Page 129 of Jax
Then, quiet and tight like a promise pulled from his chest, he said, “You can sleep, for now.”
And I did. He removed the last coils of rope from my body and helped me get comfortable, and I slipped into peaceful sleep. Because the war hadn’t started yet. Because sleep was still sacred. Because I was still marked, still humming, still something new beneath the bruises. Not fragile. Not afraid. Just forged. And when morning came, I would be fire.
29
Jax
The first thingI registered was heat, not the kind that hissed from vents or rolled off machinery, but something alive. It moved slowly, soaked in deep, and carried the shared sweat and the steady rhythm of another body breathing next to mine.
Stella was draped over me like a second skin, one leg hooked over my hip, her cheek warm against my chest. Her hand splayed across my ribs like she was holding the rhythm steady. Her skin was still flushed from how we’d burned together, and her breath ghosted over my sternum in the quiet, peaceful cadence of hard sleep earned honestly.
The rope had left its imprint, faint but undeniable. I traced the marks in the dark, watching the soft echoes of knots that had spoken louder than words. One line curved along her thigh like a question. Another circled her waist, unintentional but perfect. She wore them like scripture, written for my eyes alone.
I should’ve been asleep. But when something this rare ends up in your arms, this wild, this temporary, sleep feels wasteful. So I stayed still, and memorized her. Every breath. Every detail. Every ounce of peace she didn’t know she gave me.
Of course, the universe couldn’t help itself.
There was a thud. Then stillness. Then a moan. Long. Loud. Unmistakable.
Stella stirred, nose wrinkling like the sound had ripped straight through her dreams. She blinked at me, groaned, and threw an arm over her eyes with the theatrics of someone personally offended by reality. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
I grinned, voice rough. “Bellamy’s got lungs. Gotta give her that.”
Another rhythmic thump. Then Carrick’s voice, crystal clear, smug, engineered for acoustics, cut through the drywall. “You like that, don’t you, darlin’?”
I didn’t bother hiding my laughter. I stretched beneath Stella, letting the exaggerated sigh of contentment speak for itself. “They’re gonna break the damn studs,” I muttered.
“I hope they get a splinter somewhere painful,” she snapped, dragging herself upright like a cat rudely yanked from a nap. She grabbed yesterday’s shirt off the floor, pulled it on, and skipped the rest. Which meant I was now trailing a panty-less woman with world-ending legs down the hall, while Carrick and Bellamy tested the limits of architecture. And based on the sounds bouncing through the house, Carrick wasn’t just fucking her. He was leading a full-scale assault.
The bedsprings creaked with metronomic precision, interrupted only by Bellamy’s whimpers, low and guttural, the kind of sound that could destabilize international alliances if broadcast. Then Carrick again, his voice deep and annoyingly devastating. “Take it, baby. Don’t hold back now.”
A sharp crack snapped through the air. Bellamy sobbed his name like it was gospel. Stella groaned beside me, as if unsure whether to kill them or take notes. And Carrick, relentless as ever, kept going. “That’s it. Knew you’d be greedy for it. Let ‘em hear how good you take it.”
“Oh my God,” Stella muttered, burying her face in her hands as if sheer willpower might stop the sound from existing.
I chuckled, low and appreciative. “Honestly? Impressive stamina. Must’ve hydrated.”
Then Bellamy gasped, deep, wrecked, and obscene enough that I seriously considered repenting for something, even if I wasn’t sure what.
Stella cupped her hands and shouted down the hall, “You two done giving us a live-action porno?”
The action on the other side of the wall paused just long enough for the two of them to laugh loudly, then resumed with renewed vigor. I shook my head and led her down to her room to grab a change of clothes, then stayed close as she showered and dressed. At some point, the cacophony ended, and the house fell blessedly quiet.
When we finally headed down the stairs, Carrick was already at the bottom, shirtless and smug, sipping from a chipped mug like he hadn’t just rearranged Bellamy’s entire internal architecture. He didn’t even blink.
Jax called down to him. “Are you proud of yourself, brother? You must have woken up every person in this damn house, not to mention the neighbors.”
“Payback,” he said, calm as sunrise, lifting his mug like a toast. It read: I’M NOT A MORNING PERSON, DON’T TEST ME. “Ask your boy here what Niko and Maddy did to me when I got back.”
Before I could answer, Bellamy breezed in behind Carrick, draped in his flannel and nothing else, glowing like she’d swallowed a lightbulb and dared the world to dim her.
“At least we didn’t break out the glitter this time,” she said sweetly.
Stella froze mid-step. “Glitter?”
“Biodegradable. Non-toxic. Allegedly safe for internal use,” Bellamy chirped. “Allegedly.”
Carrick looked like a man who’d accepted his fate but regretted the fine print. “Do not, under any circumstances, let Maddy near the arts and crafts after dark.”
