Page 110 of Storm and Tempest

Buzard sat stiffly, so pale he might as well be dead. “A pandemic.” He shook a little, as though laughing. “A little on the nose, isn’t it? Release a disease and show up with the cure so you can be the savior of the world.”

“That position has been filled.” Jax wanted to roll his shoulders. It was like an itch, but he knew it would be excruciating if he tried.

“Let’s get him on the scanner. We need to find out what’s going on with that shoulder.” Buzard lifted his chin.

Jax spun to whoever was coming up behind him, spotted Amara at the door watching everything, and was too late to stop them from grabbing him. His head spun. His reflexes seemed like they were under water.

Then his back hit a hospital bed, and he realized they’d lifted him and dumped him there. Pain echoed in his shoulder, but he couldn’t quite feel it.

Leaning over him, Buzard palpated Jax’s shoulder joint, sending white-hot shards racing through him on the inside. But without the pain receptors functioning, he could barely feel it. “Not good. He may need surgery.”

The bed moved, and lights flashed overhead.

This was what God wanted him to submit to? He could fight tooth and nail, but what would that achieve? Right now, he could barely lift his head, let alone swing a punch with his off arm.

The world rotated around him.

More lights overhead, him being pushed along on the bed underneath them. Only able to lie here and stare at the ceiling as it passed.

This is what You’re asking?

Sure, Kenna had suffered for years with painful forearms, and the other Buzard had “fixed” her as if she’d asked him to alter her genetics. Whether he liked it or not, they had been drawn into this becauseDominatussaw them as meeting some kind of quota.

Which his father had apparently neglected to tell him.

Not entirely surprising. Jax didn’t have the energy to be angry about it. Not when he was far more concerned with the IV being inserted in the inside of his elbow.

When he’d talked through it with Bruce, Jax hadn’t even been thinking about something like this. He’d wondered now if God really did want him to trust, even if it meant losing Kenna.

Would they both be at the mercy of their enemy for the rest of their lives?

He didn’t want to raise a child in this.

He wanted the RV, a shot at disappearing, and years of peace to be a family. Not the FBI career he’d thought he would always have, because it’s who he had become out of necessity—for his own survival.

Eventually, he’d lost the place where who he was ended, and he’d become who he needed to be. Without that part of his life there to hold him together, he had to rely fully on the Lord for a shot at keeping it together. He couldn’t rely on himself. That guy was far too human, too fallible. Too much of an addict. Kenna needed the man God was making him into as the man with her, standing by her. Supporting her. Saving her from their enemies.

Jax’s arm shifted, and someone took off his watch.

That was the last shard of awareness he had.

He didn’t drift to the surface. He clawed his way up, grasping for every ounce of consciousness he could get before he found himself blinking and opening his eyes. Trying to get the room around him to come into focus.

She sat beside his bed. Dark hair, and slender shoulders. Tall enough to fit just right.

“Kenna.”

She moved, coming over to stand beside the bed. “Sorry. It’s just me, Amara.”

He sighed out a heavy breath.

“Like I said. Sorry.” She shook her head. “I can’t find her. They only said she’s ‘out there’ somewhere and it’s an experiment, but I don’t know what. They won’t give me details, and it would be too suspicious for me to keep asking.

He managed to nod, understanding but not liking it. “What about?—”

“They saw the chopper on approach. They shot it down.” A tear ran from the corner of her eye. “Everyone on board is dead. It crashed into the ocean on fire.”

Jax squeezed his eyes shut.