Beyond Possession (Beyond #5.5) (9 page)

Tearing it free, she rammed her knee into his balls and shoved him back. She wasn't small, and she'd never been more grateful for the extra weight. When he stumbled, she slammed into him, riding him to the floor. His hand shot up, locking around her throat, cutting off her air.

She didn't think. Didn't second-guess. She smashed the board down with both hands, like she was trying to cut off his damn head. The nails split his skin, sinking deep. For an awful, eternal moment, nothing happened. Then hot, thick blood welled up beneath the board, beneath her
hands
.

Buzz thrashed, flailing, and managed to knock the board away. Blood spurted from his wounds, splashing Tatiana's face and hands.

She scrambled off him, crawling under the table before stumbling to her feet. Her fingers were slick with blood, but she snatched up the pistol and turned, leveling it at him while she put her back against the wall.

He clutched at his ravaged throat and screamed. The sound gurgled out of him as he lurched toward her.

Shooting him was a fucking mercy, but that wasn't why she did it. She put the first two in his chest to drop him before he could touch her again, and the third in his head so he could never,
ever
touch her again.

Someone would come running soon. You couldn't fire shots in the heart of the marketplace without attracting attention. Stuart, probably, or someone else loyal to Dallas. Someone who wouldn't give a shit that she'd put down a slimy motherfucker like Buzz.

But the word would spread. Wallace would know soon. Catalina. And Zan—God, Zan would be furious. Her carefully ordered world had just skidded out of her grasp, and she couldn't wrap her brain around any of it.

She jerked her gaze from Buzz's corpse, and it snagged on her worktable. Her soap was a mess, the lines half-drawn and smudged. She'd ripped the swirling tool out of the partially hardened soap, leaving behind jagged tears and stiff peaks. She could salvage some of it for the sectors, but she couldn't sell it to Eden.

What a stupid fucking thing to care about with blood slicking her skin and a dead man on the floor, but she couldn't move past it. The symbol of all of her hopes and lofty dreams, mangled by a past she couldn't outrun.

There was nothing to do but start over. Again.

Zan knew something had happened the moment he set foot in the market.

This time of morning, the place should've been hopping, with vendors and customers alike thick in the streets. Instead, at least half the stalls were still closed up, and most of the folks stood clustered in small groups, whispering nervously.

Worst of all, they fell silent when they saw him.

He was five seconds away from snatching up the nearest asshole and demanding to know what was wrong when he spotted Stuart coming out of a side alley. The man stopped, squared his shoulders, and strode toward Zan.

"You heard?" he asked when he got close enough.

"No." Zan crossed both arms over his chest. "But you're about to tell me."

"Buzz Miller's dead," he said shortly. "Wallace's favorite sycophant. The Stone girl is close-lipped about what went down, so I let it go and just dumped the body."

"Wait, Tatiana or Catalina?"

Stuart jerked his head toward the shop. "Tatiana. She shot him in her workroom."

Zan's gut clenched. "When?" he barked, already stalking in the direction of her shop. "Is she okay?"

"A couple hours ago." Stuart hurried to catch up with him. "She has a few bruises, maybe. Nothing too bad."

Nothing too bad.
Fuck that. You didn't fucking shoot a man for looking at you wrong, so Christ knew what Miller had said—or tried to do.

Zan burst through the back door without knocking. Tatiana was kneeling on the floor, scrubbing at a large bloodstain by her worktable, but he didn't make it two steps before she snatched up a gun and leveled it at him. Her gaze locked with his, but it seemed to take a second for recognition to penetrate.

It took two more for the gun to waver. Exhaling slowly, she lowered her arms and looked away. She had a bruised cheek, with blood along her hairline and drying in her hair. Her throat bore angry red marks, as if someone had tried to choke her.

She looked like hell. But none of that showed in her blank expression as she set aside the gun and resumed her scrubbing. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

She stiffened. "You think he's the first man I've killed?"

Zan took a step forward, his heart still thumping. "I think he came into your shop, into your
home
, and you did what you had to do. But he shouldn't have fucking been here in the first place, Tatiana."

"Of course not." She dropped the brush into a bucket of water and sat back on her heels. "But don't go getting any romantic ideas about me, Zan. I didn't wait for him to try to rape me before I shoved a dozen nails through his neck. And I'll sleep just fine tonight."

"Damn straight, you will." He snatched her up and tossed her over his shoulder, and headed for the door.

"
Zan
." She slammed a fist into his back, and one of her boots collided with his thigh. "Don't you fucking dare. Put me down, or I swear to God—"

"What?" He kicked open the door. "You'll scream? Go on. I'm sure the whole goddamn market would be real interested in this turn of events."

It might not have fazed a different sort of woman, but he'd known it would work on her. Tatiana tried too hard to be invisible and reserved. She wouldn't kick and scream and draw more attention.

But she wouldn't need to. Everyone would be talking about this, and they both knew it.

"You asshole," she whispered fiercely. "You promised."

"That was before Stuart had to dump a body for you, sweetheart."

She gripped the back of his shirt, her breathing quick and sharp. "You're putting my sister in danger. Don't do this."

He stopped short. "Tell me what Miller wanted. The truth."

She hesitated just long enough to make him wonder if she was coming up with a lie. But the words that came next were too reluctant—and too enraging—to be false. "Wallace wants me to take her place."

Zan could have guessed as much, and it pissed him off in so many ways. "Then tell me how your sister's not already in danger, and I'll put you down right here."

The fight went out of her in bits and pieces, until she was slumped over his shoulder, heartbreakingly defeated. "Help me save her," she whispered. "I'll go with you, whatever you want. Just promise me you'll get her away from him."

He was gonna do more than that. He was gonna put a bullet between that motherfucker's eyes himself.

