Johnny jerked awake, his heart in his throat and Cane's cigar burning holes in his back. A shadow moved over the top of him, and he reacted without thought, slamming his assailant onto the bed beneath him, and locking an arm around their throat as they cried out—

A woman.

The scent of her soap flooded through him.

Eden.

Mierda. A chill ran all the way through him as he let her go. "Angel?" he managed to croak, heart beating a million miles an hour.

She flopped onto her side, a slim hand curling around her throat.

He wanted to touch her. Wanted to hold her. But his hands were shaking so badly he could barely prop himself up on his knuckles, and he was terrified if he did touch her, he might forget where he was again.

"I'm okay," she panted, her eyes forming little black holes in the night as she looked up at him in a manner that seemed to see straight through him. "Are you all right?"

Johnny nodded. "Best not to touch me when I'm dreaming."

"That wasn't a dream," she said slowly, pushing her way upright. "That was a nightmare."

He had to get up. Had to start moving. There was a metallic taste in his mouth and a strange ringing in his ears. He forced himself to feel the carpet beneath his feet as he slid from the bed, to think of nothing beyond the sensation of it. Cracking the window open, he settled onto the seat nestled there, the cool breeze skittering over his face and washing away the sins of the past.

The wind traced cold fingers over his damp chest and hair. Sweat. It slicked down his spine and dampened the edge of his briefs.

"Want to talk about it?" Eden asked softly, watching him from the bed, her bent knees tenting the sheets.

No. His throat felt full of angry wasps. "I'm so sorry. I didn't— I thought you were someone else."

Eden watched him over the top of his knees, and he sensed the moment she opened her mouth to ask—and then didn't.

Because he was the one who'd slammed the doors shut in her face each and every time she brought it up.

He cleared his throat. "Want to join me?"

She kept her expression neutral as she slid from the bed, but there was a certain knowing sort of sympathy in her eyes he shied away from. He reached out a hand instead and dragged her into his lap. Eden's weight and warmth broke the chill, and he rested his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes for a brief second as he tried to compose himself.

"Bad dreams?"

Always.

Outside the city lights gleamed like a thousand stars. Not quite dawn, by the look of it. Johnny's arms tightened around her. "Yeah."

"Tell me about him," she whispered. "Not for my sake, Johnny, but for yours. You can't keep this all locked up inside you. It's not healthy."

He wanted to lock it all up forever and throw away the key, but clearly, his mind wasn't having any of that.

"I don't...."

She stroked his hand patiently.

"I can't...."

The memories stole his breath, and with them his thoughts. He wanted to try and explain somehow but didn't know where to start.

"When did you first meet him?"

There. There was a starting point. "When I was fourteen," he managed to say. "He was my mother's brother. I never knew about him. Never even heard his name, but she was always looking over her shoulder for something. And one day that something finally rode into our lives...."

It started to spill from him in a gush as if someone had opened the spillway on the dam outside Cortez City. Pouring through the sluice gates of his soul, as he tried not to let the memories drown him.

His father walking out to meet the stranger. His mother shoving him toward the trails behind his house.

"Whatever you see or hear, don't come back."

But he had, hadn't he?

That single pistol shot ricocheted through his memories again, and somewhere in the sagebrush, a young boy slammed to a halt, his heart leaping into his throat.

Don't look back.

But he looked.

And he saw his mother screaming and fighting as Cane hauled her toward the cabin with contemptuous ease.

Smelled the smoke spiraling into the air as Cane stood there with his cigar and watched flames lick up the side of the cabin.

Heard her screams. Heard her banging on the locked door.

And despite her words, her training, the never-ending litany of what he was supposed to do if someone ever came upon them, a young Johnny's feet turned back toward the cabin.

"You want to save her life, boy?" Cane had demanded, squatting in the dirt, as if to make himself appear unthreatening as Johnny approached, his gaze sidling toward his father's fallen shotgun.

Anything.

"Then hold out your arm. You make a single fucking noise and she burns."

The first hiss of the cigar on his skin.

The scream he somehow trapped within him.

It felt like hours.

Probably only lasted seconds.

He'd stared defiantly into Cane's eyes, letting his uncle see the hate, the rage, and the desire to kill him with his bare hands.

