I was about to press him for another when the flipscreen buzzed between us and Jax picked it up and checked a message. A call was coming in from Scott, and his voice came through the speakers.
“I’m working on getting a car down to you guys,” Scott said. “All of our contacts are heading to Portland.”
I felt a tinge of disappointment that it wasn’t Justin. “Is everyone okay?” I asked.
“Vaughn’s in custody,” Scott said. “Justin and your dad are already in Portland. How did you guys pay for a hotel room?” he asked.
“I used my account,” Jax said.
“You aren’t scanning your fingerprints, are you?” Scott asked.
“Just to use a food machine,” I said. “We need to eat, Scott.”
“They could be tracing you,” Scott said.
“Who?” Jax asked. “You said yourself Vaughn’s been caught.”
Scott sighed. “We still can’t take any chances. I’ll get somebody down there as soon as I can. But it might have to wait until morning. I’ll send you a message,” he said, and the call ended.
“That kid could use a prescription of nothing,” Jax said. I had to agree. Scott sounded so anxious on the phone that my shoulders were tense just listening to him.
I looked down at my hands. “We have a lot of work ahead of us,” I said. I was surprised to feel jealous of Jax. All my life I had been searching for a middle ground, and Jax was the first person I had ever met who had found the art of balance.
It started to rain, which wouldn’t have bothered me if I knew I had a clean, dry change of clothes waiting. Lightning cut across the western sky, and it was followed a few seconds later by a shaking rumble I hadn’t heard in years. We stood up and made it inside the door just as pellets of hail drummed against the windows like hundreds of fingernails tapping against the glass.
There were rarely thunderstorms in Oregon, inside the rain valley. I could count on one hand the number of times I had seen lightning in my life. When we got inside the hotel room, Jax pulled back the curtains in the living room.
Lightning flashed, streaks of it burning through the sky and illuminating the trees, which were blowing so hard it looked like their limbs would snap off. I was amazed that each delicate leaf had the strength to hold on. Rain pelted against the window, pushed by angry waves of wind.
Jax threw cushions off the couch and pulled out the mattress inside. He lay on the white sheets and propped his feet on the back of the couch cushions so he could face the window. His hair was damp from the rain and curling at the ends.
The wind pushed against the building, and the walls resisted with a low moan. I looked nervously at the window as rain and hail hammered the glass.
“Do you think we should check the weather stations?” I asked.
“We’re fine,” he said, enthralled by the storm. Just then lightning flashed, followed by a crackling roar of thunder that shook the floor. My shoulders jumped but Jax didn’t flinch. He was smiling.
“Why doesn’t it storm more often?” he asked.
I took a shallow breath. “They don’t build up enough energy off the coast,” I said.
The wind wailed and the walls creaked against the force, like they were straining their muscles to push back. Thunder roared and I jumped at another flash of lightning. Jax scooted over on the mattress to give me room, and I sat down on the edge.
I laced my fingers together, over my lap.
“It’s starting to die down,” he told me.
Water trickled down the window into tiny rivers and streams. I noticed that when two raindrops combined, they became faster. The ones that fell flat against the window stuck there like pebbles, worthless until another raindrop rescued it and carried it along. I thought about all the strange things nature can teach us, all these subtle hints it shares when we pay attention.
I was so tired, my shoulders started to sag. I lay down at the edge of the mattress and watched the lightning flash outside, illuminating the leaves being battered in the wind like thousands of flags. My heartbeat was starting to settle down.
I looked over at Jax, watching the storm.
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?” he asked.
I scrunched my eyes with confusion.
“What?” I asked him.
“You said you had a boyfriend,” he reminded me. “Who is he?”
“Are you joking?”
He turned his head to look at me. I stared at him like he was nuts, and he returned the same expression. Then he smiled.
“Oh, I get it,” he said, and grinned. “Does he have one of those embarrassing first names you hate to admit? Like Scorpio?”
I rolled my eyes. “His name isn’t Scorpio,” I said. “Although I agree that would be unfortunate.”
He waited for me.
“Justin,” I said, as if it was obvious.
His eyebrows straightened, like I was messing with him. “Justin Solvi?” He smiled and chuckled, his chest rising and sinking. “Right. Did I mention I’m Zeus, God of Thunder? I actually summoned this storm.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he said. “It’s my trick to getting girls on my bed.” He tapped the open space between us. “Works every time.”
I laughed. Thunder cut through the air and I jumped again. I pressed my hand against my chest and felt my heart flapping like it was trying to escape.
“Why are you so surprised?” I asked.
He folded his arms behind his head. “I guess I didn’t see it.”
“Really?” I looked over at him with mock amazement. “You mean in the past twenty-four hours, since I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, shot at, almost killed several times, you didn’t see our long, loving gazes pass back and forth?”
His eyes trailed between mine, like he was trying to read more than I was saying.
“But this morning, he didn’t . . . he wasn’t . . .” Jax sputtered out a frustrated breath. “Forget it.”
A few seconds went by, and we both watched the storm settling outside. The thunder quieted to a low rumble, and the rain brushed the window instead of slamming against it.
“How long have you guys been dating?” he asked.
