“Yes. Maybe the info from Baker will give us more information on inoculations or other businesses turned into production labs. For now, get some sleep.” Tace escorted her out of the main hall. “I plan to do the same soon, but right now I need to go hash out the scouting schedules with Wyatt.” They walked up the stairs, and Tace left her at her doorway.
Okay. She’d sleep on it and let her subconscious work on the code. If that didn’t help, she’d get paper and pen the next day and try to decipher the numbers. If the numbers even related to Myriad. It was possible they had nothing to do with the lab, but it was all she had.
Lynne drew in air, opened the door, and slipped inside, only to draw up short. Apparently Jax had sought his quarters after burying Haylee. Chaos had touched down in the little efficiency apartment. Broken dishes, a demolished chair, and clothing littered the floor. Even the counter had been partially pulled from the wall. She quietly closed the door.
Jax Mercury, his back to her, stance wide, faced a broken window as Mother Nature pounded outside. He’d torn the wooden boards away. Shards of glass, covered with red and dripping rain, were scattered around his feet. Tension rode him, stronger than raging nature out the window. Muscles rippled down his back like those of a beast about to lunge.
Holy hell. Lynne faltered and swallowed. A year ago, she would’ve probably backed away and shut the door. Instead, she locked the door behind her. “When you throw a tantrum, it’s a big one,” she murmured.
His shoulders stiffened. “Leave. Now.”
“No.”
He turned in a gracefully slow arc that sped up her breath. His eyes had darkened to almost black, and an unholy wildness, one not quite human, glimmered in their depths. “Go.”
“No.” She tried to breathe out evenly to keep from having a stroke. She’d only been in camp a short time, but she could see the problem. Could he? “We don’t have time for this. You don’t have the luxury of this.”
He blinked. Slowly. “Excuse me?”
The tone pulsed through her, igniting adrenaline. Flee. No fight. Her instincts bellowed to run. “I said, knock this nonsense off. The people here are sad and they’re scared. Step up and help them.”
His eyebrows lifted.
Good. She’d gotten through to him.
“Haylee is dead because of me,” he whispered, the sound broken.
She shook her head. “No, she is not. She’s dead because a bacteria was unleashed and Cruz purposefully infected a young girl. That’s not on you. None of this is about you.”
“I’m the Vanguard leader,” he exploded, red shooting across his cheekbones. “It’s all on me.”
Caution screamed at her but she ignored it. “You’re not their leader. You’re their protector.” She sucked in air, facing death. “They fucking need a leader, and it’s time you stepped up.” What the hell was she doing?
His head jerked. Those eyes focused. “What did you just say?”
“There’s a difference between defending and leading, Jax,” she said softly.
His lids lowered to half-mast. “Is there now? Is this about Shawn?”
Shawn? It took her a moment to remember Shawn. “The kid you left in Twenty territory?” Oh. So that was eating away at Jax, too.
“Yes. You think I should’ve brought him back.” That quickly, any hint of being lost disappeared from Jax’s hard face. “I made the right decision.”
“Did you?” She truly didn’t know. Would a true leader have brought the kid home to rehabilitate him? Or had Jax possibly saved the group from another attack? “Either way, it’s done and time to move on.”
“Move on? I’ve known that kid for months, through famine, pain, and war. I liked him.” Jax shifted his weight, and glass crunched beneath his boot. “I left him for Cruz. I left another fucking kid for Cruz.”
Another? They all knew what Cruz did to enemies. At the very least, he’d infect Shawn. “I know.” Lynne sighed. Then her gaze caught on Jax’s right hand, the one with white scars. Red dripped from his knuckles and between his fingers. “How many windows have you punched in your time?” she asked.
He lifted an eyebrow and glanced at his bleeding hand. “More than I can count, but the scars aren’t from windows.”
It wasn’t the right time to ask him about the scars, that much she knew for sure. “The new ones will be, and you’ll need stitches.”
“Probably.” Jax glanced around the apartment and then began striding her way. She tightened her leg muscles to keep from backing up. He reached her.
She stopped breathing.
Slowly, as if not wanting to spook her, he lifted his undamaged hand and ran a knuckle down the side of her face. Gently and with warmth. His arm dropped, and he moved past her to the door.
Her breath whooshed out, and tingles lit her abdomen.
He disengaged the locks. “I’ll send somebody in to clean up.”
The world tilted. She’d had enough of people for the night. “I don’t want anybody here. I’ll clean up.”
He left without another word. When he locked the door from the outside, Lynne turned and sagged against it, her gaze on the demolished room. She’d made a huge mistake in seeking out Jax Mercury. He was damaged, and he was dangerous, but instead of wanting to flee, she wanted to heal him.
There was no healing for any of them.
Chapter Seventeen
Nothing brings man closer together than a common enemy to fight.
—Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony
He shouldn’t have punched the window, because he was still bleeding an hour later after doing weapons inventory. Jax swore as blood dripped through the rag he’d wrapped around his injury even as he moved to the next locker. At this rate, his guns would outnumber his ammunition ten to one by the end of the week.
He slammed the last door and hurried from the storage building, skirting the cemetery and keeping his gaze away from the new crosses. Just for tonight. Tomorrow he’d look again.
Rain slashed across his face, and he ducked his head, shoving through the back door of the infirmary. Voices alerted him, and he jogged faster.
Dim lanterns cast a yellowish light through the grimy room of the old kitchen, and microscopes with documents had been shoved to a far counter. Tace, Wyatt, and Raze sat around an old card table, half glasses of whiskey in front of them. Maps of the county were scattered across the table with circles drawn around future raiding areas.
“Figured you’d be out running all night, so we’ve been planning,” Tace said.
“You’re bleeding,” Wyatt murmured, tipping back his drink.
Raze, as usual, didn’t say anything. But at least he was spending time with the group. Perhaps he’d loosen up and start to earn Jax’s trust.
Tace kicked a chair toward Jax and reached over his shoulder to yank out a drawer. “Sit down.”
Wyatt dug another glass from under what used to be a working sink, poured whiskey into it, and nudged it across the table. “You’ll want a drink first.”
“You’ve dipped into our hidden reserve.” Nothing wrong with stating the obvious. They’d found a couple of bottles while scouting homes to the east about a month ago.
“Life’s the shits.” Tace withdrew a sewing kit. “The needle has already been burned. I’m prepared.” He threaded the needle and grabbed an old golf-bag towel to place on the table before settling a lantern close to it. “Hand.”
Jax tipped back the whiskey and let it burn down his throat before placing his damaged hand on the towel. He held his breath when Tace dug the needle in. Jax forced his body to stop feeling, at least to stop registering pain. It was a trick he’d learned as a kid, and it had saved his life more than once overseas. “Where’s Sami?”
“Training with some of the kids. They’re angry and scared, and she’s helping them fight through it. Literally,” Wyatt said. “Said she’d be finished by ten-ish tonight and would drop by to check out the new schedules.”
Raze frowned. “The woman can fight. Where did she learn those skills?”
“Dunno,” Tace said, his face lowered as he stitched. “She won’t talk about her past.”
Wyatt watched him move the needle, gaze sober. Raze also watched but looked as if seeing needles drawn through flesh might put his ass to sleep.
“Are we boring you?” Jax asked Raze.