Queen

Dallas had found that the roof of the Broken Circle was a convenient spot from which to survey his growing empire.

Hard to remember, now, that the warehouse across from him had been the whole of their world for so long. Now those doors were flung open into the crisp evening air, an invitation to the spectators who’d arrived early to get the good seats.

Fight night was a roaring success. He’d been dubious, after they moved production to the newer, bigger warehouse on the far end of the block that was coming to be known as the O’Kane compound. Some small part of him had wanted to cling to the old stills—as a memory, as a legacy, or just as insurance. It was still hard for him to let go of potentially useful resources, even after two years of ruling the sector.

Lex had talked him around. They’d fallen into an oddly comfortable rhythm after she’d taken her ink. Friendship, maybe. Less than what he could have had, but probably still more than he deserved.

At least she was still here. And every goddamn thing Lex touched turned to gold. People flocked from the surrounding sectors to participate in the fights they hosted in the warehouse, and most nights it was a toss-up on how the O’Kanes pulled down more credits—the booze or the betting.

In addition to the new warehouse and the increasingly luxurious living quarters, they had a building for product storage, a wood shop, a garage full of cars in various states of repair, and three huge buildings they’d joined together into a jumble of storage space so he could hoard resources and supplies to his heart’s content without anyone getting grumpy because they were tired of tripping over it.

An empire, indeed. His, down to the last nail, and not bad for a mere five years of work. Not bad at all.

After giving his compound a final, contented look, Dallas turned and retreated down the back stairs. On his way up, he’d passed by Amira, who’d promised to make him dinner. He’d have just enough time to enjoy a meal and a few moments of solitude before it was time to make his appearance as king.

He followed the tantalizing smell of food to the kitchen, where Amira was flipping a burger on the griddle next to toasting buns and several strips of what smelled like real bacon—honest-to-God pork, not the protein-powder knock-off they cooked up in Sector Eight. “Where’d you get that?”

“Mad brought it back from his trip to One this week. The beef, too. And I made the bread.” Amira beamed at him. “Nothing freeze-dried in this meal.”

That smile was dangerous. She’d been kicking around long enough for Dallas to know when he was being buttered up—but it was hard to mind when she was slapping real butter down on that flat-top. Besides, one of the best perks of being a king was getting to be indulgent with the ladies in his life. “Aren’t I just the luckiest man in Sector Four?”

“You could make a pretty successful argument for that fact.” She fetched a plate and loaded it with steaming fries. “How are things set for the fights?”

“Good. I heard fighters from Three might be coming in tonight, so you girls stick close to the guys, okay? Those motherfuckers don’t mind their damn manners.”

“Right.” Amira slid the plate in front of him. “Better eat these before they get cold.”

The fries were crisp and salty, just the way he liked them—another sign of how serious Amira’s impending request was. He ate a few to give her time to futz with the burger and bun and then quirked an eyebrow when she glanced at him again. “What’s up, Amira?”

She served the burger, wiped her hands on a towel, and leaned back against the counter. “I wanted to talk to you about ink.”

“Yeah?” The first bite of the burger was heaven—juicy and full of flavor and a definite argument for striking up a better relationship with either Mad’s family or the farmers over in Six. Why the hell was he working this hard if he couldn’t enjoy the perks? “What about ink?”

“Well, it’s just—” She pulled out the single chair across from him at the tiny table and sat down. “Some of the new guys have their cuffs already. The really new guys.”

He nudged the plate over so she could share the fries. “None of them are giving you trouble, are they?”

“No, of course not.”

“Any other reason you think they shouldn’t have ink yet?”

“No, they should.” Her brow furrowed. “But I should, too. That’s...what I’m talking about, Dallas. My ink.”

He almost choked on his burger.

Amira wanted cuffs. She wanted to join the goddamn gang.

Giving Nessa ink had been one thing. She was the heart of the whole damn operation, and anything that kept her happy kept the booze rolling out and the credits rolling in. Lex could take care of herself as well as most of the men and better than some. And Rachel—well, her lot was tied to theirs, thanks to the debt he owed her father. Giving them ink was a symbol, a calculated risk that the tattoos around their wrists would offer more protection than they did trouble.

And it was protection now. More and more every day. Which made him wonder why Amira wanted it. “Is someone hassling you?” he asked, setting the burger down. “Someone outside the gang, I mean. Because if anyone is giving you shit, you know I’ll take care of it.”

