Page 27 of Jax
I didn’t know her. Not really. I knew the shape of her in shadows—stockinged feet in grass, moonlight kissing defiance into the lines of her jaw. I knew the twitch of her muscles before she moved, the calculation in her eyes, the panic buried beneath all that rage. I knew the weight of her against me. The way she fought even as I held her, the way her heart thundered through every inch of contact like she didn’t care if she lived or died as long as she did it on her own terms.
But I didn’t know her voice when it wasn’t weaponized. Didn’t know her laugh, if she remembered how to laugh at all. Didn’t know the rhythm of her thoughts, or the shape of her fears.
She wasn’t mine. I didn’t want her to be. That wasn’t what this was.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
I didn’t want soft. I never had. Sweet never did a damn thing for me. But forgettable? That, I couldn’t stomach. And Stella—she was a scar already forming. A question I didn’t want answered.She was sharp edges wrapped in control. Wildfire masked as discipline. A woman who carried her anger like a weapon and didn’t blink when you met it head-on. She didn’tlook at me like a threat, or a fantasy, or a shield. She looked at me like a puzzle she didn’t intend to solve, like a line she meant to cross just to see what I’d do when she did.
And maybe that was the part I couldn’t walk away from. The part with its teeth in me now, low and deep and permanent.
It wasn’t her body or her voice or even her defiance that undid me.
It was the way she made me feel like I was the one about to break.
I started the vehicle with a motion too familiar to mean anything, focused on the engine’s hum like it could anchor me, like it could drown out the memory of the rope cooling behind me and the girl I’d watched walk out of that room, kind and understanding and already fading from the part of me that mattered.
The road stretched ahead—dark, empty, familiar—but I didn’t feel any closer to leaving her behind. Not the ropes. Not the club. Her. The memory of her body mid-run, all instinct and adrenaline, heart crashing against mine like a dare.
I hadn’t wanted to catch her. Not really.
I’d wanted to see what part of me would follow if she got away.
And maybe that was the truth I hadn’t been ready to say out loud, not that I was looking for surrender, but that I’d spent years binding control when what I really craved was something wild enough to break it.
7
Stella
The kitchen smelled like cinnamon,coffee, and false security. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, as if the house was trying to whisperyou’re safe herewithout making a sound. But I knew better. Safety was a story for children and fools. And I was neither.
I walked in slowly, hoodie sleeves covering my hands, hair loose around my face like I’d just rolled out of bed. My feet dragged, and my yawn was real enough to sell the illusion. It was a performance, down to the posture—shoulders tilted, spine slouched, body language designed to show a girl adjusting. Settling in. Complacent. Not a threat.
Maddy leaned over the island, laughing into her mug like the world hadn’t cracked in half beneath her just months ago. Bellamy sat across from her, chin in one hand, with an unimpressed smirk carved in place. They were trading insults like they were weapons and love at the same time; affection passed like knives, glinting.
I slid onto the stool beside Maddy, blinked through the fake fog of sleep, and muttered, “Is this what I have to look forwardto every morning as long as I’m here? There is altogether too much joy for this early in the morning.”
Bellamy arched a brow. “You’re the one who decided to join the living.”
“Only physically,” I muttered, reaching for the mug Maddy slid across the counter. The heat of it grounded me—steady, real. I wrapped both hands around the ceramic and took a long sip, letting the bitter burn give me something to focus on besides the thrum of adrenaline still coiled low in my spine.
They went back to bickering, something about someone hogging the French press, and I let myself drift. My eyes tracked the room casually. Doorways. Sightlines. The hallway curving past the pantry toward the back staircase. At least two cameras in here, probably feeding to Tech Boy. The same man who hadn’t spoken to me once but watched like he already knew exactly where to strike if I flinched.
I kept my expression loose, casual. Smiled every time Bellamy glanced over, like I had nothing to hide. Like I wasn’t already mapping every inch of this house with each breath.
“I swear,” Maddy said, dragging her eyes toward the ceiling, “if Carrick doesn’t wake up and get his ass down here before lunch, I’m staging an intervention.”
Bellamy didn’t look up. “Fair warning, he sleeps naked. If you open that door, you’ll go blind.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
I snorted, just loud enough to pass as sleepy and amused. Normal.
Bellamy’s gaze flicked over, her smirk sharpening just enough to cut. “How’s your room? Anything missing? Secret microphones? Floorboards that creak in Morse code?”
I lifted a shoulder, all practiced ease. “No complaints. I mean… if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was safe. Like I belonged here.”
Maddy’s expression softened. “Maybe you do.”
