Beyond Addiction (7 page)

Sometime between slipping into a hot bath and letting Alya scrub the dried blood from her hair, reality began to crash down on Trix.

She’d been living in surreal fantasy since the moment Finn had shot Fleming. The painful danger of their situation had intruded, of course, but only in brief flashes she could barely grasp. It was easier to let it slip through her fingers, to shove it away. To not think about the truth.

Finn had shot Fleming.

Finn had shot a sector leader.

People had been killed for far, far less, no matter how justifiable their reasons.

She shivered in the bath as Alya poured fresh, warm water over her neck and shoulders, rinsing away the last of the soap with gentle fingers. “You’ve had a shit couple days, haven’t you, honey?”

“I’ve had better,” she admitted. “Also had worse, though.”

Alya shook her head and rose. “Too many of us have. But not on this farm, not anymore. You and Finn will be safe here.”

No one would be safe there—not if Beckett showed up, intent on revenge. “You’ll all be better off once we’re gone. That doesn’t hurt my feelings, it’s just fact.”

“Someone could come looking for you,” she agreed, shaking open a fluffy towel. “But it’s not likely to be tonight. It’s one of the nice things about living this far from Eden. People tend to forget you’re there.”

“Sounds peaceful.”

“It can be. Have you ever looked up at the stars without the lights from Eden’s walls getting in the way?”

Just once, when Finn had taken her to his cabin beyond the outskirts of Five. She’d expected it to be dark, so far away from the fires and electric lights, but it had been brighter, somehow. Luminous, with the starlight and the soft glow of the half-moon shining through the windows.

She’d spent her second visit shaking from withdrawal, in too much wracking pain to notice anything else. But she could still hear his voice, with its grating edge of surrender.
“Fuck me, Tracy. I can’t watch you die, not like this.”

“No,” she whispered. “I never have.”

“Well, we’ll fix that. Maybe tomorrow night.” She gestured Trix out of the tub and held up the towel. “We’re far from the city, but the main farmhouse has a few luxuries. You can take all the hot baths you want, and we have electric heating, though we usually lay a fire in the bedrooms at night to save power.”

She took the towel and wrapped it around herself before tucking in the edge to secure it. “Thanks, Alya.”

“It’s nothing, honey.” Alya ushered Trix out the door and across the hallway, into a cozy bedroom with a stack of clothing and a med kit laid out on the bed. “Finn saved Shipp’s life, you know. That’s a debt I feel just as much as he does. Maybe more.”

“I think I understand.” The place clearly belonged to Alya, but Shipp seemed right at home.

“Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. I can only imagine the stories you’ve heard about Sector Six. Probably as wild as the stories they tell about Dallas O’Kane.”

“Biggest difference?” Trix smiled as she picked up the nightgown, a floor-length confection of peach-colored satin and white lace. “Half that shit is actually true.”

“Is it, now?” Alya sat down and opened the med kit. “Well, most of the shit you hear about Six is true, too, and it’s not half so entertaining. My husband claimed this farmstead when the lights went out. I was fourteen when I became his third wife, and he took seven more before Shipp finally put him in the ground.”

Trix nodded. “There’s a girl from Six—she tells stories. When she feels like talking, I mean. A lot of them sound like that.”

“Not a lot of good stories come out of this sector. Hell, Shipp could have been another bad one. The leader of a gang of outlaws on a farm full of women and children and men too beaten down to fight...” She trailed off and nodded to the ink around Trix’s wrists. “You ever tell people stuff and they don’t believe you, because they think it’s too good to be true?”

It was all her life was—a collection of things that should have killed her but somehow hadn’t. “Every day.”

“Then you understand perfectly.” She patted the bed next to her. “Sit and let me look at those wrists.”

Trix draped the nightgown over her arm and shook her head. “No, I’m fine, really. Just a few scrapes from the handcuffs. I didn’t even need the bandages, but Finn—he needed them.”

“Ah.” Alya tilted her head, studying her with a curiosity she didn’t bother to hide. “That’s a side of him I never thought I’d see.”

“It’s all I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m glad someone has.” She closed the kit and rose. “I don’t know how long Shipp will keep Finn up. Should I make up a second bed for him?”

