Beyond Ecstasy (Beyond #8) (22 page)

She was in danger. Someone had told Gideon this, someone who would know.

It could be a lie, but she didn't think so. It didn't
feel
like a lie, didn't have that slick, greasy quality that made her shudder in revulsion as it slid over her. So Gideon, at least, believed it to be truth.

There was only one person she knew who was this involved with sector politics, who might have the sway to convince a sector leader to keep her out of the city's clutches. Thinking about him
hurt
, like falling onto a flat surface so hard it ripped the breath right out of your lungs for long, agonizing seconds.

It hurt even more when she closed her eyes and saw his face. Ashwin Malhotra was a patient, a soldier, and she'd had no trouble shutting him out of her thoughts when she shed her lab coat at the end of the day.

Until, that is, the night he'd kidnapped her.

She wasn't supposed to know it was him. He'd taken every precaution—bindings, a blindfold, he'd even blocked her hearing. But he couldn't blot out all of her senses, and when he'd touched her—

She knew who he was. But not
why
he'd snatched her out of her bed, not until he'd left her in a room alone with a dying man. She'd saved the man's life, of course, and he told her
volumes
in return.

Not verbally. Not wittingly. But his tattoos had been impossible to ignore, especially the skulls and crossed guns on his wrists. Later, using one of the dummy logins she'd bought at the side-street market, she discovered the truth—she'd been in Sector Four, and she'd saved the life of an O'Kane. She even found his face, and along with it his name—Alexander Santana. Ace.

Who was he to Ashwin, and why? Kora had always planned to ask. The next time she saw him, she decided, she would make him explain—and tell him that all he ever had to do was ask.

She'd never had the chance.

Gideon's hand touched hers. “You're safe here, you know. Deacon and I did a complete security review after the assassination attempt.”

“What?” She shook herself. “No, I'm not worried about that. I was just thinking.”

“It's a lot to think about.” He pulled his head back and reclined in his chair. “Do you know what would have happened if you hadn't saved my life, Kora?”

She didn't ponder such things. If she did, the weight of it all would collapse on her, heavy and stifling. Paralyzing. Because no one could save every life.

She rose abruptly. “I'll stay. But, at some point, I want answers, Gideon. Real ones.”

“I don't have them,” he replied, again with no hint or trace of deception. “But when we reach that point, I'll help you find them.”

“I won't need help.” This time, she knew exactly where to look.

Jeni had always thought that the sight of Hawk in the rooftop gardens was a transcendent experience. But it didn't hold a candle to him building things.

He'd discarded his jacket not long after they'd arrived at the workshop on his sisters' little enclave on the edge of Four. His thin white T-shirt clung to his chest, stretched taut over muscles that flexed and bulged with every swing of the hammer.

He needed a haircut. And a shave. And he was the most perfect thing she'd ever seen.

He glanced up as he reached for another piece of wood. “You look like you're thinking hard.”

“Nope.” She propped her chin on her hand and grinned at him. “Just enjoying the view.”

Sometimes Hawk still blushed. But he smiled, too, and shook his head as he fit the board into place. “Don't tempt me, or I'll have you riding me on the floor in broad daylight.”

“With your
sisters
outside?” They were just as sweet as the ones she'd already met, and they'd welcomed Jeni with open arms. But she wasn't sure they'd still approve of her if they knew how thoroughly she'd corrupted their big brother.

They looked at Hawk like he was a superhero, and Jeni didn't blame them. As far as she knew, this was his first visit to their little farm in a while, but he'd provided them with everything—space, equipment. He even built their homes and furniture with his own hands.

Most of all, he'd given them a
chance
.

Jeni slid off the worktable. “What are you making?”

“A crib.” He set the piece he'd been working on up on its side, and she could see it now—one side of the frame, lined with evenly spaced wooden slats. “Remember Amy, from the farm? She's seven months along now, and she and Robbie want to come here.”

Did they think it was safer? It could be—if the city's forces spilled into Sector Four, they'd be focused on the O'Kane compound and its surroundings. Out here, right at the edge of everything, a tiny cluster of farms could go unnoticed.