“He recruited me last year, to fight DS,” I said. “He talked me into meeting face-to-face. It just happened.”
Jax propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me. His face was so close, I could see a scar above one of his eyebrows, thin, like it was cut with the sharp point of a pencil.
“Wait, so he’s the first guy you’ve ever met? In person?”
“No,” I said. But I thought about it, and realized Justin was the first guy I had met face-to-face, other than our neighbors and family friends.
“He’s the only guy you’ve ever dated?” he asked.
“Yeah. So?”
“Kissed?”
“That is none of your business,” I insisted, and glared at him. “So what if he is?”
“How do you know if he’s any good? You have nothing to compare it to.”
I laughed but Jax wasn’t joking. My eyes flickered to his lips for a second, and I pulled them away.
“What, do I need to sample a make-out buffet before I know if Justin’s a good kisser?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t go the buffet route. You might catch something.” He rolled over onto his back and looked out the window. “I’m just saying, keep your options open. At least date other people before you settle. Consider it relationship research, an anthropological study on prime compatibility before you brand somebody with the boyfriend award.”
“God. You sound like a really nerdy dating forum.” I looked over at him. “Anyway, kissing isn’t that big of a deal. It’s not rocket science.”
He looked over at me, shocked. “Are you kidding me? You only get one first kiss with someone. One.” He held up his finger. “Do you know how epic that is? Do you know what kind of monumental pressure and buildup is put on that one defining moment? And look at all the compli
cations involved. There are so many ways to screw it up.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. He picked the oddest things to be serious about. “Like?”
“Nose alignment,” he listed. “Teeth avoidance. There might be glasses or hats to get around. It’s like landing a fucking spaceship with your eyes closed.”
I laughed. “Shut up, Jax.”
“I think too much beforehand,” he said. “That’s my problem. I get all nervous and my hands get clammy. And then I hold my breath.”
I stared at him while he bantered with the ceiling. I felt a wave of jealousy flare up over who he’d been experimenting on. I hated that I felt it.
“And worst off, do I need permission to land? What kind of weather am I dodging?” He shook his head with defeat. “Too many risks.”
I was laughing again. “Go to sleep, Jax,” I said.
My eyelids drooped closed, and I fought to keep them open. Even the thunder wasn’t bothering me anymore. It was more of a deep, clamorous lull. I could feel my breaths, long and relaxed and repetitive. I closed my eyes, and the rhythmic tapping of rain flushed out every thought from my mind. A voice buried deep in my head reminded me to move to the bedroom, but the voice grew quieter and my heavy body felt impossible to lift.
The mattress creaked, and I snapped my eyes open when Jax sat up. He was looking out the window in front of us, and his head leaned forward so he could listen. His eyes were concentrating on something.
“What is it? Is Scott here?” I asked, and rubbed my groggy eyes. I started to sit up to get a better look. Car tires squealed against the pavement, and white headlights flashed outside. An engine roared as it sped toward the apartment.
Jax leaned over and wrapped his arms around me. I tried to push him off, but we rolled off the bed and onto the floor just as bullets shot through the window glass. I screamed and covered my ears as a round of shots cascaded across the room, ripping through the doors and walls and shredding the couch. Glass rained down around us, and sheets of plaster and concrete flew through the air. Stuffing from the couch dropped around us like snow. I curled my body tight inside the cave Jax formed with his arms and chest.
When the shooting stopped, Jax rolled off me. He pushed me forward and we crawled along the floor. Jax grabbed his switchblade out of his pocket and swung it free, blade end out, as he opened the apartment door. I followed him into the hallway, my heart jabbing my chest so hard I could feel it all the way to my toes. A man ran around the corner toward us, and before he could react, Jax threw his knife and it caught the man’s jacket, nailing his arm to the wall. Jax was on top of him before he could wedge the knife loose.
Jax grabbed the gun out of the man’s holster and aimed it into his neck. He was about to fire the tranquilizer bullet.
“It’s real,” the man said, gulping.
“What?” Jax asked, his eyes flooded with anger.
The man’s small, brown eyes pleaded back. “The bullets. They’re all real.” His neck was sweating. I watched a drop of sweat slowly slide down his shaking throat.
“Then why the hell are you using them on us?” Jax insisted.
“It’s not for you, it’s for her,” he said, and his eyes flickered nervously to me.
Jax’s face twisted. We could hear more scuffling around the corner.
“You all have guns?” Jax asked him.
He nodded.
I looked down the hallway. “Call them off us,” I said.
“I can’t. I’m not the one in charge,” he told me.
“If you want to live, do it,” Jax said, and pressed the gun against the side of the man’s head.
Two men sprang around the corner, and Jax turned and aimed low, shooting at their feet. I winced and watched as they both fell, clutching their legs, blood splattering the walls. I covered my mouth with my hand, looking at the smear of red shining against the white walls like paint.
Jax smashed the butt of the gun against the first man’s head, and he toppled to the ground. Jax grabbed my hand and pulled me with him.
“Come on,” he said, but my feet wouldn’t cooperate.
“Those guys,” I whispered.
