Jax (Titan #9)(77)

That took serious cajones, but she was right to ask, and Jax didn't get Mayhem's rules and protocol. They held Seven up as some sort of legacy while trying to protect her from what they insisted on dragging her back into. She had an established life away from the MC, but he could tell that Mayhem was family. It was possible to love somebody you hated too.

Jax ground his molars. "Yeah, Deacon. Want to share who you are?"

Deacon triangulated his body so that he could face Hawke, Seven, Jax, Sugar, and Jared.

"Ah, finally noticed us, old friend." Jax raised his eyebrow, mocking the small space and the CIA operative's tunnel vision.

"I have no business with Titan right now."

Jared crossed his arms. "Funny." But nothing was the least bit humorous. "Titan has business with Mayhem, and Seven is one of ours, even if she's one of theirs too. She asked you a question, and frankly, asshole, I'm interested in the answer."

Jax wasn't. Jax wanted Deacon as far gone as possible because he was a game player and couldn't be trusted. If Nolan and Bianca got in the way of his end goal, Deacon would make horrific sacrifices for what he thought was best.

"Maybe you should explain if she should trust you with her loved ones." Jax's temper raged but stayed where he caged it. "Because I don't. I care for those three more than your cold heart could ever fake."

Seven let her glance ping-pong from Jared to Hawke to Deacon to Sugar to Tex and then land on him. She slipped back to his side, and her fingers threaded with his, sending her message without saying a word. Titan had her trust, and Seven appreciated what Jax had said. Though appreciated was far too underwhelming of an expression.

Deacon chuckled for his benefit but locked his attention on Seven. "I see you successfully made it through half a day with your new bride. Congrats are in order."

Bastard.

Seven's fingers tightened. The air buzzed with a mixture of whispers and violence, with vivid memories that Jax refused to react to. "The difference between you and me? Two kids are missing, and you're trying to bait me." Jax stroked his thumb over Seven's panicking hand as though reassurance could be passed by sheer grip and pressure. "If you have something to share, spit it out. Give it to Hawke; I don't give a fuck. Seven and I'll go for a walk." Jax carefully sucked a breath in, hanging on to the last shreds of his calmness as Deacon smirked. "Otherwise, get lost. We've got the situation under control."

"Like hell you do." Deacon's casual lack of empathy rolled off his tongue. He paced toward Seven, his mouth parting—but he stopped himself, narrowing his inspection on her barely swollen lip. Humor danced across Deacon's features, proof that his sadistic, cruel heart had no shame. His large hands reached for her chin.

Seven slapped his searching touch away. "Don't."

"Then again"—Deacon backed up a step and leered at Jax—"Looks like this bride already got a little blood on her on your watch."

Irrational pain tried to blind him, but he clung to Seven's hand like she had his moments before. "Watch yourself, Deacon. So help me…"

"You can't make it one day as a newlywed without blood, can you, Jax?"

Seven's hand loosened, and confusion marred her voice. "What is he talking about?"

Asshole. His heart pounded as Seven's fingers slipped away, but it was the dead weight of the past that Jax could feel smothering him, weighing him down. That white dress turned red. It had been so heavy when wet, soaked in Carrie's blood.

More of Seven's distant questions echoed far away as Jax fought to focus. He ran a hand over his face. Boss Man said something. Sugar too? Goddamn it. Sweat dampened the back of his neck, and the scent of Carrie's perfume, church incense, and blood flooded his memories.

Deacon pointed his fingers as though they were a gun, aimed them at Seven's head, and pretended to shoot. "Bang, bang."

Two words, so quiet among the clatter of sound around him, but it was all Jax heard, all he could see when he lunged.

Years of anguish unleashed as he slammed Deacon to the wall, pressing his fingertips into Deacon's windpipe. Killing the operative wouldn't help Seven, wouldn't bring back Carrie, but it might feel so damn good.

But he would be no better than Deacon. "Damn it!"

Jax let go and spun away. He couldn't kill the bastard, even if everyone in the hall would let it happen. Jax shook his arms out, fighting to dissipate the adrenaline pumping as fast as the memories of hell, the ones that had turned him into the asshole he was today.

With fists still clenched, he swung around. Seven stood like a statue, pale and terrified, unsure who he was other than a stranger. "Seven."

She shied away, uncertain and untrusting. "You're animals. All of you." Another step back bumped her against the wall. "You almost killed him." Then she twisted to Deacon. "And everything gets worse when I see you."

"Chill out," Johnny snapped.

"God, get off the powder already. This isn't Mayhem. I—I don't even know what to do right now."

"This is what we're going to do," Jared cut in. "Deacon tells Hawke whatever he needs to and gets the hell out of sight but doesn't leave. Hawke works with Titan. I'm over ego trips and assholes. When it comes to kids, I give no fucks. We're bringing them home. Anyone unclear?"