Beyond Pain (32 page)

Déjà fucking vu.

No, this couldn't compare to Wilson Trent at his worst. But this was the beginning of the journey, step by tiny step into the darkness, while she made excuses and beat on herself for being so suspicious, so distrustful, so damaged that she couldn't recognize a good thing.

Trent hadn't bothered fucking up her body until he'd bored of playing with her head.

Staring at the rigid muscles in Bren's outstretched arm, Six gathered the tattered shreds of her pride around her. "Am I not allowed to leave?"

He stood there, trembling with tension, and finally stepped back. "Fuck it. Think what you want to think." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone.

It was better that way. She'd tried, she'd fucking
tried
, and this was what came of it. Humiliation, pain, feeling so small and stupid. And she couldn't even blame Bren when Noah had provided the first push, and she was the one who couldn't make herself believe.

Maybe she was too broken to deserve being loved.

Bren never taped his hands when he hit the practice bags. Some of the men did, but he was as used to fighting outside the cage as he was to the brawls inside it. Assholes on the street didn't stop long enough for you to grab some gloves or brass knuckles, so he went after the bags bare-handed.

Today, it wasn't helping.

Those people will suffer.

The words haunted him, but not nearly as much as the haunted look in Six's eyes. The betrayal. The disbelief.

And this is the only way? Leaving them--

He growled to drown out the echoes and hit the bag harder.

Leaving them--

Bren's fist slipped off a slick spot where a rip in the heavy canvas had been patched with tape, and the force behind the blow pitched him forward. He hit the bag and shoved it away, ignoring the ache in his hands. If he burned off all this nervous energy, he could sleep--exhausted, dreamless--and he wouldn't have to hear her words anymore.

He'd get it done. Free the captives and end this shit with Miller, once and for all, because failure wasn't an option. And afterwards, Six would understand.

"I thought you and Cruz would be planning."

Mad, as sneaky as usual. Bren hit the bag one last time and turned, stopping it with the bulk of his body as it rebounded against his shoulder. "Too much planning for a mission is counterproductive. You know that."

Mad watched him, gaze dark and unflinching. "I know a lot of things. I know you. I just don't know what in hell you think you're doing."

"Letting off steam?"

"Don't play dumb. I thought you gave a shit about that girl."

For the first time, his hands ached--not from hitting the bag, but from the sincere desire to punch Mad's face in. "Careful, Maddox. I'm not in the best fucking mood."

"Nothing you could do to me scares me,
Brendan
." Mad crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, deliberately casual. "She's right. We should be over there right now, hauling those people out of there. If it was the only way to get to Miller, fine. Another couple days probably won't kill anyone. But it's not, and you know it."

"It's the best way. The surest one."

"Says the sniper who can kill a man from the other side of the sector. Fuck, man. I've seen you take shots that should have been impossible. You could drop that bastard at his dinner table or in the fucking bathtub. We could free those people and have you set up to blow his brains out when he shows up. So why aren't we?"

Because it wasn't
enough
, not for someone like Miller. He should have to confront death, stare it in the face and know it was coming for him. "Too many variables."

"Liar."

Bren's temples throbbed, and his hands clenched into fists. He relaxed them and shook his head. "You don't know Miller."

"I know men like him don't get less dangerous when you're face-to-face and they know you're there." Mad held his gaze. "It's okay to say it, Bren. It's okay to just fucking admit it. You want his blood on your hands."

"If you knew what he'd done--what he made the men and women under his command do--you'd want it too."

"That depends on the cost." Mad pushed away from the wall. "Anyone could see Six was worried about the people in her sector, and you and Dallas shredded her."

Guilt didn't sting--it burned through Bren, closing his throat. "Dallas was harsh, and Lex'll give him hell for it."

"Dallas made the wrong fucking call because you're lying to yourself. He really thinks the only way to get Miller is to wait." Mad stopped a few feet away, burning with unfamiliar intensity. "Have you ever been there, Donnelly? Have you ever been the one in chains? They're worse than helpless, less than human, and if you corner Miller because you're so hungry for blood you can't think straight, they're as good as dead."

