Page 39 of Jax

And then pulled a piece of paper out of his jean pocket, crumbled from the ride. “So I’ve managed to track down one of the remaining Bratva—not the one that tried to run you and the women off the road.” Lamb turned to me, and I barely registered his words. “But I got the one that has been trying to amass his own military-grade arsenal, no doubt trying to blow a hole in the earth where our clubhouse is currently standing.”

He held out the paper to Wolf, who looked at Lamb, spooked by his reaction, or rather the lack of it.

He didn’t say anything. About the hair. Lamb, of all people.

“All right,” Wolf grumbled, his big paw taking the paper from Lamb’s hand, staring at him for a second longer with dark, calculating eyes before turning to the paper. As he read along Lamb’s scrawled handwriting, visible as the sunlight bleached the thin sheet with a translucent glow. All of us watched him do so in silence.

The tension dissipated and confusion took its place as we shared glances and gestured to Lamb; we mouthed words between each other while Lamb played the part of being none the wiser.

It was then that a single strand of pink hair slipped from Wolf’s low ponytail, falling over one dark bushy eyebrow. He puffed at it once or twice to get out of his way, which it refused to do, before Wolf gave up with a final, useless huff.

By the time I noticed the importance of that pink strand of hair, it was too late.

The hair was tucked back behind his ear, and Lamb dropped down from his heels as he stepped back away from the huge Russian, his gaze giving him a slow once over. And then, with a grin on his face so wicked that it made everyone shiver, his lips parted, and he said, “There. Much better.”

I stared. Hunter stared. Wolf stared. Fuck, every brother was frozen as solid as the Antarctic.

It was a record long ten seconds that Wolf stood there in silence. And then as the quiet ticking of my watch passed slowly, then at the fifteen second mark…

Chaos exploded.

Chapter Ten

Ronnie

Iwasn’t sure what I had been expecting.

When Jax jumped away from me like he’d been scalded, the look on his face clearly as shocked as mine, I didn’t know what to think. In fact, I couldn’t. It was after Jax left, and after his shock had turned into fear and what seemed like annoyance before he finally fled, that I finally got to think.

I dida lotof thinking.

I did so much thinking that I found myself pacing up and down the stairs, the creak of the floorboards like a symbolic crank lifting me higher and higher into a state of frustration that I knew I wasn’t coming down from anytime soon. I was going to carve a hole in the floor, through the basement and the foundation of the house, and keep going until I had made my way all the way through to China.

And when I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine tearing up the dirt, I exploded.

I was out of the door of the house, slamming the antique thing behind me, luckily not breaking it in half, and was down the steps, ready to scream my lungs out at the man that was currently at the top of my shit list, until I stopped…

… dead in my tracks. The dirt cloud surrounding the bike caught the evening breeze, clearing my view, and I realized that this man was in fact, not Jax.

He pulled up the raging machine, stopping only a few feet from where I was standing, and let the engine die as I assessed my unexpected guest.

The sun had already set for the day and the cool, dim blues of the sky did their best to light up the face looking at me. Sunken eyes and dark circles were the first things I noticed. The second was the lack of leather he wore. Third was the gun holster I saw sitting just beneath the denim jacket he had on over his shoulders.

“Who are you?” I demanded, taking a long step backwards.

As if in response, the automatic light on the porch clicked on, and the striking gold light seemed to cut edges into the blurred shadow in front of me. The dark eyes were a deep, murky grey and his dark, wild hair hung around his sharp features. His face was softened slightly by the ingrowth of facial hair marring the leathered skin over his angled cheekbones and jaw. What couldn’t be hidden by hair were the barrage of scars all over his skin, which the porch light did everything in its power to show their intimidating aura.

“I asked your name,” I growled, not liking the horrible, crawling feeling of distrust climbing up my spine.

The man smiled, and I didn’t appreciate it.

He rose from his bike, his height towering but not invading. He was slimmer than Jax, which was a difficult feat considering how lean the man had become.

“In my country,” he murmured, and it was similar to the voice of Jax’s president who met with him this morning. “It’s polite to give your name first before asking for someone else’s.”

“Well, we’re not in your country,” I countered, not wanting to show that I had no weapon, nor a means to defend myself. My little black cell was on the other side of the house where I’d thrown it during an imaginary argument where I was tearing Jax to shreds. Of course, even in my mind he had comebacks for everything, and I had lost. To animaginaryJax.

“You’re right.” He nodded but didn’t do what I asked.

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