But Cane's eyes lit up in gloating ecstasy as if Johnny had done something that pleased him immensely. And he'd turned and shot the lock off the door to the cabin, before hauling him to his feet.

If you come with me, then she lives.

A thousand threats over the years.

If you run, I'll hunt her down and scalp her myself, and tell her why. I'll tell her you betrayed her.

If you scream, then I'll turn my horse around and track her down. You know I will.

A thousand trapped screams.

The burning stink of his skin.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"It amused him to try and break me," he whispered, staring sightlessly out over the city. "And he knew it would cut my mother up on the inside to know he had me. I can only guess from the scars on her skin that he did the same thing to her before she somehow escaped him. He used to ramble about it all the time. About her betrayal. About my father. They deserved to die. They'd stabbed him in the back by running off together, and punishing me was his favorite way to get back at them."

Eden shifted in his arms, trying to read his face. She looked sick. "I'm so sorry. I never knew."

"He'd break me down, fuse me with his scent, and then force me to do something," he admitted, in a rough voice. "Little things to start with. Things you can't refuse. 'Fetch me a cup'. You don't know what it's like to consider the danger of giving in. Is it worth fighting him? For a cup? You give in once, and it stops hurting. It's one step off a small cliff. Then the next request comes. And the next. Before you know it, you're conditioned to do what he wants you to do. It gets harder to refuse him and it hurts more when you do. The worst thing is, Eden, toward the end he didn't even need to burn me or torture me. If I fought his will, I'd feel the pain. It was like my own system was trained to give it the feedback he desired—"

Eden turned in his lap, somehow managing to straddle him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts in his face, but for the first time, he didn't feel a single lick of desire in him. "It's okay."

He ground his face against her shoulder and sucked in a huge breath of air. It was beyond hope to believe she'd touch him at this moment. Beyond anything he'd ever expected. He felt dirty all over, but Eden's hands stroked up his spine, her scent stealing through his chest like a blazing warmth whenever a surge of panic went through him. He'd have accused her of having some omega inside her if he didn't know better.

This was forgiveness.

This was compassion and empathy, and all the things he'd never dared believe he'd ever have.

This was everything he'd read in her letters and pretended not to dream about, not to give a shit about. Not to hunger for.

She damned near broke him harder than Cane had ever managed because Eden made him vulnerable in a way Cane couldn't.

He couldn't fight the way she made him feel.

Or how much he needed her to hold him.

"I should never have touched you that day we met," he whispered, knowing he'd never apologized enough. "I knew he'd be nearby. I knew he'd hurt you if he laid eyes on you. But I couldn't resist going with you." The words broke a part of him he hadn't known he was holding back. "It had been so long since someone had touched me. So long since someone had smiled at me. I needed it so badly, I couldn't help myself. You were an angel, and though I knew better, I couldn't walk away from you."

"Sshhh." She captured his face in her hands. "It's not your fault. Cane was a monster who destroyed both our lives. There's nothing you could have done to stop him. He tortured you until he managed to overpower your will. He tried to break you, but he didn't succeed. He couldn't destroy the core of who you were, no matter how hard he tried."

He kissed her palm.

"It's not your fault." Her voice gained strength. "None of it was ever your fault."

"I should have fought harder—"

"No." Eden glared at him, like some mighty avenging warrior. "I get it. I do." She gave a breathless laugh. "Of all people, I truly understand. But none of this was your fault."

"None of it was my fault," he rasped.

It might take him a decade of saying it to believe it, but this was a start.

The warm cup of her hand stroked down his cheek. "There's a courage and warmth inside you he couldn't destroy. Now I know you, I can see who you are inside, Johnny. I want... When we're finished here, I want you to come home with me. To Absolution. Haven. I don't know where. Just as long as you're with me."

She bowed her forehead against his, as his heart sped up. "You were right. There is an us. There's something there between us I want to explore. I don't know how this is going to work. It scares me. But I want to try—"

Johnny captured the words on her lips.

