Beyond Forever

by Kit Rocha

  Instead of obeying her order, he issued one of his own. “Open my pants, Lex.”

  She made a soft noise of anticipation as she tugged the button free, then rubbed her cheek against his shoulder as she drew the zipper down.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, knowing it couldn’t be this easy but still seduced by the temptation of it. A strong hand. A firm voice. His fingers curling gently around her neck as his thumb cradled the front of her throat—a collar of flesh and blood. “Touch me.”

  She did, but only to teasingly run her fingers up and down the length of his cock. “Why did you mark me?”

  He tightened his grip on her throat, just enough to let her feel it. “Because you wanted me to.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself?” She wrapped her hand around him with the same sure pressure he would have used, just rough enough to have his hips arching off the door, thrusting into her grip.

  He gritted his teeth. “Do you tell yourself you didn’t?”

  “I want a lot of things from you, but these tattoos aren’t on the list.”

  “So tell me what you want, Lex.” He leaned in until their foreheads were touching. Their lips were brushing. Until he was breathing in her instead of air. “Tell me.”

  “I want you to understand what it’s like, being me. Needing this.” Her hand moved faster. She wasn’t stroking him so much as squeezing him rhythmically, a torturous, intoxicating sensation that had his blood pounding and his muscles tensing. “Even though I know the ugly truth.”

  It was a trap. He knew it was—but he had to know. “What’s that, darling?”

  Her teeth scored his chin. “You branded me, like a crate in the warehouse. Property of Dallas O’Kane.”

  His body tightened. It was the ugliest spin on the truth...but it was true. “I branded all of them.”

  “Liar.” Her mouth captured his.

  Her kiss was pure fire. It was lightning. It was gripping the live wire with both hands and holding on for dear life. Her tongue teased, soft and sweet, begging in the moments when her lips didn’t command and her teeth didn’t threaten. His head spun at the ferocity of it, and at the way her hand matched the rhythm of their kiss, driving him recklessly toward mindless pleasure.

  When she broke the kiss, she touched his face, trailing her fingers over his cheek. “You’re far from stupid, Declan. You’re brilliant, and you’re brutal. You bought yourself an Orchid, and all it cost you was a little ink.”

  His blood ran cold.

  The words cut deep.

  He snatched Lex’s wrist and squeezed until she released his cock. Then he hauled her hand away, unsure what would happen if she kept touching him but knowing they’d never come back from it. “Fuck you, Lex. I’m not one of those asshole patrons from Two. I didn’t buy you. And you’re not my goddamn whore.”

  “Oh, I think you’d be surprised how much you have in common with them.” Her bland expression belied the tension in her body as she jerked free of his grasp. “You see, in Two, whores aren’t just good at fucking. They’re useful. They can run estates and businesses, make their patrons rich. Any of that sound familiar?”

  His gut twisted sickly, and he shoved the feeling away. Hard. “I didn’t make you do any of that shit. I can’t make you do anything, woman. Stop blaming it all on me.”

  “Wake up, honey. I’m not your only whore.”

  She used the word like a knife, stabbing it deep into his most vulnerable places, and he knew she was just trying to hurt him. Lex didn’t have any problems with the men and women who traded sex for money, and neither did he. But to compare him to the sick shit that went down in Two, to twist everything he did into some monstrous fucking parody of reality...

  He shoved his dick back into his pants and buttoned them. Then he hauled the door open. “People work for me, and I take care of them. I pay them well and protect them. And that’s fine. That’s the job I signed up for. But I give a whole hell of a lot more than I get, honey. And if you can’t see that, you can get the fuck out.”

  “Men,” she corrected. “You give your men a whole hell of a lot more than you get. But you don’t even fucking see what the women do around here. If we all get the fuck out, you won’t last a single goddamn week.”

  Nothing he could say would hurt her as much as she’d hurt him. But one thing could.

  Fixing his most patronizing smile on his face, he laughed at her. “Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that.”

  The fire in her eyes turned to ice, and she smiled back. “Thank you,” she whispered sincerely. “I was on the verge of feeling sorry for what’s about to happen to you, but now? I cannot fucking wait.”

