"f.u.c.k, baby!" he grunted in her ear. "f.u.c.k, you feel good."

"Shut up and make me come."

"I'm gonna make you come until you're too sore to ride. I'll keep you with me one way or another."

As if to underscore that claim, he shifted them a little to the side, letting her body rest on his and wrapping her up in his arms. He barely broke his rhythm or his force, and then his hand was under hers, on her c.l.i.t, and she was done for. His sandpaper fingers on her c.l.i.t, her hand on his, his c.o.c.k slamming into her, his heavy breath in her ear, the feeling of his strong body supporting hers, it all charged at her and sent her over the edge. She arched sharply up, her whole back leaving contact with his chest, and came until her head hurt.

Before she was completely done, the room spun as Connor moved her quickly, dropping her to the bed, looming over her and shoving her legs up to her chest. Then he was inside her again, kneeling at her a.s.s, his chest against her shins, his hands closing around her waist. She was bound up tight, with the pressure of half his body and half of hers bearing down on her midsection, and he was pounding into her, his hands digging into her flesh.

Sweet f.u.c.king holy Christ. Nothing they'd done had felt like this, even after two months of playing with her toys. She didn't even know why, but G.o.d! "Connor! Oh, f.u.c.k! Oh, f.u.c.k!" She grabbed his arms, feeling her fingernails digging into the meat.

"Don't come, Cordero. Don't come."

"What?" She hadn't quite noticed when he'd started using her first and last name both; it was just something that had started to happen. And not quite interchangeably-she had a faint idea that there was some kind of meaning to be sussed out about when he used which, but this particular moment was not the time to worry about it.

"Don't. Look at me, and don't come." She could hear in the strain of his voice that he was close, too. She could see it, the need, in his intense grey eyes, the way his brows drew down. "Look at me, baby. Look at me."

She did-while he made her body spark and throb, while every fiber in her swelled with the need for release, she stared up into his eyes and saw something much bigger than the wild need firing her core. It was too big even to understand. It was terrifying. And she wanted it. Needed it.

"Connor, please," she gasped, not knowing what she was asking for.

"I want to come together," he panted. "Don't come until I'm ready." That was something she'd have been more likely to say to a guy, rather than the other way around, but Connor had stamina, and she was f.u.c.king there already. He kept up that steady, driving rhythm, hard and deep, a sweetly punishing beat.

Their eyes still locked together, she nodded, but whimpered, "Please, please." Then he moved one hand to her c.l.i.t. "Connor, f.u.c.k! Please!"

"Not yet, baby." The words came through gritted teeth; he was holding himself off, too.

"f.u.c.k!" She threw her arms over her head and grabbed her headboard, trying to draw her attention to the discomfort in her hands clenching around the iron curls.

"Okay. Okay, baby. f.u.c.k, now. Oh, s.h.i.t. Come with me." He yelled incoherently then and sank into her, as deep as he could be, and froze, then went savagely at her c.l.i.t, and she let go, swinging her arms down to clutch at his shoulders, shrieking like an animal. He yelled again and pushed even deeper, and she came until she realized she was crying, and even after. She couldn't stop coming.

He relaxed and let her legs go, settling on her, his hips moving again, gently now. He was still hard, and she was still coming. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bent her head up to press against his hot, heaving chest. f.u.c.k, she was sobbing-out-of-control, ugly crying. She could not remember the last time in her life that she'd cried.

His hands tangled in her hair, holding her head, he kissed her neck again and again, and then her cheek, whispering. "Easy. Easy, Pilar. I love you. Shhh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"No," she gasped, finding some kind of control as her body finally began to find its own. "I'm okay. I just...f.u.c.k, dude." She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. "f.u.c.k. I love you." She turned to find his mouth, and they kissed deeply. His beard was damp from his sweat, and when he pulled back, she saw that he looked as dazed as she was.

And the tears overtook her again. What the h.e.l.l? Still inside her, still hard, he gathered her into a tight embrace and just held her until she could finally be calm.

She was late to the barn. And she was sore-a deep, full soreness that would last for days.

The sated ache in her heart would last much longer.

It was dark when she rode back into Madrone that Sunday night in October, but it wasn't late. It had been a great weekend with friends she only saw in person this one time a year. She'd partied hard. She had to be at work in the morning, so she wanted a quiet night. But Connor was in Vegas, and the thought of being alone at her place made her feel lonely. So she headed toward her grandmother's house. Nana would be watching television, and maybe Hugo would be around, too.

