Beyond Control (17 page)

"Stay with me, angel." A gloved finger touched her cheek, tilting her head. "I need to know what kind of fuzzy you're getting."

She rubbed the back of her head against the chair and tried to bring the room back into focus. "Ace."

"Still good?"

No, not good, but somehow she knew it could be. "So easy," she whispered.

Concern furrowed his brow, and the buzzing of the machine cut off. Ace filled her vision, patted her cheek. "Look at me, Rachel."

She couldn't. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back. "Just finish. Please."

The buzz resumed a moment later, followed by the brain-scrambling, blissful pain. "I'll take care of you, Rachel. Doesn't matter what's between us or why. Or who. I've always got your back. You hear me, girl?"

"Yes." But it didn't mean anything. The real problem was why she couldn't seem to let go.

"If you want me to keep going, you're going to have to talk to me. Prove you're not about to pass the hell out." He wiped at her skin, then moved his hand down, cupping the outer curve of her breast. "I don't care if you sing or recite the alphabet, just talk."

"I can't." She tried to drag in a breath, but it sounded more like a sob. "I don't ever know what to say to you."

He made a soothing noise as the pain spread along her shoulder. "Then I'll talk."

He did, of random things like Noelle's dancing and the bar and what was happening in Sector Three. About the latest gossip out of the border whorehouses and who was favored to win the next round of cage fights.

Nothing too heavy, nothing personal. Nothing
real
.

Cruz talked to her, told her about the pain of his past and his hopes for the future. He was honest in a way she wasn't sure Ace knew how to be for longer than a few stolen moments at a time. Cruz was good,
decent
--

And only the worst kind of woman would be sitting there right now, wishing Ace would kiss her, just once.

A tear seeped out of the corner of Rachel's eye, and she let it track down into her hair as she breathed deep and focused on the pain instead of letting it fuzz away into the dark corners of her mind.

She deserved to feel every single sting.

By the time the elaborate grandfather clock in the corner of Cerys's meeting room chimed to announce an hour of Dallas's life wasted, he was starting to think longingly of those assassination attempts he'd joked about.

The ridiculous clock aside, the room where the sector leaders met to plan--and argue--was probably the starkest in Sector Two. It was dominated by a solid table, ten feet square. Just enough room for suspicious men to spread out, two on each side, but not enough to really keep them safe from one another. And they all knew it.

They were arranged by sector, by unspoken agreement. Or maybe the original agreement had been spoken before Dallas's time, when the first group had tentatively gathered, mistrustful leaders of the strongest factions, the ones who were smart enough to realize the truth that kept the sectors alive. Too much organization, and the men who controlled Eden would sweep out from the city, use their superior technology to wipe away the threat that unified sectors could represent. Too much chaos, and Eden would be forced to exert a different but equally destructive kind of control.

Everything depended on balance. Balance between the sectors and Eden, balance between the leaders of each sector. Seated next to the empty chair that Trent had occupied during their last meeting, Dallas could
feel
their carefully won balance tipping.

Not that they were talking about Three. No, they'd blown the last hour listening to Timothy Scott and Richard Colby argue over the new wind farms going up in Seven. Both ruled their sectors like petty kings straight from a goddamn fairy tale, relying on greedy retainers to suck the land and the people dry while they lounged in modern-day palaces, and both seemed perpetually convinced the other was conspiring with the city.

Dallas glanced at Cerys, who had humored them thus far but was obviously running low on patience. She rose and held her hands wide. "Gentlemen, your concerns about Eden's new construction are valid, but hardly actionable. Not here."

"The lady has a point." Jim Jernigan, hard-ass leader of Sector Eight, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How about we discuss something that affects us all?"

"The empty chair," Gideon agreed from his seat beside Cerys. He met Dallas's gaze with a small smile of apology before continuing. "Wilson Trent made a stupid move out of greed. Dallas was well within reason to put him down for it, but it leaves us with a mess to clean up."