“No. I mean, yes, but no more than usual.” Her cheeks turned red, and her chair scraped across the floor as she rose abruptly. “You need something to drink.”

He watched her walk to the fridge, her movements stiff enough to indicate anger as she pulled it open and retrieved a beer. She didn’t meet his eyes as she returned, and Dallas gentled his voice. “Hey, ink isn’t a lark, Amira. The guys are signing up to take orders and risk their lives. You don’t need to do that for us to protect you. We’ll always take care of you.”

“I understand, Dallas. Perfectly.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she placed the bottle in front of him. “I’m going to help stock the bar in the warehouse. Enjoy your dinner.”

She turned and froze. Dallas followed her gaze to see Flash standing just inside the swinging door, a huge, silent presence. He inclined his head to Amira and stepped aside, clearing a path for her to dart past him.

When she was gone, he turned his unusually disapproving eyes on Dallas. “What the hell, man?”

No sign of the man’s usual cheerful obedience lingered in his expression. Dallas drained half of the beer before pinning him with a forbidding look. “This is a gang, Flash. Not a fucking tea party. You think a sweet girl like that needs to be in a gang?”

“Nessa is. Rachel is.”

“They’ve got ink,” Dallas retorted. “Doesn’t mean they’re in the gang. Not really. Or do you wanna take Rachel out the next time you have to crack some heads? Bring Nessa to your next street fight?”

“Shit, no.” Flash crossed both huge arms over his chest, an aggressive signal that he wouldn’t be backing down. “You know what else I don’t wanna do? Organize all the other waitresses. Sweet-talk the old-timers. Smile nice at every asshole who rolls in here. You don’t even know how much money Amira makes you by being damn good at her job, do you?”

He knew she was good, and he paid her very, very well for her skills. But the anger in Flash’s eyes had taken on a personal edge, and Dallas suspected this unexpected display of defiance had a very simple motive.

Flash had it bad for their adorable little waitress.

Dallas slapped the burger onto his plate of fries and picked it up. If he wanted to relax, he’d better eat in his office today. “Hey, if you want to offer her a different sort of ink, you go right ahead. But I said what I fucking said.”

For a moment, he thought Flash would block his path to the door. But even when they were annoyed with him, his men put loyalty first. The big man swung out of the way, and Dallas carried his dinner to the relative sanctuary of his office.

But when he was settled behind his desk, all he could see was the giant safe now tucked away in the corner of his office. He never had been able to look at the damn thing without thinking of the woman who’d robbed it, and that safe was a reminder.

Flash was the least of his concerns. If Lex got riled up over this...

He’d better enjoy this last peaceful meal.

»»» § «««

Lex heard the yelling before she even reached the back door to the kitchen.

“I said no. Flash, will you please just drop it?”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t have to be real. I won’t make any demands on you. But I could keep you safe. No one would fuck with you ever again.”

“It’s not about that—”

Lex opened the door, cutting through Amira’s words, but not the tension that flooded the kitchen. “Do we need to get you two in the cage to settle this?”

Amira snorted, and Flash snarled and whirled around, jabbing a finger toward Lex. “Good, you can talk some damn sense into her. Dallas won’t give her cuffs so I told her I’d mark her.”

“But it’s not—” Amira rubbed her temples. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Flash growled.

“Flash.” Lex laid a hand on his arm. He was tense, tense enough to argue if she started ordering him around, so she waited for him to take the hint.

His muscles trembled under her fingers. After a few moments, he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “Fix this,” he muttered at her before spinning on his heel and slamming through the doors so hard they rebounded and swung inward.

Amira flinched, and Lex soothed her with a soft noise. “You talked to Dallas?”

“I asked about ink.” Amira’s brown eyes sparked with bitter anger, all of it directed inward. “He didn’t even understand what I was asking at first. I didn’t realize...”

“That he never planned for you to have it at all?” Lex finished.

She dug her teeth into her lower lip and nodded. “We’re not really part of it, not to him. We’re here, but we don’t belong.”

It would be so much easier to face her if Lex could deny it. But the truth was stark, irrefutable. Damning. “No, we don’t belong. Not the way his men do.”

“Not even you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, especially not me.” It was difficult enough to understand and impossible to explain. Dallas had marked Nessa out of practical necessity, Rachel out of obligation, and Lex...

Well, he’d marked her the only way he could.

But it didn’t serve the same purpose as the ink he offered the men. And Lex had made the mistake of playing along, because fighting for the sake of fighting was a luxury she didn’t have with Dallas. Every fight brought them closer to the big one, an explosion she wasn’t sure the sector would survive.