“They’ll be all right. I don’t think they would have done us the same courtesy,” Jax said. He flipped his knife shut, and I followed him down the hall. We ran through the lobby, and I pulled my hand out of his and pointed to the exit sign.
“The catwalks,” I said, and Jax nodded. We ran to the staircase exit and sprinted up four flights until we reached the catwalk landing.
Jax pushed open the door, and the hallway lit up, a bright yellow tunnel made of glass. We raced through the catwalk, and I looked out the window at the maze of buildings. Then headlights glared around the corner. I ran after Jax and a stream of bullets followed us. Glass panes shattered and exploded in our wake. I screamed, but there was nowhere to duck, with glass surrounding us on all sides. We made it to the end of the catwalk, and Jax threw open the door. We both rolled to a stop inside the hallway.
“That idea didn’t work,” I said, panting. Jax offered a hand to pull me up. When I let go, I saw that my hand was smeared with blood. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or his.
“You all right?” he asked, and I nodded.
Jax brushed glass off his shorts, and pebble-size pieces fell to the floor. I followed him down the hall, and we sprinted down the staircase and onto the street. We could hear police sirens in the distance. It was drizzling out now, and the wind was barely blowing. I followed Jax as he jogged toward the church, across the soggy turf yard, and up to the window.
“Sorry, God,” he said, and smashed his elbow through the glass. He ducked inside and I followed. We walked through the congregation hall, past rows of pews that smelled like fresh-cut wood.
“We need to find their phone,” Jax said.
Just when we swung the back door open, we heard people shouting outside, trying to break through the front door. I stumbled back, almost tripping over Jax. Two men crashed through glass windows behind us, and we ducked down behind a row of benches. Jax pulled out his knife. As he turned to look over his shoulder, the front door flew open and Scott and Riley rushed in, guns in their hands. Bullets shot out and I crouched down as low as I could manage and held my head in my arms until everything was quiet.
“I bet you’re happy to see me,” Scott said.
I slowly lifted my head out from my arm cocoon. I looked over my shoulder to see the two men lying motionless on the aisle floor. Jax was breathing next to me, and Riley stood next to Scott.
“You don’t listen, do you?” Scott said, as if I were really in the mood for a lecture. “I told you not to scan anything. Your fingerprint is lethal right now.”
“How did you find us?” I asked.
“You gave me your tracker signal. I told Justin I’d keep an eye on you.”
This annoyed me. “You said you would keep an eye on me?” I said. “Where’s Justin?” I demanded.
Scott looked surprised. “He’s a regional head. He has to be in Portland,” he said in a patronizing voice, as if I was being childish for wanting Justin to care that I almost died three times today. I glared at Scott.
“They were using real guns on us,” Jax said as he stood up. He offered me a hand and pulled me up next to him.
Scott raised his eyebrows. “Then it’s not the cops,” he said, and walked past us. He bent down and examined one of the bodies lying on the floor.
“It’s part of Vaughn’s team,” Scott said.
“I thought Vaughn was in custody,” I said.
“He’s in jail,” Riley assured us. “Somebody else must be calling the shots.”
I leaned my head against the door. “Great.”
Scott looked over at Jax and his eyes trailed down his chest. “Interesting shirt,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jax and I ducked into the back of Riley’s car. I clipped the seat belt over my lap and sank into the leather. It was cold, bu
t it warmed quickly against my skin. My eyelids drooped and I fought to keep them open. I watched the rain fall. The window was a blur of moving liquid glass.
“Are we driving to Portland?” I asked Scott.
He shook his head. “In the morning,” he said with a yawn. “We need to grab some stuff from my apartment. We can crash there.”
I was quiet as I listened to Riley and Scott talk about the riot and all the planning there was to do. I closed my eyes and let the moving car jostle my head. I looked over at Jax; his head was leaned back against the seat, but his eyes were open.
“So, you can throw knives?” I asked quietly.
Jax looked over at me. I waited for him to make some sort of joke, but he looked too tired to be sarcastic.
He nodded like it was no big deal. “It’s just something I can do,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Everyone needs a party trick,” he said. I kept my eyes on him, my way of telling him I wasn’t satisfied.
He leaned a little closer to me and whispered.
“My silence is a nonverbal response for ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’” he informed me.
“You don’t like serious conversations, do you?” I asked.
“I just don’t like worrying,” he said. “I worried for a really long time. I’m done worrying.”
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked away, out the window. “Is Madeline a French word for ‘pester’?” he asked me. He sank a little deeper into the seat, trying to get his body comfortable in the cramped space.
“When they arrested me, a few years ago, the cops came to my house,” he said, his voice low so only I could hear him. “My parents refused to let them in, so they broke down the door and shoved their way in. They knocked my mom down. They kicked her when she tried to get up, and when my dad tried to help my mom, they smashed a gun against his face. They shot tranq guns into both of my parents. My little sister saw it all happen. She was screaming the whole time, and then they dragged me off and left her there, alone, screaming because she thought my parents were dead.”
I listened, shocked at his experience. I remembered how calm my dad had been when I was arrested, numb and emotionless, as if he didn’t care. Maybe it was his way of trying to keep everyone calm to protect us all.