A pretty little speech, but not without a chiding edge. Or maybe Dallas was still irritated with Mad's cousin. He couldn't forget the moment between Gideon and Lex the previous night, that awkward, halting conversation that had implied the two shared secrets.

Secrets were intimacy, and God knew he was jealous as fuck of Lex's intimacy. It lent his voice unreasonable bite as he drawled his response. "If I'd set about cleaning up that mess, you'd all assume I was aiming to expand operations."

"Someone will have to," Cerys observed. "Leaving a power void in that sector could hurt all of us."

"You most of all, eh, Cerys?" Fleming noted idly. "After all the effort you and the other ladies have gone to, buffing and shining Two until it's as pristine as Eden itself. You've got leaderless barbarians on your doorstep now."

"And I don't like it. I like order, just as you do."

Scott barked out a laugh. "Fleming likes
money
, not order."

"Money comes from order," Colby intoned piously, unable to pass up the chance to land a jab on his enemy, even a ridiculous one. Dallas had seen Colby's sector, and Seven was damn near as chaotic as Three.

Scott opened his mouth to retort, and Dallas cut them off before they could start another fight. "We all like money, and we all like not having our sectors firebombed. Or have you two forgotten how Three got so damned fucked up to start with? The asshole before Trent let his ego get ahead of him, and Eden blew up all his pretty factories."

"Which is why I'll gladly let someone else take on the risk of developing Three." Jernigan leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "The place is a pit. It's not worth losing my manufacturing capabilities over."

Dallas studied Jernigan, trying to see past the man's businesslike façade. All the people around the table were dangerous to one degree or another--even Gideon--but none of them were as tough to read as Jim Jernigan. He was the only original sector leader left, one of the first who'd helped carve out the eight territories and set down the rules for survival. A dangerous man, to have held on to his sector while his contemporaries lost their places to internal struggle, one after another.

He had a poker face that'd make Lex weep with envy.

"Dallas."

He started at his name, and for a moment thought he'd missed part of the conversation. But everyone else was peering at Gideon in confusion, too. Fleming frowned and leaned forward. "Dallas, what?"

"Dallas can do it without attracting attention." Gideon rolled a cigarette between his fingers without lighting it. "It's not just about location. It's about style, and keeping things running without too many changes, so no one in Eden decides they need to poke their noses in. Three and Four have always been similar."

Scott's face drew into a disbelieving grimace. "You want to just
give
O'Kane a fucking sector?"

"No," Colby corrected in a withering tone. "Gideon obviously wants to give it to his cousin. Maddox. O'Kane even brought him to the damn summit."

Holding back a sigh, Dallas flashed Gideon a dark look and received an enigmatic expression in return. Gideon was playing a game all right, but Dallas would bet his boots
and
his balls that Mad wasn't in on it. If he didn't trust in Mad's unconditional loyalty, the man wouldn't be guarding Lex right now.

Fleming scoffed. "If we're offering up our subordinates, my second-in-command could work wonders with the sector."

Cerys smiled. "Let's be clear what we're talking about here. A seven-share split of whatever profits come out of Three, less a small percentage. We'll call it a management fee."

"Profits meaning income after expenses," Dallas cut in. Gideon had started the ball rolling, but Dallas could feel excitement prickling along his skin now. The promise of power in the air, if he worked it just right. "How many of you have been to Three? There are some decent crafters in there, but the sector's a damn mess. Most of the roads were wiped out when they torched the factories. Travel is a nightmare, which makes business a pain in the fucking ass."

"You and Cerys are the only ones close enough to make it practical." Jernigan's gaze roved over Dallas, assessing and cold. "And Cerys--God love her, but her skills run toward a more refined sort of enterprise."

The observation drew a few chuckles from around the table, and for one split second, Dallas could see behind the ever-present solicitous courtesy she wore like a mask. Cerys played her part, trading on the flesh of her girls, her own sensuality, and the ignorance of men foolish enough to underestimate her.

She played her part, and she hated it. Just like Dallas did.

