Chapter 27
Jax sucked in as much air as his challenged lungs would allow, waiting for the men to troop out. Only Mick O’Reilly was willing to meet his hard gaze. When he was sure they were gone, he forced himself to look at Viviana. A gut shot from a .300 Winchester Magnum couldn’t have hit him harder. She was crouched in a corner of the sofa, her clothes torn and dirty. She looked like the sole survivor of a death march. Mottled bruises and dried blood were visible on the parts of her body not covered with clothing. Her hair was a tangled mess, streaked with dirt and more blood. Her face was so pale it was virtually translucent, which made the remnants of blood and dirt streaking it grotesquely apparent.
Seeing that she was unwilling to meet his gaze, Jax forced himself to reach for her. He lifted her fragile body off the sofa and captured her in his arms. He willed himself not to hold her too tightly, knowing that every part of her had to be traumatized. But it took an effort he wasn’t sure he had. He longed to press her against him, meld her to him, ensure that he would never let her go for as much as an instant. He wasn’t surprised that he was shaking as hard as she was. The fury raging inside of him threatened to take him down. Only his fear from imagining how close he’d come to losing her kept his rage from erupting.
Striding toward her bathroom, he kicked open the door, gratified by the sound of it slamming against the wall. He wished he could smash it, tear it off its hinges, kick it down the hallway—anything to help release the tortured emotions flooding him. Getting control of himself, he set her down beside the bathtub. Murmuring softly to her, he carefully began removing her clothes. As he started to lift her arms to pull her ragged tee shirt over her head, her sharp cry stopped him. Knowing that the bastards had hung her from the ceiling, he could only imagine how tortured her arms, shoulders, and neck muscles had to be. Reaching for the front of the tee shirt, he tore it down the middle and tossed it to the floor.
He refused to look at her chest or arms, knowing what he would see. Instead he stripped off her jeans, then forced himself to look at her bra and torn panties. Greg had assured him that they’d arrived in time to prevent what would have been a certain gang rape. Dispensing with the tattered scraps of what had been her clothing, he unfastened her bra and tossed it to the floor. Her torn panties followed, leaving her naked before him. Stepping back, he forced himself to see the totality of what they had done to her. Motioning with his fingers for her to turn around, he investigated every inch of her body. He carefully tested her extremities, each of her ribs, and every vertebra from her tailbone to her cervical spine to make sure there were no breaks. Seeing the bruises erupting on her arms, legs, chest, and back creating a tapestry of hideous colors, he struggled with the rage threatening to overtake him. She was murmuring unintelligible words that sounded like apologies, but he stopped her, shaking his head and pressing his fingers against her lips. She nodded as if she understood and closed her eyes to shut out what he was sure was his tortured expression.
Turning the bathtub faucets on full force, Jax squirted a half-bottle of body wash into the bubbling water. Seeing what he was doing, she whispered, “I’m dirty, Jax. Please . . . please get me clean.”
He wasn’t surprised how gruff his voice was, even though he tried to temper it. In what sounded to his ears like a growl he said, “Yeah, baby, you are that. But I will get you clean.”
Waiting until the Jacuzzi tub was filled, he opened the jets, releasing a cloud of soapy bubbles. Scooping her up in his arms, he gently placed her in the frothing water, gratified by her deep sigh. For the next twenty minutes, he carefully washed the encrusted dirt and blood off her, paying particular attention not to press against the emerging bruises. Resting her head against the edge of the tub, he washed her hair, massaging her scalp and neck with his strong fingers. Her grateful sighs were his reward. When he was confident that he’d removed every trace of filth, he released the stopper, and using the handheld nozzle, he thoroughly rinsed her hair and body, allowing the grimy remnants of her hideous experience to flow down the drain. He lifted her out of the tub and stood her on her feet in front of him. Resting her hands on his shoulders for support, he gently dried her hair and body with one of her giant, fluffy towels.
When he was satisfied that she was dry, Jax picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, preparing to put her into bed. To his surprise, she clung to his neck and murmured helplessly, “Please, Jax. Please hold me. Don’t . . . don’t let me go.”
He snorted, a gruff sound, a sob betraying his latent fury. “Not a chance, sweetheart. I will never let go of you again.”
Laying her battered body on the bed, he crawled in beside her and held her close to him. Her sporadic tremors telegraphed the remains of the drugs in her system. He gently massaged her shoulders and neck, gratified when she drifted into a fitful sleep. Holding her tighter when she cried out, he finally managed to lull her into a deep, if tortured, sleep.
***
Glaring at the two men on the monitor screen, Jax didn’t try to couch his anger. Mick O’Reilly and Greg Bannon met his gaze head on. Their solemn expressions confirmed they knew what was coming. Mick tentatively opened the conversation. “How is she, Jax? Please tell me she’s sleeping.”
