Jax

by Cristin Harber

  The intense discussions between Deacon, Hawke, Tex, Ethan, and Johnny paused as Tex snapped his mouth shut.

  "Time's up," Jared said. "We have a plan, and it involves using your best men not afraid to die."

  Hawke's gaze swept to Deacon before he stood. "We haven't decided to work with you on this."

  "We aren't working with Titan." Deacon pushed out of his chair also, a united front with Mayhem.

  Jesus fucking Christ. Jax would kill Deacon. Those kids weren't pawns in his drug lord game. Whatever power trip he got, courtesy of the crown put on his head by Uncle Sam, needed to be set aside. There was no way Deacon would be responsible for destroying the second… personal connection of Jax's because of his sole focus on gangs.

  "I have had enough of your shit." Jax strode past Boss Man. "Whatever Deacon's told you, compare it to our list, then do what the hell you should do."

  Hawke nodded as if that was going to matter. Jax would say what they knew. "The kids touched down in Phoenix, Arizona seventeen minutes ago. A woman referred to as Glammah was ditched off the I-10, and she's refusing to talk to authorities. They won't release her. The only thing of note about her is the Mayhem gang insignia tattooed on her. Parker has info from Ryder. The children's personal items were taken from Seven's house. Teddy bears, blankets, pictures. Some clothing. Mostly comfort items. Johnny's apartment was tossed. Nothing looks to be stolen."

  The corners of Deacon's eyes twitched.

  "What?" Hawke snapped. The MC president wasn't a fool.

  Jared growled at Deacon. "We have intel sources that say Esmeralda Suarez can't have kids. Anything to dispute?"

  Deacon didn't, and shock tidal waves crossed Mayhem's collective faces.

  "If that bitch thinks she has them now…" Hawke's jaw ticked. "What were you saying about Gennita?"

  "That Glammah?" Jared asked. "Who is that?"

  Johnny shook his head, fists balled. "Deacon, I'm gonna kill you."

  Jared's voice boomed louder. "Who is Glammah?"

  "Not who. What," Tex said. "Glamma. It's the kids' grandma. Sort of. Not by blood, and hell if you tell that old lady she's of age. She calls herself their fucking glam-ma. Mack's old lady, not that you know him."

  "They took the kids and ditched the grandma" Jared asked.

  "The glamma. A babysitter in leathers, lipstick, and attitude. But, ya know, good with kids and lives across the street from Seven."

  Jax turned to Jared. "She wasn't with Victoria when they snatched the kids?" They both turned to Deacon. "Right?"

  Deacon nodded. "Just Victoria."

  "Why would they grab the grandma and ditch her at the last minute?" Jared asked.

  No one from Mayhem answered, and Jax started spitballing ideas. Maybe one would eventually sound right. "She was about to die. Too old to make the trip. Too wild. Too loud. Too protective."

  "No, no," Mayhem disagreed.

  What were they missing?

  "Glamma's good people," Ethan offered. "Has more energy than half of the old ladies I know. Helps Seven so she can open her shop, stays late when she closes. Sings stupid songs about brushing teeth. She's their—"

  "Nanny," Johnny said.

  "No, dick." Tex shook his head. "Their grandma. Glamma."

  Hawke rubbed his temples. "Esmeralda doesn't have kids. No nannies. No glammas. If this is a last-minute idea—and they didn't know the kids didn't live at Johnny's—they're not planning."

  "Hernán doesn't like that shit." Tex ran his hand over his chin. "They need a nanny."

  "Why ditch Gennita?" Hawke asked.

  Jared turned as Jax's stomach dropped. "Because they're going after the real deal."

  "Makes sense to me," Deacon chuckled. "Einstein."

  "Deacon," Jared snapped, "get the fuck out of my discussions. If I need you, I'll call. But get the fuck out."

  "I'm gone, assholes."

  Jax stepped forward, needing to check on Seven. "Boss?"

  "Go," he ordered.

  No matter the answer, Jax heard it as he left. He was already running out down the hall.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jorge's phone rang as he laid it on the in-room massage table after four days of little work in sin city. He was so close to escaping without getting his hands dirty. But that was what he did best.

