Shadow Falling

  A flush worked its way up Tace’s hard face.

  She sat back to give him room. Images and thoughts, all male and irritated, wandered through her consciousness. No way was she reading minds, but she sure could read people all of a sudden. She shook her head, trying to banish the idea of psychic powers, and yet she knew what Tace would do even before he suddenly moved.

  He shuddered.

  She kept perfectly silent.

  “Hell.” He grabbed the off-kilter stack, aligned it with the other two, and then dispersed papers until they were even. “Scorpius gave me OCD.”

  “You weren’t, ah . . .”

  “Freaky organized before being infected? No, ma’am.” Tace shoved the hat back on his head, lines cutting into the sides of his mouth. “Aren’t most sociopaths obsessive compulsive?”

  She eyed the perfect stacks of paper. “No. Not at all.” Sure, some were, but many normal people suffered from different degrees of OCD. “If you were a patient, I’d say that if the OCD isn’t altering your life to a large degree, then some biofeedback is all you’d need. No medication, even.” Of course the disease could progress.

  His eyebrows lifted. “I am a patient, right?”

  She opened her mouth and then shut it again. “I, ah, guess so.” While she’d thought she’d just be consulting with Jax and his team about serial killers and likely scenarios when there were specific threats, it did make sense that she act as a psychologist. God knew survivors probably needed counseling.

  “So shrink my brain.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jax said there’s an office somewhere here in headquarters.”

  Tace pushed away from the table. “I have a room toward the back that used to be a doctor’s office. I’ve made it into your place now. Let’s go and I’ll show you.”

  She stood, her body settling. For months she’d wanted to belong somewhere. She could do that here, and she could actually help people. Once she got her own brain under control. For the first time in way too long, hope began to unfurl inside her, and she followed Tace from the kitchenette.

  A shout echoed from the other room and she turned so quickly, her ankle protested.

  Tace pivoted and ran for the reception room.

  She followed and quickly jumped out of the way as two men hurried in carrying another man, this one bleeding profusely from the leg.

  “Was patrolling east and looking for ammunition. Ran into an ambush,” said a heavyset guy sweating under the strain of carrying the injured man.

  “Put him in the first examination room,” Tace said over his shoulder, running down the hallway.

  The men complied, and Vinnie followed to see them dump the guy on a cot before backing away. The smell of dirt and blood filled the air.

  The injured man appeared to be about eighteen, with short blond hair and a goatee. His ripped T-shirt had a faded picture of the Grateful Dead on it.

  Lynne rushed in behind them and grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter to cut open the leg of his jeans. “Wait outside, guys,” she said calmly, bending closer to tear the denim away from the wound. “Was he shot or bitten?”

  “Shot,” the heavy guy said before exiting.

  Tace finished dumping something from a bleach can over his hands in a sink set in the corner. He grabbed a surgical knife.

  The kid mumbled something from the cot. Pain slid across Vinnie’s mind. Thoughts scattered like buckshot. Mom. Help me, Mom.

  The thoughts weren’t hers, but she felt them, and deep. The kid’s mom wasn’t anywhere near, but Vinnie was. She rushed forward and took his free hand. “You’ll be okay. I promise,” she murmured.

  Tace sliced into his skin and a shriek of pain cut like a blade into Vinnie’s brain. She blinked and stopped breathing.

  The kid convulsed and screamed.

  The echo roared through her head and landed hard in her stomach.

  “Oh, God,” the kid moaned a second before he went limp into unconsciousness.

  Relief filled Vinnie for about two seconds. Then darkness attacked her just as the boy’s hand relaxed beneath hers.

  She barely felt her body hit the floor before she was out.

  Chapter Nine

  If you find trust, you’re not a sociopath. Well, probably.

  —Dr. Vinnie Wellington, Sociopaths

  Raze ducked against the metal building, and a bullet clipped his shoulder. Pain cascaded over his skin from a superficial wound. He and Jax fired simultaneously, each hitting his target center mass and dropping the two men with the guns.

  Jax tossed him a set of keys, and he quickly uncuffed his wrist.

