instinct-but he owed her no explanation. He owed her nothing. She didn’t work for him. She worked for no one but herself, and she gave away her herbs and roots and flowers just as often as she traded for them. Sometimes it almost seemed as though she did this to provoke him, giving away the things of most value and cherishing bits of worthless trash: broken bottles in pretty colors, soiled silk scarves and books with missing covers. Of course, it was easy to be generous when you had more than enough-Smoke earned more than they could use up. Dor rewarded Smoke well and with care because he had been right about him and did not wish to lose him: Smoke was that rarest of men, a born leader who did not want to lead. And Dor’s security force-renegades, thieves, adrenaline junkies and soldiers all-could only be led by such a man. Even now Dor marveled that he was the only one who ever understood that dynamic, but he supposed that had always been his gift, understanding people’s natures better than they understood themselves.
Except for Cass. It should have been easy: recovering addict, driven by loss and guilt-they were a dime a dozen, a currency so devalued they practically flooded the Box these days. A huge number ended up killing themselves one way or another. But this one had a couple of additional facets. Fiercely protective mother. Passionate lover. Survivor. Cass had become a wild card.
Dor winced. He’d seen Cass and Smoke together; it sometimes seemed as though the more he tried to avoid them, the more frequently he ran into them. After they’d put Ruthie down to sleep for the evening, it was their habit to walk the aisles and corridors of the camp, holding hands, exchanging greetings with nearly everyone, but declining offers to share a meal or play cards. Sometimes they’d be in the back of a crowd gathered to listen to someone playing the guitar or reading-Cass encircled in Smoke’s arms, leaning against him with her eyes closed and a dreamy half smile on her face. They pitched in together; when they helped put up tents or mend the fence or serve meals they shared a wordless efficiency, passing each other objects with secret, intimate smiles.
And it had irritated him. Dor, who was alone even when he was with others. Who chose solitude because he had never learned anything else. Whose marriages had both ended when his wives finally despaired of ever reaching him-and God knows they’d tried, the good women who’d loved him. Even his daughter, even Sammi-he’d loved her so much he had to leave her behind, because she got to him, got too close, made him feel too much.
Feeling too much was dangerous. It drained him, took away his focus, his power.
But what of Cass and Smoke? When he looked at them it was like looking through a cursed glass at his inverse. Neither was especially gregarious, but when they were together, they were unguarded, two people who seemed to be completely open to each other. Who made expression of emotion seem effortless. Who shared themselves without hesitation. How did they do it?
Still, Dor knew a secret about Smoke. He thought the two of them had shared everything, but now he realized that Smoke hadn’t told Cass his one great mistake, his shame, the thing that made him leave and would always now compel him toward the abyss.
It was this secret that weighed on Dor’s mind as he got painfully to his feet and folded the blankets, replacing them with care on the couch that might never again be used by anyone. Cass thought she knew everything about her lover, but there was one thing that would shock her to the core. If she knew that one thing, she would understand why her man had left. If she knew it, she might not have come to him last night, might not have thrown herself at him like her life depended on having him.
He was disgusted with himself for letting her. He should have told her Smoke’s secret instead. But now it was all fucked up. One of them owed the other something-but he wasn’t sure who and he wasn’t sure what it was. He had a feeling that they were a combination that could never be stable, that as long as they were together they would just keep cutting and devastating each other. He should never have let her come. She hadn’t given him any choice. He ought to part ways with her as soon as Colima was in view. Give her the car, the guns, the stores, everything, and tell her to take Ruthie back where they would be safe. He’d started over with nothing more times than he could count-and didn’t he always come back stronger?
Only this time he wasn’t sure. This time, he had the unsettling feeling that he had lost control of what came next.
17
CASS WOKE WITH RUTHIE SNUGGLED INTO HER arms, her daughter’s sweet, even breaths tickling her bare shoulder.
She lay still for a moment and took stock. She’d managed to get her clothes back on last night, grabbing them up off the floor and bolting from the room, leaving Dor standing awkwardly to the side with his own clothes bunched in his big hands in front of him. It might have been funny, the way he was almost shielding his nakedness from her, after what they’d just done-except she couldn’t actually see that humor in the moment.
And it didn’t seem any better this morning after a restless night. Her shirt had no buttons; they’d tumbled to the floor when Dor tore it open. Cass shuddered, remembering his fury. At the time it had provoked her, stirred that part of her that couldn’t back down, the hurt and angry part that had split off from the rest of her when her stepfather whispered his lies and threats. She had carried this other self with her for years, and while sobriety helped and having Ruthie helped and running helped, it never truly disappeared. It had receded, with Smoke, until it was only a distant shadow, a presence that tempered her best moments and deepened the worst.
The very few times she and Smoke argued-when she begged him to stay instead of going to train with Joe or taking an extra shift or visiting Dor’s trailer-the shadow came closer, close enough to remind her of its dormant power. She coped by shutting down, by refusing to engage, by letting Smoke win every time. She pressed her lips together and didn’t speak. She walked the well-worn path around the Box, lap after lap, until she was able to convince herself that it didn’t really matter. So she awoke alone more mornings than not-wasn’t it better to let it go than to risk her anger coming back and rupturing the peace they’d built together?
She and Dor had no peace. From the first time they met, the day she and Smoke arrived in the Box, he had seemed hard and distant. Of course, she’d begun their relationship by asking something from him. Dor did not part with things easily. As she came to learn, he exacted a fair price for everything he traded, plus his cut. No exceptions. He’d helped her get into the stadium to find Ruthie, but only after Smoke traded their most valuable possessions for the privilege. Dor paid Smoke handsomely, but she had noticed that he never traded with her, never asked for anything from her garden. It was as though he would not allow himself to, though she didn’t understand why-the herbs and vegetables she grew were the only ones that most people had had for months; people had already offered fantastic trades for the tiny green oranges on her trees, once they matured.
But Dor acted as though he didn’t see the garden, didn’t see her. It was as though he reviled not just her but everything she touched.
Ruthie shifted in her arms, sighing and snuggling closer. Cass stroked her soft cheek and kissed her shiny hair, but she felt her face color with shame, remembering the way Dor had fought her last night. And the way she had fought harder.
He could have stopped her at any moment. He was powerful. Strong. He’d battled himself more than he’d battled her, Cass understood that. She even understood why he’d done…what they’d done; she had given him little choice. There had been some hard volatile kernel there, some imbalance between attraction and repulsion, an unstable compound which she’d deliberately ignited.
Her mortification deepened and she pulled gently away from Ruthie, tucking the blankets carefully around her daughter’s small shoulders, adjusting the pillow, before sitting on the edge of the bed doubled over, her arms wrapped around her knees, her nails digging into the soft skin of her thighs, trying to make it hurt enough.
She’d seduced Dor and she’d fucked him. He may have thought he’d been culpable, that he was willing when he turned her over, took her hard, slammed home all his disgust and resentment, but he’d only done it because she gave him no choice. There was a point past which anyone could be made to lose control, and Cass was an expert at that fine line, a stellar student of lust and urgency. She had seen a thousand variations-some rolled their eyes back and others’ breath came short and still others muttered and hummed-but in the end it was the same, a place where the conscious mind gave itself over to instinct. That’s all it had been-not just last night but on hundreds of nights before, starting at the age of sixteen, when she’d merely been looking for an escape from Byrn’s midnight advances,
