Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(51)

He blinked. Slowly. “Excuse me?”

The tone pulsed through her, igniting adrenaline. Flee. No fight. Her instincts bellowed to run. “I said, knock this nonsense off. The people here are sad and they’re scared. Step up and help them.”

His eyebrows lifted.

Good. She’d gotten through to him.

“Haylee is dead because of me,” he whispered, the sound broken.

She shook her head. “No, she is not. She’s dead because a bacteria was unleashed and Cruz purposefully infected a young girl. That’s not on you. None of this is about you.”

“I’m the Vanguard leader,” he exploded, red shooting across his cheekbones. “It’s all on me.”

Caution screamed at her but she ignored it. “You’re not their leader. You’re their protector.” She sucked in air, facing death. “They fucking need a leader, and it’s time you stepped up.” What the hell was she doing?

His head jerked. Those eyes focused. “What did you just say?”

“There’s a difference between defending and leading, Jax,” she said softly.

His lids lowered to half-mast. “Is there now? Is this about Shawn?”

Shawn? It took her a moment to remember Shawn. “The kid you left in Twenty territory?” Oh. So that was eating away at Jax, too.

“Yes. You think I should’ve brought him back.” That quickly, any hint of being lost disappeared from Jax’s hard face. “I made the right decision.”

“Did you?” She truly didn’t know. Would a true leader have brought the kid home to rehabilitate him? Or had Jax possibly saved the group from another attack? “Either way, it’s done and time to move on.”

“Move on? I’ve known that kid for months, through famine, pain, and war. I liked him.” Jax shifted his weight, and glass crunched beneath his boot. “I left him for Cruz. I left another fucking kid for Cruz.”

Another? They all knew what Cruz did to enemies. At the very least, he’d infect Shawn. “I know.” Lynne sighed. Then her gaze caught on Jax’s right hand, the one with white scars. Red dripped from his knuckles and between his fingers. “How many windows have you punched in your time?” she asked.

He lifted an eyebrow and glanced at his bleeding hand. “More than I can count, but the scars aren’t from windows.”

It wasn’t the right time to ask him about the scars, that much she knew for sure. “The new ones will be, and you’ll need stitches.”

“Probably.” Jax glanced around the apartment and then began striding her way. She tightened her leg muscles to keep from backing up. He reached her.

She stopped breathing.

Slowly, as if not wanting to spook her, he lifted his undamaged hand and ran a knuckle down the side of her face. Gently and with warmth. His arm dropped, and he moved past her to the door.

Her breath whooshed out, and tingles lit her abdomen.

He disengaged the locks. “I’ll send somebody in to clean up.”

The world tilted. She’d had enough of people for the night. “I don’t want anybody here. I’ll clean up.”

He left without another word. When he locked the door from the outside, Lynne turned and sagged against it, her gaze on the demolished room. She’d made a huge mistake in seeking out Jax Mercury. He was damaged, and he was dangerous, but instead of wanting to flee, she wanted to heal him.

There was no healing for any of them.





Chapter Seventeen





Nothing brings man closer together than a common enemy to fight.

—Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony




He shouldn’t have punched the window, because he was still bleeding an hour later after doing weapons inventory. Jax swore as blood dripped through the rag he’d wrapped around his injury even as he moved to the next locker. At this rate, his guns would outnumber his ammunition ten to one by the end of the week.

He slammed the last door and hurried from the storage building, skirting the cemetery and keeping his gaze away from the new crosses. Just for tonight. Tomorrow he’d look again.

Rain slashed across his face, and he ducked his head, shoving through the back door of the infirmary. Voices alerted him, and he jogged faster.

Dim lanterns cast a yellowish light through the grimy room of the old kitchen, and microscopes with documents had been shoved to a far counter. Tace, Wyatt, and Raze sat around an old card table, half glasses of whiskey in front of them. Maps of the county were scattered across the table with circles drawn around future raiding areas.

“Figured you’d be out running all night, so we’ve been planning,” Tace said.

“You’re bleeding,” Wyatt murmured, tipping back his drink.

Raze, as usual, didn’t say anything. But at least he was spending time with the group. Perhaps he’d loosen up and start to earn Jax’s trust.

Tace kicked a chair toward Jax and reached over his shoulder to yank out a drawer. “Sit down.”

Wyatt dug another glass from under what used to be a working sink, poured whiskey into it, and nudged it across the table. “You’ll want a drink first.”

“You’ve dipped into our hidden reserve.” Nothing wrong with stating the obvious. They’d found a couple of bottles while scouting homes to the east about a month ago.