“If I am?” Soft, his voice promised death.
A promise she’d make him keep. Someday. The breeze picked up, tumbling weeds across the deserted 405. She fought a shiver. Any weakness shown might get her killed. “You know who I am.”
“I know who you say you are.” His overwhelming form blocked out the light, reminding her of her smaller size. “Take off your shirt.”
Something about the way he said it gave her pause. Before, she hadn’t cared. But with him so close she could smell male; an awareness of her femininity brought fresh fear. Nevertheless, she unbuttoned her shirt.
This time, her hands trembled.
Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders and left the shirt on, the worn material gaping in the front.
He waited.
She lifted her chin, trying to meet his eyes, although she couldn’t see them. The men around them remained silent, yet alertness carried on the breeze. How many guns were trained on her? She wanted to tell them it would only take one. Though she’d been through hell, she’d never really learned to fight.
The wind whipped into action, lifting her long hair away from her face. Her arms tightened against her rib cage. Goose bumps rose along her skin.
Swearing softly, the man stepped in, long tapered fingers drawing her shirt apart. He shifted to the side, allowing light to blast her front. Neon blue glowed along her flesh.
“Jesus.” He pressed his palm against her breastbone—directly above her heart.
Shock tightened her muscles, her eyes widening, and that heart ripping into a gallop. Her nipples pebbled from the breeze. Warmth cascaded from his hand when he spread his fingers over the odd blue of her skin. When was the last time someone had touched her gently?
And gentle, he was.
The touch had her looking down at his damaged hand. Faded white scars slashed across his knuckles, above the veins, past his wrist. The bizarre glow from her heart filtered through his long fingers. Her entire chest was aqua from within, those veins closest to her heart, which glowed neon blue, shining strong enough to be seen through her ribs and sternum.
He exhaled loudly, removing his touch.
An odd sense of loss filtered down her spine. Then surprise came as he quickly buttoned her shirt to the top.
He clasped her by the elbow. “Cut the light.” His voice didn’t rise, but instantly, the light was extinguished. “I’m Mercury. What do you want?”
What a question. What she wanted, nobody could provide. Yet she struggled to find the right words. Night after night, traveling under darkness to reach him, she’d planned for this moment. But the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to breathe. To rest. To hide. “Help. I need your help.” The truth tumbled out too fast to stop.
He stiffened and then tightened his hold on her arm. “That, darlin’, you’re gonna have to earn.”
* * *
Jax eyed the brunette sitting in the backseat of the battered Subaru. He’d stolen the vehicle from a home in Beverly Hills after all hell had broken loose. The gardener who’d owned it no longer needed it, considering he was twelve feet under.
The luxury SUV sitting so close to the Subaru had tempted him, but the older car would last longer and use less gas, which was almost depleted, anyway. Hell, everything they had was almost depleted. From medical supplies to fuel to books to, well, hope. How the hell did he refill everybody with hope when he could barely remember the sensation?
The night raid had been a search for more gasoline from abandoned vehicles, not a search party for survivors. He’d never thought to find Lynn Harmony.
The woman had closed her eyes, her head resting against the plush leather. Soft moonlight wandered through the tinted 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 through the rearview mirror, and for some reason, that irritated Jax. “Watch the road.”
Manny cut a glance his way. At over fifty years old, beaten and weathered, he took orders easily. “There’s no one out here tonight but us.”
“We hope.” Jax’s gut had never lied to him. Somebody was coming. If the woman had brought danger to his little place in the world, she’d pay.
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’d taken out most of the human race.
Around them, off-road vehicles kept pace. Some dirt bikes, a few four-wheelers, even a fancy Razor confiscated from another mansion. 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 smiled. “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, right? 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 Lynn Harmony. “We’ve lost ninety-nine percent of the world’s population, darlin’. Half of the survivors are useless, and the other half is 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.” He’d turned off the switch deep down that discerned a gray area between the enemy and his people months ago, 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 ceiling. “I’d love to be useless.”
He blinked and turned back around to the front. Her words had been soft, her tone sad, and her meaning heartbreaking. If he still had a heart. 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. “Please tell me you’re not the one I’m supposed to kill,” he said, his heart beating faster.
Silence ticked around the dented SUV for a moment. “Not yet, no.”
Great. All he needed was a depressed biological weapon in the form of a sexy brunette to mess with his already fucking fantastic daily schedule. “Lady, if you wanna eat a bullet, you should’ve done it before coming into my territory.” Since she was there, he was making use of her, and if that meant suicide watch around the clock, he’d provide the guards to keep her breathing.
“I know.” Fabric rustled, and she poked him in the neck. “When was your last injection?”
His head jerked as surprise flared his neurons to life. He grabbed her finger before turning and h
eld tight. “Almost one month ago.”
She tried to free herself and then frowned when she failed. “You’re about due, then. How many vials of B do you have left?”
He tugged her closer until she was almost sitting in the front seat, his gaze near to hers. “Doesn’t matter. Now I have you, don’t I? If we find the cure, we won’t need vitamin B.” This close, under the dirt and fear, he could smell woman. Fresh and with a hint of—what was that—vanilla? No. Gardenias. Spicy and wild.
She shook her head and again tried to free herself. “You can have all the blood you want. It won’t help.”
“Stop the car,” he said to Manny.
Manny nodded and pulled over. Jax released Lynn’s finger, stepped out of the vehicle, and pressed into the backseat next to her.
Her eyes widened, and she huddled back against the other door.
He drew a hood from his back pocket. “Come here, darlin’.”
“No.” She scrambled away, her hands out.
With a sigh, he reached for a zip tie in his vest and way too easily secured her hands together. A second later, he pulled the hood over her head. He didn’t like binding a woman, but he didn’t have a choice. “In the past year, as the world has gone to hell, hasn’t anybody taught you to fight?” he asked.
She kicked out, her bound hands striking for his bulletproof vest.
He lifted her onto his lap, wrapped an arm over hers and around her waist, manacling her legs with one of his. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, but you can’t know where we’re going.”
“Right.” She shoved back an elbow, her warm little body struggling hard.
Desire flushed through him, pounding instantly into his cock. God, she was a handful.
She paused. “Ah—”
“You’re safe. Just stop wiggling.” His voice was hoarse. Jesus. When was the last time he’d gotten laid? He actually couldn’t remember. She was a tight little handful of energy and womanly curves, and his body reacted instantly. The more she gyrated against him, trying to fight, the more blood rushed south of his brain. He had to get her under control before he began panting like a teenager.
“No.” Her voice rose, and she tried to flail around again. “You can’t manhandle me like this.”
If she had any clue how he’d like to handle her, she’d be screaming. He took several deep breaths and forced desire into the abyss, where it belonged. He wanted her hooded, not afraid. “If you were mine, you’d know how to fight.” Where that thought came from, he’d never know.
She squirmed on his lap, fully contained. “Good thing I’m not yours, now isn’t it?”
He exhaled and held her tighter until she gave up the fight and submitted against him. The light whimper of frustration echoing behind the hood sounded almost like a sigh of pleasure. When she softened, he hardened. Again.
Then he released his hold. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lynn Harmony. The second you crossed into my territory, the very moment you asked for my help, that’s exactly what you became.”
“What?” she asked, sounding breathless now.
“Mine.”
Dylan Patrick
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author REBECCA ZANETTI has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner—only to culminate it all in stories about alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.
Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.
Please visit Rebecca at: www.rebeccazanetti.com/www.facebook.com/RebeccaZanetti.Author.FanPagetwitter.com/RebeccaZanetti
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