Beyond Addiction

By: Kit Rocha

Welcome to Sector Four

The book you're reading is part of the Beyond series, stories set in a post-apocalyptic world where the rich and powerful have claimed ownership of the country's only self-sustaining city. Those who live within Eden's walls must abide by a strict moral code or risk exile to the brutal, lawless sectors.

Gangs and petty dictators rule the slums, but not all kings are created equal. Dallas O'Kane and his brotherhood of bootleggers are the only authority in Sector Four. Cross them at your peril. But pledge your loyalty, and you might be invited into their world of passion and power, sex and sin. Just remember: if you're an O'Kane, you're an O'Kane for life.

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#1: Beyond Shame, #2: Beyond Control, #3: Beyond Pain, #3.5: Beyond Temptation, #4: Beyond Jealousy, #4.5: Beyond Solitude, #5: Beyond Addiction, #5.5: Beyond Possession, #6: Beyond Innocence, #6.5: Beyond Ecstasy, #7: Beyond Ruin


She’s fought like hell to leave the past behind.

Trix changed her name and her life when she got clean four years ago. Now, she has a new family and a job she loves—tending bar and dancing at the Broken Circle. As an O’Kane, she’s happy, untouchable. Until a nightmare from her old life tears her away from her home and drags her back to Hell—also known as Sector Five.

He’s still living—and dying—in it.

Losing Trix was the kick in the head Finn needed to get sober, but working as an enforcer for a man he hates is slowly crushing his soul. The only thing that keeps him going is his determination to destroy Sector Five from the inside. Then Trix comes back into his life—alive, in danger—and nothing else matters.

Getting her home could be a suicide mission. The only thing deadlier is the old spark that flares to life between them. Soon, Finn and Trix are battling the one addiction neither of them ever managed to kick—each other. And it could cost them everything.


Fighting for your life wasn’t so bad, on occasion. It woke you up, stirred your blood. Reminded you that you were still alive, goddammit.

Christ knew Zan felt it, clear down to his bones. The joy of victory, and the satisfaction that came with helping to defend his home. It warmed him more than Trix leaning into his side—and that was saying something.

She sighed, her breath puffing out white in the cold air. “Thanks for walking with me, Zan.”

“Any time, darling.” He slid his hands into his pockets and looked around. No one lingered on the street corners, not even to gossip about the fight that had rocked the market. “Not that many people are out tonight. I’d say Dallas made his point about who still runs things.”

“Not like he had a choice.”

Dallas never did, not when his sector and his people were threatened. He had to act quickly, decisively, because power in the sectors was like a fat wallet in your pocket—eventually someone would try to snatch it, and then you had to beat the bastard down. “Hell, no. It’s been coming for a while. That’s the price, right? You can be easygoing most of the time, but when it’s time to teach a lesson, you better make it stick.”

She was silent for half a block, wrapped up in her thoughts. Finally, she tilted her pretty face up to his. “Do you think Fleming will let it go, or come after Dallas?”

Only one way to answer, and Zan didn’t hesitate. “Doesn’t matter. Dallas won’t let it go. It’s going to be war, one way or another. Only question is who hits first. And who hits hardest.”

She stiffened, and her voice was laced with resignation. “I left Sector Five behind for a reason. I guess I’m not excited to have it all back in my face, is all.”

“I know.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her more tightly to his side. “We won’t let those drugged-out bastards fuck with you. You’re an O’Kane now. Don’t forget it.”

“Thanks, Zan. That means a lot.”

She seemed so fragile in the dim light. Breakable, and it roused his protective instincts. “Any time, girl. Now where are we—?”

The sound of a vehicle screeching around the corner raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and Zan reached for his gun. He’d barely touched it when shots erupted, and fire blazed through him.

The pain drove out everything else for a paralyzing heartbeat—the street, Trix, even his own goddamn name. Then it exploded in a red haze that blanketed the world. He hit the wall, his fingers still folded tight around the butt of his pistol.

He tried to pull it free, to fire back, but he was frozen, not with cold but with the scorching pain. He could only slide down the wall to the cracked concrete. Trix’s screams roared in his ears, but he was helpless to do anything about it.

Move, dammit. Move. His traitorous body ignored him, and he lay in the pool of blood that seeped from his body. It steamed in the chilly night, just like Trix’s breath had, and a perverse urge to laugh gripped him.

Fighting for your life. It sucked, after all.

Dimly, he heard male voices, a van door slamming shut. It peeled away, and Trix was gone. No witnesses, only Zan and his blood, growing cold on the ground. Only failure.

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