Lex.
A door clicked, rebounded against the wall. "Too much blood on the carpet," Elvis declared, his self-assurance strong enough to waft through the walls. "I'd watch my ass if I ever ran into her carrying a bunch of plastic drop cloths, though."
Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, and Six tightened her grip on her weapon. She could be through the window in a few seconds, if needed, but if Elvis pulled off the first part of their plan, she wouldn't need to. Bren's mentor might be some scary fucking enigma, but she knew the scum of Three. They were lazy, they were dumb...
And they were greedy.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Warner demanded, and Six had to resist the urge to peek over the sill.
"Heard you had something big over here. Wanted to see it for myself."
"What, and report it back to O'Kane? Everyone knows whose boots you're licking now."
Elvis snorted. "You can't win a game you refuse to play, Warner." A pause. "This one's cute. How much?"
A rattle of chains accompanied a terrified whimper, and Six steeled herself against memories and a renewed surge of horror. At least it strengthened her resolve. The captives inside that building were trapped, helpless, listening to cowards like Warner bicker over whether or not to rape them.
Two days was too fucking long to wait. Hell, an hour was too long. And if Elvis didn't hurry along with this plan...
Just offer them the fucking money so we can get on with killing them.
"This lot's not for sale," one of the unnamed men replied. "But if you want to take that one for a ride, be my guest. You could settle our debate. Would O'Kane cut your dick off for it?"
"Probably," Elvis said, and Six could easily picture his affable shrug. "If they're not for sale, what're they for?"
"Not for sale to you," Warner sneered. "This isn't sector trash. These're fresh from Eden, and the communes'll pay top--"
A crack cut him off, the unmistakable sound of an open palm against flesh. "Boss won't like you spilling your guts to an O'Kane lackey," a voice drawled, and Six absently identified Zip. Most of her mind was churning over the implication of Warner's words.
These weren't her people.
They were Bren's.
"Lackey," Elvis repeated. "I take offense to that, Zip. Especially when I come bearing a business proposition--and more cash than you assholes have ever seen in your miserable lives."
Six's whirling thoughts kept swinging around to the same possibility--if these people were coming out of Eden, Miller's part wasn't to drop off money and collect his cargo. He was the one doing the selling.
He could be in there right now, guarding his investment.
Scarlet had obviously come to the same conclusion. Her eyes went wide, and she mouthed a silent curse, but there was nothing they could do. Elvis was already in play, and there was no way to signal him to get the fuck out. They could abandon him, and even he might agree they owed him nothing more--
But he'd agreed to this. He'd risked O'Kane's ire and his own life to do the right thing, and maybe she wasn't the only one atoning for past sins.
Logic said the bastards from Three wouldn't have been bickering over raping their captives with their boss in the room, but Six had been in this warehouse before. There was an entire second floor, not to mention a back corner walled off from the rest, some sort of office with cheap metal furniture too ugly and rusted to steal. Too many places Miller could have settled.
And that wasn't even considering what kinds of city tech he might have brought with him. For all she knew, he had cameras on this damn alley, was watching them and laughing.
"Get the fuck out of here, Elvis, before I have to--"
"Now."
Not a subtle signal, but they hadn't expected to need one. Riff would be plowing through the door now, gun at the ready, expecting that Elvis had accounted for everyone. It was all happening too fast, seconds smashing into one another as the first gunshot sounded. Six only had time to exchange a brief glance with Scarlet, no words, but it didn't matter because she wouldn't have come this far if she wasn't willing to go all the way.
Scarlet planted a boot on the edge of the window and vaulted through, Six hard on her heels and laughing at the irony as fear sent her adrenaline through the roof. Bren's training had ensured she was more dangerous than ever. She should have been less scared, not more, but that was Bren's fault, too.
He'd made her want to live. It would suck to die now.
She made it through the window in time to see Riff drop one of the guards. Scarlet strode right into the chaos, ignoring the clatter of bullets and chains, firing high to avoid hitting the men and women cowering on the floor along the walls.
Warner caught sight of Six, and his eyes bulged. She lifted her pistol, but not fast enough. The coward lunged for the nearest woman, dragging her up by the throat to use as a human shield, and Six exhaled and snatched for the calm Bren had been slowly teaching her.
Control herself, control the situation.
Warner lifted his gun--pointed at her, not the woman--and that was his mistake. His grip on his hostage loosened, and the girl thrashed, kicking at his knee. He cursed and dropped her, and Six hi
t him with three shots to the chest.
"Look out!" Elvis slammed into her, knocking her sideways with a low grunt. They skidded across the floor, the rough concrete scraping the skin from her arm and ripping her shirt.
Ears still ringing, she tried to shove Elvis off her and swore when her fingers slipped on blood. He was bleeding from the bullet that had almost hit her, bleeding all over her as one of the guards lined up another shot. Trapped, she could only lift her arm and do her best to take aim.
Her first two bullets went wide, digging into the ceiling. The third struck the guard's shoulder just as one of Riff's caved in the side of the man's face.
A heartbeat later, an even louder shot rang out, crashing through one of the few remaining sections of low-hanging ceiling tile. A man stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand tangled in a female captive's hair. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Six pushed at Elvis's shoulder again, and he rolled off her with a hiss of pain. His blood was all over her, sticky on her skin and her torn shirt, but she ignored it just like she ignored his moan.
Instead, she focused on the man who had to be Miller.
She knew better than to think evil always came in an ugly package, but Miller wasn't handsome or hideous. He was...bland. A generic man whose face you'd forget the instant he was gone, his coloring not dark or pale, his hair not long or short, his clothing nice but not fancy.
But his eyes. Looking into them, Six knew he'd done things she couldn't imagine and hadn't merely slept fine afterward. He'd enjoyed every moment.
"A rescue mission?" His tone was just shy of polite, and he dragged the woman up to stand beside him. "None of you are from the city."
Six shifted to her knees. Slowly. "Guess we're equal opportunity heroes."
"Three of you. Four, if you count the one bleeding out on the floor." Miller stared her down, his gaze riveted to hers even as he thrust the barrel of his pistol into his hostage's mouth. "Not very heroic."
She could see the next few minutes playing out as if she'd already lived them. His finger squeezing the trigger, the horror as he blew off the back of the woman's head, the sick knowledge that her death would be on Six's hands.