  "Go away." He shooed the masseuse toward the bathroom. "But don't go far." Maybe Hernán only wanted another status update.

  He answered the phone, knowing that not all of his information had been perfect, but eventually, it had worked out fine, and Esmeralda had the children headed her way. "Hello, Señor."

  "Our friend is not listening," Hernán spit into the phone.

  Jorge sat up, wrapping the sheet around his waist and knowing that the masseuse was leaving and so was he. He might not have had perfect information on where Johnny Miller's kids lived, but he'd been rushed, and the request had been last minute. There was a difference between Hernán's irritation and when his father's cutthroat viciousness bled into his work. The only other person Jorge knew who was working on Mayhem and remaining status quo was the CIA spook who played all sides and enjoyed Suarez benefits. Jorge had no idea what they were, but no one did business with Hernán without tangling their integrity.

  "Your friend at the farm?"

  Hernán grunted, making the disappointment linger. "He's not where he should be."

  Jorge shook his head. That dumb motherfucker. For as smart and savvy as Deacon had been over the years… He respected the unsavory spook as much as a cartel man could respect a bureaucrat who ensured drugs passed safely across the borders.

  "I have no use for his services anymore."

  That was that. Jorge had work to do. "How soon?"

  "He's with them now. If they don't already know about your project, they will soon, and all hell will break loose. Take that opportunity to remove him from the conversation."

  Jorge lumbered off the massage table, walked over to the bathroom, and threw open the door. He looked at the masseuse and tossed his thumb over his shoulder. "Get out." Then he walked toward the dresser for a change of clothes before he took a quick shower. "Yes, Señor. I'll let you know when it's done."

  ###

  Despite Deacon's covert measures to remain a ghost, he couldn't be responsible for the people he was with. Jorge had tracked the notable members of the Mayhem MC throughout Las Vegas during his stay, and when he needed to find Deacon, all he did was locate the trackers he had on Mayhem.

  Hawke, Tex, Ethan, and Johnny pinged in the same location of the hotel in which they had been staying.

  After a quick shower to wash off the massage oil, Jorge redressed and strapped on his custom H & K 9 mm and two nickel-plated throwing knives. The basics would be best to silence a lethal and well-trained CIA agent without any prep work.

  If Jorge had his druthers, he would have liked to map out the location, who would be there, and the best ways to kill the guy. But time wasn't on his side. This was one instance in which experience would come in handy.

  He filled a syringe with a paralytic, capped it, and slipped it into his pocket. Then he double-checked the subcompact 9 mm tucked under the front of his shirt and the blade holstered against his sock. Jorge wrapped then rewrapped a high-tension length of metal twine in case he had the opportunity for strangulation and put it in his other pocket.

  With all bases covered, Jorge moved quickly to scout his location. It took him only minutes to cross the street and bound up the stairs to the floor where Mayhem had converged.

  Carefully, he eased out of the stairwell—and backed back in. Several men milled, and the tension was palpable from his view at the far end of the other hallway. How interesting. To make a better assessment, he moved to the vending area. No one noticed as men walked in and out of the conference room. His prey was already in a defensive mode.

  Jorge didn't know what he had missed. The animosity and hostility among the men was overpowering. Deacon seemed on edge, and Jorge smil
ed, enjoying the irony.

  The Americano was making bad decision after bad decision. Upsetting Hernán, fighting with the people he had chosen over the Suarez cartel. Preoccupation would cloud Deacon's mind and make Jorge's job even easier.

  Deacon walked into the middle of the group, slowly postulating from one side to the next, then ended toe to toe with a big Italian–looking guy. Those two were the ones who'd had it out, no doubt. Deacon said what he needed to then peeled off. Jorge watched the back-and-forth, observing the hostility between the two factions. The dark-haired Italian split moments later.

  He watched the two men turn the corner from the group and split. The Italian headed for the elevator, and Jorge's prey went toward the stairwell. How predictable. The CIA agent wouldn't be trapped in a small box.

  He stalked that way, the rush from the anticipation of the kill tickling his veins and hyperfocusing his mind.

