Caught in the Aftermath Read online

  Caught in the Aftermath

  Jami Gray

  romance.com.au/escapepublishing/

  Caught in the Aftermath

  Jami Gray

  Vengeance can leave you blind…

  The world didn’t end in fire and explosions, instead it collapsed slowly, like falling dominoes, an intensifying panic of disease, food shortages, wild weather and collapsing economies, until what remained of humanity battles for survival in a harsh new reality.

  After surviving a brutal betrayal that left his world of secrets soaked in blood, Math must lead the handful of survivors on a mission of revenge. He’s spent years on his enemy’s trail, his focus crystal clear … until his nemesis turns the tables by using one of his own people as bait for an inevitable trap. To avoid becoming the prey, Math will need to seek an alliance with Fate’s Vultures, an enigmatic crew guaranteed to screw with his long-held rule—rely on no-one.

  A looming conflict poised to rock society’s fragile peace forces Vex and her fellow Vultures into a treacherous game where every move could burn them. To make matters worse, someone near and dear is selling them out, making trust a commodity they can ill afford. When Math requests the Vultures’ help, Vex seems to be the only one worried the resulting fallout will leave a target squarely on the Vultures’ back. Partnered with the lethally attractive assassin, Vex will soon face a greater problem than the rising passion between them—one that will test the bonds of blood and loyalty.

  When all is said and done, will they survive vengeance’s aftermath?

  About the author

  JAMI GRAY is the coffee addicted, music junkie, Queen Nerd of her personal Geek Squad, Alpha Mom of the Fur Minxes, and award winning author of the Urban Fantasy series, Kyn Kronicles, the Paranormal Romantic Suspense series, PSY-IV Teams, and her latest Romantic Suspense series, Fate’s Vultures. She writes to soothe the voices in her head.

  If you’d like to know more about Jami, her books, or to connect with her online, you can visit her webpage JamiGray.com, follow her on Twitter @JamiGrayAuthor, or like her Facebook page facebook.com/JamiGrayWriter.

  Acknowledgements

  Contrary to popular belief, writing is not always a wildly fun adventure. There are days when you wonder why the hell you thought you could tell a story. For those days, you find yourself reaching out for like-minded others who understand this strangely weird creative world that dominates your life. For all those times when I was tempted to throw in the towel, thank you for listening, for kicking my ass back in line and for being the loving, supportive friends and readers who know much more than I ever will: Joanna Clayton, DeAnna Browne, Dave Benneman, Camille Douglass, Mona Karel, and Amber Kallyn.

  To my personal Knight in Slightly Muddy Armour and his ever-faithful sidekicks, the Prankster Duo—you guys make my heart smile every damn day!

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing...

  Chapter 1

  Under the obscuring curtain of night-blind skies, Math dropped the lifeless form of the last of his tormentors. With the immediate threat eliminated, his adrenaline levels dropped and his battered body protested the abuse levelled against it. The howl of a distant wolf snapped him out of his pain-addled daze, leaving the edges of his mind frayed. He dragged the body to the narrow ditch hidden among the shrub-infested wasteland. At the crumbling edge, his strength flatlined and he dropped to his knees. With reserves he didn’t know existed, he shoved the corpse over, letting it roll down, a trail of dirt and gravelling following in its wake. He sat back on his heels like a man in supplication, before dropping his head into his hands to consider his recently hard-earned lesson.

  Never let your ego coldcock your brain.

  Normally this was the core of his daily mantra, but the bait proved too tempting this time. Once his arrogance took centre stage, he willingly stepped into the role of the reluctant guest of the four men sent by the queen bitch. Greer. Her name alone caused his simmering rage to boil over. For nine years he held the lid down, even as escaping steam scorched his hand. He couldn’t allow it to blow now. Not when the stakes were so high. More than simple vengeance, Math craved restitution. He would collect his pound of flesh.