For a while.

Jeni ran her fingers over one corner of the half-finished crib. “I've never seen so many babies.”

“Not many people in Four have.” He laid it gently back down and reached for the nails. “That'll change in nine or ten months, I guess.”

“Doc's been keeping an eye on the water.” Not just to measure whether the city was still pumping drugs to control the birthrate into the water supply, but also to check for anything more damaging. Or deadly. “He says the levels are holding steady so far.”

“Yeah? Guess they haven't run out yet.”

“Or it's an automated system.”

“Or that.” He shrugged. “Ryder probably knows. I'm sure as hell not gonna ask him, though.”

“He's not so bad.” She touched Hawk's arm, and he covered her hand with his.

They'd settled into a comfortable pattern of days over the last week. It wasn't quite a routine, but it was close—they usually went their separate ways in the morning, completing the tasks that filled their busy days. On the evenings she danced at the Broken Circle, Hawk waited for her backstage.

They spent their nights together. Some passed in a blur of sweat and skin. Others, they simply talked—about important things, or about nothing—until they drifted to sleep. The one constant was Hawk's quiet, steady presence.

Already, she couldn't remember what it was like not to have him there.

He squeezed her hand and turned it over. Then he dropped the nails into her palm. “Since you haven't got your mystery tablet, why don't you help me build this thing?”

She ignored the playful jibe about her secretive reading and groaned. “I came with you to take a break, not do more work.”

He grinned. “You can charge me for the nails. One kiss each.”

“On the lips, or lady's choice?”

“Lady's choice, of course. But you might have to save some of those for later.”

“Uh-huh.” Guilt scraped at her, and she sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him about the assignment Noelle had given her. It was just that, sometimes, Hawk seemed to need things to be simple. Black and white. Right or wrong.

Safe
versus
in danger
.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? There was nothing immediately dangerous about combing through Eden's communication logs, looking for the dirty secrets they'd tried to hide. It wasn't like picking up a gun and charging the electrified wall. But it carried a deeper risk, one that went beyond bullets in flesh. Knowledge always did.

And she knew—she
knew
—he wouldn't like it. Oh, he'd understand the necessity of it. He might even be proud of her. But it would be one more thing for him to worry about, another heavy layer of concern and responsibility weighing him down.

There was enough of that already, more than a dozen men should have to bear over a dozen lifetimes. He already worried about his family, their farms, the gang, the war. Sometimes it seemed like his only moments of peace were the ones he managed to steal in her arms.

She couldn't take that away from him. She wouldn't—especially when all her efforts with Eden's files might amount to nothing, anyway.

“Hey.” Hawk rubbed his thumb between her brows. “You're thinking hard again.”

“No.” She hesitated. “You know that you can take a break too, right?”

“That's what I'm doing.” Hawk tossed the hammer aside. “When I go out and check the roof gardens, that's work. I don't mind helping people and fixing things, because God knows everyone in this sector needs to see that—an O'Kane who's so confident we're going to win this war, he has time to fix their leaky sink. But this…”

His thumb passed between her eyebrows again, soothing away the furrow. “This is dreaming, Jeni. I get to spend time with you and build something that's not about war or raising morale or keeping us alive. It's just...the future. A cute little baby who gets to live in a cute little farmhouse, in a better world than we had.”

His words twisted in Jeni's chest, curling around her heart until it ached. Silently, she handed him one of the nails, then dragged his mouth down to hers.

He smiled into the kiss, his lips curving against hers. Then he tilted his head and kissed her deeper. Slow, lazy, like they had forever with nowhere to go and nothing to do but this.

Jeni broke away and nipped at his chin. “Don't tempt me,” she whispered, echoing his teasing warning.

“Later,” he murmured, with a stern, steely edge that marked it as both a command and a promise.

She could live with that.

Hawk spun the nail between his fingers and turned back to the crib. “Do you ever think about it? How things will change when we win.”

When
, not
if
. “Honestly? As little as possible. I just…” Her voice failed her. “It doesn't seem fair, I guess, to the people who won't be around to enjoy it.”

