His Devil's Mercy

by Linzi Basset

  Silence followed Jack’s hoarse cry. Rhone landed as close to the wreck as he could. Jack was already out of the chopper and running toward the wreckage before it touched down. Keon caught him just in time as he was attempting to charge headlong into the burning wreck.

  “We can’t get too close, Jack. The fuel tank can explode any moment,” he shouted into his ear to be heard above the roaring flames.

  “Let me go! I have to find him,” he cried. He struggled like a man possessed to break his hold. “Max! Where are you?”

  Rhone added his strength to keep Jack back but with a burst of added adrenaline, he shook them off like flies and charged ahead.

  “Max! Fucking answer me, you bastard!” Jack screamed as he frantically searched the wreckage. “Where is the fucking hatch to the cargo hold? Keon, find it!”

  “Jack, the entire bottom part of the plane was torn off on impact,” Keon said in a desolate voice.

  “Then we’re looking in the wrong place. Spread out. Don’t you fucking look at me like that, Rhone! He’s not dead. Do you hear me? He’s not fucking dead!” He crouched around. “There! There’s a body,” he cried excitedly and stumbled over the debris. He cursed when he reached it. “It’s one of them. He’s dead.”

  Jack refused to consider that Max was dead. He blocked the sight of the plane exploding and hurtling to the ground from his mind. Max wasn’t supposed to die. Not in this way. Not Max, who celebrated life every day, who hid his own pain and heartache behind a bright smile, so others could find solace.

  “MAXIMILIAN!” He screamed, the fear was rife in his voice. He couldn’t envision life without the man who had grown up alongside him; who was closer than a brother.

  “Max . . . thank god,” he whimpered as he finally spotted his bloodied body trapped beneath a steel bar. “Over here! I found him,” he shouted toward Rhone and Keon who immediately came running.

  Jack tried to move the steel bar but it was lodged into the ground and he couldn’t budge it. “Help me. He’s trapped.”

  It took precious minutes of heaving and shuffling before they managed to move it off Max’s body. Keon glanced at the burning plane.

  “We’ve got to move. The flames are getting closer to the fuel tanks. It could blow any minute.”

  Jack fell to his knees next to Max’s prone and tangled body. “Fuck, Max,” he whispered, unaware of the tears running down his face as he stared down at him, gently wiping at the blood covering his face.

  Keon checked his pulse and leaned closer to see if he was breathing. “He’s breathing and has a pulse, but it’s very weak.” He got up and ran toward the plane to fetch the first aid kit and plank stretcher which had miraculously survived the crash.

  “H-h-hey . . . m-m-m-mate,” Max stammered in a whisper. His voice was weak. His lips twitched as he blinked open his eyes. “Tol-ld . . . ya . . . I’d m-m-m . . .”

  “Max!” Jack shouted as his breath puffed from his lips and his body went slack.

  Keon carefully placed a mobile oxygen mask over Max’s face and began pumping rhythmically. “Take over Jack. Keep it steady, in tune with your own breathing.”

  He pulled Rhone to the side, his concerned gaze on the blazing wreck. “We’re running out of time, Rhone. If we don’t get in the air now, he won’t make it.”

  “Richard, what’s the ETA on the emergency team?” Rhone thundered, pacing back and forth. No one bothered to search for any other survivors.

  “Thirty minutes, Rhone.”

  “We don’t have thirty minutes.” He kicked at a piece of debris and watched it roll away. “We’ve gotta get him to a hospital. We can’t wait.”

  “We can’t take the chance, Rhone. Look at his body, his back . . .”

  “We’ve got a plank stretcher, Jack and we’ve all been trained to move victims with back injuries,” Rhone responded as he began to examine Max.

  “Rhone is right, Jack. It’s either that or we all die here in the next five minutes.” Keon glanced back toward the fuel tanks. The flames were licking closer and closer. “If that long.”

  “Max has internal bleeding as well. His stomach is bloated,” Rhone said as he gently probed his swollen belly. “If we don’t move him, he won’t survive until the emergency services arrive, anyway.”

