Damon sighed. “Ask the medic.”
Tace studied the injured man. “I'd say three bruised ribs, a concussion, multiple contusions, including a fairly bad knot on your knee, and probably some damaged knuckles from fighting back.” Tace shook out his left hand, which looked oddly swollen. “You need stitches in four places, and I think your left shoulder is out of its socket. I'd like to get you back to the infirmary at the Bunker before we try to fix anything.”
“Sounds about right,” Damon said drunkenly.
Tace leaned in and pressed on his abdomen. “Does this hurt below your ribs?”
“Not enough to worry about,” Damon said, shoving Tace's hand away. “Stop pushing on me.”
Grey sat back and closed his eyes. “He's fine. Or he will be.” Thank God. Then he opened one eye. “What did you learn while there?”
“Just what we already knew. The president knows of at least two Bunkers, Reno and Century City. Hinted at a third one. He doesn't control any yet. As for my knowledge, they don't know what's on the computer program you stole yet.” Damon wiped at a cut on his lip. “Oh. And Vice President Lake took great pleasure in burning up some farm a while ago. He couldn't wait until you discovered it.”
“I'm going to rip his head off,” Grey said, his hands clenching into fists.
“Yeah, well, he took off on a mission,” Damon said. “Didn't say where. God, he's nuts.”
“He's never been infected,” Tace said somberly. “According to most of our intel anyway.”
They reached the tavern where they'd left two of the bikes.
Grey faltered. “The winds shifted, Damon. Toward Santa Barbara.”
Damon's brown eyes cleared. “Shit, man. We have to get there.” He pushed to get up and then fell back, groaning. “Just give me a second.”
Grey jumped to the ground on the damaged sidewalk. “No. You're heading to the Bunker with Tace and these guys for medical help. I'll go to Merc territory to see what's happening.”
Tace jerked his head. “The president was low in men and trucks. They went somewhere, and Lake is leading them.”
Grey nodded. “If they're not in Merc territory, I'll head to Vanguard with as many of my men as I can find to fight there. If the president went to the Bunker, then you need to get back there. But I don't think that was his target.”
“I don't either,” Jax said through the back window of the truck. “My guess is Vanguard or Merc territory.” He nodded at Tace. “The Bunker is on the way. I'll take you and Damon there, grab some soldiers, and then head to Vanguard. We'll get all bases covered.”
“Good plan.” Raze jumped out of the truck. “Let's go.”
Greyson shook his head. “No. I've got my territory.”
“No,” Raze said, giving Jax a high-sign. “You're not going alone. That's just stupid.”
Damon sighed and sagged back in the truck. “I agree with him, Grey. This is a good plan.” He passed out again.
Grey looked at Tace. “Take care of him. Please.”
“No problem,” the Texan said easily, his twang emerging. “We'll see you guys soon.”
At that, Jax drove off.
Raze swung his leg over one of the bikes. “How fast do you think we can get there?”
Grey went for the other bike. “Five to six hours if we ignore safety or reasonable speeds.”
“Who needs safety?” Raze asked, starting his bike.
Grey eyed him, this brother of Moe's. No wonder she was such a sweetheart. It ran in the family, apparently. “Hey, Raze. Thanks for this.”
Shadow's eyebrows rose. “No worries. I want to kick the shit out of you for sedating me earlier. I'm just looking for an opportune time.”
Grey grinned. The guy was helping him, but he also wasn't kidding. He'd known when he jabbed that needle into Raze's vein that someday there would be a reckoning, and it was nice that the guy wanted to wait until they could dust it up right. “I'm looking forward to it.”
For now, they had to go save his territory. Or Vanguard. Or shit…both.
Chapter Forty
To the death it is, then.
—Greyson Storm
They reached Merc territory around eight that night, but it might as well have been midnight. Smoke and debris hung in the air, low to the ground, making visibility impossible. Grey tugged the handkerchief around his mouth down a little. They'd had to stop hours earlier to cover their faces and find glasses to protect their eyes.
The heat was unbearable, and he shrugged out of his leather jacket, even while riding the bike.
