Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(90)

Jax turned and strode through the rain to the truck, sliding the keys into the ignition. “We have to find shelter for the night.” Hopefully Raze and Byron had found their way home or to a safe place to hole up. For now, he had to get Lynne out of there. The gunshots would bring more Rippers and possibly gangs. Twenty was definitely out scouting for them, probably in droves at this point. They had about fifteen minutes to find safety.

If there was such a thing.

Lynne kept quiet, her arms around her knees, her body trembling as Jax somehow drove through the darkness without hitting anything. Finally, miles away from the dead Rippers, he pulled into the weed-riddled driveway of a faded yellow clapboard cottage. Empty flower baskets lined the front windows, and a sign hung on the door, proudly proclaiming that the Hernandez family lived there.

“Hold on,” he said, jumping from the truck and lifting a weathered wooden garage door. He returned to drive the truck into the tidy garage. “Stay in the truck until I check it out.” He didn’t wait for an answer but jumped out of the truck to shut the garage door and then entered the single-story small home.

Minutes later, he returned and held out a hand. “Let’s try to get warm, sweetheart.”

The gunshots echoed in her mind, and the sadness of the Ripper who’d acted like a dog descended on her. Tears filled her eyes.

Jax reached for her, drawing her across the seat. “I know.” He was warm and strong, and she allowed him to help her out.

Her mind replayed the fight. Jax had jumped in front of a bullet and then fought a huge crazy guy to protect her. Then he’d done what had to be done without burdening her. She swallowed and wiped blood from his chin. “Are you hurt?” she asked, the idea unthinkable and frightening as hell. Jax couldn’t be hurt. Not because of her.

“No.” He drew her into a dusty kitchen with dim yellow countertops and older white appliances. Three candles burned, lighting the space. “We’re in an area of town where people didn’t have much, so it hasn’t been completely looted yet.” He gestured toward the heavy blinds. “I’ve drawn all the shades, and we should be okay tonight.”

She grabbed a candle to follow him into a living room with a sofa and matching floral chairs. No pictures adorned the wide mantel above the quiet fireplace. “They must’ve fled the city.” People always packed pictures first. Unfortunately, they’d probably also taken all the food and medicine.

“I’ll be right back. Need to head outside and wash off the blood.” He walked through the kitchen and slid open a glass door, disappearing out back.

She dropped to sit on the couch, too overcome to do anything else.

Several minutes later, he returned, still dressed, wet and no longer bloody.

Jax approached and knelt before her, a candle in his hand. “Let me see your chin.” His fingers were gentle as he probed, but pain rippled across her jaw. He winced. “You’re going to have quite a bruise.”

She blinked and reached for his wet vest. “Let’s see what damage you have.” Slowly, she released the Velcro and dropped the vest before removing his wet shirt. “Whoa.” Purple exploded across his ribs in perfect striations. She gently felt along his ribs, biting her lip at his sharp intake of breath. Relief buzzed through her. “You’re bruised, but I can’t feel any breaks. There might be a crack or two.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

She leaned back, studying him. Strong muscles, masculine contours, unreal power. “God, you’re beautiful,” she breathed. The contusion only enhanced his deadliness.

He wiped something off her cheek, his touch gentle. “I’m sorry I let him get you out of the truck.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Jax, you screwed up.”

He sat back on his haunches. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Heat roared into her head. “No. That’s not what I meant.” When he became sweet, he stole her breath away. “You didn’t think, throwing yourself in front of a bullet. The group needs you a lot more than me. You can’t sacrifice yourself like that—not for me. You’re more valuable.” Life was hard, and they had to be logical.

His chin lifted. “I couldn’t do anything else, Lynne.”

She sighed. “Listen. I know I have the blue heart, and I know you think there’s a cure for Scorpius, but there isn’t. I’m definitely not the cure, so you can’t sacrifice yourself for me. For anybody, really. Survival is all that matters, and the group needs you to go on.”

He smiled, his lip lopsided and kind of sad. His hand slid up her chest to flatten over her heart. “I didn’t jump in front of that bullet because your heart is blue, Harmony.”

Her breath caught, and tension skittered through her abdomen. “Then why?”

He leaned in and brushed his lips across her aching neck. “I jumped because your heart is mine.”

She blinked and tried to shove back, only to find her hands spread over his impressive chest. Panic tried to rear up, but his gaze caught hers, and the fight was over. “You said—you said just fucking,” she whispered, fear squeezing her heart.

He smiled, slow and sad. “I know.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “We’ve both lost too damn much to take a chance on getting close to anyone.”

She frowned and instinctively leaned toward him. “I agree.” A new panic mingled with the fear. What was he saying?