  She gathered her robe, draped it carefully over her arm, and winked at him as she walked out, leaving him with a hard dick, seething anger, and the dull certainty that she was going to make him pay for that laugh.

  He only hoped he could afford it.

  »»» § «««

  Lex kept telling herself she was organizing a protest, not a revolution. But it felt more like the latter as she stood in front of the girls and poured them all drinks—even Nessa.

  One more deep breath to steel herself. “Dallas is an asshole,” she announced finally. “And we’re going to have to go on strike.”

  “Did you talk to him?” Rachel asked dubiously.

  “Yes.” No. “I did, but it didn’t go well.”

  “How not well?” Nessa asked, sinking cross-legged to a couch. “Like, on a scale from the time you guys fought over the stage lighting to the time he caught you robbing him?”

  The vicious words and wounded expressions didn’t fit on any scale previously known to mankind, much less Dallas and Lex. “It was really, really bad. I may have told him that he treats us all like whores.”

  Amira flinched. Sandy, a no-nonsense brunette who’d been serving drinks since the doors opened, groaned.

  Sylvia, one of the dancers Ace had recruited from Gia, let out a laugh. “Well, I am a whore. And I mean...don’t get me wrong, Lex, I love dancing for you. But Gia has way better perks.”

  “Trust me, I meant it metaphorically.” Mostly. She was the only one with sex twisted all up in her relationship with Dallas. And this wasn’t about the two of them.

  Not entirely.

  Rachel propped her chin on both hands and bit her lip, like she was trying to hold back a laugh. “What I’m hearing is that you yelled at him.”

  Lex shrugged. “I had the best of intentions, but yes. He made me angry.” Angry enough to turn on the full extent of the seductive danger that growing up in Orchid House had imprinted on her very bones. But after hearing what Dallas had said to Flash, she couldn’t help it.

  They’ve got ink. Doesn’t mean they’re in the gang. Not really. It wasn’t just insensitive or uncaring. It was cruel, every bit as brutal as she’d accused him of being, and she couldn’t let it stand. Not for her benefit, but for the rest of them. Lex had always known that Dallas had marked her not as an equal, but as a possession. But that was her burden, her choice, and it didn’t mean he could treat the other women around his compound just as cavalierly.

  One of the newer waitresses, a soft-spoken blonde named Ellie, raised her hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what going on strike means.”

  Sandy rubbed her shoulder. “It means we don’t work until O’Kane wises up.”

  Ellie’s eyes widened in alarm. “I—I can’t do that. I need the money.”

  Lex caught Nessa’s eye. At her nod, she spoke above the murmur of the crowd. “Everyone’s getting paid. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Lex and I will cover your salaries,” Nessa said, leaning forward to grab Ellie’s hand. “I promise. As long as it lasts, we’ll take care of you. All of you. All you gotta do is hold firm with the rest of us.”

  “No offense, Nessa, but that’s easy for you to say.” Ellie shook her head. “You’re not replaceable. Neither is Lex. But what if Dallas just fires the rest of us?”

  He’d
have more trouble than a walkout on his hands then. Lex braced both hands on the bar. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And the rest of you?”

  “Yes, of course.” Sylvia leaned back and crossed her legs, her eyes shadowed by too much knowledge. “But that’s easy for me to say. Even if Dallas and the other men withdraw their protection, I have Gia. Not everyone else can say the same.”

  “Hey, no,” Nessa said firmly. “Don’t sell them short. Dallas can be a total dickhead, and so can most of the guys sometimes. But c’mon. You know Jas. You know Flash and Zan. They’re not gonna suddenly turn into monsters who let bad things happen to you.”

  “Nessa...”

  She held up both hands. “Just talk about it for a little bit, okay? Think it over. Lex and I will be over there.”

  Nessa hopped off the couch and retreated to the corner, hoisting herself up onto the table as Lex joined her. “I’m not wrong, am I?” she asked in a low voice. “Jas is a goddamn bleeding heart. He’s still gonna look out for them, right?”