  Jack nodded and working together they carefully managed to move the plank underneath Max. They strapped him in. Minutes later they were airborne. A massive explosion rocked the air and the Raider careened to the left. Rhone straightened it with a curse. He glanced at Jack over his shoulder.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “His heartbeat is getting fainter and his breathing is very shallow.”

  “Rhone, the closest hospital with an emergency team on hand is ten minutes south of you at top speed. I’ve already contacted them, and the team is standing by at the helipad. Alex is on his way in a chopper with the best surgeon. I’ve just sent you the coordinates,” Richard said quietly. He had grown very close to Max since he’d started working with him. He couldn’t comprehend him not coming back.

  “Hurry, Rhone. He’s getting weaker by the minute,” Jack urged from the back.

  * * * * * * * *

  Jack stared blankly at the black-framed wall clock for the umpteenth time. He scrutinized the second hand, which seemed to linger an extra minute with every passing second. A picture of a beach hung on the walls, each depicting a beautiful scene: rolling waves, golden sand. There was a wooden coffee table across from him, holding health magazines. His eyes fell to the dull grey carpet that covered the floor. A television hung in one corner, displaying boring commercials. Nothing could soothe the concern in his mind.

  He jumped up and started pacing; ignoring his friends sprawled in various state of dejection in the small chairs. He passed Quinlan in the hallway a couple of times before he noticed that he too was walking in agitated circles.

  Quinlan had been very upset that their aged aunt had been awarded Max’s guardianship when his parents had died. It shook him even harder that Max chose to move in with Jack’s family and not with them but at the time, his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and their family had been going through a rough time. In the end, it had brought all three of them much closer and they’d visited each other all the time growing up.

  “Why the fuck is no one telling us what is happening? It’s been four hours, for fuck’s sake,” Jack’s voice rumbled in the silence.

  “You should let your parents and Joanne know about Max, Jack,” Ethan said quietly.

  Jack knew why Ethan made the suggestion. If Max died, he wouldn’t want them to resent Jack for not telling them and offering them the opportunity to be by his side.

  “He’s not going to die, Ethan,” Jack asserted. “He’s not, and until he’s out of danger, they don’t need to suffer. Especially not Joanne.”

  “It’s your decision, Jack. Just know that we’re all here for you and Quin.”

  “Thanks, mate.” Jack continued his pacing. Finally, he stopped and stood outside the operating room, his gaze fixated on the doors, like he was trying to see through them. He leaned his back against the wall, tired beyond comprehension. Quinlan joined him. They didn’t talk but drew strength from each other.

  It was another hour before the surgeon walked into the waiting room. He looked drawn and tired.

  Jack and Quinlan immediately approached him. “How is he?” Jack’s voice grated through dry lips. He didn’t realize how taut his body looked, like a mamba ready to strike.

  “We’ve managed to stabilize him. He has lost a lot of blood, has a couple of broken ribs as well as his left wrist has a fracture. His left arm was pulled from the socket—I suppose he was holding onto something when they went down. The internal bleeding was excessive, but we’ve been able to stem it and repaired the organs.”

  “And his back?” Jack asked. He found that he couldn’t draw a deep breath as he waited for the surgeon’s response.

  “It’s a miracle that Max’s back
didn’t snap in two from the impact alone. He suffered Spondylolisthesis, which means that some of his intervertebral vertebrae have shifted due to stress fractures in the bone. The main concern is the T5 vertebra, although we suspect at this stage that it’s an incomplete break. There is also evidence of trauma to his spinal cord. It’s too soon to say how severe. There is too much swelling to establish if any damage is permanent at this stage.”

  “So, there is a chance that he might be paralyzed?” Jack prodded.

  “Unfortunately, yes, but as I said, it’s too soon to tell if the damage will be permanent.”

  “May we see him?” Quinlan, who had been standing listening quietly, asked.

  “Are you family?”

  “I’m his cousin and Jack’s his brother,” Quinlan said without batting an eye.

