Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Tace braced his legs and set his arms across the truck, pointing at the building Twenty had taken over. “If you stick low, you’ll be able to get around the building and take Twenty from behind,” he murmured.

  Jax nodded. “Good plan. Don’t fire and draw attention unless they see me.”

  “Copy that.” Tace’s aim remained steady. “Go.”

  Jax breathed out, slowed his heartbeat, and focused into the moment. He waited for a sporadic firefight to become more localized in the center, and then he ran. Low and fast, he went full bore for the back of the apartment building. Mud splashed up his legs, but soon he panted, his back against rough brick, hidden from the fight. Tace hadn’t needed to fire a shot.

  Jax turned for the back just as two men in purple rounded the corner. He ducked and then fired two shots, hitting each man between the eyes. Shock filled their faces as they fell. Jax jogged toward them and peered over their dead bodies around the corner into the dark alley running behind the building.

  Abandoned single-family homes, their backyards empty save for old garbage, lined the other side of the alley behind the still-standing apartment building he’d been unable to take down. Even before Scorpius, despair and futility had smothered the neighborhood.

  He turned and quickly frisked both bodies. Three knives and two guns were quickly concealed in his clothing. Then, keeping his left shoulder to the building, he ran around the corner and went full bore to the back entrance. In its heyday, the bottom floor had been a halfway house for newly released prisoners, while the second floor held apartments the locals knew housed hookers. The fifteen minute kind.

  Jax had purchased his first joint from an ex-con living on the second floor.

  Gravel scraped. “Where the fuck is Sal?” a low male voice said just as a twentysomething Hispanic kid in full purple turned the corner.

  Jax was on him before he could open his mouth, taking him to the concrete and wrapping him in a choke hold. A hard snap, and the guy’s neck broke. Jax yanked the body behind a Dumpster overflowing with water and old fast food containers before sliding inside the back door of the building. Knowing Cruz, the bastard would be on the top floor spraying bullets.

  Creeping silently, Jax found the rear stairs and inched into the stairwell while the fire fight continued outside. He jogged up, pausing at the second-floor landing. Cruz had purchased him a blow job from a local hooker for his fifteenth birthday, and they’d met on the landing. His first blow job. He shoved down memories and peered up.

  Silence in the stairwell. Cruz had always had more balls than brains. The stairwell should’ve been secured instead of having everyone shooting all their bullets at people behind trucks and minivans.

  Jax stilled and listened at the landing, which was missing the stairwell door. Hell, it had been missing the door for twenty years. He stayed down a step and ducked, peering around the corner. A sentry stood guard in the center of the hallway. Right. Jax settled back into place, holding his breath. The second another spray of firepower was unleashed, he jumped into the hallway and took out the sentry with a hit to the temple. The man fell to the side, dropping his weapon.

  Jax powered forward, sweeping rooms right and left. Nothing. Cruz must’ve had his main force on the ground floor, ready to go if Jax made a frontal assault. Shit. Ten years ago, and he would’ve done just that.

  The military had changed him in more ways than one.

  He reached dead center of the hallway, where a closed door stood between him and the ping of bullets. Crouching, he felt for a pulse, already knowing the man in purple was gone. A quick frisk revealed nothing but the Glock the guy had carried. Weird choice, the Glock. Jax shrugged and slid the gun in the back of his waist.

  Standing, he stood and waited until more firepower was unleashed so he could kick open the door.

  The cocking of a gun behind him stopped his breathing.

  “My old friend,” Cruz said quietly.

  Jax lowered his gun to his side and turned around. Cruz emerged from the next room down, gun pointed at Jax’s head. “Looks like you underestimated me.”

  “Apparently so.” Jax jerked his head at the closed door behind him. “Who’s the shooter?”

  “New kid. Recruit that’s a decent shot.” Cruz kicked his fallen man over. “This guy, I hoped you’d take out.”

  Figured. It had been too easy. Jax’s fingers settled on his gun, and he slowly released each muscle. Cruz never had given a shit about most of his followers. “You should be careful. There aren’t that many recruits out there.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You keep leaving them for me.”

  Jax stilled. Shawn? Had Cruz actually let Shawn live? “Why did you infect the girl?”

