“I guess.”
Jax rolled his shoulders against the door. “You haven’t seen him since he supposedly killed the sitting president?”
Supposedly. So much for trust. “That’s the truth.” Enough of this crap. Either Jax believed her, or he didn’t. She shouldn’t care. But her stomach hurt, and her temples pounded. Tears clogged her throat, but no way would she let them fall.
“Where’s Myriad located?” he asked.
She settled. “If I have the coordinates right, it’s in Century City.”
“Good. I want those coordinates.”
“Fine. What happens then?”
He watched her, no expression, filling the entire world with Jax Mercury. Even the atmosphere altered with his mood. “I haven’t decided.”
The constant fear living inside her slowly abated. If she died, she died. “Make me one promise.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“If you decide to contact Bret, and he comes, kill me before he does.” Without question, death at Jax’s hand would be a hell of a lot less painful than letting Bret have a go at her.
“No promise.”
She coughed out a laugh. Well, that sucked. Would Jax trade her to Bret to save his people? To obtain more vitamin B and medical supplies?
“Did he attack you?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m done sharing my story with you.”
“You’ll share whatever I want you to share,” Jax said evenly.
That quickly, that easily, the fear disappeared. Completely. Realization dawned through her. Jax wouldn’t sacrifice her—it wasn’t who he was. She blinked. “I’m sorry.”
His head jerked up. “For what?”
She rested her chin on her knees. “I’m not scared of you. It’d help a lot if I were, I think. But I’m not.” He’d been inside her, and he’d been gentle. She’d seen him be kind to a little girl, and she’d seen him mourn at a grave site. “You won’t hurt me.”
His eyes finally softened.
She breathed out.
“You’re underestimating my vow to protect my people, Lynne.” His lip twisted. “I don’t like myself much, and I’d hate myself if I hurt you. Yet I’ll do exactly that if it’ll get the job done for good.”
Her breath stopped again. Not because of Jax’s words, but because of the regretful tone. He meant it. Or at least, he thought he meant it. “I don’t find you very self-aware,” she murmured.
“How is there one ounce of naïveté in you after what you’ve gone through?” he asked. “Much of the blood permanently staining my hands is that of people I cared about. From childhood friends, to my fellow soldiers overseas, to my younger brother. Even the two kids I burned last night. You might want to keep that in mind.”
Not a fact she’d likely forget. “We made a deal. If I told you everything I know, which I have, you promised to kill Bret. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, and I’ve even given you Myriad, which might hold a cure.”
“You left out a couple of facts, darlin’.”
“Just because he’s the president—”
Jax’s cheek creased, but his half-smile lacked any semblance of amusement. “Yes. Killing the current president of the USA, Ripper or not, is an important fact. Don’t you think?”
She jumped in. “I’ve read your file. The military one without any redactions.”
He froze. Even his chest stopped moving. “Excuse me?”
She swallowed, holding her knees again, instinctively trying to make herself as small as possible. “A friend at the CDC had a friend in Intelligence, and when all hell broke loose, files were easier to obtain. You were a legend already, taking over L.A., and I needed to know more.”
Anger flared through his bourbon-colored eyes. Was anger better than nothing? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure, yet she pressed on. “You were Army Special Forces, nicknamed Delta Force, a real badass. You’ve killed high-ranking officials before. Maybe not ours, but still.” She’d sought him out for that fact as much as anything else. Bret was almost untouchable, and she’d needed a legend with a file like Jax’s.
“What was in the file?” he whispered.
She flinched as if he’d shouted. “Everything. Your background, your training, and your missions. Even your past relationships, but not why you entered the military.” He’d shared that with her willingly. Heat shot into her face. “I had to know before trying to escape the CDC.” Her gaze dropped to the faded scars running up his hand and arm. “I know how you got those.”
Fury lit crimson across his cheekbones. “Do you, now?”
She bit her lip to keep from apologizing. That would probably just set him off. “Yes. You were a hero.”
If possible, he looked even angrier.
She tried to calm him. The man had the worst case of survivor’s guilt she’d ever seen. “You couldn’t save them all, Jax.”