  “Very well, but only for a few minutes. We are keeping him under an induced coma for the next 72 hours. Come with me.”

  Jack and Quinlan followed the surgeon while the rest of the team gathered in the cafeteria and ordered something to eat. Everyone was relieved that Max had survived and was confident that he was strong enough to get through the next 72 hours.

  They were discussing the report from the recovery team at the plane wreck when Jack and Quinlan joined them.

  “They recovered five bodies from the wreckage,” Rhone said. “Five of the eight who were on the plane were found dead but burned and unrecognizable, which means three are still unaccounted for.”

  “Two,” Lance said. “They found another one who is alive but in a critical condition. They’re operating on him as we speak.”

  “We don’t know if the other two bodies are buried somewhere under the wreckage, or if they were disintegrated when the fuel tanks exploded. The team is still searching the rubble,” Keon interjected.

  “Has Richard been able to find out who had alerted the authorities?” Ruark asked. He took a deep sip of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.

  “It was an anonymous caller. Richard ran a search, but it bounced off a cell tower in the Bronx—burner phone, so we’ve got nothing,” Lance responded angrily.

  “Fuck! All of that for nothing. We still have no idea who was originally responsible for Joanne’s abduction or the undercover agent for the Sixth Order Syndicate.” Rhone’s frustration was shared by everyone around the table.

  “Whoever it was, knew that the sheikh would take Max and run. He wanted him out of the way. Fucking hell! He wanted all of us out of the way,” Jack growled furiously.

  “To get to Joanne, yes. Only, he didn’t. I just spoke to Bruce. They’re all safe and secure at the safe house in Jacksonville. This time, we made sure that no one knows where we took them, apart from us sitting around this table. Not even Alex. No one will find them,” Rhone assured Jack.

  “Maybe not but this fucker knows every move we make or going to make. He knows us, Rhone! And we fucking have to find him.” Jack slammed his fist on the table.

  “We will. Come hell or high water. We will find out who he is,” Rhone swore with a violent glint in his eyes.

  * * * * * * * *

  The rehabilitation unit at Brodie Clinic, two weeks later . . .

  Max’s eyes fluttered open. He looked listlessly around the luxurious private room. He’d been transferred to Ethan’s clinic two days ago.

  He was fed up of being prodded and pampered by nursing staff, therapist and specialist. He wanted to go home, sleep in his own bed. He ran his hand over his eyes. It was one advantage of having a morphine pump on hand. He could force sleep the time away. They did say that sleep healed all wounds.

  “Yeah right,” his voice cracked in the quiet of the room. “Then I should be dancing on my toes already.”

  The sigh that drifted to the roof was drawn out—a sign of his despondency. Max was starting to learn why people got lost so easily in a state of depression.

  His body froze. Goosebumps rippled over his skin that had suddenly shrunk. He didn’t move or even blink. He felt her. Like always when she was near, her essence infiltrated every fiber of his being, his soul.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her soft footsteps brought her to his side. “I had to see you, Maximilian. I had to make sure you were okay,” she said in a soft voice that floated through his mind like manna from heaven.

  Max locked his mind against the myriad of emotions that swirled in the depths of his mind. He slowed his breathing, forcing the emotions to dissipate, leaving his heart feeling cold and empty.

  “You saw. Now, leave.”

  “Max, please, I—”

  “God, you are so pathetic. Didn’t you get the message that night at Club Devil’s Cove, Joanne? I wanted to spare you this, but I guess you’ll never grow up, so, here it is. The sordid truth. I was over you when I found you in Saudi Arabia, but I was excited by the role you’d played. I wanted to prove that I still had power over you after all the years. It was lust, pure and simple—just that, nothing more. I wanted to prove that I could fuck you until you lost control and begged for more, with the knowledge in my mind that afterward I would walk away without feeling anything. Just another cunt to satisfy my lust.”

  “You don’t mean that. Look me in the eyes, Maximilian and then make me believe that.”