She wouldn’t challenge him on principle anymore. But she’d do it for Amira.

“I fucked up,” she admitted. “I let him get away with this bullshit because I didn’t realize it was hurting anyone. I was wrong.”

“Flash heard.” Amira wrapped her arms around her waist. “I know he means well, but you have to get him to stop. I don’t want it. Not like this. I don’t want to be someone’s...duty.”

“I’ll talk to him first,” she promised. Then she’d talk to Dallas. She’d reason with him, of course. If that didn’t work, then she’d yell.

And if that didn’t work, she’d make sure he thoroughly regretted ever being born.

»»» § «««

Dallas knew he was in trouble when Lex appeared at his bedroom door the night after the fights wearing a clingy red silk robe and heels that gave her a good four inches—and were sharp enough to impale a man.

Taking in the sleepy, sensuous look in her eyes, most men would have assumed impaling was off the table tonight. Dallas knew better. “Lex? You get turned around?”

“Clever.” She stroked one finger down the front of his chest. “I know exactly where I am.”

“Yeah?” He should hold his ground. Bar the door. Wait for her to turn around and leave. Letting her into his bedroom when she was riding whatever mood this was seemed like the kind of stupid that got men killed.

Basically, his kind of stupid.

He took a step back, and she prowled past him, surveying the room as she toyed with the belt on her robe. “A gentleman wouldn’t have kept a lady waiting.”

“Let me know if you find one of those.” He swung the door shut and leaned against it, watching her prowl with an uncomfortable mix of lust and wariness. The way that robe slid over her ass as it swayed back and forth was enough to get any man’s dick hard, especially a man who’d had that ass grinding against said dick more than once.

But something about the way she was moving set off alarm bells. The husky pitch of her voice, the elegant, terrifying seductiveness in her slow, stalking movements...

Cerys had thrown enough of her fancy Sector Two whores his way for him to recognize the game, and Lex was playing it effortlessly right now. Brutally. Dallas finally understood what Ace had been saying the first day he’d met Lex.

All the years he’d spent twisted up, convinced she was steering him around by the dick, and she hadn’t even been trying. All that sensuality, all that temptation, all the desire she stoked in him with every movement, every breath—that had just been Lex, at ease. Her goddamn resting state.

She wasn’t resting anymore.

The loose silk slithered off one shoulder, revealing one side of a black mesh halter that had clearly been designed by a sadist. Lex’s skin glowed under it, every detail visible. The indent of her belly button. The full curve of her breasts. Her nipples, tight and peeking out from over the wide neckline, like she could move just a little and the fabric would give up trying to do its job and reveal everything.

And it looked flimsy enough to give way with one strong jerk of his fist.

She studied him in unabashed silence, her gaze raking up and down his body with a tangible intensity. It lingered here and there, her unconcealed desire punctuated by tiny gestures—an indrawn breath, the parting of her lips. Her tongue sneaking out to glide over the corner of her mouth.

Manufactured? Probably not. He knew Lex liked to look at him. Heat had never been the problem between them—just keeping it contained so they didn’t burn alive and take out everyone in a hundred-mile radius with them.

She wanted him, but she never let him see it. Not like this. And that mattered. He had to remember that mattered.

Remembering was harder than it sounded, with all the blood abandoning his brain.

“Lex.” Her name came out hoarser than he intended. His voice damn near cracked. Getting hold of his damn libido, he growled it again. “Lex. What the fuck kind of game are you playing?”

“Game?” she echoed, her tone caught somewhere between innocence and distraction.

“I’m not an idiot, Alexa.”

“Oh, I think we could debate the subject, Declan.”

Oh yeah, she was pissed. Knowing it was coming should have prepared him for this, but how the hell was he supposed to fight with her when she was standing there, barely wrapped in gauze, her sexuality a weapon honed sharp enough to slice through steel?

Still, he had to try. “If this is about Amira—”

“It was,” she interjected. “Until I spoke to Flash, and he let me know what you really think of me. Of this.” She lifted one wrist and touched the ink that surrounded it. “I already knew, of course. But I never expected you to actually admit it.”

He struggled to remember the exact words he’d used with Flash, but irritation clouded the memory. “What? That I don’t want Nessa and Rachel rolling out to fight street punks? Do you?”

“Is that why they’re not really in the gang? Because they don’t bash heads or kick asses?” She abandoned her robe on his bed and stalked toward him. “You beautiful, stupid man. For someone so obsessed with resources, you’re criminally bad at recognizing them.”

