Chapter Sixteen Jonah #2
Or maybe it's worse. I don't actually know. Medical knowledge wasn't part of my journalism training.
I drag myself closer to a tree, using it for cover, and crane my neck to see what's happening.
Jagger has found Webb's remaining operatives.
There are four of them, spread out across the lawn between the house and the tree line, firing at a shadow that moves too fast to track.
Muzzle flashes strobe the darkness, illuminating Jagger for split seconds as he darts between patches of shadow, never staying in one place long enough to be targeted.
He's not shooting anymore. He's saving ammunition.
Or maybe he just wants to do this with his hands. Wants to feel them die.
The closest dies without making a sound. One moment he's scanning the tree line, the next Jagger is behind him, knife sliding across his throat so deep that I can see the spine. Blood sheets down the man's chest as he crumples, and Jagger is already gone, vanished back into the shadows.
The second one sees it happen. He screams, opens fire on full auto, spraying bullets everywhere and nowhere. One of his own teammates catches a round in the back and goes down hard.
Jagger emerges from the darkness like a nightmare given flesh.
He drives the knife through the screaming man's eye, all the way to the hilt, twisting as it sinks through the orbital socket and into the brain.
The screaming stops with an abruptness that's almost peaceful.
Jagger pulls the blade free with a wet sucking sound, and something gray and pulpy comes with it, clinging to the ceramic edge.
Two left. They're backing toward the house, firing wildly, panic making their aim shit. Jagger walks toward them. Doesn't run. Doesn't dodge. Just walks, steady and relentless, bullets kicking up dirt around him.
One round catches him in the shoulder. He doesn't slow down even as the impact jerks his arm back.
Another grazes his thigh. He doesn't flinch.
The operatives realize, too late, that they're not fighting a man. They're fighting something that doesn't know how to stop.
One of them breaks, turns to run. Jagger catches him by the back of his tactical vest, spins him around, and punches through his throat. Not a slash. Not a stab. A punch, fingers rigid, driving through windpipe and muscle, then he lifts his hand and the mans neck snaps.
The last operative drops his weapon. Raises his hands. "Please—"
Jagger grabs his head with both hands and twists. The crack of his spine breaking echoes across the lawn.
Then he goes inside. The sound of screaming echoes in the yard.
My vision swims. I'm losing blood too fast. Need to stay awake. Need to—
"Jonah!"
Not Jagger's voice. Someone else. I turn my head, moving slowly because fast movement makes the world spin.
Jace and Jinx emerge from the tree line. Jace is limping, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. Jinx has a rifle in each hand and a smile on his face that belongs in a psychiatric evaluation.
"Found you," Jinx says, dropping beside me. "You look terrible."
"Feel terrible."
"Bullet wound. Through and through." He's already pressing something against my side, and I scream at the pressure. "Sorry. Need to stop the bleeding."
"Where's Jagger?"
"House." Jace looks toward the building, where the sounds of violence have gone quiet. "What happened?"
"Webb. It was a trap. Jagger's—" I cough again, more blood. "He's killing everyone."
The brothers exchange a look. Something passes between them that I don't understand.
"Stay with him," Jace says.
He moves toward the house. Jinx keeps pressure on my wound, his manic energy suddenly channeled into focus.
"You're going to be fine," he says. "I've seen worse."
"Oh thank you, that’s helpful."
"Well, you could be dead, so it could be worse." He adjusts his grip, and I bite back another scream. "So you took a bullet for my brother. That's either very brave or very stupid."
"Can't it be both?"
"It can. It is." His eyes meet mine, and there's something almost soft in them. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Still might die."
"You won't. Jagger would never forgive us if we let you die."
From the house, a new sound. A crash of breaking glass, followed by a scream that will haunt my dreams.
Then silence.
Long, terrible silence.
Jinx's head comes up, his whole body going tense. "Jace—"
Movement in the darkness. A figure emerging from the house, silhouetted against the light spilling from the broken windows.
Jagger.
He's covered in blood. Head to toe, drenched in it, his clothes saturated and dripping. In one hand, he carries a severed head by the hair.
Webb's head.
His eyes are open, mouth frozen in a final scream. The cut is clean, precise. Professional.
Jagger crosses the lawn toward us. His movements are steady, controlled, but there's something wrong with his face. Something empty. Like the person inside has stepped away and left only the monster behind.
"Jagger," Jinx says carefully. "It's over. They're all dead."
No response.
