of the Broken Circle. She wouldn't think twice about sprawling, naked and open, her heart and soul as recklessly displayed as her body. Every time she did it, she pushed a little farther, came a little harder...
And Six had to choke back horror as the watching men lapped it up, taking something that should have been for Rachel alone.
Trix bent and pulled the shot glass from her shaking hand. "I can handle things here. You can go if you want."
Six hadn't even realized she was still crouched behind the bar, and embarrassment joined the ugly jumble of revulsion and fear turning her inside out. "I can stay," she whispered, knowing it was a lie Trix could hear, but she couldn't help it. Pride wouldn't let her escape easy.
"No, you can't. And that's okay." Trix tilted her head toward the back exit. "Go on. I've got this."
Grateful, Six squeezed the other woman's hand and abandoned any pretense of dignity. The thick wooden door was marked STAFF ONLY, and she didn't look at the stage as she shoved through it, spilling out into a dark hallway. Doors to either side opened into extra rooms, closets used for storage as well as the small office where Rachel kept records of beer and booze sales.
A staircase to her right led up to the second floor and the employee lounge, but Six skipped it and plowed straight for the exit, needing the fresh night air more than the pitying looks of whatever dancers might be waiting their turns on the stage.
She burst through the back door into the comforting shadows of the parking area. The lot was half empty tonight, in spite of the crowd inside, with only two rusting cars and a spattering of motorcycles clustered close to the entrance.
She studied the bikes out of habit, looking for the familiar marks that would have indicated friend or foe in Sector Three, but nothing stood out. Nothing would. Most of the enemies of her old life were dead, and even the survivors wouldn't venture into the lion's den. Now that Dallas O'Kane ruled sectors Four and Three, she was as safe within the walls of this compound as it was possible to be in this life.
That was the story, anyway. Her racing pulse and queasy stomach still weren't buying it. She sucked in a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm through stubbornness alone. The fear and panic were still there--they were always there--but it had been a long time since she'd let herself give in to them. The O'Kanes were making her weak already, as soft as some city twit who had time to whine about feelings.
In Three, fear was everywhere. You lived with it or you died from it, end of options--and that was if you considered dying a viable option. Six never had.
As soon as her heartbeat steadied, she reoriented herself. Two large buildings loomed out of the darkness; to the east stood the warehouse where the O'Kanes held their weekly cage fights, and to the south was the garage where Dallas kept his collection of lovingly restored cars. The living quarters were past the garage, but that wasn't why she headed in that direction. Instead, she slipped through the gate and went in the side door.
The knot of tension between her shoulders unraveled as soon as she saw the familiar figure bent under the hood of his car. "How's the work going?"
"Not bad." Metal clanged against metal as Bren straightened. "Finally got the carburetor rebuilt."
The words meant little to her. She'd never seen a working car up close before Bren had shoved her into one. "How long before you can drive it?"
"A while. It runs, but not well, not yet." His grease-smeared forearms flexed as he wiped his hands on a rag. "How was your shift?"
"Busy." Habit drove her fingers into her pocket to check the tightly rolled wad of bills, tips she'd managed to score from the perverse bastards who got off on being scowled at. "Rachel did her thing again."
"I know."
If she tried to talk about the panic that had sent her running, he'd listen. He'd watch her with those eyes that saw everything and probably understand parts of her she couldn't. It was too much exposure for one night, so she side-stepped the moment by hoisting herself onto the workbench. "Is it hard to learn how to drive?"
He tossed aside the rag and pulled two beers from a bucket next to the bench. "Depends on how good you