Page 21 of Jaxon

Jaxon jumped back into the fray and helped take down the remaining threats.One by one, the Vipers fell, the fight drawing to a close as the last of them were subdued or fled into the night.

Jaxon was about to step forward to help with the cleanup, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.Pulling it out, he saw Harper’s name flashing on the screen.A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, eager to tell her the news that they had sent a clear message to the Vipers.He swiped to answer, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Harper,” he said warmly, ready to reassure her.

But her voice, low and trembling, shattered any sense of relief.“Jaxon,” she whispered, barely audible over the crackle of static.“I think someone just broke into the house.”

Every muscle in Jaxon’s body went rigid, his heart dropping like a stone in his stomach.The world around him seemed to fade, replaced by a sharp, all-consuming fear.

“What?”he breathed, his voice barely more than a rasp.“Are you sure?”

“I heard a noise,” Harper whispered, her voice shaking with fear.“The back door ...it sounded like someone opened it.”

His mind raced, the need to be with her, to protect her, overriding every other thought.

“Where are you now?”he asked urgently, already moving toward his bike, his brothers noticing his sudden shift in demeanor.

“I’m in the closet,” she said, her breath hitching.“Mia’s with me.I-I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Jaxon assured her, mounting his bike and kicking it into gear.He signaled to Gunner and the others, his expression enough to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“Stay quiet.Don’t make a sound.I’m coming, Harper.I’ll be there in minutes.”

****

Clay killed the engineof his bike, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck throbbed.The sound of the cooling engine ticked in the stillness of the night, but Clay was too consumed by rage to notice.

He sat astride his bike, parked across the street from Harper Davis’s house, his eyes locked on the darkened windows.His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

The fire at the bookstore had been a game, a twisted little joke meant to rattle Jaxon and his precious Iron Sentinels.But Jaxon had turned the tables, storming into Vipers’ territory with the full force of his club behind him, leaving Clay humiliated and fuming.

The memory of the raid made his blood boil, his fingers curling around the handlebars as if they were Jaxon’s throat.

But this wasn’t over.Not by a long shot.Clay had one last card to play.His lips curled into a sinister smile as he reached into his jacket, checking his weapons.

A gun with a few bullets left, a knife with a serrated edge—tools of his trade, reliable and efficient.He didn’t need much else.Tonight, he would make Jaxon pay.

His eyes flicked to the green motorcycle parked in front of Harper’s house.A prospect, no doubt, a low-level Sentinel meant to keep watch.

Clay widened his smile, a dark gleam in his eyes.The kid wouldn’t be a problem.He’d dealt with worse.

Clay slipped off his bike, the leather of his jacket creaking as he moved.He crept across the street, his footsteps silent against the pavement.The prospect never saw him coming.In one swift, brutal motion, Clay drew his knife, plunging it into the kid’s side.The prospect gasped, eyes wide with shock and pain, but Clay covered his mouth, muffling the sound as he dragged him to the shadows.The kid slumped against the wall, lifeless.

“Sorry, kid,” Clay muttered, wiping the blade on the prospect’s jacket.“Wrong place, wrong time.”

With the obstacle out of the way, Clay turned his attention to the house.He circled to the back, his eyes scanning for any signs of movement.The curtains were drawn, the lights on, casting a warm glow through the windows.It was almost inviting.

He approached the back door, his pulse quickening with anticipation.Pulling out his knife again, he smashed the glass, the shards tinkling like sinister wind chimes.

He reached through the jagged hole, twisting the lock and pushing the door open.

Clay stepped inside, the door creaking on its hinges.The scent of home—fresh flowers, faint traces of cooking—greeted him, a sharp contrast to the malice in his heart.He relished the quiet, the anticipation of the hunt.

“Harper,” he called out loudly.“Where are you, sweetheart?Don’t be shy.”

He moved through the kitchen, the polished countertops gleaming under the fluorescent lights.The space was pristine, untouched.Clay ran his fingers over the surface, the roughness of his calloused skin scraping against the smooth finish.

“Wanna play hide-and-seek?”he taunted, his voice rising just enough to carry.“It’s my favorite game.”

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