Raze rode next to him, his head down, his body hunched low against his bike.
Grey motioned toward the beach, and Raze nodded. At least by the ocean, they wouldn't catch on fire.
They reached sand, and Grey jumped free, letting the bike fall. He'd be back for it.
The mansions down the way were all on fire, blazing wildly. Something exploded down the beach, but all Grey could see was fire and smoke. His entire body ached, and panic swept him hotter than the blaze. He forced down emotion and made himself start moving.
Raze drew out his gun and hugged the shoreline.
Grey followed suit, looking around for his men.
Raze pointed toward the third mansion down that had a small metal outbuilding they'd used to store weapons. Bullet holes marred the entire side.
Anger brewed fast and hot in Grey's gut. He started running for headquarters and nearly tripped over a body.
He halted, dropped to his haunches, and flipped over the body. Bob.
Raze shone a flashlight down to show a perfect bullet hole in the center of Bob's forehead. His eyes were dark and unseeing. Grey swallowed down pain and carefully shut his buddy’s eyes. “Rest in peace, my friend.” He jumped up and launched into a run, his boots splashing water.
Raze kept pace, the smoke covering them.
A huge hose next to a pump caught Grey's attention. “Jump,” he yelled at Raze in time to stop the Vanguard soldier from tripping.
Raze gracefully leaped over the hose and then stopped. He looked down at the pump and then over at the blazing houses.
Grey shook his head. It was too late. Now only his men mattered. Had the president's men killed them all? Were some safe? He pointed farther south, and Raze nodded.
Grey kept an eye out for pumps and bodies as he ran, reaching the headquarters building, which was already a pile of smoldering rubble. The homes on either side burned brighter, still igniting.
A body half in the surf moved in.
He turned and splashed into the ocean, pulling Atticus out. “Atticus?” he yelled, hauling the older man to the sand with Raze's help. Then he dropped and pressed his head to Atticus's chest.
Breath. The man was breathing.
Grey shook him. “A?” His voice cracked.
Atticus shook and then coughed, partially rolling onto his side. He blinked. “Grey?”
“Yeah, it's me.” Greyson hugged him, relief relaxing his body to just plain rock.
Atticus pushed him. “The guys. Other side of the mansions. Need help. We still have a truck of medical supplies, and they're fighting for it.”
An explosion roared through the smoke and flames. Then gunfire.
Grey jumped to his feet, his boots sliding in the surf. “I'll be back. Just stay here.” He turned and ran for the side of the mansion, jumping over burning boards.
The heat slashed into him, hot enough to burn his skin even without actual flames.
The protective glasses he wore helped, and the fire lit his way, but he had to take shallow breaths even with the handkerchief. His lungs burned, hot and painful.
Raze kept to his six.
Grey emerged onto Main Street and almost stopped cold.
All of the homes, every one of them, was on fire. They were spaced far enough apart that smoke came from every direction. In the center was a fully loaded Merc truck. Two men fired rapidly from inside, while two more took cover behind and shot toward a Hu
mvee facing them.
Grey ducked behind a stone wall, his elbow brushing the rock. Pain flared as a burn went deep.
Shit.
He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the Humvee, which had its doors open with the Elite Force soldiers taking cover. They fired a volley of rounds, smashing the windshield of the Merc truck.
Grey levered up and shot, hitting the door.
The EF soldier turned and fired back.
Grey ducked next to Raze, who was struggling to breathe shallowly. Moving in sync, they fired, ducked, covered each other, and then fired again.
The heat was fucking unbearable.
Another Humvee rolled into place. One of the soldiers dodged out and moved behind a stone wall to the south. He had a good bead on them if they moved an inch.
“Fuck,” Raze muttered as the fire stormed around them.
“We need that medicine,” Grey yelled over the hellacious sounds.
A third Humvee came into view.
“We can't win,” Raze bellowed. “Tell your men to abandon the truck. It's our only chance.”
