“Said you wanted me to lead one of your teams.”
“That’s right.” The glasses clanged against each other as her shaking hand tried to grab one. She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths. Get it together, woman!
“I’m guessing Sloan’s not one of your team leaders?” Rylan stayed in the living room, as if he knew Reese needed time to collect herself.
She gave up on the liquor for the moment and lit up a cigarette. “That’s right.”
He let out a whistle. “I’m not gonna pretend to know what’s going on in your head, but you do know you’re dealing with live dynamite at this point?”
Reese sucked until the smoke was half gone before tapping the ash on a plate and answering him. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, Con and I are giving you your own team and outpost. Happy belated birthday.”
She stuck two fingers into shot glasses, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and walked back to the living room, where Rylan was studying the map.
“Thanks, but my birthday’s in three months,” he said without glancing up.
“Happy birthday in advance.” She slapped the glasses in his hand and took a seat.
“Look, I’m not one to question orders, but I’ve seen Sloan in action. Keeping him home seems like a mistake.” Rylan poured a generous amount of booze in each glass, handed one to her, and took up the seat Connor had used during the meeting. “He’s one of the best fighters around.”
“And that’s why I want him to stay here, so he can protect Foxworth.”
“Yeah? You’re telling me Sloan’s the only one who can man the gates?”
“He is.”
Rylan laughed. “What’s the real reason? Because I know you’re not putting me in charge because I fucked you. You’re not that kind of leader.”
Reese looked sourly into the bottom of her glass. When had she drunk the entire thing? “Nice that someone recognizes that.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” He patted his knee. “Why don’t you climb on Papa Rylan’s lap and tell me all about it?”
She ignored him and poured another healthy splash into her glass.
They drank in silence for the next few minutes. Reese was grateful that he didn’t push her. She still felt raw and exposed from her fight with Sloan and wasn’t sure what would happen when she cracked. She’d either try to kick Rylan’s ass, or rip his clothes off. Neither was the right course of action at this point.
“You think they smoke and drink inside the city?” he asked unexpectedly.
She nodded. “Only surreptitiously. Booze and smokes and recreational drugs are banned by the council, but I know Tamara smuggles shit like that to citizens.” She blew out a stream of smoke and watched it dissipate above her head. “Pretty much anything that would make the people happy is banned, unless you’re one of the council families or an Enforcer. Then you can do basically anything you want without repercussions.”
“What’s it like inside?”
Reese hesitated. Her background wasn’t a big secret, so confiding in Rylan wasn’t giving up anything important. Besides, the liquor was warming her up and his company was nice. Wanting a few moments of relaxed camaraderie wasn’t a bad thing, even if she had to buy it with her privacy.
“It’s a totalitarian society. Everyone is controlled by the Global Council. Electricity is only allowed at certain times of the day and for limited periods of time. They say it’s because they don’t have the generator power, but I doubt that’s true. The food’s good, the accommodations are clean. Everyone is assigned a job or craft at a young age. You’re a baker or a mechanic or a technician. You live at home while you train, and when you turn eighteen you’re assigned your own living accommodations and put to work. You get a decent amount of free time, though.”
“What was your craft?” Rylan stretched his legs out and they were long enough that his boots nearly reached Reese’s toes.
“Didn’t have one. I was a breeder’s first.”
He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“My mother was one of the select few who were chosen to breed. As an incentive to remain a breeder, each woman is allowed to keep her firstborn.”
“That’s . . . barbaric.”
“And they call us outlaws.” She gave him a wry smile. “My mother would keep the child until he or she was weaned, and then they’d be taken away.”
“How many firstborns are there?”
“I have no idea. Enough of us, I suppose.”