His head lifted, and his eyelids lowered, giving him a predatory look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do,” she said gently, like she would with any wounded animal. “The bomb exploded, and you were thrown free of the Humvee in Afghanistan.” Yet instead of running away, instead of ducking for cover, he’d run straight back to the burning metal and shoved his arms through shards of glass to reach for his men, ripping his skin apart. He saved two of the men, but a soldier named Frankie Blake didn’t make it. “You tried.”
He didn’t answer, just kept staring at her.
A shiver cascaded down her body. “The psych reports said that you and Frankie were good friends, and that you blamed yourself for his death.”
“He re-upped because I had the year before.”
“A bomb isn’t your fault.”
Even sitting, Jax Mercury was all threat. “He was the first friend I made in the military when I was a scared, angry kid from the streets. I owed him, and I failed.”
“No—”
“And not any of this, not one thing of it, is any of your fucking business.”
She blinked. When she’d read up on him, when she’d pried into his private life, she hadn’t known they’d end up being together. Even so, the harsh words hurt. “Then let me go.”
“No.” He stood. “I told you that you were staying with Vanguard, and you should’ve listened to me.”
A whimper tried to rise up her throat, and she swallowed it down. Releasing her knees, she shoved to her feet. If he was going to restrain her, his balls would be inside his body before he finished.
Oh, she wasn’t delusional enough to think she could take Jax Mercury in a fight, but she’d make sure he lost the ability to ever reproduce. She bent her knees and lifted her arms, closing her fingers into fists.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.
She blinked. “I thought we were, I mean . . .”
His brows drew down, and his expression, although unreadable, made her feel like a complete dumbass.
She lowered her arms. “I’m confused.”
Amusement, for the first time that night and definitely at her expense, lit his eyes. “We’re heading to the war room where the maps are so you can show me the location of Myriad.”
“Oh.” She wiped damp hands down her pants.
His amusement disappeared. “You’re going to be honest and show me everything. Deviate from that order, even an inch, and I ain’t gonna be gentle, Lynne. Get me?”
She slowly nodded, reminding herself that she wasn’t scared of him. Nope. Not at all. “I get you.”
“Good.”
“I caught some sleep last night, but you didn’t. You should sleep.” She cleared her throat.
“I’m fine.” He turned to open the door and stilled. “Has Lena, the little blonde girl, given you anything?”
Lynne stared at his back, her curiosity blooming. “Yes. A rock with the number four scratched into both sides.”
His head lifted. “Two fours? Like my tattoo?”
“Yes. Why?”
H
e turned and pulled open a kitchen drawer to reveal a pile of rocks.
Lynne leaned closer to see the rocks all had hearts drawn or scratched into them. Blue hearts. “What in the world?” she breathed.
He shook his head and opened the door, walking into the hallway. “Mystery for later?”
She swallowed, more than happy to forget rocks for the moment. “What about Bret?”
“I’m returning that message. After that point, what happens depends on him.” Jax widened the door. “Let’s go. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The planet is much smaller than most people realize . . . a shot across a boundary sets a fire in one’s own backyard.
—Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony
Jax led Lynne down the stairs to the main vestibule of the building. Morning light finally filtered through the glass doors, hopefully marking the end of the storm. After the shitty night with the headless corpse, his mind kept trying to return to Afghanistan and one of the worst days of his life, but he shoved the panic attack and pain away to be dealt with later. Now wasn’t the time.
They reached the door to the war room. Something caught his attention, and he turned toward the outside door. His breath caught. Instinct flared down his back, and he stilled.
The world exploded.
Glass blew out of the truck windows. He tackled Lynne to the ground, covering her, ducking from flying glass. Another explosion rocked the earth, and metal parts flew through the day.
A scream came from outside. “Stay here.” He turned and ran out into the smoke and kept going through the first line of vehicles to reach a downed guard—a woman named Heloise.
“Shit,” he muttered, feeling for and not finding a pulse.
“I’m sorry, Jax,” Lynne said, shoving hair from her face. The damn woman had followed him.
