Mercury Striking

by Rebecca Zanetti

Lynne was too tired to argue. Skirting several cots, she reached the doorway and dropped her gloves into water that appeared almost clean. The faint, very faint, scent of bleach wafted up. Swallowing unease, she wandered into the darkened soup kitchen and made her way to the exit by the showers, which were empty. Apparently anybody who’d wanted to shower had already done so.

  Night had fallen and the storm had ebbed, leaving only a soft pattering of rain. Lynne shivered, looking outside. She was already cold, but also muddy and bloody. Yeah, she needed a shower. She toed off her shoes and socks inside, wanting to keep them somewhat dry. What she wouldn’t give for a hot shower. Or even a lukewarm one. Shrugging, she stepped out of her clothes.

  If anybody showed up, they could just feel free to check out her bruised and battered body. At this point, who cared?

  She slipped outside, and the wind instantly assaulted her. Goose bumps rose on her skin. She ducked her head and ran for the shower, immediately reaching for the soap. The scent of lemon surrounded her, somehow comforting in the dark night. A weak moon peeked through the clouds, offering enough light for her to see the soap.

  She washed as quickly as possible and hurried to the stack of worn and ripped towels. But at least they were clean. She hurriedly dried off and grabbed her destroyed clothing, keeping the towel wrapped around her body. She hit the edge of a table in the soup room and hissed, slowing down to reach a lantern on the table. Nobody stopped her as she walked up the stairs and to the quarters she shared with Jax.

  She hurriedly dressed in one of his shirts that reached her knees and finger-combed her hair.

  The door opened, and Jax stepped inside with a towel wrapped around his waist, the scent of dish soap coming with him. He must’ve been just behind her.

  She swallowed. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” He dropped wet clothing and boots on the floor, reaching for a pair of black boxers.

  Right. He’d just lost a friend, had failed to kill Cruz, and turmoil all but glowed in his eyes. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since the attack earlier that day. Lynne bit her lip and eyed the bed.

  “Get in bed, Lynne. We both need sleep, and we can talk tomorrow morning about your blackmail attempt.” The towel hit the floor.

  Lynne swallowed and padded across the room to slide under the covers, scooting as far as possible to the other side. Her heart rate picked up, just from the tension. She wouldn’t win a fight with him, and right now, as tired as she felt, she wouldn’t win an argument. Sleep was a good idea.

  The mattress sagged when he lay down, and instant heat spiraled her way. She stiffened to keep from scooting into that warmth. Real warmth.

  He sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her into his hard body.

  Heat. Blissful, amazing heat. She couldn’t help but snuggle right in with a soft moan.

  “Fuck, you’re freezing,” Jax breathed into her hair, sliding a leg over hers.

  She sniffed. “I know.” In the darkness, in the intimacy of the room with the rain pattering outside, she could feel his pain, deep and dark. Reality tortured Jax Mercury. Every ounce of her, everything feminine and soft, needed to offer comfort. She turned around, almost surprised when his grip lessened enough to let her. Slowly, gently, she cupped his whiskered chin, careful of the fresh bruises. “I’m so very sorry, Jax.”

  He closed his eyes, and his broad shoulders shuddered. “Me too.”

  “Wyatt was a good man,” she said softly.

  “Yes.” Jax’s eyes opened. A small grin almost lifted his upper lip. “Did you know Wyatt had a foundation?”

  “No.”

  Jax swiped a hand down her back in a gentle caress, spreading tingles. “Yeah. He ended up with a bunch of money from football and created a foundation for kids with diabetes. His younger sister grew up with it, so instead of spending his money on himself, he decided he’d aid others with the disease.”

  Lynne smiled. “That sounds like Wyatt.”

  “Yes.”

  She lost the smile and slid her leg between his. The warmth made her groan. “I heard what you said. That Cruz killed your brother.”

  Jax stiffened. “Cruz killed Marcus on purpose because Marcus was special and probably challenged him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lynne leaned even closer, her hand flattening on Jax’s chest. “We’ll get Cruz. I promise.” She glanced toward the wall. “You don’t talk about your mom.”