Grey's heart plummeted to his feet. Raze was right. They couldn't take on three Humvees. Hopefully the rest of his men had gotten to safety. Maybe they had taken more provisions with them. He nodded and started to stand.
Two trucks careened wildly in after the Humvees, the fire lighting their way.
Jax Mercury fired from the driver's side of one, while Damon drove the other with Tace firing. They hit three of the men in a surprise attack.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Raze growled loud enough that Grey could hear.
Greyson reared up and fired carefully, hitting another Elite soldier. The man went down, dead before impact. The guy behind the other wall half stood and made a run for the beach.
“Let him go,” Raze said. “Fight's here.” He fired into one of the Humvees, and glass sprayed.
Greyson’s arm still hurt, but the bleeding had stemmed. He focused on the soldier on the other side of the first Humvee, aimed, waiting patiently, and pulled the trigger. He hit the EF soldier in the upper left quad, and the asshole dropped hard.
The fight continued. Then the shooting stopped.
Grey tried to see through the smoke. What the hell was Damon doing? The guy had needed stitches, damn it.
Raze stood and looked around. The mansion across the street collapsed, fire whooshing out. “We have to get the hell out of here.”
Greyson shoved to his feet, scouting for threats. The Elite soldiers were down, and the fire was getting hotter with the fallen houses. It was going to be close.
An Elite soldier leaped from the back of the third Humvee and ran toward a burning mansion. He partially turned, his face lit by the rioting flames. Vice President Lake had led the mission to take out the Mercs. Greyson went hot and then cold, adrenaline biting through his veins. “He's mine. Secure those Humvees, and we'll fight our way through the fire.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran between fires to the beach.
He kept low and zigzagged, ducking when a flying board went by his head. Emerging onto the beach, he barely shifted in time to miss a punch to the face.
Lake followed up with a kick to the ribs, and Greyson fell back onto a smoldering lump of what used to be the deck. Burns ripped across his left arm. He bellowed and backflipped onto his feet, scattering more burning boards.
“I've been waiting for this,” Lake yelled, circling around.
“Me too,” Grey yelled back, ducking his head and charging full bore for the monster. With his momentum, he moved them several yards into the beach and toward the ocean. Cool and calmer air hit him, filling his lungs with something other than painful smoke.
They hit the sand, both rolling in opposing directions.
Grey came up first, but Lake was only a second after him. “You shouldn't have taken out the farm,” Grey said, able to stop yelling for the first time. The fires still burned to his left, but they were far enough across the sand that he could talk normally, although his vocal cords felt like he'd swallowed burning charcoal. “Today you'll pay for that.”
Lake smiled. A burn slashed across his neck, while soot covered his hard face and blond hair, creating stripes. “I don't think so.” His voice was mangled from the fire.
“You're wrong. For the farm and Damon and anybody else you've hurt.” Grey reached down and removed his knife.
“Ah. Knives.” Lake tugged a serrated blade from a pocket in his cargo pants. “I love the feeling of shoving it into cartilage and muscle.”
“You would,” Grey said, moving slightly toward the bubbling surf. Wood planks, metal, even plastic washed around them from the explosions where the debris had landed in the ocean. Grey planted his feet in the sand to keep his balance. “You're a sick bastard.”
“I've never been infected,” Lake said, feinting in and then back out.
So he'd always been an insane fuck. “What's your plan, anyway?” Grey moved a little to the left, seeking an opening.
“To continue the work and make this country great again. Better than before. Stronger without all the issues.” Lake charged, and Greyson sidestepped, slashing his knife across Lake's upper arm. Lake growled and turned around.
Grey shook his head. “Issues? Like human rights?”
“Yeah. Those.” Lake rolled his injured shoulder as blood slid down his arm.
The moon finally rose enough to shine down on the ocean. Combined with the fire everywhere, the day was almost light again. But with an odd mix of heat and coolness. “What was on the computer file I gave to the president?”
Lake smiled again, blood cracking on his lip. “Wouldn't you like to know?”
Obviously. Greyson edged to the side and then struck, bringing his knife up.
Lake backflipped, landing easily in the sand.