His hands slid up her sides, shirring the fabric of her tank, as he explored her mouth gently. Eden kissed him back, her hands locking around the back of his neck. He almost couldn't believe she was in his lap. Saying the things he'd wanted her to say. Agreeing to this crazy proposition that had somehow fallen from his lips—

"Bed," she rasped, drawing back from him with glazed eyes.

"Are you sure? What about your rules?"

"Fuck the rules," she said, and kissed him again.

Johnny lurched to his feet with her in his arms, staggering blindly toward the place he'd feared only minutes ago. He'd been trying to be good ever since that night in Shadow Rock. Having an audience wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, and Eden had been so exhausted last night she'd crashed and burned like the meteor that plunged the world into an impact winter nearly seventy years ago.

"Let me make love to you," she whispered, as he laid her reverently down upon the sheets as if she knew he'd already promised her his heart and soul that morning in Shadow Rock. As if she knew he'd made love to her when she'd been trying to keep this strictly physical between them.

"As you wish," he breathed, as she pressed him down onto the bed, and swung her leg over his thighs, straddling him.

Eden captured his mouth again and this time he felt the difference in the kiss, as their palms locked together, their fingers threading through each other.

And whatever tension had been lingering in his spine, vanished as she made him forget everything but this.

* * *

Dawn arrived, bringing with it a new sense of peace.

But not, unfortunately, a new body.

"This is where we're meeting your contact?" Eden asked, walking stiffly into the bar behind Arik. She felt like she was eighty.

He'd managed to set up a meeting with this Mayhew, whom he said was an information broker and hacker.

She couldn't come to terms with what that actually meant, though she supposed in a world where every piece of information was available on the Confederacy-controlled Fednet, it might be a lucrative proposition.

Johnny hovered on her heels, looking well out of his depth. She understood how he felt. Arik had led them through a maze of dark alleys and twisty streets. The section of town they were in wasn't like the structured and sterile streets she'd first seen.

Even Cortez City had a dark side, it seemed.

"He said nine o'clock, sharp." Arik scanned the darkened interior of the bar.

It wasn't what she'd expected to see. The walls were concrete—like the rest of the city—and cigarette smoke hazed the air. Despite the fact it was midmorning, there were over a dozen patrons in here. A table with painted numbers on it stood in the center of the room, and a man threw a pair of dice across it. Another pair of women lingered in a dark corner, their heads close together as they sipped from elegant glassware. Everywhere she looked, people held hushed conversations. This wasn't so much a bar as a place to meet.

"There he is." Arik nodded toward the corner.

A man stood by one of the tables, the faint flicker of a cigarette gleaming as he watched the game in front of him with rapt attention. He wore a black, nondescript tunic, similar to what Arik had dug up for Johnny and his brother, the material clinging to his chest. It seemed most of the people of the Confederacy wore the same sort of thing, as if being one of many was the fashion, and individuality could be dangerous.

She couldn't see the stranger's face. Somehow he'd positioned himself beneath a hanging light, and it was so bright it obliterated the details, merely forming a halo over his blond hair.

Derek Mayhew rolled a pair of dice over the back of his fingers. Sleek, she would have said. Dangerous. He examined them, pausing on her. "Arik." A faint smile toyed over his lips. "It's been a long time."

The pair of them clasped hands.

"Was hoping it would be longer," Arik admitted. "Didn't plan on ever coming back. Did you get the information I requested?"

"Please." Mayhew looked amused. "Now I'm insulted."

Arik swiftly introduced the pair of them. Lincoln remained outside, surreptitiously standing guard.

"What information?" she asked.

Mayhew gestured toward a steel door. "I have a rule, Miss McClain. Don't ever discuss your affairs in public. You never know who's listening in."

He snagged a glass and a bottle of brandy off the bar and led them to a small concrete room down a flight of stairs that looked suspiciously like a bunker. The second the door was shut, he gestured for her to sit at the small metal table in the center of the room. "The room's been swept."

She glanced at the floor.

"Of bugs, Miss McClain," Mayhew said sarcastically. "I mean we can speak freely without fear of someone listening in."

"Oh."

"Got what you need," Mayhew said, tugging a datapad from inside his tunic. His fingers darted over the keys. "Radisson-Meyers project. Bligh had it behind a firewall, but I got through an hour ago."

