Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

She wiped water from her eyes. “I didn’t scream this time.” So why was he there?

  “I know.” Raze Shadow, one of the elite Vanguard lieutenants, had rescued her from hell a week ago while on a mission.

  If he hadn’t heard her scream this time, was he just patrolling nearby? She shivered. “How is patrol going?”

  His eyes, light blue to the point of being odd, lasered through the dark, touching on her toes and wandering up her bare legs, her soaking white T-shirt, to her damp face. Somehow, even in the cold and through the fence, the gaze heated her skin. “Go back inside.”

  “No.” She couldn’t. She just couldn’t return to the nightmare and that dismal apartment. “I’m fine.” Except her left foot hurt. A lot. She lifted her leg and stretched her ankle, squinting to see through the darkness.

  Raze tucked an AK-47 over a shoulder, his gaze dropping to her aching foot. His shoulders straightened. “Damn it. Stay there.” Long strides took him down the length of the fence until she couldn’t see him any longer.

  The wind whistled a lonely tune over the barren land, and somewhere in the distance, a lion roared. Probably Marvin. She hadn’t seen the beast that shared their territory, but some of the other Vanguard residents had warned her about him. He’d escaped some zoo when the world had surrendered to the Scorpius bacterium, and now he hunted both survivors and Rippers.

  Cold blasted through her thin shirt, and she trembled.

  “Vivienne?” Raze gave her a warning that he was near.

  She turned, and he came into view through the mist. “That was fast.”

  “Humph.” He reached her in two strides, bringing warmth. “It isn’t safe out here.”

  “It isn’t safe anywhere,” she whispered.

  He jerked his head toward the silent building. “Inside.”

  The cold pricked over her skin, and she nodded, turning. The second her damaged heel touched down, her nerves stung. She sucked in air.

  He planted a large hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She stiffened. He’d taken great pains not to touch her during her week in Vanguard territory, always remaining distant but polite. “Yes.” She gritted her teeth and took another step, trying to balance on her toes.

  He exhaled loudly. Then, shaking his head, he lifted her and pivoted toward the building. So easily.

  Warmth and male surrounded her in the closest thing she’d had to safety in months. Yet Raze Shadow was nowhere near safe. “What’s your real first name?” she babbled, suddenly aware of her thin T-shirt and panties. She should’ve worn yoga pants to bed.

  “Raze.” He kept his gaze straight ahead.

  No. Raze was short for Razor, which was his nickname from the military because apparently he was a master with a blade. But he didn’t owe her his real name, so she didn’t press him.

  His strides were long, and even holding her, he made no sound. She held herself stiffly, trying not to brush against his hard body. “Why are you babysitting me?” she asked.

  “You need babysitting.” He carried her through the glass door and into the dingy apartment. “Lantern?”

  “Um, on the counter?”

  He moved the short distance to the L-shaped area that had once served as a kitchen, somehow seeing in the dark. The fridge was gone, the sink didn’t work, and the oven now held extra socks. Once electricity had stopped flowing, kitchens, for the most part, had become useless.

  Setting her on the chipped counter, he twisted on a halogen lantern and immediately crouched down, one broad hand wrapping around her ankle. “What the hell, woman?”

  She winced. “I panicked.”

  “No shit.” He opened the oven and drew out a pair of socks, having been the person who’d put them there in the first place when he’d helped her to move. Gently, much more gently than a man his size should be able to touch, he wiped grime and blood off her aching arch. “Looks okay—just scraped.” He looked up intently. “We’re out of antibiotics, and you can’t injure yourself like this.”

  A panic attack didn’t wait for reason. “All right.”

  He slowly shook his head. “You need a roommate.”

  Not a chance. Often she awoke screaming like a banshee, and she couldn’t do that to another person. Even if she could find somebody willing to stay with her. “Okay.”

  “Stop agreeing with me.” His voice remained level, always in perfect control.

  “You bet.”

  He sat back, still on his haunches, a shield over his expression. As usual. “You’ve been here a week, and nobody has pushed you, but this isn’t working.”

  She swallowed and tried to sit back. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Stop saying okay.”

