She lifted her chin, trying to meet his eyes although she couldn’t see them. The men around them remained silent, yet alertness carried on the oxygen. How many guns were trained on her? She wanted to tell them it would only take one. Though she’d been through hell, she’d never really learned to fight.
The wind whipped into action, lifting her long hair away from her face. Her arms tightened against her rib cage. Goose bumps rose over her skin. She was accustomed to being vulnerable, and she was used to feeling alone. But she’d learned to skirt danger.
There was no doubt the man in front of her was all danger.
She shivered again.
Swearing quietly, he stepped in, long, tapered fingers drawing her shirt apart. He shifted to the side, allowing light to blast her front. Neon blue glowed along her flesh.
“Jesus.” He pressed his palm against her breastbone—directly above her heart.
Shock tightened her muscles, and that heart ripped into a gallop. Her nipples pebbled from the breeze. Warmth cascaded from his hand when he spread his fingers over the odd blue of her skin, easily spanning her upper chest. When was the last time someone had touched her gently?
And gentle, he was.
The contact had her looking down at his damaged hand. Faded white scars slashed across his knuckles, above the veins, past his wrist. The bizarre glow from her heart filtered through his fingers. Her entire chest was aqua from within, those veins closest to her heart, which glowed neon blue, shining strong enough to be seen through her ribs and sternum.
He exhaled softly, removing his touch.
An odd sense of loss filtered down her spine. Then surprise came as he quickly buttoned her shirt to the top.
He clasped her by the elbow. “Cut the light.” His voice didn’t rise, but instantly, the light was extinguished. “I’m Mercury. What do you want?”
What a question. What she wanted, nobody could provide. Yet she struggled to find the right words. Night after night, fleeing under darkness to reach him, she’d planned for this moment. But the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to breathe. To rest. To hide. “Help. I need your help.” The truth tumbled out too fast to stop.
He stiffened and tightened his hold. “That, darlin’, you’re gonna have to earn.”
Jax eyed the brunette sitting in the backseat of the battered Subaru after rifling through her backpack. Water, leather bound journal, and granola bars. No weapons, and he’d frisked her, finding one little knife by her calf, which he’d let her keep. She was at the wrong angle to harm him, and if she struck with the blade, he could easily take it.
He forced his body to release necessary tension and tried to relax into the worn seat. He’d stolen the vehicle from a home in Beverly Hills during the riots for food and supplies. The gardener who’d owned it no longer needed it, considering his dead body had joined the neighborhood burn pile after he lost his battle with the Scorpius bacterium.
The luxury SUV sitting so close to the Subaru had tempted Jax, but the older car would last longer and use less gas, which was almost depleted, anyway. Everything they had was almost depleted. From medical supplies to fuel to books to hope. How the hell did he refill everybody with hope when he could barely remember the sensation and needed his energy focused on shoring up his defenses?
Tonight’s raid had been a desperate hunt for gasoline from abandoned vehicles, not a search party for survivors. Based on early reports, when the news had still been broadcast, Lynne Harmony had completely disappeared with no explanation. Most people thought she was dead; others believed she had gone on the run, hiding from vigilantes who blamed her for the epidemic. The government, such as it was, had immediately put a reward out for her safe return. He’d never thought to find her in Vanguard territory.
How fortunate his vehicles were always stocked with restraints and hoods, just in case.
The woman had closed her eyes, her head resting against the faded leather. Soft moonlight wandered through the windows to caress the sharp angles of her face. With deep green eyes and pale skin, she was much prettier than he’d expected . . . much softer. Too soft.
Though, searching him out . . . well now. The woman had guts.
Manny kept looking at her in the rearview mirror, and for some reason, that irritated Jax. “Watch the road.”
Manny cut a glance his way. At fifty years old, beaten and weathered, he’d tossed the cap and monkey suit needed as a Bellagio chauffeur and now drove in threadbare clothing wearing unruly scruff on his chin. But he took orders easily, which was a necessary requirement in Jax’s camp. “There’s no one out here tonight but us.”
“We hope.” Jax’s gut had never lied to him. Something was coming. If the woman had brought danger to his little place in the world, she’d pay. “Dawn will arrive in less than an hour. Speed up.”
Manny pressed his foot to the pedal and swerved around what looked like an overturned hot dog stand near a park being molested by spreading bushes and trees. He frowned and leaned forward to peer up at the sky. “Shit. Less than an hour.”
The faintest scent of fear cascaded off him.
Jax took inventory of the weapons within reach and allowed just enough adrenaline to flood his system to be effective. The presence of survivors marked shop alleys as they left the commercial area and entered slums lined with dilapidated former crack houses. His territory. The desolate smell of decomposing tissue followed them. It was time for another scouting to burn deceased bodies.
He glanced back at Lynne.
Her eyes flashed open, directly meeting his gaze. The pupils contracted while her chin lifted. Devoid of expression, she just stared.
He stared back.
A light pink wandered from her chest up her face to color her high cheekbones. Fascinated, he watched the blush deepen. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush? He certainly hadn’t expected it from the woman who some thought had taken out most of the human race.
Around them, off-road vehicles kept pace. Some dirt bikes, a four-wheeler, even a fancy Razor confiscated from another mansion.
They drove into the inner bowels of Los Angeles, skirting abandoned vehicles and weakened buildings. Climbing vines attacked brick, while many places had been burned in the riots. Most storefronts gaped open from broken windows or trashed doorways. The first survivors had looted quickly, not knowing that the bacteria hadn’t finished spreading.
Most of the looters were dead . . . or worse.
Tension rode the air, and some of it came from Manny.
“Say it,” Jax murmured, acutely, maybe too much so, aware of the woman in the backseat.
“This is a mistake,” Manny said, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You know who she is. What she is.”
“I doubt that.” He turned to glance again at the woman, his sidearm sweeping against the door. She’d turned to stare out at the night again, her shoulders hunched, her shirt hiding that odd blue glow. “Are you going to hurt me or mine?” he asked.
Slowly, she turned to meet his gaze again. “I don’t know.” Frowning, she leaned forward just enough to make his muscles tense in response. “How many people are yours?”
He paused, his head lifting. “All of them.”
She worried her lower lip between two teeth. “I’d heard that about you.” Turning back to the window, she fingered the glass as if wanting to touch what was out of reach.
“Heard what?” he asked.
“Your sense of responsibility. Leadership. Absolute willingness to kill.” Her tone lacked inflection, as if she just stated facts. “You are, am I correct? Willing to kill?”
He stilled, his eyes cutting to Manny and back to the woman. “You want me to kill somebody?”
“Yes.”
He kept from outwardly reacting. Not much surprised him any longer, but he hadn’t been expecting a contract killing request from Lynne Harmony. “We’ve lost 99 percent of the world’s population, darlin’. Half of the survivors are useless, and the other half are just trying to survive. You’d better have a good reason for wanting someone dead.”