Page 36 of Wolf's Whisper

"Get away from this car," I say again, with a steeliness that surprised even me. The gun feels heavier in my hands now, not because of its weight but because of its responsibility. I wasn’t just holding a weapon—I was having the safety of my children, the promise of their tomorrow. My finger tightens on the trigger.

Jack’s smirk doesn’t falter, but I see it—the briefest flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He isn’t expecting this. He isn’t expecting me to stand my ground.

“Janelle,” he tsks, his tone dripping with condescension, “put the gun down before you hurt yourself.”

“No,” I simply say. The word feels like a declaration, a line drawn in the sand. “You’ve done enough hurting for one lifetime.”

His jaw twitches, and I can tell he isn’t used to being denied. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he warns, though his voice lacks the usual venom. Maybe he’s starting to understand that I’m the same woman he used to control.

“I won’t regret protecting my kids, asshole!”

Jack’s face twists, his smirk finally faltering. “You think you’re some kind of hero now? You think you can just erase everything I’ve taught you?” His voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a jagged blade.

I don’t flinch. Not this time. “No,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “But I can end it.”

The sound of gravel crunching under boots draw my attention for a split second. My heart leaps into my throat as another figure emerges from the darkness, their shadow long and imposing under the flickering headlights. For a terrifying moment, I think Jack brought backup.

But then I see her.

Onyx.

Her leather cut catches the light, and her blue eyes lock onto mine like a lifeline. Relief floods through me so forcefullyI almost drop the gun. She looks furious—her usual calm, sarcastic demeanor replaced by something colder, sharper.

"Step away from the car," Onyx demands, her voice low and deadly. She doesn’t shout—she didn’t have to. The authority in her tone is enough to make even Jack hesitate.

Jack’s sneer falters briefly before he straightens, trying to puff himself up like some kind of alpha male. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?" he spits, his words dripping with disdain.

Onyx doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her boots crunching on the gravel like a warning drumbeat. When she speaks again, her voice ice-cold. "The woman who’s about to shove your face into the dirt if you don’t back off."

I almost laugh at that. Almost. But I can’t quite manage it with my heart still racing and my hands still gripping the gun like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

Jack scoffs, but I catch the way his eyes dart nervously toward Onyx, weighing his options. He’s a predator, sure, but Onyx? She was the wolf in this scenario, and he knows it.

"You don’t scare me bitch," he tries to act tough, though his voice trembles just enough to betray him. His eyes dart toward Onyx’s hands—scarred knuckles flexing at her sides like they were itching to introduce themselves to his face. “Oh, I get it,” he says with a sneer, though his voice wavers slightly. “You’re her knight in shining leather, huh? What are you gonna do? Save the damsel in distress?”

Onyx tilts her head, a dangerous smile creeping onto her lips. “Something like that,” her tone as smooth and deadly as a freshly honed blade. “But see, the thing is…” She takes another step closer, forcing Jack to instinctively back up a step. “This damsel? She doesn’t need saving. She’s doing just fine holding her own.”

Her eyes flick to me briefly, and that one glance make my chest tighten for some reason. I can still feel the weight of the gunin my hands, but it isn’t as suffocating now. Onyx has a way of doing that—making the unbearable feel just a little less heavy.

“Now,” she continues, her gaze snapping back to Jack like a predator zeroing in on its prey, “here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna turn your sorry ass around, walk away, and never come near them again. Because if you don’t…” Her voice drops, and suddenly, all you could hear were the sounds of many bikes in the background.

The rumble of engines grows louder, the unmistakable roar of motorcycles cutting through the tense silence like a war cry. Jack’s bravado falters further, his sneer freezing mid-formation as he glances over his shoulder. At least half a dozen bike headlights cut through the night, their beams bouncing off the gravel and illuminating his paling face.

One by one, they roll in—big, burly figures with leather cuts and hard stares. The Wild Jester's MC. My breath catches as they form a semi-circle behind Onyx, their presence a silent but deafening statement. Each one looks like they’d been dragged out of some gritty action movie, all tattoos, scars, and tough-as-nails attitudes.

Jack visibly swallows. “What is this?” he barks, his voice cracking slightly despite his attempt at authority. “You brought your little biker gang? What, you couldn’t handle me on your own?”

Onyx doesn’t even blink. “No,” she replies coolly, her gaze steady on him. “I could handle you just fine. But see, I like to share.” She nods over her shoulder at the group of bikers now dismounting their rides, each one moving with a deliberate calm that sent a clear message: you don’t mess with family.

Jack takes a shaky step back, and I can’t help but notice how much smaller he seems now. His chest isn’t puffed out anymore, and his sneer long gone, replaced by something suspiciously like fear.

Just then, Hatchet steps forward. “This the guy causing trouble for Janelle?” he rumbles, his voice deeper than a canyon. He doesn’t even glance at me—he looks at Onyx like she was the only one who needed to answer.

Onyx nods once. “That’s him.”

“Figures,” the man mutters, cracking his knuckles like a warm-up before a particularly satisfying workout. “He looks like the type.”

Jack’s eyes dart between the growing wall of leather-clad bikers and Onyx, who hasn’t shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You’re all insane,” he spits, though his voice had lost its earlier venom. It sounds hollow now, defensive. “You think I’m scared of a bunch of criminals?”

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