Overriding system block. Emotional overload. You must calm.
No shit. But knowing what she needed to do did not help. Panic continued to cascade through her, intensifying, growing, blooming. Her limbs shook so forcefully she felt as if she were having a convulsion. Her mouth dried, leaving giant balls of cotton. Her blood froze, yet her skin heated to a blaze. Vaguely she thought she heard Jaxon call her name again. Then again.
Calm. Now.
“I…can’t.” She couldn’t breathe anymore, not even a slight puff. Why do I fight death? Why? The world would be a better place without me. There’d be no more pain, no more jobs.
No more Jaxon.
Something strong and warm suddenly banded around her waist—Jaxon, she realized. Sweet Jaxon. But it was too late. Panic had already battered down every defense she possessed, consuming her. Her skin continued to heat and her blood continued to freeze, and the two temperatures created a wild storm inside her.
Shutting down in five…four…three…two…
Her entire world blackened into nothing.
Jaxon carried Mishka’s limp body to the bed and gently laid her down. His own ravaged body had reached its limits, but he paid it no heed. A few minutes ago, he’d wanted nothing more than a nap, ten thousand painkillers, and his hands wrapped around this woman’s pretty neck.
All three needs had vanished the moment he’d seen Mishka pale. Mishka. He’d called her by her first name only a few times, yet it was now branded soul-deep and he could think of her no other way, even though he’d tried. Le’Ace was too distant, too impersonal.
When she’d paled, her skin had become so pallid he’d seen the blue veins underneath. So many veins, more than most humans possessed. Terror had glowed like twin stars in her beautiful eyes. Lines of tension had branched from her mouth. And then she’d begun wheezing, as if she couldn’t breathe.
What had caused such an intense reaction?
Concerned, he stretched out beside her and propped his head on his elbow, staring down at her. With the softest of touches, he smoothed the strawberry-blonde tresses from her sweat-glistened face.
Her lush lips were pursed, and there were four teeth marks in her bottom lip where she’d clearly chomped. Her lashes were devoid of mascara, yet so long they cast those spiky shadows on her perfect cheeks. She’d never replaced the earrings, so her lobes were bare.
Golden lamplight shone over her, illuminating the purity of her skin. Thankfully, color was already returning, leaving a sweet rose blush. He placed her at twenty-five or twenty-six, making her roughly six years younger than him. She possessed no age lines, no spots from the increasingly damaging sun.
Then, his gaze caught on a small imperfection and Jaxon’s mouth edged into a frown. There, along the back of her left temple, was a white, puckered scar. Not a surgical scar, but one delivered by a serrated blade. That pissed him off royally because he knew exactly what she’d gone through. He had a similar scar on his left hip.
What kind of violence had she endured throughout her short life? More than him, most likely, for this strong, courageous woman hadn’t blinked an eye at killing Thomas. She hadn’t seemed to give a shit about meeting Nolan, who could turn her into a cannibal with a single kiss.
And yet, the thought of punishment nearly destroyed her. Her features had been drawn, her body tense. Like a warrior in battle who knew the deathblow was coming.
Mad as he’d been with her earlier, he wanted to violently, coldly murder whoever had caused this reaction in her. Obviously, the…man? woman? people? Obviously, they had punished her before. Severely.
I do what I must to survive.
Her words once again echoed through his mind. What had she been forced to do to avoid this fear-inducing punishment?
And why did she allow them to hurt her? Passively accepting castigation seemed completely out of character for her. Unless they were so strong she had no defense against them. He’d toyed with the idea of her being a victim of sexual abuse before, nearly discarded it as she’d lied to Nolan; now Jaxon reevaluated the notion. Had she been sexually abused as punishment? Physically abused?
The hand at his side curled into a fist.
He’d had a normal childhood. Well, as normal a childhood as the richest kid in the city could have. His family had loved him, perhaps too much. They’d spoiled him, given him anything and everything he desired.
By the age of five, he’d developed a sense of entitlement. If he’d seen something he wanted, whether it belonged to someone else or not, he had taken it. By whatever means necessary.
When he’d hit puberty, he’d begun plowing through girls like they were sexual tissue, his to use and toss at a whim. They’d let him, too. His cheeks had been smooth, not scarred, and his money had made him popular. He’d had no care for anyone but himself. No concern for other people’s feelings.
Then, one night, he’d walked into his bedroom and found one of the girls he’d slept with and callously bragged about hanging from his ceiling. She’d snuck inside his parents’ house and killed herself. To teach him a lesson, her note had said. He’d ruined her life, now she would ruin his.
She’d succeeded. Since then, the guilt had been a constant reminder that there were consequences for his every action. There were consequences for his every uttered word. That very night, he’d begun burying the wildest parts of his personality, morphing from talker to listener, user to used, bad-doer to do-gooder.
A few months later, he’d even begun training to become an A.I.R. agent. Not the camp Mia sometimes taught at, but through his father’s military friends. Sleep deprivation, starvation, and intense combat sessions had helped further his change.
Then, upon his acceptance into the elite force that patrolled the streets of New Chicago, the victims he’d interacted with had hammered the final nail in the coffin of his old self. Their pain, their endurance, their courage had humbled and shamed him. He’d wanted to be a better person.
What had Mishka endured to shape her into the woman she was? he wondered again.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” he assured her, even though he knew she couldn’t hear. “I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
As if she did indeed hear him, her features smoothed and her color deepened. So badly he wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t. Not without permission.
He remained in place, waiting for her to revive.
He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, her eyelids popped open and a gasp slipped from her lips. Bolting to a sitting position, panting, she quickly scanned her surroundings.