Beyond Addiction (11 page)

She’d seen death in Dallas O’Kane’s eyes before, and it was there as he rolled out of his chair to brace both hands on the desk. “Fleming kidnapped you for
Dom
?”

“He was after Trix,” she confirmed, “but he got Tracy. And he couldn’t wait to shove that in Finn’s face.”

“So Finn shot him.”

The memory—the relief and revulsion, all at once—made her shudder. “Yeah.”

Sighing, Dallas pushed himself upright. “I believe you, darling. A hell of a lot more than I believe a word out of Beckett’s mouth. But Finn...”

She dug her fingernails into her skin to suppress another shudder. “He’s done everything he could do, Dallas, and it almost got him killed. Don’t you think he deserves a chance?”

Dallas reached for her, covered her hands with his own. They were warm, strong—and as tough as his words. “He’s been the monster chained in Fleming’s basement for twenty years. If I give him a chance, will he know what to do with it?”

She
wanted
to say yes. She even opened her mouth, but the bleak memory of the hopelessness in Finn’s eyes stopped her cold. Despair was no different than drugs or booze or gambling—it could become a habit, just as easily as anything else.

“Maybe not,” she admitted hoarsely. “But what kind of people would we be if we didn’t try?”

Dallas didn’t answer. He circled his desk and drew her into a tight hug, with one big hand cradling the back of her neck and his chin resting on her head. “I’ll figure something out, love. I fucked up by underestimating how much danger you were in, and he fixed it. We all owe him for that.”

“It’s not just that.” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Finn can’t stand what goes on in Five. He lived there and worked there, but he
hated
it all so much.”

“Good. My gratitude gets him in the door, but the rest he’ll have to earn.” He caught her chin, his gaze serious. “You know what that means, right?”

All the new guys had to deal with a little hazing, even the ones who’d come in under the best of circumstances. Finn would have it worse. “I understand.”

And she did. No, the part that left her blinking back tears was how much Finn would relish the abuse, all because he thought he deserved it.

Finn hadn’t expected to wake up.

For a few disorienting seconds, the only thing he could muster was disappointment. He’d hit the dirt with his last glimpse of Trix etched into his brain—her standing behind Adrian Maddox, protected as the man burned with a righteous fury more suited to Eden’s deity than the benevolent God they worshiped in Sector One.

As last images went, it wasn’t the worst. His girl safe, his mission complete. Dying was the coward’s way out of the mess he’d made, but fuck if he wasn’t
tired
.

And sore, too. Sore enough that even opening his eyes seemed like too much effort. But he did it anyway, and disappointment shattered as Trix’s face swam into view.

Trix, at his bedside. Thank fucking
Christ
he’d woken up.

Her lips tilted in a gentle, brilliant smile as she tugged his hand up to the soft curve of her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Funny, how things didn’t hurt as much now. The magic of touching her. “I guess you rescued me, huh?”

“Yeah?” She turned her head to press a quick kiss to his palm. “Now we’re even.”

Not even close. Not in a million years. But he wasn’t ready to lose the brightness of that smile, so he didn’t argue. “What happened after I passed out? Is Hawk okay?”

“He’s fine. Dallas and Lex are gonna put him up while they figure out this whole mess.”

“And me?”

A little of the light in her eyes dimmed. “You can stay. No one’s jumping for joy about it, though. But you knew that was coming.”

He’d known. He just hadn’t realized how much it would sting. Not the disdain of the O’Kanes—anything short of putting him in the ground was the next best thing to an open-armed welcome—but watching her joy fizzle.

Trix still saw something shiny and new underneath the grime of Finn’s life, and he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her until her vision cleared or wrap both arms around her and never let go.

Not that he had the energy to do either right now.

“It’s okay,” he whispered roughly, contenting himself with rubbing his fingers over her cheek. “No one’s gonna hurt my feelings, doll. They can’t say anything I haven’t heard before.”

“I don’t have to like it.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she sighed. “And you don’t have to stay for me. Soon it’ll be safe enough for you to go back to—”

He rested his thumb against her mouth, silencing the offer. “If I stay, it’ll be for you. If I go, that’ll be for you, too. There’s no
back
for me.”

Her lips trembled under his touch. “It won’t be easy.”

Finn smiled and stroked his thumb along the sweet, full curve of her lower lip. He knew what it tasted like now. He knew how she moaned when he caught it between his teeth, how she melted when he growled against it. “Some things are worth it.”

“They’re all afraid you’ll hurt me.”

He couldn’t blame them. He
had
hurt her—by mistake, with neglect, by being too fucked up to do the right thing. “I only care what you think.”

For a moment, she only stared at him as a wave of sadness swept over her features. “I think...I’m not ready to let you go.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

She kissed him again, this time a soft, quick caress at the corner of his mouth. Even an aching body couldn’t keep him from driving his fingers into her hair and pulling her back for another kiss. Slower. Deeper. No teeth, no tongue, just his mouth on hers, and all the time in the world to memorize the way she felt.

She shivered, then gingerly braced her hand on his shoulder and pushed away. “You scared the hell out of me. Are you okay?”

“I’m still breathing.” He lifted a hand to the bandage wrapped around his torso. “Everything hurts, but not nearly as much as it should.”

“Doc patched you up.” She stroked her fingers over his shoulder, over bare skin instead of gauze. “He says you’re gonna be fine.”

He’d met their doctor once. He’d been there when O’Kane had come for Lex, redefining
high on his own supply
. Finn knew an addict when he saw one, and he’d bet his last credit that Doc spent most of his time tripping higher than Eden’s walls.

Finn wasn’t just glad he’d woken up. He was apparently lucky, too. “Don’t suppose he left me something to wear.”

