Eliana's Warlord

by Jory Strong

  Luke leaned against the doorframe, acting as if it was every day Jax beat the shit out of his wall over a woman. "You tell her you belong to her? That you wanted your ink on her, wanted hers on you?"

  I'm yours until I say I'm not.

  The knife twisted harder.

  It must have showed in his face, because Luke said, "There's a difference between claiming and committing, Jax. We both had shit for parents. And your mother… Killing her outright would have been a mercy. Dying in a whorehouse turning tricks for a copper a turn was more fitting. What you've got to decide is how long you're going to let her keep you from having it all. From having what I've got with Rihanna. She makes life worth living, Jax. I was only half alive before I met her, only I didn't know it. My advice, from what Rand's been telling me, from what I've seen with my own eyes, from what I heard those spies say, unless you're committing—if this is only about pride and the best piece of ass you've ever had—cut your losses, let Eliana go before you lose good men over her."

  Luke rolled out the doorway and headed toward his room and his woman, leaving Jax staring down the same truth he'd faced earlier when he was with Eliana. She was a weakness—not just because she'd become a target for his enemies, but because committing to her made him vulnerable in a way he'd sworn he'd never allow.

  NO MERCY. It wasn't just a message to his enemies. It was a constant reminder of his cold-hearted whore of a mother. Only cold-hearted didn't apply to Eliana and the past couldn't hold against the heat that engulfed him when it came to her.

  Jax rubbed bloody knuckles on his shirt, the pain throbbing in them joining the throbbing in his chest. He should have told her how far and fast he'd fallen for her.

  He'd fucked up in telling her that he was hers until he'd said otherwise. A part of him had known it when he said it, had understood he was asking her to give him everything, trust him with her future without offering the same. Had known there was a difference between claiming and committing.

  Fuck, deep down he'd known she was trouble when she walked into the bar. Perfect trouble. Heart-pounding trouble. The kind of trouble he'd be willing to die for.

  And maybe he would die trying to get her back.

  Jax left the bedroom, took the stairs fast and moved through the common rooms even faster.

  Rand and several of his other men were gathered around the pool table.

  Jax's gaze collided with Rand's. Rand's brows lifted in question.

  "Get Noah, or send someone," Jax said. "I want him here now."

  Not waiting to see who got the task, Jax wheeled and left the room, not stopping until he was standing in front of the heavy steel door to the treasure vault.

  It'd take dynamite, or a torch and a lot of time to get through without knowing the combination to the first pair of locks and the pair on an inner door.

  He entered the fortified room, propped the doors open with bags of coin and precious metal melted down into bars, rather than light the gas lamp.

  He went straight to the cabinet bolted against the right wall. There were hundreds of small drawers. He didn't remember what most of them contained.

  Counting thirteen from the left and nineteen from the bottom, he pulled the drawer open and scooped out the treasure, fisting it in his hand until he'd locked the vault and unlocked the infirmary.

  He told himself the infirmary was the closest place to find paper and ink, and that's why he'd gone there, but the sight of Eliana's clothes folded on the treatment table made him think that was just an excuse.

  He smoothed his fingertips over the black hoodie and felt something in the pocket. He pulled it out, a fist clenching around his heart at seeing the blue rag with Josiah's graffiti.

  Had she gone back to him?

  A spasm went through Jax's chest. He closed his eyes and saw her in the shower, slick and wet, needy.

  I want you. Only you.

  He had to believe her, for his sanity. Because anything else would tear him apart.

  He dropped the bandanna, wished he'd never locked her clothes away. If she had Josiah's rag, and one of his, she'd be safer.

  The graffiti woven into the fabric design offered a higher level of protection, more than what someone without permission could wear without penalty.

  Lifting the black hoodie, he pressed it to his face. Thinking about her out there in the darkness, running, hiding, had him struggling to breathe.

  He had to trust her to stay safe while he did what he could to eliminate the source of the threat. If he sent his men looking for her now, it'd alert the trackers that she was on the move again.

  Jax dropped the hoodie, opened his eyes and his fist and let the old-fashioned pocket watch fall onto the soft material. He'd been thinking about it as he and Eliana stood in front of the mirror.

  It was a prize Diego claimed belonged to him, but possession was the law and that day, Jax had been just a little bit faster with his knife.

  Flicking the watch open, he stared at the woman's face and wondered for the first time, if maybe it was her and not the watch that Diego had been willing to fight for.

  Jax moved to the drawer containing paper and ink. He took out what he needed, set it on the counter and composed his message.

  I want the woman. I need to eliminate the man. I know you can make it happen.

  He blew on the ink. Touched it to be sure it was dry before returning to the watch and folding it inside the note then slipping both into his pocket.

  Noah could get to Diego without being killed.

  Jax left the infirmary and settled in the front room to wait for Noah. Looking at the star-filled sky, he thought of Eliana and whispered, "Be safe."

  * * * * *

  Eliana heard rats scurrying and scrambling on the concrete rubble above and around the small crevice she'd wedged herself into. By now, Jax would have discovered her gone.

  She blinked back tears, fought against longing—and the guilt that came with memories of him so tenderly combing out her hair, so thoroughly pleasuring her after being wounded, and killing, because of her.