  Max lifted his head. His eyes glowed like a heated blue flame. His voice deepened and sounded harsh in her ears.

  “Leave, Joanne. I don’t want you here. I sure as hell don’t need you. There are too many others out there who are more satisfying than you could ever be.”

  Joanne stumbled back at the complete disinterested look in his gaze. Tears burned behind her eyes.

  She whispered brokenly. “I love you, Maximilian. I always have, and I’ll never stop.”

  Then she left, staggering around the corner where she stood trembling and gasping for breath as sobs wracked her body. She slowly slid down against the wall as her legs gave way.

  It was over. Max truly didn’t want her. Maybe, he never had. Her father found her there and gently guided her outside. His heart bled for his daughter’s heartache.

  Back in the hospital room Jack stared reproachfully at Max.

  “That was harsh, mate.”

  “I told you to keep her away from me,” Max growled in a thick voice.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Max. She loves you. That’ll never change.”

  “NO! Don’t you get it, Jack? She deserves happiness. Joanne has always wanted to be in love and loved. She dreams of white picket fences, marriage and babies. She deserves all of that.”

  Jack was shaken to notice the tears that were running freely over Max’s cheeks.

  “She can have that, Max. With you.”

  “No, she can’t. She’s still young. You and your dad keep telling me I’m too old for her. I refuse to turn her into an old woman before her time because she’d be obligated to look after a cripple.”

  “Fuck, Max! That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “I’m tired, Jack. Please leave me alone.”

  “Max—”

  “Enough! I want Joanne to be happy. She’s young and will find love with another man. One who can give her everything she deserves. That man won’t be me, Jack. I’ve caused her enough heartache. I’ll be spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair.”

  “You don’t know that for sure yet, Max.”

  The words the surgeon had said earlier that day, still played like a stuck vinyl record in Max’s mind. His voice echoed softly in the room but was completely devoid of any emotion.

  “I do. I will never walk again.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Oh, for goodness sake! Keep your pants on, dammit,” Samantha snapped as she approached the front door and the doorbell sounded again—for the third time. “Some people just don’t get the message,” she growled as she flung open the door. “I don’t want or need a new vacuum . . . Rhone?” She was so surprised that she felt on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “Woul
d I be invited in if I was trying to sell you one?” he asked with an amused twist to his lips. Lips, that drew Samantha’s gaze like a magnet.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked. Her grasp on the door was the only thing that kept her upright but to Rhone she appeared to be in control of her emotions. He hated that she could hide her feelings from him so effectively now. On the other hand, he didn’t blame her. She’d learned from the master—himself.

  His gaze traveled over her, satisfying the urgent need to see her that had brought him to her door. She looked like a little girl in black leggings and an oversized red t-shirt, with her bare feet and her toes adorned with bright red nail paint.

  The feeling of desolation he’d felt while searching for Max, the long hours he’d spend at the hospital until Max was out of danger, had brought back the memory of the time he’d done the same for her. It was just twice as heart wrenching to remember what it had felt like to almost lose her. He’d known then that she was the only woman he truly wanted in his life. He cursed the past for subsuming him and drawing him back in the same rut that he’d been in for most of his grown-up life.

  It was time to let it go. He needed Samantha in his life like he needed air to breathe.

  “What do you want, Rhone? Or, is one of your friends looking for another ass to fuck?”

  Rhone cringed at the condemnation in her voice. The vision of her twisting and submitting to Bruce flashed in his mind.

  “Come now, luv. You know, as well as I do, I only gave you what you asked for. Although I have to admit, the sight of you and Bruce—”

  “That’s not what I wanted, and you fucking know that,” she snapped.

  “Are we gonna have this conversation on your doorstep?”

  Samantha stared at him, elated and confused at the same time. He seemed in a strange mood. Relaxed, filled with humor and yet the twitch at his temple showed the tension he was trying to hide from her.

  She turned and began walking toward the kitchen. “I’m busy preparing dinner. If you want to talk, you’ll have to do so while I’m cooking.”