Her hips swayed. Her eyes glinted. Dallas didn’t know if she was coming to kiss him or kill him, and Jesus, it was hot. Like handling a live current, not knowing if all that electricity was going to light up his life or fry him to a crisp. “Just because she’s not in the gang doesn’t mean she’s not useful. I know she’s useful. You’re all useful.”

“That isn’t the compliment you think it is.” She braced a hand on the door and leaned close, the peak of one nipple brushing his arm. “You had to mark Nessa and Rachel. But what about me?”

What about her? He’d rationalized it a thousand times—to himself, to her, to the men—and the reasons always sounded good when she wasn’t standing in front of him. But his gaze drifted to the ink wrapped around her wrist, to that logo that had become so inextricably tied to him that anything it graced belonged to him...

Dark satisfaction. Base triumph.

Even if he couldn’t afford to claim her, she was still his.

“Say it.” Her eyes locked with his as she jerked open his belt. “I want to hear you say it.”

Yeah, she did. Because under all that danger, under the thrill of wondering if he could catch her without losing his fingers and keep her without losing more—there’d always been the sweetest promise.

Lex would bend for him. She’d kneel for him. She’d give him everything.

But only if he gave just as much in return.

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 enough 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.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Nessa knows how much we value her! Fuck, she’s the goddamn O’Kane princess.”

“A week ago, she would have agreed with you. Not anymore.” Lex needed to put some distance between them, so she circled the desk and stood behind it. “She’s been carrying your operation on her shoulders since she was a child, but now she knows that apparently means less to you than a handful of street brawls. And I’m not sure you can get her back.”

The verbal blow landed hard and did damage. She’d known it would. Nessa had always been his weak spot. He left his hair standing up wildly and scrubbed his hands over his face as if he could wipe away the truth. “They were stupid words. Thoughtless. I didn’t mean— Nessa is family, for fuck’s sake.”

“God, you and your boxes, Dallas.” It would have been hilarious if her heart wasn’t currently busy breaking. “You think they’re two different things, the gang and your family, but that’s not what you’ve built here.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

Lex gripped the edge of the desk. “You’ve told the world that there is nothing more important to you than the O’Kanes. They are your family, and you basically said Nessa and Rachel aren’t part of it. And being on the outside—” Her voice cracked, and she steadied herself with a deep breath. “It hurts, that’s all.”

After another tense moment, he turned and sank onto Nessa’s couch. He braced his elbows on his knees, the fury gone from his eyes. Left in its wake was frustrated confusion. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just used to thinking about...”

He sighed and clenched his fists. Then he reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. When the worn leather flipped open, he withdrew a creased piece of paper that looked like it had seen better days and held it out to her.

The ink was faded, illegible in some spots, but she could make enough of it out to realize what it was—a list of names. The men who had fallen during the fight to take control of Sector Four.

“I know it’s stupid, Lex,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I know I sound like a liar and a hypocrite, acting like being in the gang is too dangerous when I gave them ink to begin with because it means something now. It protects them. But when I think about what it means to be an O’Kane, to really be an O’Kane...”

His eyes fixed on the piece of paper as he swallowed hard. “That’s all I see. The ultimate cost. The men who bled and who died to get us here. And maybe it makes me an asshole, but I can’t really think about Nessa bleeding out in the street. Or Rachel or Amira.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Or you.”

She couldn’t fault him for that, not entirely, but the fact that he still carried this list when he’d long since memorized every name on it meant something else. Something even more heartbreaking.

“You’re stuck in the past,” she told him as she slid onto the couch beside him. “I can’t say there won’t be any more O’Kane blood spilled. That kind of thing never really stops.” She folded the paper and pressed it back into his hand. “But the fights are different now, and not all of them can be won with guns and knives.”

He stared at the paper before curling his fingers around it. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“If I wasn’t sure of that, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

He huffed out something almost like a laugh. “So what am I supposed to do? Offer every dancer and waitress out there ink? You think they all want to sign up for a lifetime of doing what I say?”

“Holy Christ, no. Most of them want to do their jobs, get paid, go home, and not think about you or the rest of the O’Kanes until their next shift.” She reached for the bottle Nessa had left on the end table—one of her special runs, the stuff she and Pop had made together—and handed it to Dallas. “But some of them will. And some of the ones who want it will deserve it. Like Amira. And it’s not because she’s worked hard. It’s because she cares about the O’Kanes.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. He swirled the booze in the bottle and stared at it. Then he looked at Nessa’s desk. At the safe behind it that held her most prized bottles. At the shelves of books and notes and recipes and empty bottles.