  Cruz, his face lined from drugs, booze, and being a prick, smiled. “For fun. I didn’t have time to really use her, but one good bite ruined her just the same. Tell me she died.”

  Jax kept his expression lax. “Sorry. She had a bad fever and it was close, but now she’s knitting sweaters. You know, in time for winter.”

  Cruz’s eyes narrowed until they were almost all black. “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not.” Jax lifted a shoulder. “Did you bite her?”

  Cruz snorted. “No. I’m not a carrier, but I keep a couple of Rippers chained in the basement. They bite when I tell them to bite.”

  Bile cut through Jax’s gut. “You’re fuckin’ sick.”

  “Drop your gun.”

  “Sure.” Jax dropped the gun, and it bounced once on the torn carpet. “You know what I don’t get?”

  “Women?”

  Jax barked out a laugh. “Besides women. I don’t get why you’re coming after me. L.A. is a huge place, and we don’t have to lose people fighting each other.”

  Cruz stepped closer. “You betrayed me by leaving me here, mulo.”

  Jax rolled his eyes, his muscles tensing. “Bullshit. I left because I needed to leave.”

  “Brothers choose prison and not the government. Not the fuckin’ army.”

  They would never see eye to eye. “Nice boots, by the way. Three-inch heels?” Cruz was under six feet tall, and it had always pissed him off that Jax, with his white daddy’s genes, had gotten so tall. “Are those girl boots?”

  “Fuck you.” Cruz stepped in and shoved the barrel of the gun against Jax’s throat.

  Pain pricked his larynx. “Not my type.”

  Cruz lifted his head, hatred in his eyes. “No? Your brother liked me just fine.”

  Fire roared through Jax’s head. “I told you to leave him alone. He didn’t belong in Twenty.”

  Cruz leaned in, his face a mere inch from Jax’s. “He was the best enforcer I’ve ever seen. Killed like a motherfucker.”

  Jax grit his teeth and tried to shove out words. “Marcus didn’t kill anybody.”

  Pure delight glimmered in Cruz’s wild eyes. “He killed more than anybody I ever knew. Was a fucking genius at it.” Cruz sighed. “But Marcus had to go. Too . . . what’s the word? Charismatic.”

  Everything inside Jax stilled. Went dead. “He had to go?” he asked evenly.

  Cruz smiled, his red lips tipping in almost a snarl. “Yes. The drive-by? Well, too many of my men, my followers, were looking at your little brother. So he had to go. Even his nickname, Slam, was charismatic.”

  Jax had suspected. Without any evidence, even a hint of the truth, he’d wondered. He’d even stood at the grave site and asked for answers, but his mother had already died before Marcus had, so there were no answers. “You’re gonna pay, Cruz.”

  “No, I’m not.” Cruz leaned back while keeping the gun flush against Jax’s throat. “After I kill you, I’m going to take apart your little fiefdom. Starting with Blue Heart.”

  Jax jerked. What the fuck?

  “Yep. My new recruit was all full of info. Shawn gave me her location so I’d allow him to live.” Cruz chuckled, low and deep.

  Fuck. “The kid lied to you.”

  Cruz’s lips brushed Jax�
��s ear. “Ah, you never could lie to me, brother. The woman? She stays in your quarters.”

  Heat compressed Jax’s heart. Cruz would destroy Lynne and enjoy every second. “You’re misinformed,” Jax ground out, his heart pounding.

  “I don’t think so. Now you die so I can go get my hands on the woman. It won’t be the first time I’ve used your leftovers.”

  A bullet flew by Cruz’s head, and he jerked back.

  Jax ducked and punched up as hard as he could, throwing Cruz against the far wall. He turned to see Tace coming at him, gun firing. “What the hell?” he asked.

  Bullets shot through the door behind Jax, and he leaped to the side and into Tace. Tace grabbed him in a bear hug and hurtled them both into an empty room across the way.

  “What the hell?” Jax repeated.

  Tace ran for the window. “I decided I didn’t want to lose Wyatt’s picture. Give it back.”

  What?

  The gunman swept inside, spraying bullets. Fuck. It was Shawn. It was true. Cruz had recruited instead of killed him. Smart.