"Brother. Look at me."
Jagger's gaze shifts to Jinx. There's no recognition in his eyes.
"Jonah's hurt," Jinx continues, keeping his voice calm. "He needs help. We need to get him out of here."
At my name, something flickers in Jagger's expression. The emptiness cracks, just slightly, and I see the man underneath fighting to surface.
"Jonah." His voice is hoarse. Raw.
"I'm here." I reach for him with my free hand. "I'm still here."
He drops Webb's head without looking at it. Crosses to me. Falls to his knees beside me and pulls me into his arms, blood and all.
"You took a bullet for me," he says against my hair.
"Seemed like the thing to do."
"You stupid, stupid man. Never do that again."
"No promises."
He holds me tighter, and I feel his whole body shaking. The weapon is gone. The man is back. And he's got a whole lot of adrenaline trying to leave, all at once.
"We need to move," Jace says, limping toward us. "More will come. We have maybe ten minutes before this place is swarming with reinforcements."
Jagger doesn't respond. Just holds me, his face buried in my neck.
"Jagger." Jace's voice sharpens. "Hey, we need to move. Now."
Slowly, Jagger pulls back. He looks at me, really looks, and I see what just happened settle onto his shoulders.
He helps me up. The pain is incredible, blackness crowding the edges of my vision, but I stay upright. Jinx takes my other side, supporting most of my weight.
We move toward the tree line. Behind us, the house burns. Someone must have knocked over a lantern, or maybe Jagger set it deliberately. The flames are already licking at the upper windows, painting the night orange and red.
"What about the records?" I gasp out. "The vault—"
"Gone," Jagger says flatly. "Webb knew we were coming. The vault was empty when I checked."
"Then this was all for nothing."
"Not nothing." His grip on me tightens. "I killed Alfred Webb. That's not nothing."
We reach the tree line. Elliot is there with the car, engine already running, face white with fear.
"Oh god," he says when he sees me. "Oh god, oh god—"
"Move over," Jace orders. "I'm driving."
They load me into the backseat. Jagger climbs in beside me, pulls my head into his lap. Jinx takes the front passenger seat, rifle across his knees, watching the road behind us and Elliot slides in the back.
The car lurches into motion. I close my eyes, letting the darkness pull me under.
"Stay awake," Jagger says.
"Trying."
"Try harder." His hand strokes through my hair, gentle despite the blood coating his fingers. "We're not done yet. You don't get to die until I say so."
"Bossy."
"Damn right."
I force my eyes open. His face swims above me, still streaked with other people's blood, still wearing the hollow look of a man who just killed people with his bare hands.
"How many?" I ask.
"What?"
"In the house. How many did you kill?"
"All of them."
"Even the ones who surrendered?"
"No one surrendered, Jonah."
"Because you didn't give them the chance."
His jaw tightens. "They shot you. They were going to kill us both. I did what I had to do."
"I'm not judging." I reach up, touch his cheek. My fingers leave red smears on his skin, adding my blood to the rest. "I'm just... I needed to know."
"Know what?"
"What you're capable of. When someone threatens the people you love."
He doesn't answer. But his hand finds mine, squeezes tight, and holds on.
The car races through the night. I drift in and out, consciousness slipping like water through my fingers. Every bump in the road sends fresh pain screaming through my side. But Jagger's hand is in mine, and his voice is in my ear, and I hold onto that.
"Almost there," someone says. Jace, maybe. Or Jinx. I can't tell anymore.
"Stay with me," Jagger says. "Jonah. Stay with me."
"I'm here."
"You're fading."
"Just resting my eyes."
"Don't bullshit me. Not now." His voice cracks. "Please. Just stay awake a little longer."
There’s that please again.
I force my eyes open again. We're pulling up to a building. A hospital? No. A private clinic. Discreet. The kind of place that treats bullet wounds without asking questions.
Doors opening. Hands lifting me out of the car. Bright lights overhead, and voices shouting in French, and the cold sterile smell of a medical facility.
"Sir, you can't come back here—"
"Try and stop me."
Jagger's voice, hard as iron. No one tries to stop him.
I'm on a table. People in masks leaning over me. The bite of an IV needle. Something cold spreading through my veins.
"Jonah." Jagger's face appears above me, mask-free, still covered in dried blood. "They're going to put you under. You're going to be fine. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The darkness rushes in. But this time, I'm not afraid.
He'll be there. He said so.
And Jagger Harrison doesn't lie.