“What wouldn't be fair is giving up on living when people have laid down their lives to give you the chance.” He set the nail in place and tapped a few times, settling it, then drove it halfway in with one firm swing. “I'll have to build one of these for Rachel. Might as well get a jump on that kid being the most spoiled baby within a thousand-mile radius.”

“Hawk.” She had to tug at his shoulder to turn him toward her. “I'm not giving up on anything. If I'm still around—”

He pressed his thumb to her mouth, silencing her words. “When I came to Four, all I could think about was the mission. Stocking up favors, getting ready for battle. No matter what I wanted for myself…” His thumb drifted back and forth, stroking her lower lip. “I can't get back all that wasted time, but I'm not wasting any more. I'm dreaming big, Jeni. I got enough dreams for everyone.”

The vise around her heart twisted tight, then eased a little. So she slid her hands into his back pockets. “Share them with me.”

“Jas wants babies.” Hawk threaded his fingers through her hair. “He's not gonna say it, not while things are this dangerous, but he wants to make a family with Noelle. One with all the love neither of them ever got.” When his fingers reached the end of her hair, he started at the top again, dragging his fingernails teasingly over her scalp. “Six and Bren are gonna make a family, too. With every goddamn orphan in Sector Three.”

“Yes.” It sounded better than good. It sounded
right
. “Don't forget Flash and Amira. Hana needs a baby brother.”

“If they're not working on one already, I'd be surprised. And Jared can have his club back if he wants, and he and Lili won't even have to spy. Just fleece fools of their money and buy all their poor friends great presents.”

“Lex and Dallas can finally get some
sleep
.”

Hawk laughed. “Ford and Mia won't. Not until she's turned Sector Eight upside-down and organized it down to the paperclips. And I'm going to get Shipp to drag that car we found for Finn over here and help him fix it up. You and Trix can cheer us on while we race.”

Her pulse stuttered. “We can?”

“Sure, unless you wanna learn how instead.” His fingers traced seductive patterns on her scalp as his voice dropped to a low rumble. “I'll teach you, if you want. I bet you'd look real good driving fast.”

She closed her eyes, but even then she could barely see it. It shimmered in her mind's eye like a mirage, hazy and off balance. Too bright to be real. She wanted it desperately, this future Hawk seemed to visualize so easily, but she just couldn't seem to put herself in it.

Jeni knew it had to be about self-preservation, her mind shielding her from the worst-case scenario. If she never truly grasped the concept of this future, it wouldn't shred her to bits when—
if
—it never happened. But, staring up into Hawk's eyes, it felt more like a premonition, and she shivered despite the lazy heat of the day.

Hawk tilted her head back, his body so close that she could feel his solid warmth all through her. “You'd look good doing anything you wanted. Dancing. Working the bar. Racing. Settling down in a little place like this, so I could build you whatever the hell furniture struck your fancy that day.”

She gripped his wrists and smiled. “You
do
dream big.”

“Someone's got to.” All traces of teasing vanished from his voice, and his dark eyes were serious. Earnest. “Maybe that's the worst thing Eden did to us. They taught us not to dream outside of these tiny boxes they shoved us in.”

It was what Eden did to everyone, on both sides of the wall. Because people with hopes and aspirations were unpredictable, and nothing could disrupt their carefully ordered society quite like that. The sector leaders, even Dallas O'Kane himself—they didn't pose the biggest danger to the city.

No, Eden's real enemy was
possibility
.

It was hers right now, too, just in an entirely different way. And she suddenly knew she couldn't let this moment go. “I need to say this, Hawk,” she whispered. “I need for you to
let me
say it.”

“All right,” he said softly.

Jeni took a deep breath. Her thoughts were racing, tumbling around in her head, and if she didn't get this just right, he'd misunderstand. “If this is all we get—us, here, like this—” His hands tightened, and he went tense, so she slid her arms around him. “It's enough. More than I ever thought I'd have.”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “You're more than I ever thought I'd have, too. But this is
not
enough.” He tilted her head back, the fingers tangled in her hair suddenly firm and demanding. “There's no such thing as
enough
of you. Not unless it's forever.”