Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(11)

“There is always time for sex.” Tace flung out his massive arms. “Don’t you get that? If you have a good moment, take it. For now, our best hope is to forget a cure and somehow put off death and craziness with vitamin B.”

The door pushed open, and Wyatt Quaid stomped inside. “There’s craziness? We have a Ripper?”

“No.” Jax shook his head, sliding the condoms in his pocket, not because he needed them but to get them out of sight. The room was suddenly too small with all three of them in there. “Don’t eavesdrop. You get things wrong.”

Wyatt shrugged. “My bad. We have a newly trained squad of scavengers who go out on their first mission tonight. I need you to come give them a talk.”

Jax stilled. “Where?”

“Main training facility.”

Well, at least it was close by. If he went out the rear door of his headquarters, passed the outside showers, crossed a now-defunct street, he’d be at the training facility that used to hold six businesses, including a pawnshop and nail salon. When he’d taken over, he’d gutted the shell, torn down all the walls, and created a training and meeting area. For other people. “I don’t deal with civilians,” Jax muttered.

Wyatt breathed out, moving his massive chest. “They’re not civilians, they’re scavengers, and they provide a service. A good one. And a test and a question-and-answer session by our leader would go a long way. Consider it a favor.”

Fuck, fuck, and double fuck. “Fine.”

“Good. They’re waiting.” Wyatt grinned, his teeth unbelievably white against his midnight dark skin. He was Jax’s main liaison with their territory of about five hundred people, and he rarely asked for favors.

“Tace, get anybody who understands scientific research ready to work. Wake everyone up if you have to.” The damn clouds were keeping it abnormally dark; otherwise people would be out of bed and ready to work by now. Jax jerked his head toward Wyatt. “You talk to the new guy?”

Wyatt shook his head. “The guy won’t really talk, but he sure moves like you do.”

Jax frowned. “Moves like me? What do you mean?”

“You don’t make a sound. Serious training,” Wyatt returned.

Yeah, Jax had noticed the guy who’d calmly walked into camp the week before, saying he wanted to help fight outlying gangs and take out the main one, Twenty. He’d been armed with knives and guns, yet had kept his hands free. “What kind of a name is Raze, anyway?”

Tace whistled. “Not so different from Jax.”

Whatever. Jax needed to sit down and figure out if Raze was a threat or a godsend. For now, Jax gave Wyatt a look. “Let’s get this over with. Your scavengers had better be ready to do some work and find me fuel and food.”

Wyatt nodded. “There’s our happy leader.”

Whatever. Jax shoved out of the room, strode past three partitioned examination rooms and out the back door. Crisp air pummeled him right before droplets plopped onto his head. “We’re in L.A., damn it. Where’s the sun?”

“Rainy season,” Wyatt mumbled, following him onto the cracked concrete of what used to be a busy roadway and now just led to the main training facility. Barrels lined both sides of the street, already capturing crucial rain water, while a row of makeshift showers took up the far side of headquarters.

The world was too dangerous to worry about modesty.

Jax clomped across the road and empty parking lot and pushed open the main door to what used to be a pawnshop. “I’m glad they’re coming here,” he muttered, crossing into the main area, which was littered with metal tables from a former smokehouse.

“Of course—they’re on the way. God forbid you go inner territory and actually meet some of the people you’re willing to die for.” Wyatt pulled out a chair and dropped into it, winced, and tugged a knife from his back pocket.

Jax sat and leaned his elbows on the metal table. Dawn had finally arrived, and even with the storm, a barely there soft light flickered into the room, making lanterns unnecessary. He’d worked with Wyatt for six months, and he trusted the man with his life. For now, they could get back to business. “Any indication the woman was followed here last night?”

“No. The area surrounding us is secure.” Wyatt grabbed a pencil and twirled it on his dark fingers, one of which held a Super Bowl ring. “Where is the woman, anyway?”

“My quarters, under guard.” Jax leaned back. “She was barely standing up, she was so tired. Probably has been traveling hard, hiding out, trying to keep from being seen.” He’d get her entire story later, when he had time. Right now, he had fires to put out. “I’ve ordered the soldiers who saw her blue heart to stay quiet for now and not share with the rest of the group. Are you with me on this one or not?”

“I’m with you.” Wyatt focused intently, a six-and-a-half-foot ex-linebacker for the San Francisco 49ers who now shot a rifle as well as he used to hit quarterbacks. “If the Twenty gang finds out we have her, they’ll attack.”

Jax had been expecting an attack any day. “They want our medical supplies anyway. Keep the patrols up and keep everyone prepared. They’re gonna hit us soon.”

“I know, and I’m worried about the Mercenaries.” Wyatt grimaced, stood, and held his stomach. “Ah, I’ll be right back.”