Page 110 of Shrapnel

You won’t recognize me.

Elijah didn’t.

“Remember how you shoved my face into the Baptismal Font? I was too short to reach so you had to lift me. You pressed my face into the water andlaughedwhen the bubbles started. You laughed and laughed, even when the bubbles stopped. Then you kicked me until I spat up the water.”

Jamie leaned in close. “This isn’t the Baptismal Font, but I think you’ll agree it’s more fitting.”

He plunged Father Connor’s face into the toilet bowl. He pressed down with one knee on his back, not giving an inch. Even when the bubbles and screaming grew dim and Father Connor’s arms went slack.

Jamie lifted his face. Water poured down his dark shirt. The collar popped off. Jamie slapped his face until he coughed the water back out.

“Where’s Renard, Father?”

The priest took in big, hacking lungfuls of air. His eyes were squeezed shut. “He uses a bakery as a front now. The…The Laughing Fox.”

Jamie looked like he was contemplating the priest. Elijah might not have recognized Jamie, but he knew that murderous look in his eye. He wanted to kill him. Slam his head into the toilet over and over, leave his face caved in with blood, brains, and toilet water swirling into the grout.

Elijah wasn’t going to stop him.

But Jamie released the man, let him fall into the mess on the floor. The manic look was gone from his eye. He knelt down, laying a hand on the back of Father Connors soaked head, petting through the strands.

“I want to kill you,” he whispered. “And you’d deserve it. But I want you to lie there and know deep in your heart…that a murderous faggot like me is better than you.”

And then he left, brushing past Elijah and exiting out the church door.

Jackson didn’t often get to throw haymakers. They were powerful punches and when Jackson could get his entire body weight behind it, his fist could snap a man’s head back. Total K.O every time. The problem was it was an obvious blow. By no means a fast move, anyone with half a brain could see it coming.

He was beginning to suspect these White Sand Mesa pricks were sharing a brain cell. And it wasn’t any of their turns to use it.

Two bodies were slumped at his feet. He rubbed the cuts on his knuckles as he stared down at them with disdain. The first guys incisor had sliced open his finger when he punched him in the mouth. A fair trade off, he supposed. Kneeling, he pried open the man’s eyelid. His pupils were sluggish, but reactive. Still alive, then.

Noah stared at him from across the room. The bags under his eyes were darker than his hair. Jackson wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure the kid hadn’t slept in days. He was restless. Pacing the rooms and muttering under his breath.

He wasn’t the best person to ask, but Jackson thought Noah was in over his head. His knowledge of running an organization was limited but he had spent enough time around Grant to know what a true leader looked like. Noah wasn’t it. He didn’t rise to the occasion like a young Grant did. He felt no responsibility for the lives under his command—he was focused on his own desperate unhappiness.

Jackson stood, eyeing his young charge. “Why don’t you just quit?”

Noah jerked out of whatever trance he was in. “What?”

“Quit. Leave. Toss in the towel.” Jackson shrugged. “Fuck these ungrateful assholes and go live with Elijah somewhere.”

He blinked slowly. Once, then twice. “I can’t. I was born for this.”

Jackson chuckled, shaking his head. He moved closer to Noah, gesturing at the two limp bodies then to the empty mansion around him.

“People are born because other people can’t keep their legs together. The only thing a person has to do is die.”

Noah began laughing, almost hysterically. His voice warbled. Until he finally fell backwards onto the sheet covered couch. They had been snooping around Luther’s office, again, when the two Mesa members came around demanding a fight. Noah handled the first few, insistent on keeping what little reputation he had. But now he was done. Jackson half expected he would let the bastards skewer him.

“Tell you what,” Noah called out from behind the back of the couch. “I’ll talk to you about my obligations when you talk to me about your brother.”

Jackson sneered, turning away even though he couldn’t see the brat. Why was everyone so concerned about Evan? It was his one weakness. The one thing they could use against him, and theylovedto remind him of that.

“Not so chatty now, are we?” Noah sang. “Oh. Better yet, let’s talk about whatever the hell you’ve got going on with Jamie.”

Jackson could punch him. He could knock Noah the fuck out and do them both a favor. He needed sleep and Jackson needed some goddamn peace and quiet.

Noah’s copper head popped up and leaned his chin against the back of the couch. “Seriously. What is going on with him?”