  Jax stiffened. “She wasn’t that good a mom. Not horrible, but not great. Slam and I were on our own, and that’s okay with me.” He stroked down her arm. “You need to know, I’m contacting the Elite Force tomorrow. We have to reach out for help. Twenty isn’t the only gang out there, and we’re almost out of supplies.”

  Lynne sighed. “I figured. You’ll let me go first?”

  “No. When we get the research from Myriad, I’m counting on you to figure out how to help everyone survive the contagion. We need you.” Jax rested his hand on her hip. “But I won’t let anybody hurt you, and I won’t let them know you’re here. I’ll just ask for supplies.”

  Now that was a promise he probably couldn’t keep. He’d try, but somehow she needed to find a way to leave on her own. For now, she wanted heat and to offer comfort. It was all she had. She licked her lips and pressed them against his.

  He remained still. “Lynne, you don’t have to sleep with me for protection.”

  She breathed in, her mouth curving on his. “I know. I want you, you need me, and we have right now.” She kissed him, cuddling closer. “Let me help you for once.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The planning of war is ultimately the planning for peace, or perhaps that’s how we comfort ourselves as we load our weapons.

  —Dr. Franklin Xavier Harmony

  Jax settled back, acutely aware of the soft body pressed against his—of the curve of her waist cradling his hand—of the compassion she was trying so hard to hide. At her core, Lynne Harmony was a healer, a nurturer, and now she offered herself.

  Maybe not even consciously, not completely.

  Yet she’d sensed his pain, somehow realized his turmoil, and she gave up the only thing she could.

  Her body.

  And she didn’t realize he saw that. Hell, he saw her. Sure, she’d been keeping secrets, but he understood and didn’t blame her.

  So he caressed up her ribs, over her arm, and cradled her head. Damp curls wound around his fingers. “Go to sleep.”

  “No.” She shoved him over and rolled on top of him. “Sleep is overrated.” She wiggled against him, her breasts brushing his chest through her worn shirt. “I don’t want anything but tonight from you, Jax. No expectations.”

  The words hit him like a punch to the solar plexus, and he breathed out, sliding both hands into her hair to cup her head. “Not true, Lynne Harmony.”

  She blinked, caught. “I mean it.”

  “Do you?” he whispered, dragging her down to his mouth. Her lips opened to his, and he went slow, pouring emotion he couldn’t express into the kiss. He was so fucking lost, needing to hold on to something. To somebody. Deep and soft, determined, he overtook her lips, the taste of her nearly drugging him.

  Without releasing his hold, he rolled them back over, pinning her to the bed. He swallowed and leaned up. His cock hardened.

  She blinked rapidly, her mouth forming a bemused O.

  “I can’t use you tonight,” he said. After losing Wyatt, after failing to kill Cruz, after trying to go numb, he couldn’t be the guy just fucking a body. “I can’t do it, Lynne.” His voice cracked. Jesus. His vision blurred. Losing Wyatt brought back every devastating moment of losing Frankie in Afghanistan.

  Shock covered her face.

  Then a tear dropped onto her cheek. His tear. Shame roared through him, and he moved away, mortified. More wetness coated his cheeks.

  She struck out, grabbing his neck, stilling him. Realization dawned, widening her eyes, moving her mouth silently. Her eyes softened to the green
of a spring meadow, filled with regret. Then sorrow. Finally acceptance. “Jax,” she whispered, her knees sliding up to cradle his hips, and her arms tugging him down.

  He fought her for two seconds, and then he broke. Allowing her to settle him, he buried his face in her neck, his body rigid, one low sob escaping him before he could stop it.

  Pain clawed through him. She wrapped herself around him, arms and legs, much smaller than he but holding so tight. One hand ran down his hair, offering comfort. She murmured soft words, sweet words, words lacking meaning but providing peace. Somehow.

  He closed his eyes, allowing wetness to flow silently onto her skin.

  “You’re all right,” she murmured.

  He was anything but all right. For several heartbeats, measured in more than just time, he allowed her to comfort him. Her scent began to fill his head. His dick stirred against her sex, and he breathed out.

