Page 133 of Jayson
I almost say no.
I haven’t brushed my hair. I’m still in the oversized shirt I slept in. My stomach is tight with unease, my ribs sore from bruises and bad memories. My thoughts feel like broken glass scattered across a floor I can’t stop walking barefoot.
But then Lula smiles—this small, knowing thing. The kind of smile that saysI won’t make you talk, but I’ll sit beside you in the silence.
And behind her, I hear it—footsteps, laughter, the sound of vibrant life.
More women enter. A small group. Loud, radiant,unapologetically present. I sit up straighter before I even realize I’ve done it.
Lula steps aside. “Keira, meet the girls.”
She introduces the first to enter as Allegra Gatti—short, fierce, with waves of dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that bounces with purpose. She’s wearing flats with a sundress and a cardigan, and she carries a tray of mugs like she owns the entire estate and would happily knife anyone who questions it.
“You’ve got five minutes to pretend we didn’t barge in,” she says with a wink, setting the tray down like she’s already accomplished the mission she came here for.
She seems like the kind of girl who’s been underestimated her whole life—and probably built an empire from it.
Behind her is Maxine Andrade—tall, curvy, with soft blue eyes that somehow still miss nothing. Her blonde hair is pulled into a low braid, and she’s already unpacking a bag full of snacks like we’re ten years old playing dress-up, not twenty-somethings surviving trauma.
She gives me a look—gentle, but weighted. There’s history behind those eyes. And a fight she clearly hasn’t walked away from. I marvel at how trauma identifies trauma; all these women seem like they have a story that was built on chaos and ruin.
The last woman Lula introduces me to is Tayana Kamarov, and she’s terrifying in her calm as her curious eyes glide over me.
She’s wearing something silky and dark that drapes off her shoulder like water, her eyes rimmed with kohl, her lips bare. She sits cross-legged on the edge of the couch like she’s always belonged there, her presence as sharp as glass and twice as clear.
She doesn’t need to say a word. Her silence says it all:I see you. I see through you. And I’m not here to judge—only to pick up the pieces no matter where they land.
They don’t ask how I’m feeling. They don’t ask if I want to talk. They don’t shrink around my silence or flinch at my silence. They just move—setting down tea, pulling up cushions, opening bags of salty chips, lighting candles. Like it’s instinct. Like they’ve done this before, for themselves, for each other.
And slowly—quietly—my chest loosens.
I don’t smile. But I don’t run either. Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like prey. I feel seen, like I’m part of something. A sisterhood.
They don’t hover or demand things of me. They just settle around me like a storm moving in reverse—like instead of crashing down, it’s pulling back the clouds, letting in some much needed light.
Maxine kicks off her boots and sinks down onto the rug with the kind of grace only a woman who’s survived hell and come out hotter can manage. Her light braid falls over her shoulder as she curls her legs beneath her, mug in hand, the steam curling upward like incense.
“God,” she mutters, sipping carefully, “I wonder how it’s going with Saxon and the boys?” She asks aloud, to no-one in particular.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Allegra says. She rolls her eyes fondly, but there’s pride tucked beneath the sarcasm.
Tayana smirks from the couch. “Can’t wait to hear all about it. They do make a dynamic team, though.”
I blink, startled—but they’re all laughing, easy and knowing, like this is just another Tuesday in their world.
Maxine waves her mug in the air like she’s toasting her own chaos, then looks at me as she speaks, as though to paint a picture for the newbie. “What kills me is how it all started. Saxon and the Gatti brothers used to hate each other. And I meanrip-out-your-throatkind of hate.”
Lula leans in. “Oh, I remember. Mason pulled a gun on himduring that fundraiser in Manhattan. Would have killed Saxon if Max hadn’t stepped in. Called him the bureau vagabond.”
“Which, to be fair,” Maxine says dryly, “he was.”
“Didn’t stop you from falling for him,” Tayana sings.
Maxine just shrugs, eyes glittering. “He saved my life. Twice. And now the Gattis refuse to hire anyone but him when it comes to their security. It’s hilarious. Scar Gatti once said, and I quote,‘I don’t trust the government, but I trust that bastard Saxon to kill for the right reasons.’”
I watch the way she says it—like it’s both a joke and a warning. There’s love in her tone. But there’s also steel. This isn’t a woman who needed saving. This is a woman who picked a man savage enough to match her and chose him anyway. And somehow, it feels like a permission slip to want the same.
I swallow hard, eyes drifting to the fire. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that wanting someone like Jayson was a flaw, a symptom of something broken in me. But maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s survival in its rawest form—recognizing that the only person who can stand between you and the world isn’t the softest… but the most unforgiving.
