“Wyatt, you’re a good friend,” Tace said somberly, leaning toward the former football star. “I never told you this, but I found one of your trading cards while out scouting one night.” He reached for his back pocket to draw out a worn and weathered card of Wyatt in his football uniform. “I was gonna give it to you for your birthday.”
Wyatt grinned bloody teeth. “You were a fan,” he gasped out.
Tace clasped his other arm. “I am now.” His eyes filled. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” Jax exploded. “No sorry. Fucking fix this.”
Wyatt’s chest heaved, and his hold tightened. He closed his eyes and then reopened them. He tried to speak, but only bubbles of blood slid out.
Pain ripped through Jax’s chest, compressing his lungs. He looked in Wyatt’s steady eyes. “You’re a great friend and soldier,” he said.
“Jax,” Wyatt whispered.
Jax leaned forward, tears falling from his eyes, turning his ear to Wyatt’s mouth. “What?”
“Do-don’t do this . . . a-alone,” Wyatt whispered, his breath already cold against Jax’s skin. “Life. Not worth it . . . a-lone.”
Jax straightened, his vision blurry, and nodded.
Wyatt smiled, his eyes unfocusing. “I’m gonna see my baby girl, Jax.” He stiffened, a groan billowing up. His body convulsed, once and again, and then went limp. A death rattle cleared his lungs, and he went still. Eyes staring at the sky, he ceased to be.
Jax coughed back a sob. His hand shaking, he reached forward and closed Wyatt’s eyes. “Wyatt.” Jax yanked his buddy close, holding him tight, his hands fisting in the back of Wyatt’s shirt. “I’m sorry.” Gently, with as much care as he could muster, he laid down his fallen friend. His head lifted. Rage warmed him until the burn filled his entire body. Turning, he grabbed the picture, the trading card, from Tace. “Okay?”
“Yes,” Tace said, jaw firming.
Jax shot to his feet. “Cover me.”
Lynne stood and grabbed his shirt. “Wait a minute—”
He manacled her biceps and lifted her up on her toes. “Get inside and tend to the wounded. Now.” Turning her, he shoved her toward the building. Then he looked at Tace. “I’ll take the east opening and then head to the apartment building across the way. Make sure I’m covered.”
Tace reached down and took Wyatt’s automatic, his face losing all expression. “I’ve got you.”
“Hey buddy,” Cruz called out through the gunfire. “Don’t tell me I just killed another brother of yours.”
Jax stilled. Everything in him quieted. “He’ll die for killing both Marcus and Wyatt.”
Tace coughed out. “Marcus? Cruz killed your brother?”
“Close enough. Recruited him for the gang, where he died.” Jax crouched and ran along the line of minivans and downed trucks, passing his soldiers at their posts, firing. He tried to shove away all emotion, but the feeling of Wyatt’s hand still tingled on his neck. As a football player, Wyatt had been a role model. As a soldier, he’d been a hero. As a friend, he’d been a conscience.
No more.
Jax reached the edge of the fortifications, where a rusted red pickup rested on its side against the compound, providing a shield. He kicked the tire closest to him and created a small opening. Enough to get through.
Thunder bellowed across the sky, and the wind hurtled clouds into a darkened mass.
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?”