“Yeah,” Lynne yelled, hitting the gas again.
Jax turned around. “Drive steady.” He lifted his leg and kicked the rest of the windshield out of the way. Then he frowned. “Keep going and turn left into a residential area as soon as you can.”
Wind blasted into her face, but she could see better. Kind of. Dusk was falling, and soon they wouldn’t be able to see anything without using the lights. She gulped down fear, and her body began to shake as the adrenaline faded. As soon as she could, she took a sharp left, nearly slowing to a crawl in order to maneuver around a bunch of railroad spikes scattered across the concrete.
Without warning, her door was jerked open, and rough hands ripped her from her seat.
Chapter Thirty
When it comes down to the fine-edge of a moment, the moment, a hero always reveals himself.
—Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony
“Lynne!” Jax’s fingers brushed Lynne’s vest, but he couldn’t catch hold as she was dragged away. In one smooth motion, he twisted the keys out of the ignition and launched himself from the truck, his boots landing hard and splashing water.
Lynne’s wide eyes begged for help. A man standing well over six feet tall held her by the neck, her back to his front. The guy wore a ripped powder blue suit covered in muck and what smelled like shit. His eyes were a wild blue, and dried blood coated his full beard. “Girl,” he growled.
Lynne winced and stood up on her toes, obviously trying to breathe.
A darkened bar rose up behind him, occupying the entire block. Dead silence came from within. The opposite side of the street held an old tire store, also abandoned.
Another man, this one with long blond hair, crawled out from a pile of rocks in the alley next to the bar. He was buckassed naked and covered in bruises and cuts. He whimpered and snorted like a dog.
“Listen,” Jax said evenly, “I don’t know what kind of a shit show we just walked into, but let the girl go, and I won’t shoot you in the head.”
The guy on the ground barked.
Jax kept his stance relaxed and his hand near his weapon. The beast holding Lynne could probably snap her neck or crush her larynx in a heartbeat. “I have food,” Jax said. “Granola bars.” A whole case, actually.
The blond guy whined like a collie begging for a treat.
Bile rose in Jax’s gut, and he swallowed it down. “We can reach an agreement.” Could the guy in blue even understand his words?
The guy grunted and buried his head in Lynne’s hair. “Pretty,” he growled.
Fuck. The weight of the blade in his boot had Jax sliding one foot back so he could move fast.
The guy lifted his head. “Gun. I want it.”
Jax glanced down at Lynne’s hip. Good. She’d dropped hers in the truck when he’d made her drive, so his was the only gun visible. “Okay. Let go of the girl, and I’ll give you the gun.”
The guy smiled, revealing broken and black teeth. “No. Give gun now.”
Jax clenched his teeth. “Listen—”
The guy yanked up under Lynne’s chin, lifting her. She cried out, her head thrown back.
“Okay—” Jax called out. He wiped rain off his face. “Okay.” He gingerly took his gun and held it out.
“Throw,” the guy ordered.
Death glimmered in the Ripper’s crazy eyes, but Jax didn’t have much of a choice. “Fine.” He tossed the gun and pretended to yelp as it slipped from his grasp and landed a few feet from the Ripper.
The Ripper hissed and gestured to the one on the ground. “Fetch.”
“Sit!” Jax ordered.
The blond guy whined and looked back and forth between the two.
“Stay!” Jax commanded. How fucked up was that?
The Ripper holding Lynne howled. Keeping hold, he dragged her over to the gun. The second he leaned over, Jax lunged toward him. He slid one hand beneath the grip on Lynne and pushed, hitting her with his hip. She flew toward the guy on the ground.
The Ripper in blue bellowed and swung a fist, connecting with Jax’s temple. Lights exploded behind his eyes, and he dropped to one knee on the crumbling concrete.
“Yesssss,” the Ripper hissed, grabbing the gun. His face contorted, and saliva dribbled from his mouth to mingle with the water flowing over his face. “Bad girl,” he said, turning and pointing the gun at Lynne.
“No!” Jax leaped up just as the weapon fired. The impact hit him square in the chest, in his worn vest, throwing him into a cement guardrail. Pain exploded through his body, but he shoved it down and propelled himself toward the man. Jax ducked his head and plowed into the stomach of the Ripper, throwing them both yards away to land in the middle of the street.
The Ripper punched and kicked. Jax connected with a solid jab to the guy’s nose. Blood sprayed. He grabbed the gun and pressed the barrel under the guy’s beard.
The guy’s eyes widened and his body relaxed. “Death good.”
Jax fired.
Blood squirted up his chest and across his chin. The Ripper’s head jerked once and then fell back to the ground. The corpse went lax.
Jax turned in a crouch to see Lynne standing, bewilderment on her face, with the blond guy licking her hand. “Jax?” she asked.
He stood. Agony rippled through his torso, and he had to concentrate to keep his steps even. Had the vest protected him at all? He reached Lynne and tugged her close, pressing a kiss to her wet hair. “Get in the truck, baby,” he whispered.
As if in a dream, she moved woodenly, stepping over cement blocks to slide across the front seat. Jax turned and blocked her view with his body.
The blond guy looked up and panted.
Nausea boiled in Jax’s gut. “I’m sorry.” He placed the barrel on the guy’s forehead and pulled the trigger. His own body jerked with the sound, and more blood splashed across his vest. The Ripper fell to the side, dead before he hit the ground.
Jax turned and strode through the rain to the truck, sliding the keys into the ignition. “We have to find shelter for the night.” Hopefully Raze and Byron had found their way home or to a safe place to hole up. For now, he had to get Lynne out of there. The gunshots would bring more Rippers and possibly gangs. Twenty was definitely out scouting for them, probably in droves at this point. They had about fifteen minutes to find safety.
If there was such a thing.
Lynne kept quiet, her arms around her knees, her body trembling as Jax somehow drove through the darkness without hitting anything. Finally, miles away from the dead Rippers, he pulled into the weed-riddled driveway of a faded yellow clapboard cottage. Empty flower baskets lined the front windows, and a sign hung on the door, proudly proclaiming that the Hernandez family lived there.
“Hold on,” he said, jumping from the truck and lifting a weathered wooden garage door. He returned to drive the truck into the tidy garage. “Stay in the truck until I check it out.” He didn’t wait for an answer but jumped out of the truck to shut the garage door and then entered the single-story small home.
Minutes later, he returned and held out a hand. “Let’s try to get warm, sweetheart.”
The gunshots echoed in her mind, and the sadness of the Ripper who’d acted like a dog descended on her. Tears filled her eyes.
Jax reached for her, drawing her across the seat. “I know.” He was warm and strong, and she allowed him to help her out.
Her mind replayed the fight. Jax had jumped in front of a bullet and then fought a huge crazy guy to protect her. Then he’d done what had to be done without burdening her. She swallowed and wiped blood from his chin. “Are you hurt?” she asked, the idea unthinkable and frightening as hell. Jax couldn’t be hurt. Not because of her.