  That was that, then.

  He lifted and let her see his pain. Then he took her mouth, going deep, losing himself in the taste of Lynne. She opened her mouth on a sigh, taking him in, returning the kiss.

  Pain turned to hunger, scoring him.

  He cupped her jaw, gliding his thumb across her smooth skin. So soft, almost unreal considering the harshness of the world. How had something so delicate, so fragile, survived? Releasing her mouth, he kissed her nose, her cheekbones, her forehead. Getting lost, he licked his way down to bite her earlobe.

  She moaned and arched up into him.

  “So pretty,” he said, drawing her shirt up and off. Her breasts sprang free, her pink nipples already hard and waiting. He licked across them, sucking one into his mouth.

  Her grip tightened in his hair.

  Yeah. He suckled and nipped, worshiping her, caressing every inch.

  “Jax,” she breathed, a protest in the sigh. A protest against emotion and gentleness.

  He couldn’t heed the protest, too far gone to draw back. He wouldn’t allow her to hide, to retreat, to make them less than they’d just become. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, tracing a path down her abs, kissing along each rib. She gyrated against him, sweat slicking her skin, her legs restless. His fingers found her, ready and wet.

  Heat burned his lungs.

  He ran his thumb across her clit.

  “Jax.” She arched into his hand.

  Jax. The way she said his name, as if only she had the key to him. He moved up her body, kissing and licking on the way, his mouth finding hers. He grasped her hip, lifted her, and powered inside her with one strong push.

  Tightness, wet and burning hot, coated his cock. He dropped his forehead to hers, his hand encircling her nape. Then he slid out and back in, the feeling as close to heaven as a killer like he would ever find.

  She dug her nails into his shoulders. The small bite of pain spurred him on, and he started to thrust. Harder and faster, he tried to get so far inside her, he’d feel whole. Her hips rose to meet his, her neck arching as she pushed her head back on the mattress. His lips enclosed her jugular, her very life, and he held on. The headboard slammed against the wall, and the blanket fell to the floor.

  Only Lynne mattered. Jax grabbed her ass and held her tight, shoving deep. She exploded around him, cascading ripples along his dick, her mouth opening on a silent scream. He hammered harder, prolonging her orgasm, until she went limp with a muffled sigh. Then he shoved deep and buried his head in her neck again. His balls drew tight, and electricity ripped down his spine. He held himself tight against her as he came, finally dropping them both to the bed.

  She pushed halfheartedly against his shoulder. “Breathe. Can’t.”

  He rolled off her, yanking the blanket off the floor to wrap around them both. He spooned her and kissed the top of her head.

  “Um,” she murmured sleepily.

  “No talk.” He curled her closer, keeping her warm. “Sleep.”

  Her breathing evened out before he’d finished the order. He kissed her again on the top of the head, and then he closed his eyes.

  In what seemed like mere seconds, morning light filtered between the rough boards of the window, awakening him. Aches and pains flared to life along his entire body, but he hadn’t moved an inch in sleep. Neither had Lynne. His sleep had been peaceful, without even a hint of his usual nightmares. He blinked. Hell. He hadn’t had a nightmare since Lynne had taken over his bed.

  She slept quietly, her body lax.

  His groin stirred, and he bit down desire. He’d lived in a lot of different places, and for the first time, he had found a home. With one small, brilliant, dangerous scientist. Slowly, so as not to awaken her, he slid from the bed and tucked her back in. He made no sound while moving around the apartment and yanking on somewhat fresh jeans and a shirt.

  He tucked a gun at his back and a knife in his boot, heading for the door.

  “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

  He turned to see her curled toward him, head on hand, hair wild with curls. Her green eyes were sleepy, her cheeks rosy.

  “I’m fine,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep. I’ll have Sami come get you closer to breakfast time, and then you can help Tace check the wounded before going through documents again.”

  She blinked. “We, ah, didn’t use protection last night.”

  He stopped breathing. Holy fuck. He’d totally forgotten in the urgency of the night. In fact, he wasn’t even sure they had more condoms. “Um, are you—”

  She sighed. “Cycle-wise, I’m probably just fine. But we both got lost, and that can’t happen again.”