  I had to leave, she told herself, but it didn't stop the sting of tears at thinking about him exorcising thoughts of her by taking Shell into his bedroom.

  If Jax bothers asking at all, I'll tell him I left the hoodie in the kitchen and you must have stolen it while I was in Jericho's room.

  The scent of Shell's perfume rose off the green hoodie and made Eliana feel like retching. The jeans and shoes, at least, had been stolen from a room Shell had guided her to.

  Eliana hugged her knees tighter to her chest. If she were sitting instead of lying on her side, she would be in the same position as she'd found Shell in near the front door.

  I had to leave.

  And Shell's voice supported that belief.

  Jax might be pissed that you left, but he'll get over it. It's not like he promises forever. I lasted three and a half weeks until you came around. Before me, the longest he was with the same woman was four days, and he still took a turn on other women when they offered.

  Tears came, and in the safety of the dark crevice Eliana didn't fight them. She'd done the right thing in leaving. Better this pain than the pain of being set aside, or having him cheat with another woman, or worse—having him give her to Stefan in exchange for something he'd decided he valued more.

  I belong to you until I decide I don't.

  The same needed to be true for her.

  "I don't belong to you," she whispered, even as her heart and body said it was a lie.

  She forced herself to replace thoughts of him with the dream she'd clutched and clung to from the moment Ansell had turned her over to the slavers. She would find her family. That's where her future lay, not in the warren with Jax.

  * * * * *

  Jax stood when the front door opened and Noah entered the house with Rand.

  "Long time no see," Noah joked, fisting his hands and jabbing air. "Ready for another round?"

  "Won't go any better for you
."

  Noah grinned. "Cocky will be your downfall. Or maybe it'll just be your cock."

  "Maybe," Jax admitted, eliciting a soft whistle from Noah.

  A nod to Rand dismissed him. The jerk of his head put Noah at his side, the both of them walking toward the back of the house.

  "I need you to carry a message to Diego."

  Noah laughed. "Trying to cut me out of collecting the bounty on her? Or proving me right, and you're about to add some ink?"

  They exited into a secure back courtyard.

  A partial roof protected it. Jax lit a large gas lamp, though there was enough moonlight to see the row of motorcycles.

  They'd been cobbled together from salvaged parts and hand-hammered scrap metal but they looked as good as any of those pictured in the surviving history books.

  They were all painted black. No point in advertising who was on them, that's what the rags were for, and only then when they were used during rumbles between warlords or a show of strength in the warren. Otherwise they were for fighting off an incursion from the city, rare, because even for the men behind the wall, fuel was too hard to come by to waste.

  Noah whistled, louder this time. "This mean what I think it means?"

  The motorcycle at the end was Jax's. He grasp the handlebar. "Yeah. You bring it back in one piece or we will go another round."

  Noah snorted. "Destined to go that round anyway."

  Jax found a smile because it was true. He pulled the note folded around the watch from his pocket and handed it to Noah.

  Noah turned it over in his hand. "Sure you want to do this? She's beautiful, no lie. Diego got a photograph of her, not the drawing the other trackers are passing out. But there are plenty of other beautiful women and Diego isn't exactly known for his forgiving nature."

  "She's mine."

  "Never thought I'd see the day."

  Noah pocketed the note and pulled out a white bandanna.

  He tied it around his upper arm.

  Jax handed him a green rag. It went below the white.

  Two more came out of Noah's pocket. Elias's black. Diego's red.

  Noah tied them beneath the other two bandannas.

  Jax rolled the motorcycle forward, a muscle spasming in his cheek when Noah straddled the seat.

  "Ride fast," Jax said, turning away from his half-brother and heading toward the back gate.

  The motorcycle's engine roared to life, revved.

  He opened the gate and Noah raced past him, crouched low over the handlebars.

  Jax watched until the motorcycle was out of sight, then looked at the night sky, at a moon that was moving too slow and at the same time, too fast.

  Every minute from now until Noah returned would be a crawl. Every minute out there alone, Eliana was in danger, and that danger would only increase at sunrise.

  "Be safe. Stay safe."

  * * * * *

  The sudden silence had Eliana tensing and holding her breath, straining to hear movement, some hint of a predator's position.

  There had to be one nearby, prowling, searching. For hours one cricket after another had been chirping in the ruin surrounding her. Now there was nothing, not even the scrabble of tiny claws belonging to mice and rats.

  Slowly, quietly, she exhaled.

  Slowly, quietly, she inhaled.

  Rubble shifted to the right.

  A mouse scurried.

  She held her breath, though it seemed to amplify the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.

  Slow exhale became quick inhalation with the sudden appearance of a man crouched in front of her hiding place.

  His hand snaked in, grabbed hood and hair and jerked her from the tight crevice.

  An arm was instantly around her neck, pressed so tightly that breathing was as impossible as screaming. A knee in the middle of her back pinned her to the shards of broken concrete and brick.

  She reached backward, clawed at his arms and face.

  He forced her upper body into a painful arc.

  "You're going to get what you deserve, whore," he said.

  The arm at her neck tightened.