The Broken Circle was still closed when he walked in. Rachel was behind the bar, counting bottles, and Noelle was wiping tables as she pulled down chairs in preparation for opening.

It probably said something about him that neither of them blinked at the fact that he had a wriggling, blood-spattered woman over his shoulder.

"I can walk," Tatiana muttered. Her mood had taken a sharp turn back to anger when she realized he had no intention of putting her down just because she'd agreed to let him help.

"I understand that."

Rachel wiped her hands on a towel. "Problem?" she asked dryly.

Tatiana dug her fingernails into his side. "Put. Me.
Down
."

One of Noelle's eyebrows swept up. She shot Rachel a questioning look before pinning Zan with one that was a little more cutting. "Should I go find Lex?"

"I've already had this conversation with her, thanks," he shot back. It wouldn't stop her from kicking his ass, though, so he carefully lowered Tatiana to her feet.

She glared up at him. "Did that feel good? Dragging me through the marketplace so everyone would see?"

It had, more than he was willing to admit. Every pair of eyes that saw them was connected to a mouth that would spread the word—Tatiana was untouchable. "It held a certain appeal."

"I'm sure." She gripped his belt and went up on her toes, and she was tall enough that the position almost brought her face up to his. "Savor it. Because if you lay your hands on me again without permission, I'll put a knife in you and take my chances with Dallas O'Kane."

Zan squinted down at her. She seemed serious enough, but it was impossible to tell if she'd really do it. She was livid, all right. Maybe even murderous.

Finally, he relented. "Fair enough."

She released him and stepped back. "So is that it? Can I leave? You made your point, everyone knows I'm property of the O'Kanes now."

Noelle and Rachel made a beeline for the kitchen, and Zan cursed. "Not exactly."

She looked baffled. Angry, but confused, too. In the brighter lighting of the bar, he could see every lingering detail of the attack. The bruises were more vivid. There was more blood in her hair than he'd realized, and on her skin, too. Her pride and bluster were a thin layer over exhaustion and hopelessness.

That pride was all she had left, and Zan couldn't bring himself to strip away more of it than he already had. "Some bad shit went down, Tatiana, and this is still Dallas's sector. He's gonna want to talk to you."

It worked, because her tense stance eased. She looked down at her dirty, disheveled clothes and her bloodstained fingers. "Not like this. Please."

Even he wasn't that much of an asshole. "We'll get you cleaned up," he told her gruffly. "Find you something to wear."

"All right." She wet her lips and looked away. "Can someone keep an eye on my shop? I wouldn't put it past Wallace to burn it down when he finds out."

"Dallas will take care of it." Zan dragged both hands through his hair and motioned for her to follow him. He went through the back and headed straight for the building that housed most of the apartments, including his.

He had no doubt that Dallas would do exactly that—take care of things. Zan only hoped that Tatiana still wanted to look at him when it was all over.

Trix was the O'Kane closest to Tatiana's size, but her clothing was something else. Lush silk and delicate lace, tailored perfectly to the redhead's every generous curve. And these weren't even the fancy ones—just a blouse and a skirt and a corset that hooked up the front. Stuart's expensive work, no doubt, since every person in this place seemed to have a closet full of it.

Her father had hoarded his wealth, with the exception of a few lieutenants. O'Kane's people were all rolling in luxury, straight down to dancers and the girls pouring drinks.

It made the couple seated on the other side of an imposing wooden desk too good to be true.

Lex smiled up at Zan. "I love you, but you have to get the fuck out of here."

He flinched. "Come on, Lex—"

Dallas O'Kane didn't seem too good to be true right now. He was terrifying as he slapped a hand down on his desk, rattling everything on it. "
Out
."

Zan sighed, took one last look at Tatiana, and backed out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind him, and as furious as she was, Tatiana's stomach turned over. Zan's motivations might be a baffling tangle, but Dallas and Lex's were no mystery—they wanted what was best for the O'Kanes and the sector, and they'd get it. With her willing assistance or without it.

Dallas's dark gaze fixed on her throat. She'd scrubbed away the blood, but the bruises were only getting uglier, judging by the way his eyebrows drew together.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally.

Tatiana clenched her hands together and nodded once. "They're just bruises."

"Just bruises," Lex echoed.

She flushed and looked down. "I killed him before he got around to anything worse. Am I in trouble for that?"

"Dallas and I are the wrong people to be asking, honey. You didn't put a bullet through one of
our
men."

No, she'd killed one of Wallace's flunkies. Wallace, who was whispering vile lies into Catalina's ear already—if he wasn't doing something worse.

Her stomach almost revolted at that thought, but cold practicality took hold in the next moment. Wallace wouldn't hurt Catalina, because he couldn't afford to. She made a good symbol...but she'd make an even better hostage.

Dallas and Lex had to know that, too.

She braced herself and glanced up—not at Dallas, but at Lex. Beautiful, devious,
ruthless
Lex, who was everything the women in Tatiana's family had never been. They'd huddled in the shadow of power. Lex had claimed her own.

Maybe Tatiana could do the same. "You need to shut this rebellion down."

Lex reached for a cigarette and flicked open her lighter. "We're listening."

"You need an excuse to crush Wallace. One that won't make you look like the power-mad asshole he says you are." She shifted her gaze to Dallas, but it was hard to hold his eyes. O'Kane had the kind of presence that made you feel smaller unless you stood within the circle of his regard. "One that won't make you look like a tyrant."

"I can be a tyrant," Dallas drawled, lazy in spite of the dark intensity of his expression. "But I prefer benevolent dictator."

"Then I'll be your excuse." She leaned forward. "Come down on them fast and hard. Get my sister out alive, and I'll make sure everyone knows you rescued her. For me."