Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(3)

Tonight’s raid had been a desperate hunt for gasoline from abandoned vehicles, not a search party for survivors. Based on early reports, when the news had still been broadcast, Lynne Harmony had completely disappeared with no explanation. Most people thought she was dead; others believed she had gone on the run, hiding from vigilantes who blamed her for the epidemic. The government, such as it was, had immediately put a reward out for her safe return. He’d never thought to find her in Vanguard territory.

How fortunate his vehicles were always stocked with restraints and hoods, just in case.

The woman had closed her eyes, her head resting against the faded leather. Soft moonlight wandered through the windows to caress the sharp angles of her face. With deep green eyes and pale skin, she was much prettier than he’d expected . . . much softer. Too soft.

Though, searching him out . . . well now. The woman had guts.

Manny kept looking at her in the rearview mirror, and for some reason, that irritated Jax. “Watch the road.”

Manny cut a glance his way. At fifty years old, beaten and weathered, he’d tossed the cap and monkey suit needed as a Bellagio chauffeur and now drove in threadbare clothing wearing unruly scruff on his chin. But he took orders easily, which was a necessary requirement in Jax’s camp. “There’s no one out here tonight but us.”

“We hope.” Jax’s gut had never lied to him. Something was coming. If the woman had brought danger to his little place in the world, she’d pay. “Dawn will arrive in less than an hour. Speed up.”

Manny pressed his foot to the pedal and swerved around what looked like an overturned hot dog stand near a park being molested by spreading bushes and trees. He frowned and leaned forward to peer up at the sky. “Shit. Less than an hour.”

The faintest scent of fear cascaded off him.

Jax took inventory of the weapons within reach and allowed just enough adrenaline to flood his system to be effective. The presence of survivors marked shop alleys as they left the commercial area and entered slums lined with dilapidated former crack houses. His territory. The desolate smell of decomposing tissue followed them. It was time for another scouting to burn deceased bodies.

He glanced back at Lynne.

Her eyes flashed open, directly meeting his gaze. The pupils contracted while her chin lifted. Devoid of expression, she just stared.

He stared back.

A light pink wandered from her chest up her face to color her high cheekbones. Fascinated, he watched the blush deepen. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush? He certainly hadn’t expected it from the woman who some thought had taken out most of the human race.

Around them, off-road vehicles kept pace. Some dirt bikes, a four-wheeler, even a fancy Razor confiscated from another mansion.

They drove into the inner bowels of Los Angeles, skirting abandoned vehicles and weakened buildings. Climbing vines attacked brick, while many places had been burned in the riots. Most storefronts gaped open from broken windows or trashed doorways. The first survivors had looted quickly, not knowing that the bacteria hadn’t finished spreading.

Most of the looters were dead . . . or worse.

Tension rode the air, and some of it came from Manny.

“Say it,” Jax murmured, acutely, maybe too much so, aware of the woman in the backseat.

“This is a mistake,” Manny said, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You know who she is. What she is.”

“I doubt that.” He turned to glance again at the woman, his sidearm sweeping against the door. She’d turned to stare out at the night again, her shoulders hunched, her shirt hiding that odd blue glow. “Are you going to hurt me or mine?” he asked.

Slowly, she turned to meet his gaze again. “I don’t know.” Frowning, she leaned forward just enough to make his muscles tense in response. “How many people are yours?”

He paused, his head lifting. “All of them.”

She worried her lower lip between two teeth. “I’d heard that about you.” Turning back to the window, she fingered the glass as if wanting to touch what was out of reach.

“Heard what?” he asked.

“Your sense of responsibility. Leadership. Absolute willingness to kill.” Her tone lacked inflection, as if she just stated facts. “You are, am I correct? Willing to kill?”

He stilled, his eyes cutting to Manny and back to the woman. “You want me to kill somebody?”

“Yes.”

He kept from outwardly reacting. Not much surprised him any longer, but he hadn’t been expecting a contract killing request from Lynne Harmony. “We’ve lost 99 percent of the world’s population, darlin’. Half of the survivors are useless, and the other half are just trying to survive. You’d better have a good reason for wanting someone dead.”

“Useless isn’t an accurate description,” she said quietly.

“If they can’t help me, if they’re a hindrance, they’re fucking useless.” Months ago, he’d turned off the switch deep down that could see a gray area between the enemy and his people, and there was no changing that. He’d become what was needed to survive and to live through desperate times. “You might want to remember that fact.”

Her shoulders went back, and she rested her head, staring up at the roof. “I’d love to be useless.”

He turned to the front. Her words had been soft, her tone sad, and her meaning heartbreaking. So the woman wanted to die, did she? No fucking way. The blood in her veins was more than a luxury, it might be a necessity. She didn’t get to die. “Tell me you’re not the one I’m supposed to kill,” he said, his body on alert.