"I want to kill him slow." Admitting it felt like admitting a lie, even though that wasn't what he'd done--was it? "I can do both, Mad. I'm
good
at this."

"It's revenge, man. I feel it, I know it. But you have to own it and know it's eating you up inside, or you'll make stupid decisions and maybe get more than yourself killed."

Revenge. It called to him. He'd waited for it, waited for
years
--all for Dallas, because risking the security of the O'Kanes wasn't worth nailing Miller to the wall. All the while, he'd comforted himself with the knowledge that, one day, he'd have his chance.

This was it. His moment.

"I can't," he muttered. "I've spent half a fucking decade, Mad. I've followed that bastard before, trailed him right through the sector streets--did you know that? Close enough to kill, but I held back, because the gang didn't need that trouble." The bag swayed behind him, bumped into his side, and Bren slammed one fist back into it and stepped forward. "The second he knows his deal went bad, he'll vanish."

"Why the fuck would he do that?"

Bren stumbled over the question. "If he gets word that I'm coming for him, I mean."

"And who's gonna tell him that?" Mad pressed. "Besides, before you said he'd set up a new operation, not disappear. Which is it?"

Both. Neither. Trapped by the scattered rationalizations, Bren scrubbed his hands over his face. "I need this, Mad.
Me
, all right? Is that what you want me to say?"

"Yes." Mad squeezed his shoulder. "Christ, man, do you think anyone here would judge you for that? Did you think
Six
would?"

"Judge me? No." He spun away. "But you sure the fuck expect me to set it aside."

Mad moved without warning, without sound, slamming into him so hard he put Bren face-first up into the wall. He twisted his arm behind him, holding him still with a lock far meaner than the one Bren had been teaching Six.

"How about you check that fucking attitude and consider the facts?" Mad ground out. "Everyone here wants Miller dead, for what he did to you and what he's doing now. Between all the brains in that room, we could have come up with a damn good plan to rescue those people
and
give you a chance to bathe in that motherfucker's blood. Your bloodthirsty little girlfriend would have probably been first in line to help. But you didn't give us a chance, and now your leader's making stupid, dangerous decisions because you lied to him."

Red. Rage throbbed through Bren, hazing his vision. He twisted, breaking the hold to catch Mad in an identical one, reversing their positions. "You don't know. You don't know
shit
."

Mad didn't struggle or fight back, but his words landed like blows. "I know you feel something for that woman that I've never fucking seen in you before. And I know you're going to lose her if you don't snap the hell out of it."

The words shredded Bren's justifications, all his safe reasons why this had to work. His plan was solid--take out Miller and free the captives--and the aftermath was equally simple. Once he'd managed to get it done, Six would understand. She'd forgive him, because what would be the point of staying angry after everything had turned out all right?

But Mad's words were so certain, so sure. What if he was right, and this was something she couldn't move past?

What if she didn't forgive him?

Reeling, he released his hold on Mad. "You believe that."

Mad turned, his expression serious. "Did you tell her any of this? That it was Miller doing the kidnapping, and how fucking much you needed this revenge?"

Bren couldn't even remember. It hadn't seemed as important as making sure he could deliver on all his promises, as an ironclad end result. "You've been there--in the chains. Would you forgive me for it?"

The other man paused. Groaned. "Jesus fucking
Christ
, Donnelly. Tell me she wasn't kidnapped by traffickers."

"I never said I wasn't an idiot," Bren growled. This was what he did--he tore down, ripped apart. Destroyed.

Only Six had ever expected anything different from him, and now he'd fucked that up, too.

Mad seized both of his shoulders. "All right, listen to me. That girl came in here fucked up and scared, and I get it. She triggered something in you, and you want to protect her. Am I right so far?"

Six was a lot of things, but not helpless, and the urge to protect her had melted into something else a long time ago. She didn't need a hero.

She needed someone to love her.