“As a matter of fact, she is, Detective O’Reilly, although it took me a solid two hours to get her to sleep. The rest of the time I was trying to get the blood and dirt off her while trying not to exacerbate the multiple bruises that are erupting on what seems like every goddamned inch of her body. The fact that she is sleeping is a minor miracle, given that she is still coming down from whatever shit the motherfuckers gave her. Judging from her symptoms, I’m guessing it was a combination of Special K, maybe some Stardust thrown in, for sure crystal, and a heavy dose of X.” He added grimly, “Or whatever else they decided to hit her with. Suffice to say that it will take at least a couple of days to rid her body of the poison.”
Seeing the anguished expressions on both men’s faces, Jax took aim. Forcing himself to speak in a relatively low tone, he said, “Enough of the update from my end. I now want to hear every goddamned thing you know about this fucking mission of hers, and don’t leave out a thing.” Focusing on Greg, he said, “Let’s start with you, Commander Bannon. What the fuck is she working on? Spit it out, Greg, and don’t spare the details.”
Greg’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “You know damn well, Jax, that I don’t have a clue what she is working on. You heard what she told us both a couple days ago. She essentially said that she’d been trying to figure out why that young girl left the shelter and went back on the street. She told us at that time she’d decided she’d overreacted. That it was simply a case of Ariel falling off the wagon. We both knew that she was lying. I don’t know what else I can tell you, because that is the sum total of what I know.”
Jax didn’t respond for a long moment. He then turned to Mick O’Reilly and said curtly, “Given that Sergeant Moreau’s commander doesn’t have the foggiest idea what the officer he is charged with supervising is doing, how about you edifying us, Mick? Let’s hear it from her partner. Surely you can help us out, in that of the three of us, you’re the man who has worked with her the longest.”
Mick’s ruddy cheeks flamed a rosy scarlet, his watery eyes underscored his misery. “I . . . honest to Christ, Jax, I don’t know any more than what Greg said.” He hesitated, throwing Jax a pleading look. “I know this doesn’t mean shit, Chief. But I can tell you in the five years that I’ve been her partner, Vivi has never been more secretive about a case. I’ve tried everything I know to get her to throw me a bone, but that only seemed to antagonize her, make her more secretive. Fuck it, man, as Greg can tell you, she’s stopped bothering to come into the office. I guess she was tired of making excuses or, as Greg said, tired of lying outright.”
When Jax didn’t respond, Mick shook his head and stared into the camera, blinking back his looming tears. “Jax, when I walked in that fucking room tonight and saw her stretched out on that table and knew those motherfucking assholes were getting ready to rape her, I’m telling you, man, I died a thousand deaths. It’s a sight that will haunt me till the day I die.”
Jax let the silence stand for a long moment, trying to decide how he would answer. The anguish on both men’s faces was challenging to see. The only thing he knew was that his own anguish was worse. While there was no excuse for either man’s lack of oversight, the only person who deserved more blame was himself. Blowing out a hard sigh, he nodded to Mick. “I can understand how that scene would haunt you, Mick. And you too, Greg. Just know that the only person who is more responsible for Viviana almost getting killed tonight is me. I should have put a leash on her and tied her to a post rather than letting her out of my sight. But I didn’t, and I failed to protect her, as did both of you.” He was grimly silent for a moment. “The only person who is more to blame than the three of us is Sergeant Moreau. Oh, and that spineless piece of shit, Francis Fleming.” Jax shook his head again and muttered, “Although the fact that he called me and warned me probably saved her life.”
Greg blew out an audible breath and corrected him. “That and the coordinates you managed to get into her somehow. Without them, Jax, there was no way we could have found her before they killed her. Fuck it, even with the GPS, we almost didn’t get there in time.”
Jax snorted and said with a shrug, “Yeah, you’re right, Greg. If I hadn’t invaded her privacy the way I did, there’s no question that she wouldn’t have lived through tonight.” He let the silence stand and then glared at both men. “Fortunately we don’t have to wait for Viviana to wake up or Fleming’s ass to get over here to figure out what the hell was going on. No, men, I have a job specifically for the two of you. I want you to go down to the jail and haul out those two assholes you captured tonight and take them someplace off the grid. And when you have them there, I want you to find out who they are, who hired them, and the totality of their mission.”
Mick shot him a questioning frown. “Uh, Jax, don’t we have to Mirandize them first? Allow the fuckers to lawyer up?”
Jax allowed a smile to cross his face that he hoped looked as evil as he intended. Answering the obviously troubled detective, he said, “You are correct, Detective O’Reilly. That is accepted protocol. However, I agree with Sergeant Moreau that occasionally vigilante justice has its place.” He qualified his statement. “Granted, not for a police chief.” Focusing his fierce gaze on Greg, he said in a voice underlaid with banked anger, “As your squad leader, I’m ordering you to assume your Special Ops MO and get every goddamned piece of information you can from them. I want to know who they are, who hired them, and what they were getting paid to do—besides rape and kill Sergeant Moreau.” With a short laugh that belied the fury in his slate hard eyes, he added, “To be clear, Special Agent Bannon, as your commander, I have just given you a direct order. Get the information I requested using whatever means are necessary. And, Agent Bannon, keep me on the speaker when you do.”