How many times had he gritted his teeth through jokes about O'Kane, the ignorant barbarian? How many times had he fought to keep understanding from his expression when Fleming or Colby insulted him to his face with esoteric references from pre-Flare literature that an uneducated thug from Four wasn't supposed to understand?

How many of them would choke on their own damn spit if he admitted he knew what the word
esoteric
meant?

Oh, he knew how hot frustration burned when an idiot smiled smugly, confident in his superiority. He knew the temptation to throw away everything just to rub their noses in how stupid they were. He had no doubt that Cerys would slit the throats of every last man in this room and feel nothing but pleasure.

Him included, which was a good thing to remember before sympathy made
him
a fool, too.

Gideon was looking thoughtful now, but Fleming wasn't giving up the fight. "Five's not that far from Three, and my man's familiar with the territory. Dallas has built himself a pretty little empire, but let's be honest. He runs a
gang
. If you want profit, you need a businessman."

Cerys arched an eyebrow. "It may be a gang, as you say, but he didn't take his business from someone else. He built it from the ground up, which is exactly what needs to be done with Three."

"A self-made man," Gideon agreed, casting such a sly look at Mac Fleming that Dallas almost resolved to forgive him. "Those of us who inherit our power and influence lack an advantage the less fortunate have in abundance."

Fleming stared back across the table coolly. "And that is?"

"Hunger." When Fleming opened his mouth, Gideon held up a finger. "Which is not the same thing as avarice or envy."

"Your second. The one who can't wear a suit without looking like a little boy playing dress-up?" Jernigan turned an old coin over and over on the backs of his fingers. "Is he hungry, Mac?"

When Mac didn't answer, Gideon chuckled. "Not hungry enough, or Mac would have bigger troubles. Or maybe he's starting to wonder if he already does."

Jernigan dropped the coin on the table with a sharp, metallic ring. "More money beats less every damn day of the week. All I've seen your man do is fake confidence and smiles, Fleming, but O'Kane's proven himself. If we're voting, he's the one I'll back."

Colby stirred in his seat next to Jernigan, leaning away as if to distance himself from the other man's words. "I lodge a formal protest. If O'Kane wants to be considered, the rest of us should have a chance to present candidates of our own. My younger brother--"

"Spends all his time finding farmers' daughters to add to his harem," Scott sniped. "If you want a grunting lecher, you might as well vote for O'Kane."

"Gee, thanks," Dallas drawled, grinning at them both, an expression that wasn't fake at all. With the chair beside him empty, a simple majority required no more than four votes. Jernigan and Gideon and Cerys...

And him.

Oh, it was moving fast. Too damn fast. He thought of Jasper discussing recruitment and Dom slavering over the idea of moving into virgin territory. They'd be stretched thin, trying to exert order over chaos...but they had more than a few promising allies. More would come running, gambling on their ability to earn places of power and influence.

The smart, careful move was to say no. To deflect. But Dallas could
taste
the power, the thrill of owning more territory than anyone else. More chances to turn opportunity into profit, more chances to create something resembling civilization instead of brutality. A chance to stamp out the worst of Trent's abuses, the girls being sold as virtual slaves. The ones like Six, being tortured in spirit and body.

No doubt
that
was Gideon's endgame. Jernigan's could be as simple as easy money. It wasn't like he could risk his factories on a gamble, and he wouldn't profit if someone else took over.

No, Cerys was the enigma--and the hidden danger. Ignoring the bickering as Scott and Colby started at each other again, Dallas met Cerys's gaze over the empty seat between them. "You sure you're not interested in expanding operations south?"

She answered first with a barely perceptible shake of her head. "I have plenty to occupy myself at the moment, not to mention the hard facts. In my particular business, establishing a base of operations and a solid clientele could take years." She leaned closer. "Years during which no one would be making any money."

Silence settled around the table as men measured greed against laziness, and Dallas weighed his own ambition against the risks inherent in tackling a new territory. He had enough to keep himself neck-deep in toys and trinkets, enough to keep his men happy and his women independent.