  “You’re not wrong.” Flash was already up in arms, angry about the way Dallas had treated Amira. Whether the other guys agreed with him or not, none of them would cross the line of abandoning people who needed protection, not without a direct order. And if Dallas gave them such a ruthless order, he’d lose them—and their loyalty.

  It was a dangerous ploy, one Lex would never consider unless she was absolutely certain it would work out in the end. But they had the money to cover the girls’ wages for a while, courtesy of the expensive, meaningless gifts Dallas had given her over the years. Most of them were stuffed in her closet, but she could fence them easily if she needed to. It wasn’t like she’d be too busy with other work.

  And God help Dallas if he thought about firing everyone and starting fresh.

  “He called us useful, Nessa,” she muttered. “You know what else is useful?”

  “Toilet paper, that’s what.” She made an incoherent noise of frustration—an indication of just how dire their circumstances were, because Nessa never ran out of words. “He means well, Lex. He always means well. Anyway, the rest of you don’t need to worry. You’ll freak him out for a couple days while I process what’s in the stills. But after that...he won’t have time to think about firing waitresses.”

  No. He really, really wouldn’t.

  »»» § «««

  Dallas was a man bleeding from a hundred tiny cuts.

  “Hey!” His progress to the bar was halted for a third time when an old-timer grabbed him by the sleeve. Max was at least eighty, grizzled, missing an eye and two fingers, courtesy of wounds suffered in a war no one else remembered. He eased his old bones into a chair every morning and drank with a slowly dwindling number of friends, trading stories about a world only they had ever known.

  And right now he looked pissed as he shoved a glass into Dallas’s hand. “This is the third time that pretty boy at the bar has brought me the wrong fucking order. When’s Amira coming back? She always brings what we want without even asking.”

  Make that a hundred and one cuts.

  “I’ll fix it,” Dallas grumbled, taking the glass and switching directions. He reached the bar and slapped the glass down. “C’mon, Ace. You gotta take care of the old-timers. They fucking live here.”

  “I’m trying,” Ace snapped, lifting the drink to sniff it. “But you know, there’s like four tables of them and Flash can’t remember who’s who and he can’t make it across the floor without someone trying to order something else from him. He keeps getting confused.”

  “And Bren just punched someone.” Jasper dropped a tray on the bar. “The guy in the corner says he’ll have ‘the usual’ but I don’t know who the fuck he is. Do you?”

  Ace squinted at the corner. “Uhhh...one of the crafters?”

  “No, he’s a fighter,” Mad corrected, slapping his tray down on the bar hard enough to crack it. He frowned at the split pieces and then pinned Dallas with an unamused look. “I hope you’re enjoying this.”

  “Mad—”

  “I’m just saying, Dallas. I hope whatever you said to Lex was worth this, because you know, apologies are awesome. A gracious leader—”

  He held up a hand before Mad could impart some wisdom from his lofty cousin, who probably didn’t have to worry about all the women in his life going on fucking strike because people didn’t do this shit to God’s appointed chosen one. “Are you telling me you sorry lot are too incompetent to sell some fucking drinks?”

  “We can sell drinks,” Jas protested. “We just can’t do what Amira does. Or what Lex does, for that matter. The guy Bren smacked? Was pissed because there’s no naked tits for him to look at tonight.”

  That was fully half of his cuts, right there. Dallas had tried to reason with the dancers. He’d tried to growl at them. One had burst into tears that felt like naked, unfair accusation, because when had he ever given any of the little nitwits a reason to be afraid of him? But in spite of her clear terror, she’d held firm in her refusal to work.

  He’d even tried going to Gia to ask for a few new dancers to hold off the wave of customer complaints until he made peace with Lex.

  Gia had smiled, offered him a glass of wine, and pleasantly invited him to go fuck himself. Oh, she hadn’t said the words—the bitch was too clever to say the words—but even his most intimidating snarl had never done more than amuse her.

  Kind of like Lex, except Gia didn’t even have the decency to want to fuck him.

  Lex had proven her damn point. She’d proved it in spectacular fashion. As a collective group, all the women who worked in and around the O’Kane compound had simply...not shown up for work.

