Jax (Titan #9)(76)
"Seven, let's get this worked out," Hawke said with a much lower voice, as though he were trying to cool his own rage, lure her back toward Mayhem, and keep everything good with the Brotherhood.
The phone Sugar had given Jared vibrated, and not missing a beat, Boss Man swiped the screen. His face darkened as he listened, offering only a grunt before he ended the call and turned toward Hawke. "How do you plan on correcting Hernán?"
Hawke barely shook his head, but the tension flexed in his jaw. "We will deal with the business of Mayhem momentarily."
Jared took an aggressive step forward, challenging Hawke. " You think that you can fix this? Titan has been on the sidelines, watching your mistake after damn mistake. And you don't want to partner with us now? When this is what we do best? Fools."
"They're my kids, and I didn't say no," Seven whispered. "What does Johnny have to do with this?"
"What the fuck does anyone have to do with any of this?" Johnny threw his arms out, twitching his fingers. "If we had left good enough alone, none of this would've happened."
Hawke snarled at Jared. "You obviously know more than we do right now. You could share."
"You're obviously," Sugar snapped, mocking his snarl, "going to play with those kids' lives because you have"—Sugar threw her fingers in the air, making air quotes—"club business. And you don't even know what's up. Is that right?"
"They think Bianca and Nolan are Johnny's blood," Jared explained.
"No," Seven cried, collapsing against Jax.
Johnny let out a string of curse words, spinning in his boots and slamming his fist against the wall. Tex grabbed him back and threw him in line.
"You know whose fault this is?" Johnny paced back and forth, cracking his neck side to side, working his shoulders up and down.
Jax couldn't wait to hear who that asshole was going to blame. Whatever beauties were going to fall out of his tweaking, meth–mouth would have been comedy if it weren't for such a serious situation.
"I'm going to shove my hand through your face if you don't shut your mouth," Tex barked.
Johnny snarled and spun, but he didn't stop in front of Tex as he twisted to face Jax. His gaze dropped to Seven. "You."
She balked. "Me?"
"If you had just let them go. But no, you have to take care of the world. You have to have kids to what, fix what was done to you?"
Cold, white fury shook through Jax with such rapid fire that he saw the hotel shake around them. But before he could hold back Seven or funnel his fury to his own fists, Tex swung, and the back of Johnny's skull smacked against the wall. The coke head dropped into a pile of motorcycle leather, cut, and knocked-out tweaker.
Seven's anger and fear vibrated. This was hell; Jax was holding living, breathing pain. He had never experienced her fear, the kind that sliced through muscles and tore at his sanity. He'd never cared in a personal way before. "We'll get them back, princess. I promise."
Nothing would stop him from making this right. Jax turned, holding Seven's hand, and watched Deacon Lanes thunder down the hall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
With every stride that Deacon took closer, Jax's blood boiled in his veins, punching at each pulse point and drilling angry memories to the surface. The bastard was the Grim Reaper—pure evil with no remorse for how he got the job done. Jax wouldn't be surprised if he had personally taken Bianca and Nolan.
Though if he did, Jax would steal his last breath.
Deacon's impassive face didn't register that he saw anyone but Hawke. His laser-focused black eyes didn't sweep toward Seven or acknowledge Jax, but he knew the CIA bastard never missed the mark. And that was what they all were to him—targets, tangos, marks, people that he would take out without a moment of hesitation.
The big black man placed himself directly in front of Hawke, squaring off, one tough-ass dude against the next and—
"What are you doing here?" Seven bolted upright, a surprising amount of rigor rushing through the limbs that Jax had just had to support as she pushed him away and charged forward. "Hey, excuse me."
Deacon's head tilted slowly before he twisted his massive frame and towered over her. "Do you mind?"
He was well over six feet, dressed all in black, with a shaved head and a clipped goatee. Even among Mayhem, Deacon stood out as rough, but it was the sinister deadness in his eyes that could make a person's blood run cold. Seven seemed not to notice, or she was all out of fucks to give, because she didn't stand down as he leaned in. "That's how it's going to be? I see you for years. And only when bad news arrives or business picks up through questionable circumstances." Her fingers flared by her hips, and she squeezed them into fists. "Which. Is. It. Now?"
"Do you mind?" Deacon tried again but didn't wait as he turned back to Hawke.
"Yes, I mind." Seven pushed her way in between them as a growl rumbled from Deacon's chest. Hawke's hands came forward protectively.
"Hawke, don't even. That's how this is going to be? Really? My babies are gone! You show up! And nobody is fucking talking to me?" She spun toward Hawke and Tex, jabbing her finger toward them. "You act like I shouldn't ask Jared and Jax for help when you know that they can? I should leave all of you, go call the cops, the FBI, 9-1-1. I have no idea. But we've wasted ten minutes playing some territorial game like my children weren't stolen," she cried before straightening herself and focusing back on Deacon. "I have no idea who you are. Who the hell are you, and what are you going to do about my kids?"