  “O—all right.”

  His eyebrows drew down. “If you talk about it, you’ll get rid of the nightmares.” He placed both hands over her cold knees, instantly warming her legs.

  His touch sent tingles through her skin, and she tried to focus. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Hell, she didn’t even remember most of her time in captivity. The most dangerous Ripper of them all, who claimed he was the president of the United States, had held her captive and drugged the hell out of her. “I don’t remember.”

  “You remember.”

  Yeah, but if she shared the agony of that time, she might reveal too much. “Listen. I was held captive and beaten a little bit, but that’s all. In fact, although it sucked, it wasn’t so bad until he used the drugs from the CIA to try and get me to cooperate.” As odd as it sounded, there had been food during her imprisonment, which was more than most people had these days.

  “I saw the vials. Those kinds of drugs rarely get the desired results, so for him to shoot you up like that was crazy.”

  “He’s a Ripper, which by definition means he’s insane.” The Rippers were survivors of the Scorpius infection who’d had their brains stripped and now lacked empathy. Typical serial killers ranging from the crazy wild ones to the brilliant deadly ones. Of course, there was nothing typical about a serial killer. “How do you know so much about those kinds of drugs?”

  “Training in the military.” His sharply cut face didn’t give anything away.

  Right. She didn’t want him probing into her life, so she should offer him the same courtesy, even though curiosity had always been her cross to bear. “Thank you for rescuing me, by the way.”

  He shook his head. “I told you to stop thanking me.”

  She couldn’t help it. Bret had planned to kill her, or worse, and her time had definitely run out. “Okay.”

  Amusement darkened Raze’s eyes. “Any idea what he wanted from you so badly?”

  She hunched into herself, her gaze dropping to her knees. “No.”

  Silence ticked around the dismal apartment. She shivered.

  “For an ex-FBI shrink, you’re a terrible liar.” Lazy contemplation leavened Raze’s low rumble.

  She fought another shiver, this one from something other than fear. A tension, one she barely recognized as sexual, heated the air around her. Her gaze slammed up to his face.

  He continued to scrutinize her, seemingly perfectly comfortable in doing so.

  Heat rushed through her, rising and filling her cheeks. “Stop staring at me.”

  “Can’t help it. You’re something to look at.”

  Look who was talking. Raze Shadow was six and a half feet of hard-muscled badassery with sharply cut features and the most unique light blue eyes she’d ever seen. Add in the thick dark hair, the weird ability to move without making a sound, and an intensity only the most dangerous of people exhibited? Yeah. She’d stare at him all day if he remained unaware of it. But Raze noticed everything. “Stop looking at me.”

  He straightened and leaned back against the wall. “There’s nowhere else to look.”

  She shoved off the counter, and the second her feet touched the ground, pain sparked along the arch of her foot. “I appreciate your help tonight.”

  He grinned, transforming his face fro
m predatory to stunning. “That’s a brush off.”

  Yeah, it was. “I should get some more sleep.” Not a chance in hell.

  “You’re done sleeping.” He glanced toward the outside rainstorm. “I have another round of patrol to do—any chance you want to go outer territory and take in some air?”

  Her lungs seized. “No.” The idea of leaving the safety of the gate stopped her breath. There were Rippers, scavengers, gang bangers, and even Mercenaries out there. The Mercs were a group from northern California who were even more feared than the insane Rippers.

  He scowled. “Okay. It’ll be dawn in about two hours. Pack your things, and I’ll help you move to the main headquarters.”

  She bit her lip. While she’d like nothing more than to leave the apartment, she didn’t want her nightmares to keep the soldiers awake. “I don’t think—”

  “You’re about to start working for Vanguard, and being at headquarters makes the most sense.” Raze rotated and moved, all grace and muscle, toward the slider. “Be ready in a couple of hours.” Without making a sound, he slid into the night and closed the door.

  Thunder rumbled outside. She hesitated, looking at her meager possessions. It was lonely so far away from other people, and she did start work the next day.

  As she reached to gather her socks, her mind flared awake. She knew there weren’t any empty apartments at headquarters.