The screen flashed with information.

"Project: Chimera," he said, with a smug smile, reading through his notes. "A super plague."

"I don't understand," Eden said. "Why would you help us?"

Arik leaned back against his chair, looking stoically bored, even as his eyes scanned the room. "Derek owes me a favor. He was trying to find a way to get into Camp Ragnarök to steal some military secrets a few years ago, and I was looking to get out. I gave him what he wanted, and he gave me what I wanted. We can trust him. He doesn't like the Confederacy any more than we do."

"You are Confederacy," she pointed out.

Mayhew smiled as he uncapped the bottle of brandy and filled his glass. "Yes, I am. Needless to say I'm doing my damnedest to overthrow the current system. Arik tells me you have information that might assist in taking down some big shots." His smile became somewhat frightening. "I want that information. Tell me what's happening out there in the Wastelands. Tell me about your plague."

Political bullshit. She sighed, and told him what she knew.

"Now your turn," she replied. "What have you got on Project: Chimera? Particularly about its cure?"

"I did a little research today," Mayhew admitted, turning his brandy glass around in slow circles on the table. "Last year, Lieutenant Bligh swept General Radisson from power. There was a court martial, mention of illegal experiments, a lot of smoke and mirrors. But they managed to keep it all off the las-screens and out of public view. According to the official memo, General Radisson resigned thanks to a terminal diagnosis he'd just received.

"But… from the information I just found on Bligh's private server, Radisson’s scientists manufactured a disease by tweaking the genetic structure of several different bacteria. They call it the Chimera Plague."

She stared at him. "Why? Why would they do that?"

Mayhew's mouth thinned unpleasantly. "It's never been used, but it was developed to counter a threat from the Northern Hegemony states. They were hit harder than we were by the revenant plague, and resources in the north are grim, especially with their winters. We've clashed with them in the past over resources. A group of their agitators unleashed anthrax upon some of our military officials a decade ago in response to a trade deal that soured, and so we dedicated a great deal of resources to finding something that could return the favor, before the Hegemony sued for peace. The project was officially sidelined, but it turns out Radisson's cousin, Nigel Wentworth, was in charge of the laboratory and he didn't get that memo—"

"Nigel Wentworth?" she asked sharply. "Any relation of Miles Wentworth?"

Mayhew's eyes looked somewhat dreamy as he leaned forward. "They're brothers. Nigel's the eldest, the scion of the Wentworth family. His baby sister, Addison, is ranked highly in the military. Miles, as the middle child, has a lot of pressure on him to succeed. Nigel's a genius, and Addison's ruthless. Miles, unfortunately, hasn't managed to achieve very much, no matter what he's turned his hand to. His father managed to get him a starring role on the Confederacy's mining expansion project, and gave him one last chance to prove himself. You might have heard of it."

No wonder Miles had been so desperate to bring the settlements to the table.

"He needed the Copperplate deal," she whispered. And desperate men could do desperate things.

There was a horrible certainty swirling through her.

"Miles knew the plague was coming. He had a plague map of all the places hit. His team was vaccinated before they arrived to officially meet us. Until then he'd been sending couriers, and we spoke over the radio several times. His initial offer was rejected."

"I wonder," Mayhew teased her, "how our dear Miles predicted a plague?"

The breath went out of her. "He knew because he unleashed it. We'd denied his first offer, and were negotiating the second. He kept pushing us to make a decision, but Bart wanted more."

She had no proof, no evidence, but the dull pit in her gut told her the truth.

Who else had access to the plague?

Who else was desperate enough to risk it?

"And Miles had a deadline to keep," Mayhew said. "He needed the mine, signed, sealed, and delivered, and so he must have decided to get rid of the competition. Confederacy miners would be vaccinated. The plague would wipe out most of the settlements, so there'd be no need to strike a bargain. He could simply swoop in and take it, and there'd be nobody to protest. It's not as though the Confederacy has much contact with the Wastelands, so the chances of anyone discovering Wentworth deliberately slaughtered thousands was obscure. He could feed the committee whatever information he wanted."

Eden breathed into her cupped palms. "How could he do this?" Anger burned like a hot coal within her. "He knew he'd wipe out thousands of people."

