Shattered (LOST #3)(82)

Murphy Jacobs was locked up. Locked up and still laughing.

“Did you enjoy hitting that girl?” Jax asked Cross.

Brent was a few feet away, watching them warily.

Two uniforms stood by their car.

No one had cuffed Jax yet. Their mistake.

“What girl?” Cross demanded as his chin jutted into the air.

“The nineteen-year-old stripper at Lucky Lady. She wouldn’t give you a private dance—oh, sorry, I mean a private fuck for free—so you broke her nose. Made it so that she couldn’t get any money. That’s what you told her, right? ‘If you can’t fuck me, then I’ll make sure no one fucks you.’ ”

Cross flushed and glanced toward Brent. “That’s a lie! That’s—”

“I know what you did. She told me. And now . . . it’s your turn to get broken.” He drove his fist into Cross’s face. Hell, he was already going down, so why not enjoy the hell out of his last bit of freedom?

He heard the crunch of bones as Cross yelled.

Then the dirty cop was attacking him. The other cops closed in, and Jax just punched Cross even harder.

“You shouldn’t hit women,” Jax told him. “Because it just pisses me off.”

Brent grabbed his arms. So Jax used his legs to fight. He slammed them into Cross’s stomach. The guy grunted and then he collapsed. He fell in a heap on the ground.

“Payback,” Jax told him. “It’s a real sonofabitch—”

His house exploded.

HE SMILED AS he watched the fire. Jax Fontaine had just flown through the air. He’d slammed into the side of a police car, and the guy wasn’t getting up now. Maybe he’d broken some bones. Maybe his damn neck.

The cops weren’t moving. They’d been knocked back by the blast.

Chunks of debris were littering the street. And that house—the house that Jax had been so very proud of—was nothing but fire right then.

He headed across the street. Kicked a groaning cop out of his way.

Then he reached down and put his gun under Jax’s chin. “Hey, asshole,” he said. “Want to live or die?”

Jax’s eyes slowly opened. He saw the flash of surprise there as Jax stared at him. Yeah, the fool had never seen him coming.

“ ’Cause I can shoot you right here . . . or you can drag your ass into my car and live just a little longer.”

“Fuck . . . off,” Jax said. He was bleeding from a huge gash near his forehead.

“That’s not the right answer.” He slammed the gun into the side of Jax’s head. He hit hard, and Jax’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Guess I get to drag you.” He started hauling the guy with him, humming as he walked.

“Stop!”

He didn’t.

“Stop or I’ll shoot you!”

It was the detective—the one who was so freaking chummy with Jax. Detective Brent West. Sighing, he stopped and turned to look at the guy. West was on his stomach, trying to crawl toward him. All of those cops were still alive. Groaning, hurt, but breathing.

Why?

He fired at West. The guy cried out and fell back. Then he shot at Cross. A bullet to the head. He took care of the two uniforms in seconds.

Now when help finally came, people would wonder . . . had Jax attacked them all and escaped? Set the bomb to try and cover his tracks?

People in this town always suspected Jax.

He was such a good villain.

But I’m better. So much better.

JAX DIDN’T MAKE it to the New Orleans PD. And neither did Sarah. Gabe got the call about the fire at Jax’s place while they were racing across town. They spun around and headed hell fast for his house.

When they got there, the street had already been blocked off. The fire—a sight that Sarah had become far too familiar with—was lighting the sky. There were ambulances in the street and . . . body bags.

Jax. No, not Jax. No!

Sarah leapt out of the car and ran ahead. She shoved people out of her way, people who’d just gathered to watch the carnage. She was counting those body bags and not even breathing. One. Two. Three . . .

“Jax!” Sarah screamed. Because he couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.

She saw a stretcher being loaded into the back of an ambulance. And—Brent was on it. Strapped down, covered in blood, but still alive. “Brent!” She ducked under the police tape. “Brent!”

A cop grabbed her arm and tried to shove her back.

Wade caught the cop’s hand. “You don’t want to do that, buddy,” Wade told him, voice flat. “Trust me.”

The uniformed cop’s jaw dropped. “This is a crime scene, bozo! Get your ass back—”

Sarah slipped away from him and ran to Brent. His head had turned. He was staring blearily at her.

“Brent, what happened?”

“Jax . . .”

Jax hadn’t done this. She knew it. I love you. His words were cutting into her. “Where is he?”

“Ma’am, you need to step back,” one of the EMTs told her.

Sarah stepped closer. “Where is he, Brent?”

His chest was covered in blood.

“T-Taken . . .”

No. “Who took him?”

“Ma’am, get back!” The EMT pushed her. Sarah pushed right back.