  And life for the O’Kanes had fallen the fuck apart.

  Suddenly there was no food in the kitchen. No leftovers stocking the fridge. No one swept up the bar at night, and after only two days, Dallas’s boots were sticking to the floor in ways he didn’t want to consider.

  No one had shown up for the dirty laundry. No one had shown up with clean laundry. No one counted the stock at night, or refilled the bottles in the morning. No one tidied up the lounges. No one brought lunch to Dallas’s office. Or dinner. No one restocked the ice machine.

  No one took down the chairs before opening.

  No one showed up to the after-party looking for a hot, sweaty night of sex. That detail was probably why Ace was glaring at him as he filled another order. He was currently in the midst of two cheerfully debauched relationships with two different dancers, but Ace’s nights of kinky fun had turned into nights contemplating his own hand. Especially since Mad was too cranky to throw him a fuck just to blow off steam.

  In less than forty-eight hours, Lex had yanked the foundation out from under Dallas’s feet, and the only thing he liked less than the idea of facing her with that knowledge burning in his gut was not knowing which invisible comfort was going to vanish next.

  Zan blew that right out of the water with one sentence. “You have a problem.”

  Dallas turned his back on Ace’s muttered bitching to face Zan. “What now?”

  “The stills aren’t running.”

  Oh shit.

  »»» § «««

  Lex leaned back and admired her work. “I think I like the purple better.”

  “I got this mica from Tatiana—you know, Matthew Stone’s kid? She has a cart now, selling soap and shit.” Nessa peered at her toes and wiggled them with a grin. “She promised to make me some tinted conditioner, too, so the dye won’t wash out of my hair as fast.”

  “No kidding? Give me your other foot.”

  Nessa extended her foot. “So, how long do you think—?”

  “Nessa!”

  “Not long at all, I’d say.” Lex spun her chair to face the door—and Dallas’s wrath.

  Though when he filled the door to Nessa’s office, his eyes sparking, his expression holding all the gentleness of a hurricane, wrath didn’t even seem like a strong eno
ugh word to cover it.

  His gaze stuck on Lex for one furious second before sliding to Nessa. “Do you think this is a game, girl?”

  Nessa bounced to her feet and swept up her shoes, seemingly oblivious to the dangerous fury vibrating through Dallas. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know. When the fuck have I had time for games, Dallas? It’s not like I’ve ever been a kid.”

  Because Lex was watching him, she saw his flinch. A tiny, telling gesture.

  Not backing down, Nessa parked herself directly in front of Dallas. “Lex, I’m gonna go pick up something to eat. You want anything?”

  Pretty soon, literal steam would be shooting out of Dallas’s ears. Lex hid a smile. “That depends. What’s on the menu today?”

  “I was thinking of trying that new taco cart. I heard the owner’s got real black market chicken.”

  “Then I’m in. Hell, bring me two.”

  Nessa stared patiently at Dallas. After a tense, miserable ten seconds, he stepped aside to let her pass. Then he crossed the threshold of her office and closed the door, trapping Lex inside with him.

  This was inevitable. The only question was whether he had come to double down or admit defeat.

  “Nessa’s a bridge too far, Lex,” he said finally, his voice tightly restrained, his rage still held in the vicious grip of his self-control. “Whatever you told her, she has got to start production again.”

  It was so easy for him to see her as some Machiavellian puppet master, just yanking on everyone’s strings. Lex wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he considered her capable of such feats, or insulted that he thought she’d stoop so low. “This isn’t my doing, Dallas. It’s yours.”

  “Bullshit. Nessa wouldn’t just do this. She wouldn’t—” He exhaled and dragged his fingers through his hair, curling both hands into fists as he made a frustrated noise. “You were right, okay? I get it. We all get it.”

  “Thank you, but it’s not what I meant.” She rose and crossed her arms over her chest. “I convinced the wait staff and the kitchen workers and everyone else to walk out for a few days. But I didn’t talk Nessa into anything. You may have hurt me a little, but you hurt her a lot worse.”