  Just where did Raze think she was going to sleep?

  Raze nodded to a soldier guarding the rear exit of Vanguard territory and strode into the darkness, appearing to be patrolling. The rain drowned out most of the night sounds, but in the distance, a wolf howled.

  Wolves in east central Los Angeles. How crazy had life become?

  With 99 percent of United States citizens killed by Scorpius, nature had quickly retaken the earth.

  He wiped rain off his cheek and caught her scent. While he’d barely touched her, even now he could smell calla lilies. A soft, sweet, delicate scent from the woman he’d just left behind.

  Making quick tracks, he scouted the area to the north of Vanguard, moving between deserted buildings smelling of rot and decay. Most of the Rippers and homeless would be seeking shelter from the storm, but again, since many were nuts, they might attack anyway.

  His senses remained on alert as he passed a looted jewelry store, an empty quick loan store, and an abandoned convenience store. Beady green eyes stared out at him from the closest store.

  Cat’s eyes. A huge black cat sat in the still-intact window, just watching him.

  He jerked his gaze away. While he’d fought hand-to-hand with knives an ocean away, while he’d been tortured and nearly killed on one tour, cats freaked him the hell out.

  He crossed over rubble and dodged around a several-car pileup in the middle of what was once a busy street. Rust covered the vehicles, and part of a decomposed body remained visible in a Chevy.

  The tiniest of scraping sounds came from Luke’s Bar on the corner. No light, no movement, but a couple of breaths. He stopped moving and focused all of his senses.

  One person only.

  Raze reached the heavy metal door and pulled it open, waiting for his eyes to adjust before walking inside.

  A lantern ignited.

  “You’re late,” Ash said from behind what was left of the bar. Pieces had been removed, probably for firewood, leaving only a thin strip running end to end, attached with bolts to the floor.

  “You’re inconvenient,” Raze drawled, keeping his expression bored. The door shut behind him and he surveyed the room.

  Behind Ash, a cracked mirror decorated the dingy wall, which was lined with empty shelves that had once held liquor. Dirt, blood, and moss covered the floors, while a couple of tables without chairs were broken on the far side of the room. A jukebox, a real one, still sat in the corner.

  It was probably too heavy for any of the early looters to take.

  Ash shoved back his jacket to reveal a Glock stuck into his waistband. His greasy hair cascaded out of a knit cap, which didn’t cover enough of his long, crusty face. Apparently it was difficult to find medicine for impetigo nowadays. “Well?”

  Raze kept his arms loose at his sides. “Well what?”

  “Where’s the woman?”

  “Not here,” Raze said.

  Ash shook his head, his entire rail-thin body moving with the effort. “We made a deal.”

  “No. We don’t have a deal,” Raze said silkily.

  Ash swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I represent Grey, and you know it.”

  Raze rubbed his chin. “I have until the end of the week. So get the fuck off my back and stop coming into my territory.”

  Ash cackled, revealing stained and crooked teeth. “Your territory? You’re claiming Vanguard territory as your own now, are you?” He snorted. “You don’t have territory, dumbass.”

  Raze straightened.

  Ash breathed out and backed into the counter. “I’m just sayin’. You belong to the Mercenaries, and don’t you forget it.”

  “I don’t belong to anybody.” The room was rank with the smell of sewage and raw fish. Raze glanced at the window to see the world lightening outside. “I have to go.” He turned for the door, keeping Ash in his sights.

  “One week, Shadow. That’s all you have left.”

  “I know.” Heat circulated through his chest, leaving a piercing pain. Even so, he shot Ash a hard look and waited until the guy paled. “Tell Greyson I’m looking forward to settling up with him.”

  Ash smiled and flashed his disgusting teeth. “Oh, I will. You have five days to bring Vivienne Wellington here, or you know what happens. Grey wants confirmation you’re on track.”

  Raze breathed in and said the words that would finish off any soul he still had. “I’ll have her here in five nights, per our agreement. Midnight.” Without another word, he turned and strode into the storm.

  FIND YOUR HEART’S DESIRE . . .

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