The denial died on her lips. What she wanted was immutable—and irrelevant. She wanted Finn, always had...but that didn’t make it safe, and it didn’t make it right. Especially here.

“Lex would have my ass if I went into someone else’s house and tried to dictate the sleeping arrangements,” she said instead.

Alya paused with one hand on the door, her expression still serious. “No one will be offended if he shares your bed, honey. But if you need a night to yourself, Finn’ll sleep where I put him.”

Would he? “He spent the last four years believing I was dead,” Trix confessed. “I could be wrong…but, somehow, I think he’ll wind up here.”

“He—” Alya bit off the words as her eyes widened, and she closed the door with a soft
click
. “Well, that explains a lot. You’re the one he lost.”

That made it all sound so innocent, so harmless, as if it was something outside of her control that had just happened instead of a calculated decision. “No, I’m the one who left him.”

Alya went still, her dark eyes suddenly wary. “Are you with him willingly now?”

“It’s not—it wasn’t like that. I had to get out of Five, and Finn...” She searched for the words. “He wasn’t ready, that’s all.”

After a moment, Alya nodded. “Maybe he wasn’t. I didn’t know him before he lost you, but the man I’ve seen these past few years isn’t the man who showed up tonight. He’s alive.”

Trix shivered, chastised and reassured by the words all at once, and she found herself trying desperately to explain. “We were both fucked up. It wasn’t—wasn’t good. But if I had had a choice—” She swallowed hard. “Leaving hurt him, I know that. But staying would have hurt him worse.”

“Shh, no.” Alya abandoned the med kit and crossed the room. She gripped Trix’s shoulders, her fingers warm and strong as she urged her to sit on the bed. “Girl, I’ve been there. I’ve been fucked up. I put Shipp through hell before I let him love me.”

Love. They had to focus on staying alive right now, nothing else. “If we can make it home, I can show him things are different. But we have to get back to Four first.”

“He doesn’t care about a new world right now. He cares about you.” Alya tilted Trix’s chin up and smoothed her hair back. “But that doesn’t make him your burden to carry. You can go back to Four and know we’ll take care of him.”

She nodded, even though it wasn’t true. She couldn’t leave without him, not because he was a burden or a responsibility, but because he was Finn.

The stairs creaked under Finn’s boots, but he didn’t care if his hosts heard. Alya had dropped a stack of pillows and blankets on the couch downstairs before dragging Shipp to their bedroom, but the suggestion had remained unspoken. Since the woman was fully capable of parking her ass on the stairs with a shotgun and telling Finn to stay away from Trix, an unspoken suggestion damn near equaled permission.

He still knocked on the guestroom door, because
damn near
wasn’t good enough, and only one person could make it okay. “Trix?”

Silence—until the lock clicked and she pulled open the door. “Come in.”

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do a damn thing but stare. The lights in the room were off, but firelight suited her. So did the nightgown Alya had dug up, something floaty that made her seem as insubstantial as a dream.

Maybe she was. Maybe he’d never wake up.

She gripped the edge of the door and stared back at him.

Touching her was wrong. She was clean from her bath, her skin soft and smooth under his fingers. A bruise stood out on her cheek, vivid even in the uncertain light, and his other hand clenched until his fingers ached. “You okay?”

Trix tilted her face to his touch. “I was waiting for you.”

No, this wasn’t a dream. He’d never be delusional enough to conjure up a world where she leaned into him. Wanted him. This was a stolen moment, cut off from the truths of both of their lives. A
might-have-been
or a
could-have-been
, and it would sting like a bitch when reality tore her away from him again.

Bad choices. His past was littered with them, so he made another one, sliding his hand to cup the back of her neck. Not a rough grip, but firm enough to guide her into the room as he edged one boot over the threshold.

She slipped her hands beneath his vest and clenched her fingers in his T-shirt. “Finn...”

Letting go of her would kill him, but he made himself ask. “Yeah?”

Her eyes locked with his. “Close the door.”

He took another step, and this time she didn’t move. Her body brushed his, so close her breath blew warm across his throat as he found the edge of the door with his heel and kicked it shut.

“I’m sorry.” She was already tugging at his shirt, and she whispered the words again as the fabric pulled free of his pants.