  Quietly, Jorge slid open the stairwell door and listened for which way Deacon had gone. The agent's steps were barely audible, but with a lock on the sound, Jorge moved in, shuffling silently behind.

  It only took seconds to pad quietly behind the man, wait, and walk by casually. Deacon's mind had been elsewhere, and he was a half-second too slow as Jorge's lightning-quick skills let him snap Deacon's neck.

  He wished he would have been able to use one of the toys. No paralytic. No strangulation. Not even his favorite gun or knife.

  He wasn't worried about Deacon's body being identified because the CIA would send a cleanup team to erase his existence and take care of the security footage for Jorge. Sometimes, offing agents was one of the easiest tasks.

  He straightened his shirt, tucking in the back where it had loosened, then continued down the stairs and over to the coffee bar. He ordered himself a drink then sent a signal to his boss that would be read as three simple words.

  "It is done."

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The empty hotel suite was like a black hole. It sucked Jax in. There was no escape, and even though he knew Seven was gone, he couldn't fight the feeling that she had just been there.

  Bile sloshed in his stomach. Desperate to be analytical and find anything she may have left behind, he knew it was a lost cause when he walked in. "Seven?" Goddamn it, he was too late. "Are you in here?"

  The mere seconds it took him to move through the suite and check the bathroom were a waste. The instant he'd thrown open the door, Jax knew she was gone. He could feel it in a desperate, terrifying way.

  He saw no signs of a struggle. Seven would fight. No doubt Parker was pulling security footage now, but the cartel could slip her out of the building unseen in any number of ways. He walked to the desk, and his eyes dropped. A note?

  What the hell was that?

  Hi, Jax. I need time to myself and went for a walk. Don't wait up, not sure when I'll be back. I'll check in when I can. xxoo

  Fucking hell. What did they do to get her to write that? He reached for his cell phone and called Boss Man, who picked up on the first ring.

  "Hey, she left a note—"

  Jared cut him off. "Where are you?"

  "Where the fuck do you think I am? Seven's room."

  "It takes you that long to find a note?"

  Jesus Christ. What crawled up Boss Man's ass? It wasn't as if he were dicking around. Maybe he took his sweet time looking around a small room. Maybe he had a hard time with the fact that his girl was gone and every single step tortured him. But he didn't need Jared's damn attitude right now. "Yeah, man. What the hell? Seven left a damn note. Are you interested?"

  "Truthfully, Jax, I'm interested in why it took you so long to find a note in a room that's two hundred square feet. Where the fuck was the note?"

  "Her desk." Jax wasn't hiding his frustration at all, and that wasn't a great idea after getting into a fight with Deacon earlier. Everybody had an issue with Jax's attitude. But at the moment, he gave no fucks. They wanted him to work faster? Two minutes wasn't going to make a difference when it came to processing the fact that Seven wasn't there and he was losing his shit. "Look, man. Seven. That's the only thing I'm going to think about and worry about."

  "Sugar's on her way to you now. I have something I have to figure out, and I will be there in a second. Don't leave that room."

  Where the hell did Jared think Jax was going to go? To the strip or to get a beer? Catch a little R and R? A knock sounded on the door, signaling the arrival of his least favorite fan. "She's here," he said, grinding his molars. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'll see you when I see you."

  Jax threw the notepad down and stormed to open the door. He had a key card to Seven's room but was surprised that Sugar's forceful knock didn't knock the door down. He twisted the door handle, and Sugar pushed through, a leather-clad bulldozer imitating what Jared sounded like but in real life. "Well, hey to you too."

  She walked through the room, not acknowledging he was there, then traced the same path to the bedroom and bathroom and came back. She slammed her hands onto her hips. "So?"

  So? Well, fuck you too, Sugar. "Seven left a note. It's total bullshit."

  Sugar's eyes narrowed to slits. "Where?"

  Jax mocked her one-word snappy tone. "Desk."

  After her quick inspection, Sugar shook her head. "Goddamn it. What'd they do to get that written?"

  "That's what I would like to know. But everybody is acting like they have an AK shoved up their asshole."