  One of his people, Cam, was caught in the traitorous bitch’s claws. Thanks to the talkative idiots occupying the nearby ditch, he had an idea of where Cam might be stashed. It was the only thing keeping the faint kernel of hope alive in his cynical heart.

  It hadn’t always been a diamond-hard lump, once it thundered—for his family created by bonds of loyalty so deep the scars still ached. They were called the Strix, a tightly woven clan of assassins who rose from the ashes of the Collapse. Their creation stories varied—remnants of covert government operatives so dark as to be invisible, descendants of crime families whose reach spanned every corner of the grimy underworld. No matter the truth of their beginnings, when society fell into chaos, the founding members took their lethal skills and carved out new profit arenas. If the price was right and the situation doable, the Strix handled the dirty jobs for the emerging powers.

  Math stumbled into the welcoming arms of the Strix while reeling from the loss of his blood family. His new clan recognised his natural skills in things better left in the shadows, and honed them to a lethal edge until he became one of their most skilled. A position he enjoyed until the power shifted.

  Greer slithered in on the coattails of Michael’s name and wound her lethal coils around the Strix’s leadership. Math didn’t know if Greer was acting under Michael’s orders, or furthering her own personal agenda, when she slaughtered nearly all the assassins. Only a combination of luck and skill ensured Math, and a scant handful of others, escaped the brutal, nightmare-inducing massacre. When they regrouped, Math became the de facto leader, and in return, he vowed to make Greer pay.

  But responsibility made for a ruthless mistress, and Math’s resolve to protect the remains of his family was a fact Greer counted on. When she took Cam, she eliminated the buffer of detachment which made Math the efficient operative he’d become. To get Cam back, Math’s careful plan disappeared in a puff of smoke. Instead, he spent the last couple of days at the not-so-tender mercies of the men currently taking a dirt nap. Once the entertainment of torturing Math faded, they sat around the fire, drinking and talking.

  Math could’ve ended his stay sooner, but he would endure anything for Cam, the one man who managed to slip into the ragged hole labelled brother.

  In the end, Math’s pigheaded obstinacy paid off. Thinking he was out cold, his captors spilled their guts, first figuratively, and in the end, literally.

  Through the bits and pieces he picked up, he now had a location, even as he waged an internal war. His brain demanded he go to New Seattle and hunt down Greer. His heart dictated he get Cam first. Instinct warned if he didn’t play this just right, Cam would disappear, because once Greer realised Math was on Cam’s trail, she would ensure nothing remained to be saved.

  No way could he chance that shit happening. He needed back up, but who the hell could he reach out to?<
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  With the echo of a timer relentlessly counting down, he braced his hand on the ground and forced his body to move. Once upright, instincts and training kicked in. He took the time to gather the scattered items belonging to the strike team, which wasn’t much, and tossed them in the ditch. Keeping anything which could be traced back to this scene, was ill-advised.

  In an effort to offset his lagging energy, he choked down a bit of food and water. He kept a few essentials—a knife, a half-filled canteen, some dried nutrition bars, and a marked-up map. After studying the notations and landmarks under a match light, he scanned the surrounding terrain. It took him a moment to recognise the droning noise in the distance as a waterfall.

  Armed with that bit of information, he bent back over the map. Using the knowledge of where he encountered Greer’s fumbling minions, his finger began to trace a path until he found his location. A harsh laugh escaped, cutting through the night.

  Wouldn’t you know it? His closest option for help was the furthest thing from a friendly asset he could imagine. Not that it mattered. With Cam’s life in the balance, he’d make a deal with the devil, no matter how much it chafed his ass. Damn good thing his soul was used to dirty bargains, because things were bound to get nasty.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Simon is an ass,’ Vex muttered, staring into the amber depths of her drink.

  ‘Mmmhmm.’

  At the noncommittal hum from her dark-haired drinking companion, Vex lifted her gaze. ‘Mmmhmm, what?’

  Wide-eyed innocence stared back. ‘Nothing, I’m just agreeing with you.’