  Jax hit the ground.

  Tace turned and calmly plugged the kid between the eyes. Red mingled with purple, and Shawn took his last breath.

  Jax stood and turned toward his friend. A week ago, Tace wouldn’t have tried that shot. He would’ve negotiated, especially with a kid he’d known personally. “Man, we gotta talk.”

  “I know. Let’s get out of here first.” Tace threw an arm into the window, shattering it out.

  “No.” Jax grabbed a knife from his boot and ran into the hallway, hurrying west and ducking into the next room. It was time to fulfill his vow, even if it was his last act. Cruz began firing. Jax ducked, bunched, and shot forward to hit Cruz’s midsection, throwing them both into the window. They impacted it with harsh grunts, flying through glass, and then falling. Jax manacled Cruz’s shirt. They hit the ground with Jax on top of Cruz, and he could feel it as Cruz’s ribs shattered.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough. Gunfire erupted around them, and they both rolled in opposite directions.

  Tace landed next to Jax, rolled, and kept firing. He grabbed Jax’s arm and started to yank.

  “No,” Jax yelled, spit flying from his mouth, scrambling to go after Cruz. A blow to the head sparked stars behind his eyes, and then darkness crashed through him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I have never, not once in my life, met a hero who saw himself as such. Not once.

  —Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony

  Lynne shivered, once again in the makeshift graveyard many hours after the world had blown apart in the morning. They’d had to restore their defenses before turning to the dead. She’d never seen a mass grave before, and the thought brought bile into her throat. Night was beginning to fall, and they’d need to take cover under darkness soon.

  Jax stood on the other side of the grave, his left arm cradled against his stomach, bruises and cuts deepening on his face. It had been too long since he’d slept, and exhaustion glimmered in his dark eyes. Tace and Sami flanked him, while Raze circled the group, scouting out, looking for threats. Sami cried freely, but neither Jax nor Tace showed any emotion. Any hint of an expression of pain.

  All of the bodies, all seven of them, had been wrapped in whatever old sheets had been available and then placed in the hole.

  Seven. They’d lost seven of the group, and at least five more were too wounded to leave the infirmary. Most of the damage had come from the early grenades.

  Several men started piling dirt on the bodies until only a mound remained.

  Tace looked at Jax, who didn’t move.

  Lynne stiffened. Wyatt was gone. Who would speak?

  She waited and then caught Jax’s gaze. He blinked. She tilted her head, trying to convey sympathy and support. This wasn’t his bailiwick, but he was the leader.

  Fury lit his eyes, but she kept his gaze. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice gravelly low. “These were our friends, our people, our soldiers. They fought hard, and they died well. We will miss them all.”

  Jax turned his focus to Wyatt’s grave. “Scorpius made you a soldier, but you made yourself a friend. We disagreed about what’s next after life, and I hope to hell you were right and I was wrong. If so, rest in peace, and send some help our way. Hooah, my brother.” His voice cracked.

  Tears clogged Lynne’s throat as Jax stepped back.

  Other folks talked about the dead, and then Sami said a short prayer.

  The group attending the funeral, about fifty people not needed in protection, security, or anywhere else at the moment, turned toward the inner compound. Lynne moved around the mound until she reached Jax. “How badly are you hurt?” Rumor had it he’d fallen out of a second-story window.

  “I’m fine. Go back with Sami, and we’ll talk later.” He glanced over his shoulder at Raze. “I need help with a job.”

  Raze jogged toward him.

  Tace’s gaze remained on the mound. “I’ll come help you burn the Twenty bodies.”

  So enemies got burned while friends were buried. Lynne wasn’t quite sure which was better. “I can help.”

  Jax shook his head. “The doctors are all overwhelmed, and I need you at the headquarters infirmary.” He turned and focused on Tace. “We need to talk, too.”

  Tace’s chin lifted. “About me or about you?”

  Jax’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t have knocked me out, and I’m definitely gonna return the favor, but for now, we’re talking about your brain.”

  “I know. Tomorrow when we’re clearheaded,” Tace said. “You haven’t slept in too long.”