"He's a Wentworth, Miss McClain." Mayhew gave a cynical smile. "They don't tend to think of the cost, as long as they gain." Eyeing her hotly, he pushed the brandy across the table toward her. "Here. Looks like you could use a mouthful. It's one of the finest brandys the Confederacy has to offer...."

Far too early to be drinking, but Eden set it to her lips and swallowed heartily. That bastard. No, that absolute, miserable wretch. If she got her hands on Miles Wentworth, he was going to regret it.

Fire burning down her throat, she pushed the brandy glass back, half full. Mayhew nodded to her, then lifted the glass as if in cheers. "He's a weasel, no doubt."

"And a cure?" Johnny asked, reaching out to stroke her neck. "What about a cure?"

"They have a hydrogel solution of nanoparticles that targets the actual bad bacterium and breaks down its cell walls within twenty-four hours, without attacking the healthy bacteria in the body. It's the only thing the bacteria aren't resistant to. It's also designed to recalibrate the electrolyte imbalance in a patient safely. One injection will deliver a sustained release of nanoparticles over the following three weeks to protect against resistance. You get the full course without forgetting to take it, with zero side effects."

"Where’s the cure now?"

"That's the problem," Mayhew replied bluntly. "As I said, Nigel was working the laboratory under orders from General Radisson. They were caught testing the disease on live specimens. Radisson went down for it behind closed doors, and his understudy, Lieutenant Bligh, stepped into his shoes. The Radisson-Meyers laboratories were closed on Bligh's orders, and the contents of the laboratory transferred to the military labs at Camp Ragnarök, where Bligh could keep a closer eye on it. Nigel Wentworth was transferred across to continue his project, despite the fact Bligh hates the Wentworths."

Her face drained of heat. "He didn't go down for his crimes?"

"He was under orders from Radisson," Mayhew replied. "He got a slap on the wrist, but the man truly is a genius, and he'd served Bligh's purpose; he helped put Bligh in command with everything he knew about the experiments. I believe his testimony destroyed Radisson's legal defense during his court martial. I'll bet every credit I own they cut a deal."

"Nigel sold Radisson out to save his own skin," Johnny murmured.

"Yes."

"So Bligh has the plague, the scientist who created it, and now, the cure." Mayhew tipped his brandy to his lips. "He's not as dangerous as Radisson—he can be reasoned with if you present him with an argument that appeals to him—and he despises the Wentworths, which is a point in his favor, but he's not in charge for no reason, Miss McClain. Bligh won't want this information to get out to the general public, not after the Radisson fiasco. So he's going to want to bury any leads on this plague."

"Plus we can't get anywhere near Camp Ragnarök," Arik growled. "There's an entire squadron of wargs there, and it's locked up tighter than your granny's drawers."

Eden felt like she couldn't quite catch a breath. "Then how do we...?"

Johnny squeezed the back of her neck. "We know where the cure is now, we just have to get to it. That's step one covered, angel."

"I highly recommend not breaking into a military camp," Mayhew said, sipping his brandy.

"You did it," Johnny replied, his voice roughening. "You got in, and Arik and Nnedi got out. How'd you do it?"

Mayhew bared his teeth. "With great difficulty. I had to hack the security system and take out the electrical grid—without dropping the electric fence around the warg barracks. I had a team of highly trained professionals to watch my back, and we set off a distraction further afield to take the focus off what we were doing."

Johnny pushed to his feet, leaning on the table. "Then do it again."

Mayhew merely smiled, crooking his little finger as he threw back the last inch of brandy in his glass. "Whyever would I do that? I wanted information about what Wentworth was up to. Now I have it, and I just have to find proof so I can bring Miles and Nigel Wentworth down. I feel for you, truly I do, but you're asking me to risk my life, and I can tell from the look of you that you don't own enough credit to tempt me. It's not personal, but I rather like breathing. I don't take risks unless there's a substantial gain on the table. I'm not a gambler, Mr. Colton. Unless I'm guaranteed to win."

He stood up, setting his glass down. "Good to see you again, Arik. Best of luck with your endeavor. I suggest you forget about your plague though. Stay here, far away from its clutches, as I plan to."