Page 35 of Jax

“But…,” I prompted.

He hesitated for a second longer, before whatever was stopping him let go and he opened his lips. “They probably followed me from the clubhouse. Had to wonder where else they were following me.”

“So, you came to check on me?” I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice, and I saw Jax’s face deepen into an even stronger frown. He didn’t do it because he was pissed at me though, he looked more… sympathetic?

“Got here just as my adrenaline was wearing off. Saw you were okay, but I was too tired to ride back.”

“Thus, you crashed on the couch.” I gestured to the crumpled looking cushions and his boots still propped to one side. He had managed to slip his cut on in the seconds he rose from his position and came to my side.

He nodded, confirming the end of last night’s story and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking at him now, he looked more exhausted than anything physically wrong with him. A red mark lined one side of his arm, and I was wondering if it was from driving the car or from the way he was sleeping.

“Okay,” I sighed, having a thousand different questions but not bothering to ask them. I had a feeling Jax’s honesty and relaxed attitude wouldn’t last too much longer. It was probably the sleep deprivation. “Coffee?”

I went to step away, sure I had some in the cupboards, and—

I stopped.

Rough callouses pressed against my arm, long fingers wrapped around my muscles. His hand rippled with tension as he held me still. I didn’t look at it. Instead, I looked at him, and the moment my eyes landed on him, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Jax….” I breathed.

I wasn’t looking at his hand, but he was. Surprise was etched in the cracks of his expression; the wrinkle of his eyes and lips, the rise of his heavy dark eyebrows, and the extension of white around his pupils.

I became all too aware of his silence, and the soft pulsing rustle of the cornfields wafting in through the cracked window like a distant wave lapping across the shore with a soft hush.

“Jackson?” I breathed, giving a gentle tug on my arm. Whatever was working its way through Jax’s mind disappeared and he broke from his trance.

“Four sugars. No milk,” he grunted, unwinding his hand from my skin and pulling it toward his chest like an injured bird.

But in this case, I was the fledgling taking the dive, because my heart had risen in that moment with the hopes that something was about to change. And now I was hitting the hard ground of reality, injured and pained.

I turned on Jax fast, and despite the burning heat in the form of a handprint wrapped around my bicep, I urged my cold body forward and into the kitchen. I was a stupid, little girl again for believing anything could override what I’d done to Jackson, turning him into the Jax of today, all forged on my simple but decisive betrayal.

* * *

Jax stayed most of the day and it was strange. He moved about unaware of the crushing blow he’d delivered to me that morning, but he was quiet and made it clear he was very aware of the way I puttered about doing my chores for the day.

He didn’t help, of course, not with his head ten miles into the engine of the old tractor he’d dug out from the furthest barn and dragged all the way over to the house. He had an impressive collection of tools sitting inside a rusty tool box on a table by his side, an old rag over his shoulder, and a splattering of oil all over him from head to toe. The look didn’t seem amiss on him, not with his perplexing black ink already burned deep into his skin. His dark black hair pushed back by a dark red bandana and sweat dripping down his skin and into the well of the engine just made the view that much better.

It pissed me off.

Max’s training wasn’t to start for another hour, but I felt the urge to get on her back and have her hooves trample all over him. It would be satisfying for sure, but then there’d be no one to help Max, and I preferred Max over Jax in the long run. Especially today.

I ignored him as best I could, keeping my head to the ground and reset the rat traps hidden within the cornfields, burying a few field mice as I went along. It wasn’t the best job, but at least the corn would make use of the decomposing bodies.

I was just covering over another poor soul’s body when I heard the roar of the engine. For a second, I thought Jax was hightailing it off the farm before Max’s training and I was about to go scream at his ass, but then I realized it wasn’t the sound of the engine I was used to.

This engine was deeper, louder, and filled the air with a heavy rumble in its wake. I popped my head up from the corner of the field as I saw two bikes stirring dust in their wake as they drove toward the house. The second engine was drowned out by the first, and as I crept from the field to the back of the house and peeked my head around the side, I realized the stronger engine belonged to the huge, bearded man pulling up alongside Jax’s bike.

I made note of the second rider, his bright blonde hair much paler than the golden fields with a pale, flawless skin I hadn’t seen on men like him before. I found myself creeping closer as I gravitated within earshot of their conversation. I didn’t hide, but they hadn’t spotted me, which I used to my advantage.

“I get you wanted to check on the girl, but you were supposed to be at church,” the large man with the heavy accent—Russian, I thought—snapped at him.

The younger blonde didn’t say anything, looking between Jax and the big guy with sympathetic eyes. He looked like he didn’t want to be in the middle of this anymore than I did.

“I get it, Prez,” Jax sighed, pulling loose his bandana to scrub a hand through his hair.

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