Impressive. Grey cocked his head. “You were Secret Service before Scorpius?”
“Among a couple of other things,” Lake said, death in his eyes. “You won't be my first kill. Not by a long shot.” He moved away from the ocean a couple of feet. “You're getting very angry. That's a mistake.”
Anger would probably be good. At the moment, Grey felt nothing. Not a damn thing. It was training at its best, and he was fucking using it. “Sure. How about I let you live, and you tell us everything you know about the president and his plans?”
Lake snorted. “I think I'd rather just kill you.” The vice president dropped into a roll on the sand and came up slashing.
Greyson fell back, swinging and taking the blade across his chest. Pain exploded in his skin. Fuck. He rolled and kicked out, nailing Lake in the knee. The VP went down, pivoted, and came back up.
“Nice move,” Grey said, lurching to his feet, his knife out and ready.
“Thanks,” Lake said, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “My next move is a knife to your spine.”
Shouts sounded, and the Vanguard men came running around the far mansion.
Grey smiled. “We'd better hurry.”
“Grey?” Atticus moved in from the surf, dragging a body, his voice drowsy. “I found Jamie.”
Before Greyson could shout a warning, Lake jumped for Atticus, grabbing the older man from behind and pressing the blade against his jugular.
Atticus froze and dropped Jamie. “Greyson?” He asked, blood dripping down his forehead, confusion blanketing his features.”
“It's okay, A,” Greyson said, stalking toward them. “Let him go, Lake.”
The VP looked down at the advancing Vanguard soldiers and then back at Greyson, his knife drawing blood from Atticus's throat. “Sure.” He removed his knife and then plunged it into Atticus from behind.
Atticus screamed, the sound filled with pain. He dropped to his knees in the surf.
Greyson jumped for him, grabbing him beneath the arms. “A? You're okay, A. I promise,” he said rapidly, his breath panting out as he dragged the man to solid sand.
Lake turned and disappeared into
the ocean, diving right past the reef.
“Tace?” Greyson bellowed, turning Atticus over.
Tace ran for them, dropping to his knees and shooting sand in every direction. He yanked up the elderly man's shirt. Blood flowed across his back. Tace ripped off his shirt and pressed it to Atticus's injury. “Below the kidney, but it's bloody. I'll have to sew him up in the Humvee. Let's go.”
Grey paused and looked into the ocean, trying to find Lake. Nothing. Not a sign of him.
“We'll get him next time,” Raze said, grunting as he lifted Atticus's lower half. “We have to go. Now.”
Greyson growled, his chest filling with a heat to match the fires around them. He stood and grabbed Tace. “Take his front.” Then he pivoted and headed into the surf, following where he thought he'd seen Lake go.
The man had ignited Merc territory, killed Grey's men, and destroyed innocent people. He didn't get to live.
Jax grabbed Greyson in a surprise bear hold from the back, yanking him to the shore. “Now isn't the time, man. Lake is gone, and we have to get your people to safety. Maureen is fucking waiting for you.”
Grey fought against him, but he couldn't see Lake. The ocean was rolling quietly, filled with debris. Fine. This wasn't over. The first chance he got, he was going hunting. Then he saw Lake's head. To the right, his blond hair glowing in the moonlight. “Let me go. I've got this.”
Jax paused and then sighed. “Fine. I hope you can swim.”
Jesus. The man had no clue what he could do. Grey set out, going north, diving deep and swimming until he reached his prey. Salt water filled his ears, slowing him. The fire burned to the side, throwing debris above him. But he kept swimming, zeroing in on the enemy. He emerged right in front of Lake.
Lake's mouth gaped open. “What?”
Greyson plunged his knife into Lake's heart, going up and under the ribcage.
Lake's eyes widened, and blood gurgled from his mouth. Greyson leaned in, nose to nose. “That's for Tall Tree Farm.” He yanked out his knife, and the water turned red around them. Grey shoved the body out to sea.
He coughed out salt water and watched Lake's body float away.
Storm Gathering: Scorpius Syndrome Book 4 Page 29