“That’s fair,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to Ace about getting her cuffs. We can set up a party for her.”

“Or...” She reached over and uncapped the bottle. “You could talk to her. She may not be ready to take ink, but she was ready to ask you about it. Let her.”

“Okay.” He blew out a breath. “I can do that.”

His hair was still a mess, and she smoothed it at his temple. “Of course you can.”

“So that’s Amira. And Nessa and Rachel.” He turned just enough to meet her eyes. “What about you?”

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and it felt right, like something she could do for the rest of her life. “What about me?”

“You mentioned Rachel, and Nessa, and Amira. How I hurt them. What about you?”

She pulled her hand away. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything, honestly, because it wouldn’t be a simple conversation. It wouldn’t be easy, and it might not fix a goddamn thing between them.

But she owed him the truth, the same truth she’d always asked him for. “Why did you mark me?”

He took the bottle from her, and this time he didn’t stare at it. He took a long sip and clutched at the thing so hard it looked like his fingers might shatter the glass. “Because I didn’t want you to leave. Because I need you.”

I need you. She’d waited years—actual, literal years—to hear him say it. But now that he had... “And I didn’t want to leave. But I’m not sure it’s enough.”

“Not enough for what?”

“To keep us from imploding.” She climbed off the couch and paced across the room. She needed space again, enough to let sharp words fall between them without shredding them both. “I was curious about the gang and your plans for it. I was curious about you. So I stuck around. And when you needed help, I couldn’t stop myself from falling back on familiar things. Orchid things.” She shrugged. “We can’t escape who we are, I guess.”

All of his muscles tightened as he seemed to draw in on himself. “Lex. I didn’t... That’s not what I want from you.”

“No, I did this, not you.” It wasn’t possible to explain the tangle of responsibility and ownership and sex they taught in Orchid House—but she had to believe it could be unraveled. “But now I need your help. We should have...rules. About us.”

“What kind of rules?”

“Boundaries,” she clarified. “I’ll do whatever I can, Dallas. Help out with whatever you need. But I’m not—we’re not—”

“Together,” he rumbled.

“No.” They existed in some nebulous space that was both more and less, and completely undecided. Unsettled. “So you have to stop growling at everyone who flirts with me, because I don’t belong to you.”

He didn’t like it, didn’t like admitting it and didn’t like agreeing to it. That angry furrow cut a path between his brows, but after an uncertain couple of seconds, he nodded jerkily. “Fine.”

“However.” She took a step forward, then another, almost close enough to touch him. “I hope you’ll consider doing the flirting sometimes. I would hate to give that up.”

His gaze drifted up her body, making her skin prickle. By the time he reached her face, the furrow was gone. “You would, would you?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”

He curled his fingers around hers, but instead of shaking her hand, he brushed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips soft and warm over her pulse—and his ink. “Deal.”

She held on to his hand and stretched out on the couch, across his lap, her head nestled into the crook of his arm. She looked up at him as he shifted to give her a more comfortable cradle and smiled. “I’m sorry I got ugly with you the other day. I regret it.”

“I’m sorry I laughed at you.” His lips twitched. “I knew you were going to make me pay. I kinda like it. At least I’ll never turn into Matthew Stone with you around.”

No, never. “I would kill you first.”

She meant it, and he knew it. Judging by the glint in his eyes, he liked it. “Aww, that’s sweet, Lexie. You promise?”

“Shut up.” She wasn’t quite ready to give up the intoxicating intimacy of the moment. “You know, on second thought, maybe we should honor the terms of our truce with something other than a handshake. It’s not really our style.”

He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and tugged lightly. “I could think of few ways.”

His teasing tone held just a hint of warm suggestion, and for once, Lex didn’t hide. “Kiss me.”

Smiling, he leaned down and caught her lips in a slow kiss. A warm kiss. Gentle and restrained and barely like him at all, until his free hand dropped to her hip and his fingers dug in, and she felt the careful control in the way his muscles tensed as he spread his fingers wide in a silent, possessive claim.

Someday, they’d figure out their shit. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and they’d always be like this—hot and cold, push and pull. Fight or flight. Either way, one truth was rooted deep inside her, more intrinsic to her being than her own name.

No matter what came of it, she would always love Dallas O’Kane.