  Her vision blurred and shrunk, intensifying her panic.

  She clawed harder. Reared backward, trying to smash the back of her head into his nose. Trying to get free so she could breathe.

  Her lungs burned. Her heart felt as if it would explode. Her vision went black.

  She lost consciousness.

  Eliana knew it only by its return.

  She tasted expensive soap, felt the sharp bite of a gag so tight it bit into the corners of her mouth.

  Reflexively she jerked her arms, intent on ripping the cloth from her mouth.

  Her wrists were bound behind her back. Her captor stood over her. She couldn't see his face but she could see his boots. Moonlight glinted off the fine, polished leather.

  A whimper fought with the swell of bile. He was from the city.

  "Get up, slut," her captor said, a hand locking around her upper arm, jerking and sending pain screaming into her shoulders and up her neck.

  He pulled her to her knees. Then her feet, only then allowing her wrists to settle against her spine.

  She saw his face and silently screamed. He was Stefan's man, the same redheaded man she'd been trying to evade when she'd entered Jax's bar.

  "Walk," her captor said, putting his hand in the center of her back and shoving hard enough that she stumbled forward toward the railroad track, toward the walled city a short distance away.

  So close. She'd been so close to freedom, even if that freedom was tangled in a ball of ache at leaving Jax.

  Jax.

  If only…

  Tears leaked and trailed down her face, and the feel of them on her skin, the knowledge Stefan's man would see them, brought anger and a desperate determination to survive and escape.

  They reached the rails. "Walk along the track," he said.

  Her mind scrambled for ways to escape. Her eyes darted, searching the shadows, the darkened houses, looking for help. Finding none.

  She slowed. Her captor slammed his hand between her shoulder blades, sending her stumbling forward.

  She tripped and went down to her knees. He gripped her arm, jerked her upright.

  Pain streaked through her shoulders. Hatred fueled her determination to survive and escape. She might have to endure Stefan's touch, but she would never surrender to him as she had Jax.

  Her captor released her arm. "Get moving, whore."

  He shoved her with enough force that she nearly went down again.

  With every step the wall loomed higher and higher, higher and higher until finally they stood in front of the solid gates that would open in the morning to allow the train to leave New San Jose.

  Once again painful fingers bit into her upper arm. Her captor took a key from his pocket.

  Her heart pounded frantically. Her throat locked.

  If only she'd had more time with Jax. If only she'd had the courage to stay with him…

  I'll find a way, she told herself, though she shuddered and blocked the thought of Stefan's hands on her body.

  Stefan's man unlocked and opened the door built into the train gate, then forced her into the prison that was New San Jose.

  Gas lights lit the depot. The cargo cars were already loaded, their doors shut and locked. At the end of the train were four passenger cars with windows, instead of the three she expected, for the elite who were allowed to travel to other walled cities.

  Her gaze settled on the first of those cars, the one she'd intended to hide in, and her throat tightened, the swell of defeat threatening to drown her again.

  Her captor reached over and jerked the hood over her head. "Keep your face down. It's not worth my life to help spread the word that you've been whoring with vermin."

  The vicious grip on her arm guided her along the rails, toward the train instead of a gate that would lead into the public parts of the city.

  They drew near the black and y
ellow engine.

  She heard voices in conversation and lifted her head.

  Stefan's man released her to deliver a blow to the back of her head. "Head down, slut."

  They reached the engine and walked past one cargo car after another, the voices growing louder until it sounded as if two men were directly ahead of them.

  The talking stopped. A man laughed and said, "Got yourself a little fun?"

  Her captor snorted. "Not my fun. Putting her on the train. Entertainment for the entitled."

  Eliana's heart skittered and raced. Her stomach roiled.

  "Good thing," the man said. "They get bored and start making our lives miserable."

  She felt her captor shrug. "It is what it is."

  "Don't guess you'd let us—"

  "Boss doesn't like sloppy seconds. Do yourself a favor, buy a whore. Don't die over one."

  There was the promise of just that in his voice, an execution the elite would ignore.

  "Okay. Okay."

  By the sound of their footsteps, the men retreated.

  Cargo cars gave way to passenger cars. Her captor stopped her at the last one and forced her up three metal stairs and onto the balcony at the back of the car.

  Unlocking and opening the door, he pushed her in, the light from the gas lamps outside illuminating the luxury of Stefan's private car.

  Hatred swept through Eliana at remembering the last time she'd been in this car, with the so called procurers who'd escorted her to New San Jose.

  Her captor jerked her forward and stopped in front of a fanned partition opened to reveal a toilet, sink and tub. "Use the shitter now or hold it until the boss shows up in the morning. What's it going to be?"

  Hope flared, that the medicine cabinet contained scissors or an emergency kit with a scalpel. But she'd say yes just to relive the pressure on her shoulders from having her hands behind her back.

  "I'd like to use the bathroom."

  He spun her to face him, dropped his hands to the front of her jeans.

  She jerked backward.

  He sneered but his eyes dilated and color streaked across his cheekbones. "You couldn't pay me to put my dick in the same whore a warlord has used. The boss probably had to buy pills so he'll be able to get it up and keep it up from here to New Salt Lake."