Jax arched his foot to pull the weight off his knee. “We disagree there.”
Atherton rose to his full height. “You’d really die for her?”
Jax smiled. “Die for her? That’s the easy part, pal. I’m willing to kill the president of the United States for her.” He pushed off his back foot, rising and lunging, catching Atherton around the waist.
The gun went off, and a piercing pain ripped through Jax’s shoulder. He punched out and sent the gun whipping through the weeds. Atherton punched him in the wound.
Shock waves scorched Jax’s shoulder, and a roaring filled his ears. His hold weakened. Atherton flipped them over, drawing a silver letter opener from his back pocket. He lifted his hands high.
Jax gasped for breath, his body going numb. Then he thought of Lynne. Of the people waiting at home for him. Of his life.
Atherton struck.
Jax caught his wrist at the last moment, the letter opener pricking his larynx. Digging deep, filled with resolve, he punched up hard.
Atherton rolled off him, holding his throat.
Jax staggered to his feet, struggling to focus. Arms grabbed him from behind, holding tight, stealing his air. Pain lanced through the bullet wound in his shoulder, making him gasp. His vision hazed.
“Hello, brother,” Cruz whispered into his ear.
Lynne coughed out more water and sat up with Raze’s help. Burning cinders wafted around them, and smoke billowed up into the sky to turn the moon blood orange. The sound of gunfire pattered intermittently through the night. She wiped off her lips. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Raze scanned the area around them. “Let’s get you out of the open.” Slipping a hand beneath her arm, he hauled her up.
Purple burst through the bushes, and two gang members ran through, already shooting.
Raze hissed in pain and dropped to a knee, yanking her down while also firing into the neck of the first gang member. The second kept running beyond the house and toward the golf course.
She gasped and turned to Raze, who remained on one knee, his head down. “Raze?”
He lifted his head and then fell to the side. Blood poured from his leg.
Lynne scrambled toward him and yanked off his belt, taking a look. “You’re okay,” she soothed, pushing him over.
He groaned and bit his lip.
She breathed out. “Bullet went right through.” She secured the belt and drew it tight, steeling herself against his hiss of pain. Then she helped him scoot his back toward the side of the house. “I need to help Jax.” He wouldn’t see Twenty coming, and Bret was already out there.
Raze lifted an eyebrow, pain etched into his angled face, warning in his eyes. “You should stay here.”
“I have to go,” she croaked out, standing.
Raze stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Secondary weapon, left boot.”
She reached down and drew a small Colt from his boot. “Thanks.”
“Shoot first and talk later,” Raze said.
Lynne nodded. “If help comes, there’s a FBI profiler, a woman, in a room off the kitchen who needs to be rescued.”
Raze’s gaze sharpened and narrowed to the point she shivered. “Who?”
Lynne shrugged, heading around the pool and toward the golf course. “Somebody named Vivienne.” Even with her mind focused, she didn’t miss Raze’s quick indrawn breath. Her shoes squished out water and her lungs still burned, but she crouched low and angled around bushes and a couple of trees to what looked like the green of hole number seven.
Cruz held Jax against his chest, immobilizing him, while Bret smiled in the garish moonlight, gun out.
Lynne skidded across the grass, pointing at Cruz and then at Bret. She tripped and the gun went off.
Bret ducked, but blood spurted from a graze on his arm. “Your clumsiness is going to kill me.”
Lynne gulped down air. “Let him go.”
Cruz laughed out loud.
She tried to gauge Jax’s status. Blood flowed from his shoulder and cascaded down his face from a forehead wound. His eyes were unfocused, but his muscles were clenched. He struggled against Cruz, who had a good hold. But if Cruz’s arms were around Jax, he couldn’t hurt him, so she concentrated on Bret. “Tell your buddy to let Jax go, and I won’t shoot you.”
Bret smiled, his body somehow relaxed. “Come on, Lynne. You don’t do the dirty work, and we both know it. Let us finish with your boy toy here, and then you and I will talk again.”
She settled her stance. If she shot Bret, what would Cruz do? Could Jax break free? “We can all still walk away.” And figure it out another day. Right now, surviving mattered more than winning. The fight continued around them, and at some point, more Twenty members or soldiers would find them. She only had a short window to get Jax out of there.
Bret eyed her. “You can’t shoot me. You love me.”
Lynne slowly shook her head. “I never loved you. Not even before you became a Ripper.” She glanced at Jax, who’d stopped struggling. “Now I know the difference.”
Bret hissed. “You love that jarhead?”
“He was army, you dumbass,” Lynne said quietly. “And yes, I love him.” With everything she had. If these were to be their last moments, she needed Jax to know the truth.
“Well, now he’s dead.” Bret lifted his gun.
Lynne squeezed the trigger, just like her uncle had taught her. The bullet struck Bret’s shoulder, and he fell onto the overgrown grass.
She froze in place for a moment, almost waiting for him to get back up. Then she scrambled toward him and ripped the USB drive from his neck before moving several feet away, her breath panting out. Her gaze slowly swung to Jax.
He moved suddenly, bending and throwing Cruz over his head. Jax followed him down, and the two rolled on the ground.
A knife flashed.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I like the blue.
—Jax Mercury
Jax rolled on top of Cruz on the rough grass, trying to avoid the knife angled at his throat. Lynne was covering them with the gun, and he had to get her out of there before more soldiers showed up. The gunshot could’ve been heard for a mile.
Cruz punched him in the shoulder.
Jax gasped, pain lashing through the bullet wound. “Fucker.” He shot a hard punch into Cruz’s nose. Cartilage cracked and blood sprayed.
Cruz reacted instantly, slicing across Jax’s thigh.
The cut felt deep but the pain took a second to register. Nausea filled Jax’s stomach, and his ears rang. Agony cut through the nerves in his leg. Trying to dig deep and stay conscious, he shot an elbow down into Cruz’s gut.
From his peripheral vision, Jax caught a soldier with a buzz cut hauling up a groaning Atherton. Lynne pivoted to shoot again, and the guy threw a knife. She cried out, clutching her shoulder, falling down.
“Lynne,” Jax bellowed.
Cruz grunted and grabbed the back of Jax’s head, pricking the knife into Jax’s throat. Jax grabbed the handle, his hand shaking.
Jax stilled. Eye to eye with Cruz Martinez. “We were never brothers,” he muttered, blood dripping from his face onto Cruz’s. Jax had been a lonely, scared kid, and he’d sought solace and protection where he could. “I was just protecting myself.”
Cruz spat out blood, his shoulders bunching as he tried to shove the knife home. “We weren’t brothers. But Marcus, Slam Mercury, is loyal to me, not to you,” Cruz gasped.
Jax’s palm was slippery with sweat, and his arm vibrated with the fight for the knife as he looked down at the fucker who’d killed Marcus. Blood flowed from his neck. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lynne shifting to the side, struggling to stand. Atherton and the other guy had disappeared into the tree line. “Lynne, hold still,” he barked.
She stopped.