"I have to go," he blurted in a rush. "Tonight. Those people matter to her, and she matters to me."

Mad released him with a sigh. "Good. I was starting to think I'd have to lead you there by the damn hand."

"Close." Bren reached for his shirt and dragged it over his head. "You up for it?"

"Of course." Amusement sparked in Mad's eyes. "If you hadn't come around, I might have taken care of it myself."

Before he could answer, Rachel rushed through the open doorway leading toward the living quarters. "You're here," she said breathlessly. "Shit, you've got a problem."

Bren tensed. "What happened?"

"Six didn't show up for her shift, so I went looking for her." Rachel pressed a hand to her side and panted. "She's gone."

Mad sucked in a breath and let it out on a groan. "Oh, fucking
hell
."

Gone.
The word tripped through Bren's mind, and every time he thought he had a handle on it, it threw him for another disbelieving loop.
Gone
meant danger, risk.
Gone
meant she'd set out for Three, determined to fix his fuckup.

Gone.
A rumble drowned out the word, and it took Bren a moment to realize it had come from him, from someplace so deep in his chest it was a wonder Six had managed to touch it in the first place.

Fuck Miller. Fuck everything.

All he gave a damn about was Six.

Even crouched next to Scarlet on a litter-strewn roof, Six couldn't stop rubbing her thumb over the inside of her opposite wrist. It was like scratching an itch, touching that bare skin and aching at what she was about to give up.

No way would O'Kane give her cuffs now, no matter what Lex said. He may not have meant to shut her down in the bar, but this was something no leader would tolerate. She'd gone rogue, and Dallas wouldn't appreciate that it was Bren's words that had driven her here.

"I don't know, maybe it's unfair to be mad at him. If he'd tried to stop Trent, he would've ended up dead."

"If that were true, not a damn thing would ever change. It's something he tells himself to sleep at night, sweetness."

She wasn't putting the gang first, but at least she'd be able to sleep tonight.

"That's the place," Scarlet whispered. "You sure you want to do this?"

"No," she admitted just as softly, watching the warehouse. There was only one guard visible now, his shaved, tattooed head making him easy to place. Zip had been one of Trent's low-rent thugs, one of a dozen who'd scattered when the O'Kanes started making their presence felt. "But I'm sure I have to do it."

"You really don't." Scarlet laid a hand on her arm. "Let us--me and Elvis and Riff."

Six shook her head. "If it's worth doing, I need to stand behind it. I'm done leaving you to fight this shit on your own."

Scarlet nodded and edged toward the rickety iron ladder on the opposite edge of the roof. Some of the bolts securing it to the brick façade had come loose, and Six braced herself for the precarious climb down.

Scarlet's boots hit the cracked concrete with a thump, and she pulled a pistol from her jacket. "Around the back," she whispered. "Then we wait."

As much as she preferred her fists, Six eased her own gun free and checked it, telling herself not to think about Bren's scarred hands as they slid over the pieces of his rifle, fitting them together with casual efficiency.

He'd never forgive her for this, either.

She'd figured her heart would be numb by now, but it still hurt so much she had to struggle to breathe as she followed Scarlet around the side of the building. From the crumbled wall at the back, they could hear every noise the guards made, from the murmur of conversation to the crunch of boots on gravel and broken glass.

Scarlet's brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. After a moment, she shrank closer to the wall and laid one finger over her mouth.

Someone had walked up to the blown-out window opening above them.

"I ain't doing it," the man rumbled. "You feel free, but don't expect some fucking bonus for it. Even if you managed to knock one of 'em up--"

Rough laughter spilled out, sadistic and vaguely familiar. "Who needs a bonus? A chance at some Eden pussy is all the reward I need."

Six frowned and mouthed
Eden?
to Scarlet, but the woman raised both eyebrows and shook her head.

"You forget who's lording it over Three now? Dallas O'Kane'll make you wish you'd kept your pants on."

A third man chimed in. "Yeah, if his bitch doesn't get to you first."