Another explosion pierced nearby metal, and he jumped over her, taking her down. He crouched onto his knees, got a good hold of her shirt, and lifted. Her hands and feet scrabbled against the mud. Staying low, he carried her around the closest barrier. “Report,” he bellowed to Raze, who was running through the barrier, gun in hand, Sami on his six.
Another explosion echoed, and an engine part flew through the air. Fucking grenades.
His soldiers, armed with guns and knives, flowed out between the two barriers. A Molotov cocktail landed next to his feet, and he leaped for Lynne, throwing her away. The blast knocked him off his feet, and he landed hard. “Damn it.” He shoved himself to stand in the mud. “Fucking Cruz.”
“You sure it’s him?” Tace asked, tossing Jax a semiautomatic weapon.
“Yes.” Fucker loved Molotov cocktails. “Take defensive positions,” he yelled, watching as the soldiers ranging from former teachers to golf instructors to marines fanned out as he’d taught them. He stalked over to Lynne and lifted her up.
She was wide eyed and trembling, with mud covering her entire right side. He pushed her toward Wyatt, who’d finished setting sentries into position. “Get her inside and secure before coming back out.”
Wyatt grabbed Lynne’s arm. “I’ve got you, Lynne.” He turned and pulled her toward the openings in the minivans. Automatic fire spattered through the day, pinging off metal. Jax ducked and crouched behind the semi already on its side, turning to aim between broken shards of glass. Purple, the color of Twenty, filled his view, and he started firing.
More shots pinged around him, and a cry of pain, low and dark, jerked up his head. He turned to see Wyatt fall, knocking Lynne over. Lynne scrambled and planted her hands over Wyatt’s neck. Blood welled between her fingers. She ripped off her shirt and held it against the wound, grabbing Wyatt’s hand to cover it. Without missing a beat, she grabbed his gun and positioned herself in front of him in a crouch, barrel pointed toward Twenty members.
“Somebody get him behind the vans,” she yelled, pulling off three shots.
Wyatt shrugged her off and dragged himself to sit, his back to the minivan on its side. Keeping one hand on his neck, he reached for another weapon in his boot, pointing beyond the trucks.
Purple caught Jax’s eye, he turned and fired, hitting his target in the chest. Gunfire erupted all around them. A spray of gunfire blazed out from a window in the top floor of the building across the way. Jax ducked back, down on his haunches. Mud splattered all around Wyatt.
Shit. Jax had to get him to safety and get that neck wound taken care of before it was too late. “Raze? Take my position.”
Sucking in air, Jax waited until Raze took his spot and then zigzagged toward his friend and tucked his gun in the back of his waist. He reached down and grabbed Wyatt by the armpits, dragging him up and pulling him around to the other side of the minivan. Fuck, he weighed a ton. Lynne followed, scattering bullets, covering his back.
It was the fucking bravest thing he’d ever seen.
He yanked her to his side to catch his breath. Blood caught his attention. He looked down at the river of red covering his torso. Had he been shot?
“Jax?” Lynne asked, her voice rising. “Oh, God.” She grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked up.
Nothing. He glanced down at his skin. No wounds. Realization slapped him. Almost in slow motion, he turned toward Wyatt, who lay gasping for breath. A black shirt covered Wyatt’s huge torso. Dark material didn’t show blood.
Jax reached for the hem and drew it up to reveal several holes in Wyatt’s gut. Blood spurted, and part of an intestine hung out. “Holy hell,” he muttered. The air whooshed from his lungs. He glanced frantically around. “Tace Justice? Now!” He lowered his voice. “It’s okay, Wyatt. It’s okay.”
Blood bubbled out of Wyatt’s mouth and dribbled down his chin.
Lynne patted Wyatt’s arm, her eyes filling with tears.
No. Oh, hell no. “Tace?” Jax bellowed.
Tace ran around the other side of the minivan as gunfire pierced the day. He slid onto his knees and reached Wyatt. “Neck?”
“No.” Jax drew up the shirt made heavy by blood.
