Page 146 of The Vigilante's Lover

But there is nothing to do but go into it, just go.

For the first time in days, I feel like crying, overwhelmed with fear of what is to come. Jax seems to know it’s happening, and kisses my hair. “They haven’t gotten us yet,” he says.

It’s true. We’ve come through everything.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“Fear is natural,” he says. “It’s how we perform in spite of our fear that sets us apart.”

I lift my face and he kisses me, light and gentle. My body starts to warm up, a light humming coming over me. His hand comes behind my back to roll me closer. We’re still naked, and his skin is hot.

“Come here,” he says, and guides my leg over him.

My thigh brushes his erection, and I go from warm to flaming in one fevered rush. I settle my knees on either side of his hips, and lower myself down. No preamble. No startup. Just straight inside.

Sparks fly through my body as he fills me. His hands hold my waist, then travel up to cup my breasts. I lift and lower at my own pace, taking him in easy. Every stroke is like a revelation, a new plane of ecstasy.

The first glow of morning strikes the window, and I can see him a little better, watching me from the pillow. I brace my hands on his chest and speed up my pace. It’s building so fast, and I can’t control it. I just ride along with the rhythm set by my body, the direction and speed it is longing for.

Then it begins, a tightening of my muscles around him, a thrumming sensation vibrating through me. It’s steady and predictable at first, spreading out. Then everything just bursts. The orgasm explodes out,reaching all the way to the roots of my hair. I cry out, saying words, an endless stream of endearments and exclamations. Jax clutches my hips, thrusting to my pace, then holds tight as he flows into me.

I feel his arms shake as we keep this position, shattered, fulfilled, and both undoubtedly a little afraid that this is it, that one or both of us won’t see another morning rise up from the horizon.

I collapse on his chest and bury my face in his neck. His arms come around me and he holds me tight. “It will be all right,” he whispers.

My voice won’t work, so I say nothing. The sun keeps coming. No one, not even Jax, can keep it from rising and making this day begin.

21: Jax

I listen to the soft hiss of the shower in the bathroom as I dress. In my mind I picture the rivulets of water cascading down Mia’s body, caressing each curve as my own fingers have often done so recently. For a moment I envy them. They are ephemeral, however, a fleeting touch on her skin. Perhaps they should be jealous of me.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out the Identipad. Mia’s record is easy to recall from the cache without pinging a Vigilante server. It still tells me nothing more than it did that first night. Just a name.

I let my idle gaze wander the room as I think about how to find out more, and I spot the black onyx ring sitting on the nightstand. I pick it up and turn it in my fingers. Inside the band are the initials we found last night. KHS.

I decide to risk a connection and pull up the Vigilante network on the Identipad after bouncing the signal through as many anonymizer nodes as I can find. It won’t stop someone if they’re looking, but it will slow them down. Then I let the Identipad scan the ring, and I start digging.

Currently the ring has only a special’s ID attached to it, which means there is no way of getting a name for the current owner. The initials are adead end, but a query into the history gets some hits. It’s old, dating back to the founding of the Vigilantes during World War II.

But still no names. I idly flip through early records and stop on a grainy black-and-white photo of several early Vigilantes. They’re posing in front of what looks like the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. The man on the far left has one arm around his neighbor, and the other clutching his suit. Prominent on his right hand is a large black ring.

I check the names. The man on the right is Mr. Prescott Adams. I pull up his information and scan through photos.

There’s no doubt. The black ring is his. But whose initials are inside the ring? They aren’t his.

I type in his name in the network. He’s a special, which isn’t surprising since the ring is tagged as belonging to one. I glance at the identification number and blink, looking at it again.

000001.

He’s the first Vigilante. The first special.

But his ID is not the one connected to the ring now.

My heart speeds up. I have a hunch. A crazy, wild, unbelievable hunch.

I pull up recent records from the St. Louis silo and skim the information. Somewhere among all the alerts surrounding me is what I’m looking for.

I suck in a breath when I find it. A number. The ID number of the only special who entered the silo on the same day I did.