  Catching Mercy’s stifled lip twitch, Vex narrowed her eyes. Uh-huh, sure she was. Vex raised her bottle, liquid sloshing against the glass, and tilted it in Mercy’s direction. ‘Agreement, my ass.’ Dropping her head back, she drained her beer and set it on the table. Using a single finger, she nudged it right in line with the other empties. ‘Go ahead.’ She propped her elbow on the table and set her chin in her palm. ‘Share your infinite wisdom with me.’

  Across from her, Mercy paused, her drink halfway to her mouth, and arched a brow. Shrewd darkness shoved all that fake innocence aside, leaving behind the assassin’s typical calculation. ‘You sure you can handle it?’

  Vex waved her hand in the air, hitting the beaded ends of her multiple braids and sending them dancing. ‘Hit me.’

  Mercy shook her head and took a drink. Setting her bottle down, she folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. ‘Fine.’ She pinned Vex with an exasperated, but knowing look. ‘The man who supposedly holds your heart tells you you’re better off as friends, the traditional reaction is hurt, which leads to plotting creative payback.’ She paused, a finger absently tapping on the table’s surface. ‘It’s not heartache I hear in your voice.’

  Despite the alcohol running warm and loose through her veins, Vex braced as the other woman’s words hit like darts, straight and true. ‘What do you think you’re hearing?’

  ‘I hear relief.’

  Denial whipped through Vex, leaving her voice sharp. ‘Nope, it’s anger.’

  Mercy dipped her head in acknowledgement, but not before Vex caught something perilously close to sympathy sweeping through her friend’s hazel eyes. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘No fucking maybe about it.’ Unable to handle Mercy’s too perceptive insight, Vex shoved back from the table. ‘I’m grabbing another. Want one?’

  Mercy sat back, picked up her bottle, and rolled her wrist to test the level. ‘Sure, this one’s almost out.’ She looked to the bar, then back to Vex, speculation adding a dry edge to her voice. ‘You sure you can make it back without starting a fight?’

  Rocking back on the heels of her biker boots, Vex adopted an affronted look. ‘Who me? I don’t start fights.’

  Mercy snorted. ‘That’s not what I hear.’

  ‘You’d better get your ears checked.’ Vex headed across the bar’s floor, dodging chairs, hands, and indecent innuendos. See? Not starting a thing. She gave her order to Derek, the barkeep, then half-turned, elbows braced on the bar’s edge to watch the crowd.

  Used to be, people came to bars to blow off steam, to see and be seen, and if they were lucky, to find someone to mess up the sheets with. Then the world went to hell and survival became the new normal. Seventy plus years of living by the law of the jungle, and humans were only now beginning to get back to enjoying the few pleasures they could find in life. Like hanging out after a long day, savouring a cold drink and a decent meal. Or in tonight’s case, listening to live music from the band playing for drinks as they made their way northward.

  It made for a crowded evening at the Tipsy Shrew. What was that old saying about popular places? Location, location, location? Whatever it was, the Tipsy Shrew had it. Sitting outside of the settlement of Pebble Creek, the bar perched on the main travel route between Salt Lake and New Seattle. Its location managed to snag a variety of entertainment options and patrons.

  Tonight’s crowd contained the typical eclectic mix—rough riding road rats, weather-beaten farmers, travelling merchants, and the regular settlement joes looking to wile away the hours with a night out. There were even a couple of military types trying hard, but failing, to blend in. They scanned the patrons, obviously looking for someone. A specific someone she guessed. She let her gaze slip past them even as her brain mulled over their presence. Guys like that preferred their home court advantage of urban centres like Salt Lake and New Seattle. This left places like Pebble Creek, a fairly decent sized town, but not anything close to an urban centre, under the dubious protection of others.

  Pebble Creek was under the—what was the word Havoc used that she loved?—aegis of Fate’s Vultures, four nomadic arbitrators—she preferred the term mercenaries—currently calling the settlement home. Which begged the question—who or what was so important the city soldiers would voluntarily come into the Vultures’ territory?

