Page 98 of Jax
23
Stella
The kitchen smelledlike rebellion and chocolate.
Maddy was elbows-deep in a mixing bowl the size of a toddler’s bathtub, digging through dough like it held the answers to her emotional stability. Bellamy, never one for half-measures, had twisted her hair into a high, war-ready bun and clutched a wooden spoon like she’d seen combat with it.
From Sully’s speaker, a playlist titledHot Girl Snacks and Spiteblared a chaotic blend of early 2000s breakup anthems and dramatic Disney villain songs. I leaned against the countertop, arms crossed, watching like someone who’d never been invited to a slumber party and now found herself witnessing one powered by vengeance and glitter. I wondered for at least the fifth time how I had let these girls talk me into this.
Maddy sang off-key into a whisk. Bellamy iced a cupcake like it was a competition. It wasn’t baking; it was battle. And the boys must’ve felt the tremor in the Force, because they started trickling in like confused predators, unsure what prey looked like anymore.
Bellamy didn’t look up as they trickled in from various corners of the house. Just pointed back the way they had come and said a single word. “Out.”
She didn’t raise her voice. She simply issued the order like slippered royalty, spine straight, spoon lifted, gaze locked on the cupcake she was icing.
Niko blinked. “You live in a safe house.Oursafe house.”
“And we’re very safe,” Maddy replied, scooping dough with surgical focus. “Because we have brownies.”
Carrick crossed his arms. “We’re supposed to protect you.”
“Then protect our right to high-fructose corn syrup and unfiltered rom-com tears,” Bellamy snapped. “It’s girls’ night.”
I bit back a laugh and lifted my cup of wine—yes, wine, in a Disney villain mug that saidPoisonously Pretty—in salute. “Go. Before we make it weird.”
Jax didn’t move. Just leaned a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over a black long-sleeve henley that looked one strategic exhale away from indecency.
“Giving me orders now, are you?” he asked, voice low and laced with amusement.
“Damn right,” I replied, sipping. “Go babysit us from your surveillance command post, like the overqualified voyeur you are.”
He grinned, slow, sharp, and sexy as sin. “As you wish.”
Bellamy made a dramatic shooing gesture. “That’s it, boys. Go lift something heavy, or polish a gun, or whatever it is you do when your masculinity gets threatened by women who bake.”
“I’m not threatened,” Sully said, already backing toward the hallway like a man with instincts honed for survival. “I’m intimidated. Very different vibe.”
Deacon said nothing, just glanced at Bellamy’s spoon like he was evaluating the structural integrity of wood under high-stress impacts.
Niko gave Maddy a long look. “If you set the oven on fire, I swear to God….”
“It’s preheated, not possessed,” Maddy chirped.
“Highly debatable,” he muttered, turning on his heel.
Carrick didn’t leave without a fight. “This feels like discrimination.”
Bellamy pointed her spoon at him like it was Excalibur. “You’re lucky I don’t make you wear glitter to earn back entrance privileges.”
“That better not be a threat,” he warned.
“It’s a promise, sugarplum.”
The door shut behind them, the curtain falling on the first act of a sprinkle-fueled uprising. Maddy high-fived the air. Bellamy swiped frosting across her cheek like war paint.
“Victory is ours,” Maddy declared, already hip-deep in the fridge, retrieving another bottle of Prosecco with militant precision.
I took in the chaos—flour-dusted counters, rogue sprinkles, music shaking the walls—and something strange bloomed in my chest. Not fear. Not grief. Not strategy. Joy. Ridiculous, untrustworthy joy. But I wanted to believe it.