It had been three months since she and the Horde had pulled Hugo out of the High Life, and she and her brother hadn't spoken much since. As far as she knew, he still didn't have a job-not one he could tell their grandmother about, at least. He was gone a lot, and at strange hours. And sometimes, unpredictably, he'd come home with a bunch of groceries-or, for Nana's birthday in September, a big television.

He'd forgotten, or ignored, Pilar's birthday.

She knew what was going on. He was doing something with the a.s.sa.s.sins. He hadn't been beaten again, and he wasn't wearing colors, so she didn't know how he'd made his debt right or how deep in he was. And he wasn't talking. But she knew he was in with them somehow.

But it was his trouble. She was struggling to get to that place in her head, where she stopped fixing his s.h.i.t up for him. She wanted to be able to love him without letting him lean so hard on her or Nana.

She pulled up in front of the unprepossessing little house and cut the engine on her Victory. Hugo's truck was in the driveway, blocking their grandmother's compact sedan in. Good. They were both home.

She dismounted and locked her helmet down, then walked up the drive, along the left side, toward the side door of the house.

As she pa.s.sed Hugo's truck, she noticed that the dash lights were on. Then she saw that Hugo was pa.s.sed out behind the wheel.

"f.u.c.k!" She lifted the door handle. It was unlocked, and she tore open the door. The smell of p.i.s.s made her step back. He had been badly beaten, but not like before. This was all fists and feet. His shirt was open, and blood had dried in streaks down his chest and belly.

Blood and ink. In the middle of his chest was a new tattoo: a highly stylized, feathered snake. Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec G.o.d, and the mark of the Aztec a.s.sa.s.sins.

Hugo had finally been jumped in.

After checking his eyes-pinpoint pupils-and his pulse-rapid and thready-Pilar slapped her brother hard in the face. It worked; he roused, a little, and then flinched, fighting weakly against her grip.

"Hugo! Hughie! It's me. It's Pilar, Hughie. It's okay."

"Pilar? Oh, G.o.d. Oh, G.o.d. I'm so sorry. I can't stop it. I tried. I promise I tried. But I can't stop it. I'm so deep now. I have to. I don't have a choice. I'm so sorry. Don't tell Nana."

All she felt in that moment was pity. Sorrow and pity. So she pulled her baby brother into her arms and held him while he cried. "Okay, bro. Okay. Scoot over. I'm taking you to my place. Nana can't see this." She shoved at him, and he slouched across the bench seat. When she climbed behind the wheel, trying not to think about sitting where her brother had p.i.s.sed himself, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Moore.

He picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Cordero. You done running with the wolves?"

She didn't even bother to acknowledge his old joke. "I need you."

"You got me. Tell me how." This was the kind of friend he was-the kind who asked first how he could help, not what the trouble was. There was nothing and no one that could compel her to give that up.

"Hugo's in trouble. Found him pa.s.sed out in his truck outside Nana's house. I'm taking him to my place and cleaning him up. But my bike's here, and if she sees it and not me, she'll freak. Are you close?"

He lived a couple of miles away, and he rode, too. He had a big Kawasaki sport bike. "I'm sitting in my altogether on my couch, killing aliens. I can be there under ten."

"Thanks, bro. My gear's still strapped to the back. I'll leave my key in it."

"Already got my jeans on. See you in a few. Hey-you okay?"

"They jumped him in."

"Oh, d.a.m.n, Pilar. I'm sorry."

Moore never used her first name. She knew why he was now. Because this was a crisis. "Yeah. We'll talk."

"Out the door."

Moore had her bike in her garage while she was still struggling to get Hugo in the bath. He was semi-conscious but still babbling wild apologies and pleas for forgiveness. Pilar just shushed him, stripped off his b.l.o.o.d.y, soiled clothes, and got the tub filled. As she was helping him into the warm water, she heard her front door open.

She brushed her fingers through her brother's hair, which was stiff with blood and sweat. "You just try to relax, Hughie. I'll make you some tea. And when you're out of the tub, I'll fix up your cuts, okay?"

He nodded and laid the washcloth over his face.

Pilar closed him in and went to the kitchen, where Moore was getting himself a beer. When she came in, he opened the fridge again and handed her one, too.

"Thanks." She twisted the top off and drank half down at the first go.

"So tell me."

"I don't know anything yet. All he's done is cry and say he's sorry and he didn't have a choice, and whatever. But they beat the s.h.i.t out of him, again, and he's got a big feathered snake right"-she slapped her own chest-"here. He's in."

"Renata is going to lose her mind."

Pilar nodded and looked out the window at the end of her kitchen, into the empty black of the night. "It's her ultimate failure. That's what she'll see. It's the exact thing she was trying to get us away from all those..." Pilar's words faded out as other thoughts emerged. She turned back to Moore. "f.u.c.k. What's the date?"