  Don’t borrow trouble. Right, because as one of those Vultures, she had more than enough trouble to deal with already, thank you very much. Setting her curiosity aside, she made a mental note to mention their presence to Reaper, the Vultures’ inscrutable leader, before turning her attention to more pressing matters. Like why the hell she thought hanging out with Mercy was a good idea. Maybe she should have opted to stay with Havoc and Reaper to discuss how to ensure the next supply run made it through without disappearing, instead of drowning her sorrows with Havoc’s girlfriend.

  Those sorrows included trying to erase the image of the pint-sized brunette wrapped around Simon down by the market square this afternoon. Granted, Vex and Simon parted ways over a week ago, but still, would it have hurt him to wait until she was, say, not anywhere near Pebble Creek, before replacing her ass? Since the answer was ‘obviously not’, yeah, she was angry. Angry at Simon, angry at herself, and angry at the whole fucked up situation in general. Hence her need for alcohol.

  On cue, a thick glass hit the bar top. ‘Order’s up.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She tossed credits down, nabbed the two chilled bottles, and headed back to her table. The music picked up, the heavy beat sinking into her blood and finding pace with her hips. Letting the music wash away her troubles, she wove her way through bodies and chairs. Appreciative whistles followed in her wake, bringing with them a small smile, instead of her normal scowl. Tonight her bruised confidence could use a little salve after Simon’s clumsy handling.

  She caught sight of Mercy and their table, only to be brought up short when a sadly misguided arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her into a barrel chest covered in cotton. With her hands full of the local brew, she came face-to-face with a dust-laced road rat. At five foot nine, she had no trouble meeting the bleary eyes of the idiot stupid enough to touch. Her nose wrinkled as male sweat and alcoholic fumes hit her face. Dear God, how did he stand himself? The smell was enough to knock her out. ‘Wanna let me go, pal?’ She tried for civil, but it came out on a growl.

  ‘Nah, I’m liking where you are.’ His thick
arm tightened, pressing her close as he ground his negligent bulge against her.

  Oh for the love of— ‘Yeah, I’m not.’ Without losing her grip on the bottles, she shifted her weight and brought her knee up in a sharp, debilitating move, taking negligent to microscopic.

  The arm around her waist disappeared as a high pitch yelp escaped. He bent over, cupping his abused bits, red suffusing his face, as he stumbled back into one of his giggling friends. The impact sent them both crashing to the floor and managed to knock over a couple of bottles on a nearby table. When the drinks’ owners rose with pissed off shouts, Vex stepped around the writhing bundle of limbs, clearing the path to their unknowing targets. As the fight broke out in earnest behind her, she set the bottles in front of a laughing Mercy.

  ‘There, not a drop spilt.’ She dragged her chair around to Mercy’s side of the table, spinning it so its back was to the table, and straddled it. She sank down, arms resting on the back, her bottle hanging from one hand, her attention on the show unfolding in front of her. Bruised balls or not, the wanna-be Romeo got to his feet and with another one of those bull-like bellows, charged a wiry male who just finish laying out Romeo’s giggling buddy with a solid right hook. His hit took them both into another table. This one collapsing under their combined weight. The two women watched the brawl gain momentum, sucking in more participants. Fists flew and grunts interspersed with curses rose above the music. A few feminine shrieks played counterpoint.

  Now this was what Vex called entertainment. ‘I give it another minute before Derek pulls out his shotgun.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll get the chance to use it.’ Mercy winced when one of the younger customers delivered a particularly brutal hit to the burly drunk.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because my favourite brawler just arrived.’ Mercy motioned with her bottle to the man wading through the room, aiming directly for them, a scowl on his face. Thick, unruly dark hair held back by a bandana, a small curved scar bisecting his right eyebrow, another scar high on his stubble-covered cheek, he was six feet of wrapped muscle. Like an icy river washing over a forest fire, the fights petered out in his wake. Cowed like a bunch of unruly kids, the combatants busied themselves straightening chairs and tables.