  Blood slithered and settled across the concrete. The two remaining men stiffened, their knives glinting in the dim light, while the leashed women started to screech. What the holy fuck?

  “Rippers,” Jax muttered, angling toward the garage.

  “Yeah.” Raze angled the other way, splitting the focus of the enemy. “I’ll get behind them.” If they could get the guys to go back to back, they’d have a better chance.

  “I’ll take the Rippers,” Jax hissed.

  Although Raze appreciated the thought, considering Jax had already been infected with Scorpius and Raze hadn’t, he shook his head, moving smoothly in a circle. “Take down the standing men and deal with Rippers last.” The women both gurgled white foam, definitely beyond helping.

  Jax kept moving until his back was to the closed garage door.

  Raze tried to focus on any sound beyond the garage in case there were more of them, but the snarling and hissing of the Rippers blocked any other noises.

  Above them, the birds had gone silent.

  “We have guns and you have knives,” Raze said quietly to the guy following his every move. He was about six foot and two hundred and forty pounds, most of it gone to fat. But he was solid, and he’d provide a good fight. He wore faded white shorts and a wrinkled blue golf shirt, while his shaggy hair reached his shoulders. “I really don’t want to shoot you today,” Raze added.

  The woman on the leash jerked against it.

  “Stop.” The guy pulled up on the leash.

  Raze’s gut boiled. “Why don’t you put her down?” The poor woman.

  “Because she bites when I tell her to bite.”

  The Ripper sat down on her ass and wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth.

  Raze sidestepped a couple of yards, his gun held evenly, until he was opposite Jax with four enemies between them. “Get out of here and I won’t shoot you,” he said.

  “I can’t do that,” the guy in the polo shirt answered, raising his knife higher.

  Raze widened his stance, adrenaline flowing through his veins. His vision focused and his body settled. “Gun versus knife? Gun wins.”

  “Maybe.” The guy lowered his chin. “Now, Henrietta.”

  She leaped sideways and then charged Raze, directly in front of the other female Ripper. Raze squeezed the trigger and the body kept coming, plowing into him, knocking him down. He let gravity take over, landed on his back, and tossed the woman over his head. Rocks cut into Raze’s shoulder, digging in with pain.

  Two gunshots echoed over his head from Jax.

  Like a blur, the remaining woman on the ground propelled herself forward and latched onto Raze’s ankle before he could move.

  Agony lit his leg and he jerked away, bringing his gun hand up.

  The Ripper tore way, taking a chunk of Raze’s skin with her.

  Raze fired, hitting the chick between her half-crazed eyes. The body fell back onto the ground and blood oozed beneath the head, filling the cracks.

  Jax hustled toward him, bending down to check the ankle just as Raze sat up. A chunk of flesh was missing, clearly outlined by sharp bite marks.

  Raze coughed, his head swimming. He’d been infected. Emotion swamped through him from panic to fear and finally to anger.

  “Hell, man,” Jax breathed, glancing up with darkened eyes. “We have to get you back to headquar
ters.”

  “I thought you wanted me dead.” Raze allowed him to set a shoulder beneath his arm.

  “That was before. If you survive the bite, you’ll need vitamin B. You’ll tell me everything I want to know,” Jax said almost cheerfully.

  “Fuck.” Raze allowed Jax to help him up before jerking his head toward the closed garage. He had to survive to save his sister. “We have an hour, Jax. Let’s see what they were so intent on protecting.”

  Jax glanced at the silent building and then down at Raze’s profusely bleeding ankle. “One look and we go.” He tugged off his T-shirt and leaned down to tie it tightly around the wound.

  Pain shot through Raze and he caught his breath. “Thanks.”

  Jax helped him around the downed bodies to throw open the door. The shop was about forty-five by fifty feet, with a concrete floor and haphazard shelves lining each wall. Blankets were strewn across the floor, along with empty cans of beans and corn.

  The smell of body odor and piss was suffocating.

  Jax turned toward the far wall and let out a small whistle. “Look at that.”

