Beyond Pain (39 page)

It didn't make sense, but she was so wasted it probably shouldn't. Rachel could match any O'Kane drink for drink, which made him wonder how full that bottle had been when she'd come up here. She might have even started drinking while he was still in the cage, before he'd claimed victory only to discover a guilt-stricken Ace, hitting the whiskey hard enough for it to hit back.

It wasn't a surprise that the two people he cared for most couldn't exchange two words without shredding each other to ribbons. That had been his life forever--the agony of divided loyalties. His orders or his conscience, the sectors or Eden...

Rachel or Ace.

Ace would have to fend for himself tonight. Cruz crouched and held out a hand. "Share the tequila?"

"Take it. My head is spinning." She passed him the bottle, then pressed her palms over her closed eyes. "You talked to Ace."

"He didn't have much to say." It wasn't a lie, because he hadn't needed words to know. The pain in Ace's expression had told Cruz who, and enough of what. Only a fight with Rachel could put
that
look in the man's eyes.

She changed the subject. "Congratulations on your win. That's a record, you know. I hope you were smart enough to bet on yourself and clean up."

"I've got some cash now, yeah."

She leaned her head back against the brick. "Good."

"Rachel, honey. It's too damn cold to be out here. Why don't you go back to your room?"

"I don't want to be alone." Her eyes fluttered open and fixed on him. "Up here, I'm killing time. If I go home, I'm alone."

The offer hung heavy on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. It would be too easy to cross this line. He'd crossed so many others lately, stumbling across them in blind pursuit of pleasure.

He could stumble into her, too, but not like this. Not drunk and sad and shivering from the cold. His words had to be careful, precise. Comfort with no hidden strings, no temptation. "You don't have to be alone. There are plenty of places you could crash tonight."

She smiled--slow, with no hint of amusement. "Everyone feels sorry for me these days."

"I don't think that's true."

"Maybe not. Fine." She reached out. "If you're not going to let me sit here and feel sorry for myself, the least you can do is help me up."

Now it was safe to smile as he straightened and took her hand. "You promise to go somewhere warm, and I'll let you brood all night long."

"I don't
want
to." She tripped over her feet and pitched against him, bracing her free hand on his chest. "I don't know what else to do. This isn't how things were supposed to turn out."

The line always blurred when she put her hands on him. But this was the first time she'd touched him in the days since he'd killed Russell Miller, and that had been a turning point. The moment he'd given up on some impossible idea of being a hero.

Of being
her
hero.

He gripped her shoulders to steady her and ignored the way even that small contact stirred arousal. "Turn out? That's awfully final."

Her fingers tightened in his shirt. "Yes, it is."

Careful.
"Your life's not over. Anything could happen tomorrow. You and I both know that better than most."

She looked up at him, her expression serious. Her eyes clear. "I'm glad you're happy. Doubt anything else, but not that, okay?"

He wasn't happy. He was falling, losing himself in vice because fucking and fighting were the only things that gave him a taste of pleasure. But she looked so somber, so fucking
sad
that only a monster would take that small comfort from her. "All right."

She huffed out a laugh and hid her face against his chest. "You're a terrible liar. Just wretched."

It wasn't funny, but his lips twitched as he gave himself permission to touch her hair. He'd missed running his fingers through it, feeling the slippery blonde strands slide over his skin. It was longer than it had been during their brief time together, long enough that he could imagine wrapping it around his fist--

No.
"I'm actually a damn good liar," he said, mostly to distract himself. "Just not with you, I guess."

"Not with me." She arched closer, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. "I miss you."

"Yeah?" His heart kicked into his throat--an amazing fucking feat with all the blood rushing to his cock.

But Rachel didn't respond, and she wasn't just leaning into him for support anymore. He allowed himself a single sigh before scooping her off her feet. She barely murmured as her head tucked itself neatly under his chin.

She'd be feeling the tequila tomorrow, and the chances were good she wouldn't remember a damn thing she'd said to him tonight. That was the only reason he let himself speak at all as he carried her toward the stairs.

"I miss you, too."

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Kit Rocha is actually two people--Bree & Donna, best friends who are living the dream. They get paid to work in their pajamas, talk on the phone, and write down all the stories they used to make up in their heads.

The Beyond series is their first adventure in dystopian erotic romance. They also write paranormal romance as Moira Rogers. You can learn more about their work at
www.kitrocha.com
&
www.moirarogers.com
.