Tace lifted his head and swallowed. The sound he made defied description but felt like agony. “Wyatt.”
“Fix him,” Jax said. “Now.”
Wyatt coughed and winced. “It’s okay, Jax.” He reached out and grabbed Jax’s head with one strong hand. “Remember what I said. They need you.” He coughed again, and blood spurted over Jax’s chin to mingle with the rain.
Jax gripped Wyatt’s arm and turned to Tace. “Fix him,” he repeated.
Tace’s blue eyes cut through the smoke, full of sorrow. Regret. Jax had seen the look before, he’d felt the look in a desert hell across the world. He hadn’t thought he’d see it now.
“Wyatt, you’re a good friend,” Tace said somberly, leaning toward the former football star. “I never told you this, but I found one of your trading cards while out scouting one night.” He reached for his back pocket to draw out a worn and weathered card of Wyatt in his football uniform. “I was gonna give it to you for your birthday.”
Wyatt grinned bloody teeth. “You were a fan,” he gasped out.
Tace clasped his other arm. “I am now.” His eyes filled. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” Jax exploded. “No sorry. Fucking fix this.”
Wyatt’s chest heaved, and his hold tightened. He closed his eyes and then reopened them. He tried to speak, but only bubbles of blood slid out.
Pain ripped through Jax’s chest, compressing his lungs. He looked in Wyatt’s steady eyes. “You’re a great friend and soldier,” he said.
“Jax,” Wyatt whispered.
Jax leaned forward, tears falling from his eyes, turning his ear to Wyatt’s mouth. “What?”
“Do-don’t do this . . . a-alone,” Wyatt whispered, his breath already cold against Jax’s skin. “Life. Not worth it . . . a-lone.”
Jax straightened, his vision blurry, and nodded.
Wyatt smiled, his eyes unfocusing. “I’m gonna see my baby girl, Jax.” He stiffened, a groan billowing up. His body co
nvulsed, once and again, and then went limp. A death rattle cleared his lungs, and he went still. Eyes staring at the sky, he ceased to be.
Jax coughed back a sob. His hand shaking, he reached forward and closed Wyatt’s eyes. “Wyatt.” Jax yanked his buddy close, holding him tight, his hands fisting in the back of Wyatt’s shirt. “I’m sorry.” Gently, with as much care as he could muster, he laid down his fallen friend. His head lifted. Rage warmed him until the burn filled his entire body. Turning, he grabbed the picture, the trading card, from Tace. “Okay?”
“Yes,” Tace said, jaw firming.
Jax shot to his feet. “Cover me.”
Lynne stood and grabbed his shirt. “Wait a minute—”
He manacled her biceps and lifted her up on her toes. “Get inside and tend to the wounded. Now.” Turning her, he shoved her toward the building. Then he looked at Tace. “I’ll take the east opening and then head to the apartment building across the way. Make sure I’m covered.”
Tace reached down and took Wyatt’s automatic, his face losing all expression. “I’ve got you.”
“Hey buddy,” Cruz called out through the gunfire. “Don’t tell me I just killed another brother of yours.”
Jax stilled. Everything in him quieted. “He’ll die for killing both Marcus and Wyatt.”
Tace coughed out. “Marcus? Cruz killed your brother?”
“Close enough. Recruited him for the gang, where he died.” Jax crouched and ran along the line of minivans and downed trucks, passing his soldiers at their posts, firing. He tried to shove away all emotion, but the feeling of Wyatt’s hand still tingled on his neck. As a football player, Wyatt had been a role model. As a soldier, he’d been a hero. As a friend, he’d been a conscience.
No more.
Jax reached the edge of the fortifications, where a rusted red pickup rested on its side against the compound, providing a shield. He kicked the tire closest to him and created a small opening. Enough to get through.
Thunder bellowed across the sky, and the wind hurtled clouds into a darkened mass.
Tace braced his legs and set his arms across the truck, pointing at the building Twenty had taken over. “If you stick low, you’ll be able to get around the building and take Twenty from behind,” he murmured.