  Three boxes of dynamite sat next to an oversized generator, several lanterns, more cans of food, toilet paper, and a bunch of other boxes.

  Jax pushed Raze to the nearest wall. “I’ll get the truck.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You have about an hour before the fever strikes, and we need you contained at that point.”

  Contained? Just the thought made him want to puke. Raze reached up to push the garage door opener. Nothing happened. Heat climbed into his face. Of course nothing happened; there was no electricity. His brain was already getting muddled.

  Jax lifted an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned down and forced the door up, grunting with the effort. The door slowly rose, fighting him, but finally he lifted it to the point the truck could get under it. “Stay here.”

  Raze nodded and half-limped, half-hopped toward the boxes. No damn bite injury would keep him on the sidelines. If this was his last day on earth, he was gonna be useful.

  Nausea filled his stomach, and his head began to ache. Tingles of heat pricked just under his skin. He’d known someday he’d be infected, but he thought he’d have a little more time. Now he had to survive the damn fever, or everything he’d worked for would be lost. He couldn’t lose. Not now.

  So he ignored the pain and heat, reaching for a box of dynamite.

  Jax backed the truck into the garage, guiding it around the dead bodies without running them over.

  Raze swayed. His vision fuzzed, and his ankles felt like jello.

  When the truck stopped, he shoved the dynamite toward the cab. “Good call on the small construction companies,” he said as Jax joined him after fetching the weapons from the dead men.

  “Thanks. Let’s get all of this loaded, and fast. If we don’t get vitamin B into your bloodstream within the hour, you’ll be one dangerous Ripper.” Jax grabbed two of the closed boxes. “If you don’t die, that is.”

  Raze nodded, an odd and heated pressure pushing against the back of his eyeballs. “If anything happens to me, there’s a letter hidden. Please read it.” At the very least, Jax needed to know what he was up against.

  “At your place?”

  Dots swam across Raze’s vision. What did he say? “Urg.”

  “Roger that.” Jax bent at the knees to lift the generator. “Give me a hand with this before you lose your strength.”

  “I won’t.” Raze moved to help, sweat breaking out down his arms.

  “Uh-huh.” The muscles down Jax’s arm rippled when he stood, and a cut from a fight the other day split open on his bicep.

  They loaded the generator and then all the boxes, with Jax keeping an eye on his watch. Finally, he headed toward the driver’s side. “Get in. We need to speed.”

  Raze’s vision wavered, and he took careful steps to slide into the passenger side of the truck. A roaring started up between his ears. His blood? How infected was he? How soon would he lose consciousness?

  Some folks, more than he liked to admit, had been ready to give in to Scorpius. It was so hard to live these days. Not him, though. Damn, he wanted to live.

  Sweat slicked down his arms and dotted his forehead. His legs went numb and chills attacked him. Slowly, trying to be cautious, he secured his seat belt in case he went into convulsions.

  Jax shoved the truck into gear and tore out of the square, jerking the wheel to avoid dead bodies. “We don’t have time to bury or burn them.”

  Raze clutched the door handle, his breath panting out. “I know.” Hell. Was it possible he’d succumb faster than most? “Hurry up, Mercury.” Fire licked up his throat, burning his tongue.

  Jax pressed on the gas, and the truck lurched onto the street, barreling by empty land before reaching the first of several residential areas. The sun rose high in the sky, and though they ought to be sticking to the back roads, he drove hell-bent in a straight line for headquarters.

  “Take a better route,” Raze ground out. “If we’re attacked, I’m about to be useless to you.”

  “No time,” Jax hissed back. “You’re sweating like a bastard.”

  Yeah, he was. Sweat trickled down Raze’s face and he wiped it off. “If anything happens to me, there’s a letter—”

  “You already told me,” Jax said, leaning forward in his seat to drive around a downed tree.

  He had? “Oh.” The windshield bubbled in front of him. Hell. Now he was hallucinating. “I just want you to understand. Want Vinnie to understand.”

  Jax cut him a sharp look, his face morphing into odd lines like a clown in a carnival mirror. “Understand what?”