She’d be touching skin any second, and his dick was past ready. He could lay her out, strip her bare, bury his face and his fingers between those lush thighs, and make her beg him for it. It wouldn’t be the first time—hazy, drug-fueled memories assured him of that.

But it would be the first time either of them remembered clearly.

He caught her wrists, stilling her hands against his sides. “Why are you sorry?”

Trix froze, then a low laugh burst free. “You want to hear something stupid? I don’t even know anymore.”

Anger came out of nowhere, leaving him unbalanced. Raw. “Fuck that. You don’t apologize to a single fucking person in Five, least of all me.”

“Okay.” She leaned in and pressed an openmouthed kiss to the side of his neck, short-circuiting his righteous anger with one brush of her tongue. “Okay.”

He released her wrists and grabbed her waist instead, then gave in and slid his hands down, over that perfectly rounded, fucking
gorgeous
ass. Her body rubbed along his as he hoisted her, and her tits thrust against his chest, firm and pouting for his attention.

He’d give them plenty. Soon. If he ever got done with her lips.

He covered her mouth with a groan. She met the kiss eagerly, parting her lips beneath his with a low noise as she wound around him—her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips.

Even with the liquor burning through his veins, he could fuck her like this. Get his pants open, get beneath that nightgown, sink deep into her and lose himself. He’d made his body into a weapon after he lost her. Strong, hard. Unshakable. He could stand there and help her ride him, let the pleasure of it wash over him until she came.

It would be hot. And over too fucking soon.

So he kissed her and tightened his grip on her ass, rubbing her up and down, rocking her against his cock until she tore her mouth from his with a shuddering gasp.

Her eyes were glazed already, hazy and unfocused. This time, it was sheer pleasure at his touch, and knowing that drowned his lingering guilt in pure, primal satisfaction.

Fuck the drugs. He could make her feel good just like this.

“Look at me,” he whispered, waiting until her sleepy eyes locked on his before grinding his hips into hers. “That’s it. Feel it.”

A little of the haze cleared, replaced by undeniable heat. She dug her nails into the base of his neck, beneath his collar, and picked up the rhythm, rocking with him.

He gritted his teeth against the pleasure, so much sharper with the kiss of pain. It was hot like this. Dangerous. A kidnapped O’Kane straddling his cock was stupidly self-destructive, even for him—but fuck.

What a way to go.

She moaned, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Quietly, doll. I’m not sharing you with the whole damn farm. Bite me if you have to.”

Trix rubbed her cheek over his, her mouth close to his ear. “You like that, don’t you? Something just for you.”

If you listened to the stories, the O’Kanes fucked each other on every available surface, in public and private. He’d never given the rumors much thought because he’d never cared, but now he had to imagine
her
there, her limbs tangled with another person’s, her face alight with pleasure—

Jealousy wasn’t nearly as hot. He tried to bite back a growl, but it rumbled free as he tightened his grip on her. “I never was good at sharing.”

Her whimper turned into a sigh that teased over his skin. “You’re the one I want, Finn.”

It was more than he deserved, but he still took it. He took
her
, claiming her mouth again as he spun blindly and pressed her to the door.

She dug her teeth into his lower lip and arched her hips, harder than before. She was trembling, clutching at him for purchase as she shifted in his arms.

So close. So close to coming apart for him.

He braced her with one hand and slid the other up her body. She’d always had a nice rack, but her curves were killer now. He cupped one breast through her nightgown and worked her nipple with his thumb. “I can’t wait to get my mouth right here.”

“Finn—” She slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled—hard.

Pleasure raced down his spine, reminding him how long it had been since he’d had a woman’s hands on him. “Tell me how to get you there, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Her hand dropped to cover his, and she met his gaze as she dragged his fingers up to nestle around the base of her throat.

She felt fragile under his hand. She always had, but so much more like this, with her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers. If he tightened them at all, he could cut off her air, leave her struggling to draw breath as he drove her toward release.

Mac Fleming had done it all the time. It had been one of his favorite games, and a surefire way for a junkie to get her hands on the good stuff. Sometimes he fucked her himself, sometimes he told someone else to, but it was always Mac’s fingers around her throat, his whim to let her gasp in air or taunt her with the possibility that he might never let go.