“Not hardly. His clothes wouldn’t fit you, anyway. But I sweet-talked Flash into letting you borrow some things.” She turned to a small table by the bed and lifted a stack of folded items.

Yeah, everything ached, but that had never kept him down before. So he shoved the sheet to his waist and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the dizzy tilt of the room and the burn blooming in his chest. “Does O’Kane want me staying put?”

“Hey, hey.” Trix dropped the clothes and caught him by the shoulders, steadying him. “Take it easy, all right?”

He bit back his instinctive protest—
I can’t
. Weakness was alive inside him, and it was hard as hell to tolerate. Here, surrounded by her friends who wanted to be his enemies. He needed to be strong enough to weather the abuse headed his way, and that meant shoring up his vulnerable spots. “I promise I will. Just point me to a bathroom.”

“No. You’re going to hurt yourself even worse.”

Adding pain to the list of things he was ignoring, Finn reached for her. Closed his fingers around her waist and jerked her off her feet, into his lap. She landed straddling his thighs, one knee pressed to the mattress, and Finn curled one hand around the back of her head. “I know from bullet wounds, doll. Soft bed. Med-gel. Compared to the last few times I got shot up, this is a goddamn dream.”

She framed his face between her hands with a wry laugh. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Only about my ability to put my own damn pants on. Unless you’re trying to distract me...” He flexed his fingers on her waist and in her hair, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands.

Being distracted wasn’t so bad. The real world stood beyond that door, but here, like this, they were still living in his dream. The one where he’d fucked her slow and deep and then quick and hard, watching honest-to-God pleasure paint her features. Nothing vague or lost or distant, not anymore.

Staying naked and vulnerable was worth a few more moments of playing pretend.

Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “Maybe I’m still scared.”

“Don’t be.” He slid his hand up and spread his fingers wide between her shoulder blades. “You’re home. Safe. And I’m hard to kill.”

“Not that.” She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his. “I want you to love it here like I do. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

Even if he could—even if he
did
—it wasn’t likely the O’Kanes would ever love him the way they loved her. Truth, maybe, but it wouldn’t soothe the tension stiffening her body. So he stroked her spine and lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “Show me. Show me the things you love.”

“Really?”

Not quite enough of an edge to qualify as disbelief, but Trix was wary—and he was glad. Blind trust was too much damn responsibility for him right now. Too much guilt, because fuck if he could stop stroking her, stop touching her. “Really, baby. If anyone can make me a believer, it’s you.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled. For a moment, he thought she’d close the distance and kiss him. But then she straightened—and grinned. “You’ve never seen me dance.”

He fought the urge to tighten his grip on her, to choke back the dark thread of possessiveness unwinding in his gut. “Dancing, huh? I’ve heard stories about the Broken Circle’s style of dancing.”

“Mmm.” She slipped her fingers into his hair. “I’ve got my own style.”

She always had. Even now, in her sassy little polka-dot dress and whatever the hell she had on underneath it. Miles and miles of some sheer, crinkly fabric the same color as those polka dots, and the sweet primness of it made that knowing look in her eyes so much more dangerous.

He skated a hand down to her bare knee. “I like your style.”

The look she flashed him was stern, but he still heard the catch in her breath. “I meant my act. It’s all feathers and fans. Old-school striptease.”

He tried to picture it, but with the softness of her skin under his fingertips, all he could think about was working his hand higher. He brushed his thumb along the inside of her knee just to hear her breath catch again. “You trying to make me jealous?”

“Oh, I could make you jealous.” She tilted forward, rocking toward his hand. “Noelle and Rachel have been talking about putting together a show. Blonde, brunette, and redhead—and a whole lot of skin.” Her fingers clenched in his hair. “Is that the kind of dancing you’ve heard about?”

His brain spun, trying to match the names to faces. His mental dossier covered most of O’Kane’s men, but other than Lex, the women were a mystery. Though fuck, hadn’t the councilman’s daughter who’d ended up with O’Kane had an
N
name? There’d been a video of her going around for a while, all brown hair and pale skin and screaming her way to messy, gleeful orgasms—usually with Lex’s face between her thighs.

He imagined Trix in her place and damn near groaned. Jealousy and arousal—a more potent cocktail than anything Mac Fleming had ever bottled. “I didn’t think you liked girls.”

“That depends on the situation,” she murmured wickedly. “Almost everything naked does.”

Growling, he slipped his thumb higher, brushing her inner thigh. “Congratulations, doll. I’m jealous.”

“Bullshit. You’re curious.” Her breathing sped up. “But you’ll figure it out. It’s fun, and it feels good, but it doesn’t mean I want you less.”

That made him smile as he stroked the edge of her panties. “How much do you want me?”

“A lot.” Trix kissed his forehead and slid off his lap. “And I’m going to show you. I promise.”

Half the sheet went with her, slipping to the floor. Finn refused to lunge for it, even if it bared all of his scars—and the prominent hard-on that was well on its way to aching as much as the rest of him. “Does that mean I can get dressed?”

At first, she kept her eyes locked on his face. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, her gaze drifted down, and she licked her lips.

He bit back a groan, but he couldn’t stop the mental image—that tongue, gliding over his cock. Those lips parting wide as he pushed between them, savoring the slickness, the heat, the
sight
of her sucking him off, as eager and hungry as he was.

Watching her face, he wrapped a hand around his shaft and pumped once, slowly. “Or I could stay like this.”

She gasped, her chest rising with her sudden, indrawn breath, her breasts pushing against the low-cut bodice of that damned dress.

Something wild slid through his veins, sweeping away exhaustion and discomfort. The sounds she made were better than adrenaline. Better than any drug Mac Fleming had ever created.

And suddenly they weren’t enough. “Come here, Trix.”

She was shaking her head even as she stepped forward. “You’re injured.”