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.
Chapter Nine
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