  Lynne frowned. “Let’s go, Tace.” She pivoted and sloshed through the mud to the concrete, trying to wipe off her shoes on the cracks. Tace strode next to her, scanning the area around them. “You knocked out Jax?”

  “Bullets were whizzing at him, and he was trying to run into them to get to Cruz.” Tace spoke matter-of-factly. “I had to knock him out to get him to safety.”

  Yeah, she could see Jax holding a grudge, although he hadn’t said anything all day while directing the cleanup after the attack. “What else does Jax want to talk to you about?” she asked.

  “I’m turning into a Ripper.” Tace stretched his neck to focus on the former soup kitchen. “At some point, he’ll probably have to put me down.”

  Lynne tripped, her mind fuzzing. “You’re a Ripper?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I’m not feeling anything, and I was fine plugging Shawn in the face this morning.” Intensity rolled off Tace. “Before the fever, I would’ve balked at that.”

  Lynne tried to shove down fear. “Any big urges to mass kill or obsess about anybody?”

  Tace rubbed his chin. “No.”

  What she wouldn’t give for an MRI or PET scan of his brain. “Then don’t ask Jax to kill you quite yet. Perhaps your brain has changed, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be a danger.” Right? If Tace became a danger, how would they know if he decided to hide it? Tace lifted a shoulder. “The weird part is I don’t really care, you know?”

  “Part of that could be shock. There’s been a lot of trauma.” Lynne followed the group into the front entrance and then wound around to the makeshift infirmary.

  Tace nodded. “You should know. Cruz killed Jax’s brother and Wyatt, and now he’s coming after you. He knows about you.”

  Nausea rolled through Lynne’s stomach. “He’s going to have to stand in line to kill me.”

  Tace followed and went to check patients one by one, relieving the nurse who’d been on duty. Well, she’d been studying to become a nurse, so good enough. Lynne slipped on gloves and assisted, careful not to touch anybody who looked terrified by her. The group had slowly begun to accept her, and most seemed to believe she couldn’t harm them, but every once in a while more than fear or indifference filled their eyes. A couple loathed her.

  Finally, she stood and stretched her back, the muscles protesting. Or maybe the bruises. When Jax had tackled her duri
ng the first explosion, she’d hit pretty hard.

  They’d patched up folks and sent them on to the main hospital, which used to be a school. Somebody brought them a box of granola bars, which had stood in for dinner.

  Tace approached her from the other side of the room. “We’re good here. Why don’t you take advantage of the rain, take a shower, and get some sleep. Unless you have any injuries?” At her shake of the head, he pointed to a bucket in the far corner. “Drop your gloves in the bleach over there. We have to reuse them.”

  The mere idea of reusing hospital gloves made her stomach lurch. “I hope we have a lot of bleach.”

  “We don’t.”

  Great. She gingerly tugged off the gloves.

  Tace sighed and leaned back against the wall. “It’s Friday night. Before Scorpius, what would you have been doing?”

  Was there life before Scorpius? She paused. “Probably working. But I did have a boyfriend, and we tried to meet up on weekends. I was in Atlanta, and part of the year he was in D.C. So we hit bed-and-breakfasts up the East Coast.” While she hadn’t completely known Bret, he’d had a romantic streak he liked to share. “I also, ah, played poker.”

  Tace snorted. “Poker?”

  She grinned. “Yeah, at the retirement home. My Mema was in the home, and they had weekly games. Those old broads could make a bundle, usually from me.” Too bad Mema hadn’t survived Scorpius. Lynne needed her wisdom now. “What about you?”

  Tace closed his eyes and breathed out, crossing his arms. “On a Friday night? Well, in Afghanistan, I was just trying to survive and tie off blurting arteries. Before that or on leave?” He smiled, revealing startling white teeth. “I was a ladies’ man. Would put on the cowboy hat, the boots, and say ma’am a lot.” He chuckled. “Women loved it.”

  Lynne rubbed her tired eyes. “I bet you could dance.”

  “The two-step is a work of art.”

  A man coughed in pain across the room. Danny? Or Denny. Lynne turned toward him. The guy had been shot in the upper chest, but the bullet had missed the heart.

  “I’ve got him. Go.” Tace shoved away from the wall and strode through the odd configuration of beds.