Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(53)

Jax blinked blood from his face and looked into the sun. Wincing, he turned just as Bast knelt down. “Your mama’s a whore,” Bast spit out.

Yeah, she was. “So is yours,” Jax mumbled through split lips.

The punch didn’t hurt this time, which was probably a bad thing. “You’re a half-breed piece of shit.”

Jax swallowed blood. “So are you.” He shouldn’t mess with the fourteen-year-old bully, but sometimes he just couldn’t stop talking.

“Maybe. But you’re half-white.” Bast punched him in the gut.

Jax cried out and lifted his knees toward his chest.

Then suddenly, Bast lay face down on the concrete, with a boy pounding his face into the ground. Blood sprayed in every direction.

Jax spat blood and rolled over, struggling to stand on unsteady legs. Boys surrounded him, all older, all bigger. All wearing specific colors—all shades of purple. Twenty colors. The gang ruled the neighborhoods to the east. Ruthlessly. Finally, when Bast was out cold, but probably not dead, the boy beating him stood.

Definitely Hispanic, tall, and a few years older than Jax, the kid had several kill tats already down his neck. “You Mercury?” he asked.

Jax spat more blood. He couldn’t outrun all of them, and if they wanted him dead, they’d get him dead. So he held his ground. “Yeah.”

“Did you help an old lady at Maker’s Grocery yesterday?” the kid asked.

Jax wiped blood from his eyes. Death didn’t much scare him, but he couldn’t leave Marcus alone. The kid was only six years old, and Jax had vowed he’d protect his little brother until death. “Sí.”

“English, puto,” the kid spat out. “Speak English.”

“Why?” Jax asked. Damn it.

The kid shrugged. “It’s what we speak. Usually.”

Whatever. “Yeah, I helped a lady. Two guys tried to steal her purse. She was an old lady.” Mierda. Maybe those guys were brothers to this guy. Shit. He was dead now.

“She’s my granny,” the kid said, sticking out his hand. “Cruz Martinez.”

Jax took the hand and tried not to wince when they shook. Maybe his fingers were broken. “Jax Mercury. I’m glad she’s okay.”

Cruz looked down at the fallen kid. “You need better friends, Jax.”

Yeah. Yeah, he did.

“In fact, you need brothers.” Cruz smiled. “Come with me.”

“Jax?” a soft voice asked, yanking him from his memories and right back into the hell of the present.

His eyelids slowly opened, and he focused on Lynne Harmony in the soft light. Her eyes were wide and her movements hesitant. How badly had he scared her? “I’m under control, Lynne.”

“I know.” She moved closer to the table.

He reached over for a chair and pulled it out like a guy at a fancy dinner. “Sit down. I’m sorry about earlier.”

“So am I.” She slid onto the chair, a small woman with such a big brain. “I wasn’t fair to you and had no right to judge.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” He truly didn’t know if he was leading or not, but so long as there was somebody to fight, he’d keep stabbing. “I thought I locked you in for the night. You should get some sleep.”

“Sami finished training with the kids and dropped by to check on me. Then she escorted me down here before going out on patrol. My brain is working on a problem, and I’m not ready to sleep. It’s not even midnight yet, anyway.” Lynne eyed the whiskey bottle. “I’m not a prisoner.”

That was exactly what she was. He nudged his still-full whiskey glass toward her. “Cheers.”

She accepted the glass and lifted it to her nose, sniffing. Her eyes closed, her pretty eyelashes fluttering against her blushing skin. “Yum.”

Hell, she looked like that just before she came. His cock sprang up, and he shifted his weight to hide the evidence. “Drink.”

She sipped and then downed the entire shot. Sputtering, she wiped her eyes. “Wow, that’s good.”

Actually, it was shit whiskey. Bottom of the barrel. But a luxury nonetheless. “Want another?”

“No.” She set down the glass and studied him. “Is Jax short for Jackson?”

“No.” He eyed his new stitches. “My mama didn’t speak English very well, and she meant to name me Jack.”

Lynne smiled. “I like Jax. It suits you.”

Could he even have a normal conversation like this? He cleared his throat. The previous night, he’d fucked the woman until they’d both dropped from exhaustion. This nicety? Might be too much for him. “How did you, ah, get your name?”

Her slender fingers played with the shot glass. “My mother’s sister was named Lynne.” She shrugged. “Pretty simple.”

Right. “Your parents—they were nice people?”

She smiled. “Yes. My mother was a veterinarian, and my father a professor at Harvard. Good people.” She lost the grin.

Sounded like smart and successful people—definitely upper class and the opposite of his family. “Did Scorpius get them?” he asked.

“Yes.” One word full of guilt and pain.

“I’m sorry.”