"Um, the twenty-seventh. Why?"

"Jesus. I didn't think. Oh, f.u.c.k. Oh, Nana, why didn't you say anything? f.u.c.k!" She slapped her forehead, hard, and Moore reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling it away.

"Hey, stop. What's wrong?" He kept hold of her arm.

"It's the twentieth anniversary of our mother's death. And his father's. I didn't even think about it!"

"You think the a.s.sa.s.sins guy-"

"Raul."

"Raul. You think he thought about it? Brought Hugo in today on purpose?"

"Yeah. He's poetic like that. And he was tight with both our fathers."

"Jesus, Cordero. This seems bad."

It was about as bad as she could imagine. But it was Hugo's bad. The bed he'd made. Not her, not their grandmother. Him. He was lost to them now. "Yeah. But it's on him. I can't pay for his f.u.c.kups anymore."

"I wish you didn't have to."

Pilar turned at the weak sound of Hugo's voice. He was standing in the doorway, a towel around his waist.

"Hey, Kyle."

"Hugo. You look rough, bro."

"Yeah. Hey, sis. I feel better. But I don't want to put those clothes on again. You got anything around here that'll fit me?"

"A pair of your sweats that made it into my laundry last time I did it at Nana's. And...I can lend you one of Connor's t-shirts.

He got a strange, furtive look at the mention of Connor, but it left his face quickly. Pilar figured it was all part and parcel of the same problem: her brother was an a.s.sa.s.sin now.

"I don't think that'll work."

"It'll be fine. It's just a black t-shirt. I'll grab it." She went and got the clothes. When she came back to the kitchen, neither Hugo nor Moore had moved.

"Oh-I told you I'd make tea and fix you up. Have a seat."

He took the clothes and dropped the towel right there to pull them on. "Nah. I just want to go. I'm solid. I can drive."

"Hughie, you need to sleep it off."

"No. I need to go."

"No, you need to stay. I have your keys, and I can't let you on the road in your condition. You could hurt somebody. Yourself or somebody else."

"I'm clear. I told you."

"Not gonna happen, bro."

Without warning, he backhanded her so hard that she lost her feet and fell to the floor. "I SAID I NEED TO GO!"

Then Moore had him by the throat against the wall. "You put your hands on her again, and you will lose your f.u.c.king hands."

Wiping blood from her mouth and nose, Pilar stood and dug his keys out of her pocket. She threw them on the floor at her brother's feet. "Take them and get the f.u.c.k out."

Moore looked over his shoulder at her. "Cordero..."

"I want him gone. Out of my life. As of now."

Moore released her brother. Hugo scooped up the keys and hurried out the door, out of her life.

Pilar watched. When the front door closed, she turned to her best friend. "We need to follow him, at least make sure he doesn't hurt Nana. I'll take you back to your bike. Thanks for this."

He hugged her hard. "I got your back, you know that. You sure you want Renata to see what he did to your face?"

She ducked and checked her reflection in her stainless-steel toaster. Her right cheek was turning interesting shades of purple already. "Yeah. She should see this. And I should see her today. I can't believe I f.u.c.king forgot what day this was. C'mon. We need to make sure he stays away from her tonight."

Most of the next watch was quiet, and that was good, because Pilar felt slow and thick. She'd spent the night at her grandmother's. Nana had been grieving alone, both happy and sad that Pilar had forgotten such an important date-happy because it meant Pilar had truly moved on from that life, and sad because it meant she herself was alone in her loss. Pilar had found her sitting in the family room, going through a box of her daughter's things-just a random box, with nothing of importance in it. But it was all important.

So she'd spent the rest of the evening sitting and letting the woman who'd raised her, loved her, taught her how to be who she was, tell old, familiar stories about the woman who'd wanted to do those things for her.

In the end, she'd lied about her face, said she'd fallen in the desert. She didn't tell her grandmother about Hugo's new future. It had been the wrong time, the wrong date, for news like that.

They had a school tour at the station during the day, but otherwise, the watch was quiet. Everybody noticed that Cordero was off her game, and they all saw her face, but Moore got between her and any questions. She bunked down early, after dinner and the evening checks, while most of the platoon was hanging out in the rec room. Moore caught her hand and gave it a quick squeeze as she left the room to head for her bunk.

The call came in just after oh-one-hundred hours. Everybody was up almost in unison and down the bra.s.s pole. Their station was an old one and still had a pole. They weren't supposed to use it anymore, some bureaucratic circle-jerk had decided that poles were unsafe, but theirs hadn't been taken out because it was 'historic.' So they all used it. They were firefighters, dammit. They came down the pole.