  “Agreed.” He’d cut off his head before bringing a kid into this world. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “We’re safe, Jax. I know that I’m just the one here. In your bed.”

  He lifted his chin. She thought she was interchangeable? Man, she really didn’t understand what had happened to him last night. He might not be able to put it into words, but he figured she was a helluva lot smarter than he was and could work it out. “You’re just the one here?” he repeated.

  She closed her eyes, snuggling farther into the covers. “It could have been anyone,” she murmured.

  He barked out a laugh, loud enough that her eyelids flew open. “No, Lynne.” If he had time, he’d get back into bed and make her eat those words. Something to look forward to doing later. “There’s only you. From day one, the second you marched into my camp, there’s only been you.” Hell. It was her before he even knew of her. He turned on his heel and left the room, rather enjoying the surprise on her pretty face.

  Or was that panic?

  Lynne finished bandaging Raze’s ripped rib cage as he sat like a statue in the headquarters infirmary with full morning sun streaming inside. The bleached gloves made her skin ache, but she didn’t complain. “That’s better. Next time you get cut, you get it cleaned and bandaged right away.” She bit her lip. “You can’t afford an infection, Raze.” Sitting back, she met his dark gaze. His eyes were so blue they appeared to glow. “Got it?”

  He reached for the ripped T-shirt next to him on the bench. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” She squinted to better study the striations of the bruise beneath his eye. “Looks like you took the butt of a gun to the face.”

  “Foot. One of the Twenty members had some training.” Raze slid off the bench.

  Lynne stepped back. Her stomach rumbled from the overcooked oats she and Sami had eaten for breakfast hours ago. She’d been feeling off all day, and she needed coffee. Something warm before she finished here and returned to her documents. She shivered. “I’d suggest ice, but we don’t have any.”

  “You okay?” Raze asked.

  Lynne blinked. “Um, yeah.” Had the super-silent soldier just asked about her well-being? “What does Raze stand for, anyway?” she blurted out.

  He grinned, and a shocking dimple appeared in his left cheek for the briefest of moments. “Razor.” Turning on a combat boot, he started for the door.

  Interesting. Lynne turne
d to the last patient, a thirtysomething man with a perfectly shaped brown goatee.

  He held up a hand. “Don’t fucking come near me. I want Tace.”

  She faltered. Man. She’d forgotten. For the entire morning, her head had been filled with Jax Mercury, and she’d forgotten her freaky blue heart. “Okay. Tace will be with you in a minute.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the guy spat out, stepping toward her. “Blue-hearted whore.”

  Without even a wisp of sound, Raze suddenly stood between Lynne and the man. “Go inner territory to the main hospital,” Raze said, looking down. Way down.

  “I need a bandage,” the guy whined, stepping back.

  “Too bad. Go. To. The. Hospital.” Raze’s back filled Lynne’s vision, but if his face looked half as scary as his low voice sounded, she’d be running.

  The guy stomped off, shoulders down, anger in his wake.

  Raze turned. “You good?”

  “Fine.” Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” Raze turned and left.

  Tace glanced up from across the room. “You have a friend.”

  And several enemies. Lynne forced a grin and moved to clean up the cluttered counter. “Raze does talk my ear off.”

  Tace frowned and then his face cleared. “Funny.” He finished stitching a soldier’s arm and slapped on a bandage. “Stay out of firefights, Buck.”

  The soldier nodded, dressed, and hustled from the room.

  “I made a joke, too,” Tace muttered.

  “It was funny.” Lynne threw bandages in the garbage and turned to view the medic. “You feeling, well, anything?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Is the president really a Ripper?”

  Lynne gaped. “Jax told you?”

  “We had a meeting this morning—Jax and his inner lieutenants. With Wyatt gone, that just left Sami, Raze, and me. Looks like Raze is part of the inner circle now. Besides Jax, he’s the only one who really knows his way around weapons.” Tace shrugged. “Jax told us the entire story about the president and about your finding another lab called Myriad.”