  Sugar all but hissed at him, and Jax turned, not wanting to engage with his boss's wife, when the trash can caught his eye. Two crumbled pieces of paper lay in the waste pail, and Jax's heart jumped. He had no idea what Seven's deal with folding was. They hadn't talked about it, but he noticed there was a definite thing there. Crumpled definitely wasn't folded.

  He strode over, grabbed the pail, and dumped it onto the desk next to Sugar. Then he flattened the two pieces of notepaper on the desk. Sugar moved next to him, and they stared at the three pieces together.

  Nothing. There was nothing there, only two notes on which she had clearly screwed up what they had told her to say before starting over.

  Still, the discarded notes struck him as important, but he didn't know how. Something was, though.

  Sugar stared at him more than the papers. "Okay, Detective. She gets nervous writing under orders."

  There was no way that Seven, the woman who folded everything, had crumbled up two pieces of paper and tossed them away. She was neurotic about the way things were folded. "There's something here. I don't know what it is."

  "Too bad we can't ask Deacon, isn't it?" Sugar pursed her lips together, antagonizing him with the one name that was like bamboo shoots under his fingernails.

  Jax wasn't going to justify the job and ignored her. The wording looked the same…

  The door shook with the pounding of a knock. Jared's bad attitude obviously hadn't gone away, and Jax turned to answer the door. Boss Man brushed by him as coldly as Sugar had but didn't do the same sweep. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the couch.

  It had taken him longer to get to the room than Jax had expected, but dealing with Mayhem was a pain in the ass.

  "Parker reviewed the hotel's security footage, the security cams from neighboring hotels."

  "Yeah, and?" Jax asked, sensing the hesitation.

  "Seven walked out by herself. What's her note say?"

  Damn it to hell. "That she needs time to think and leave her alone."

  "I have a bigger problem on my hands right now."

  Jax's eyes bugged. "Than Seven going missing? I'm doing everything I can to clear those problems out of the way. What possible problem can you have that doesn't have to do with bringing home those kids and my woman?"

  "Deacon Lanes."

  Jax roared, throwing his arms out. "Deacon Lanes. Deacon motherfucking Lanes. Nothing about him has to do with her. We have what we need from him. He doesn't matter anymore. If I never hear his name again, I'd be okay. Everybody's on my ass for years—why d
o I have an attitude, why don't I play well with others? Deacon. Fucking. Lanes. But now I don't care anymore. Titan's supposed to take care of each other. Right? That's what I've been hearing the entire time I've worked for you. Hell, since before I worked for you. You know our history, and I guess now it's time for you to choose. Who's it going to be? Have I done everything to be Titan loyal and Titan strong? Because I sure have fuck tried. Maybe not with a smile on my face every goddamn time. But I dare you to find a time that I didn't support every man and woman I worked with, push them to be better. So you have a problem with me dealing with Deacon Lanes? Ground me. Take me off the team."

  Jared's jaw ticked back and forth. "You're grounded." He turned around and left, not saying another word.

  Jax's world came crashing down. He'd never questioned how much Titan had become who he was. He didn't know that he could feel pain until recently. He knew anger lived inside him. But it wasn't until Bianca and Nolan had gone missing that he knew he could fear. Then came this very moment when he realized he had just lost the only way he knew to go get Seven and bring her home.

  "What just happened?" he numbly muttered, walking toward the couch, hearing every footstep as it echoed in his ears.

  Sugar laughed—and Jax snapped to face her, having forgotten that anybody else was there.

  "That's what happens when you murder somebody and don't loop in the boss." Sugar pushed away from the desk, sauntering out of the room, as Jax connected the dots between his raging speech and what he thought he'd just learned.

  "Deacon's dead…"

  Sugar paused briefly, glancing over her shoulder, then walked out, letting the door slam behind her. Someone had finished the job he'd always fantasized about doing but never did. An odd sense of relief and a smile came over Jax. He wasn't Deacon. He'd never wanted to be the cold-blooded killer that took a life without orders to do so. Avenging personal pain seemed so different than protecting his country and those he believed were innocents. Though still blown away to be feeling anything like fear and pain, he was even more confused to feel joy for a brief moment because the devil was dead.