  “Not what.” Raze shut his eyes to stop seeing things that weren’t there. “Why. Understand why.” Cramps attacked his stomach, and he partially doubled over.

  The truck pitched over several branches left lying in the deserted street, and Raze jerked back in his seat, his entire body suddenly awakening to something beyond mere pain.

  He grimaced and dug his nails into the handle. “Was tortured in Somalia once,” he gritted out.

  “Yeah?” Jax slowed down to drive around the burned-out shell of a Mercedes.

  “Yeah.” Raze leaned back his head and allowed the pain to flow through him. Fighting it would only make him lose. If he accepted the pain, he could control it. “Electricity. And bats. Metal bats.”

  “Fuck, that hurts.” Jax punched the gas again. “I’ve dealt with the electricity, but nobody ever hit me with a bat. With boards full of nails, though.”

  “Nails suck.” Raze blew out through his nose because his mouth felt like he’d sucked on glass. Would his tongue swell until he couldn’t breathe? Totally possible. He had to talk about something, anything but death. God. What would Jax want to talk about? “So, you and Blue Heart?”

  “Lynne. I’m the only one who calls her Blue.”

  Right. He knew that. “You and Lynne. Is it the real thing?” Whatever the real thing was, if it even existed. Could it exist in the world as it was now?

  “Yeah. I mean, I think so.” The side of the truck scraped against a rock wall as Jax avoided an overturned ice cream truck. “Before I was fighting just because Rippers and LA gangbangers needed to be fought. Now I fight because I have Lynne. When I almost died in Nevada, her face was the last thing I saw in my mind. That’s real, right?”

  “Hell if I know,” Raze breathed. It sounded real. In fact, it sounded kind of nice. An image of Vinnie’s face swam across his vision. Pretty. So pretty. “Sounds real, though.”

  “Yeah, and it’s what I’ve got.”

  An ache bloomed out from Raze’s spine to ricochet off every nerve he had. “I figured Lynne was using you for protection and safety.” It’d be a smart move.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. But then I got to know her, and she lights up when you walk into a room.” Only one person, his baby sister, had ever been glad to see Raze Shadow, and he was going to save her if it was the
last thing he did, which it probably would be. When he betrayed Jax by saving her, he’d be a hunted man.

  “How you feelin’?” Jax asked.

  “Like I got bit by a Ripper,” Raze returned, keeping his eyelids shut. “It’s more painful than I figured.”

  “It gets worse.”

  That’s what he was afraid of. “We close?”

  “Yep.” The truck slowed, and the sound of Jax rolling down the window filled the cab. He gave a whistle—the emergency one that said to open the gates, and now.

  Raze nodded. Now would be good.

  The world fuzzed, even with his sight gone.

  Raze jerked against the seat belt as the truck lurched forward, and he fumbled with the clasp. Before he knew it, the truck stopped and his door was wrenched open.

  “Got bit,” Jax yelled, running around the truck.

  Raze opened his eyes just as Tace pulled him free, muscles bunching across his arms. Sunlight smashed down, making the world waver as if he’d taken several acid hits. He laughed.

  “Hell. How long?” Tace asked, taking one arm while Jax grabbed the other.

  “About an hour,” Jax said.

  They moved him inside the soup kitchen toward the medical triage, all but dragging him the last few yards and then dumping him on a bed.

  “Secure him,” Tace said.

  “No.” Raze tried to lift himself up. “No restraints. I won’t fight the fever.”

  “Okay.” Smooth as silk, Jax fastened his left arm while Tace got the right.

  “Fuck.” Raze fought against them, kicking his legs, but the men worked together and soon had him secured on the bed. “Assholes.”

  Tace disappeared and returned to slide two needles into his arm. “Morphine and vitamin B. We’ll keep you injected throughout the rest of today and tonight, but it’s still going to hurt. Scorpius burns from the inside.”

  “I know.” Raze forced his body to relax as the morphine tried to take hold. He could fight it, but why? So he allowed the medicine to somewhat numb him and ease a bit of the panic.