Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
JAX
Perdition is packed—the kind of night where the air is thick with cigarette smoke, the music pounds just hard enough to rattle your skull, and the drinks never stop flowing.
Blade, Rev, and I are posted up at the bar, whiskey in hand, shooting the shit like always. Or at least, they are. I’m barely listening, my mind tangled up in club bullshit and the fact that Bella’s been pulling away.
I don’t know why. I don’t know what the fuck changed. But it’s eating at me, and no amount of whiskey is dulling the edge.
Rev eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You good, man?”
I grunt, taking another sip, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Blade smirks, but there’s curiosity behind it. “You’re about as fun as a funeral tonight. What the hell’s up with you?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Rev huffs. “Bullshit. You’ve been in a mood for days. You wanna tell us what’s got your head so fucked, or you just going to sit there brooding like some emo teenager?”
I exhale sharply, setting my glass down harder than necessary. “Just got shit on my mind.”
Blade raises a brow. “By ‘shit,’ you mean a certain brunette who’s got you looking like you swallowed a fucking grenade?”
I glare at him, but he’s not wrong.
Rev leans in slightly, his tone more serious now. “Look, I like Bella. She’s cool as hell. Not a pain in the ass like some chicks we’ve seen come through here.”
Blade nods. “Yeah, she’s a good one. Got a little fire to her, too. I respect that.”
Rev tilts his head, watching me. “So, what’s really bothering you?”
I shake my head, jaw clenching. “She’s pulling away, and I don’t know why.”
Blade lets out a low whistle. “That explains the sour mood.”
Rev studies me for a beat. “You talk to her about it?”
I scoff. “And say what? ‘Hey, babe, why the fuck are you acting different?’”
Blade snorts. “Yeah, probably not the best approach.”
Rev shrugs. “Maybe she’s just got shit on her mind too. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with you.”
I want to believe that. But something in my gut tells me otherwise.
Without a word, I pull some cash from my pocket and drop it on the bar before shoving away from my stool.
“Enjoy your night.” My voice is clipped, my body already moving toward the door.
I step out into the cool night air, my head a fucking mess and my knuckles itching for a fight. I don’t know what the hell’s going on with Bella, don’t know if I should fight for this or let her go.
But for the first time, a thought I don’t want to acknowledge creeps in.
Did I make a mistake letting her in?
I leave Perdition in a fucking mood, my head a mess and my knuckles itching for a fight. Rev and Blade’s words won’t quit playing in my head, and the only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be around anyone.
So, I ride.
I don’t have a destination, don’t care where the road takes me. But after a while, I realize the only thing that will actually make me feel better is seeing her .
Bella should be home by now, back from her girls’ night at Brooke’s. I don’t even think twice before turning toward her place, my bike roaring through the quiet streets.
But the second I pull up, my blood runs cold.
There’s a man in her fucking bushes. Lurking. Peeking through her goddamn windows.
I don’t think—I react. I kill the engine, jump off my bike, and grab the bastard before he even knows I’m there. I spin him around, my fist cocked back, ready to knock his teeth down his throat.
Then I see him. And fuck, I know him. It’s that piece of shit from the carnival. Mike. The asshole Bella went on a date with. The one who got drunk and tried to put his hands on her. The one who almost hit her before I stepped in.
Rage surges through me, white-hot and uncontrollable. I throw the first punch, my knuckles connecting with his jaw in a sickening crack. He stumbles, but I don’t let him fall—I grab his collar, pull him up, and drive my knee into his ribs.
He grunts, doubling over, gasping for air.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl, shoving him back against the siding of Bella’s house.
He coughs, wheezing. “I—”
I don’t let him finish. I slam my fist into his gut, and he folds like a fucking chair.
Then I see it. A bag. Open. Spilled onto the ground. And my stomach drops . A roll of duct tape. Zip ties. A fucking knife .
My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach down, yanking the bag open, going through it like I need proof of what I already know. This wasn’t just some sicko creeping around. This fucker was planning something .
I grip the bag so hard my fingers ache, my chest heaving as realization sets in. He was going to take her. Hurt her. No. He’s not walking away from this.
I pull out my phone and hit the number I need. Piston.
He picks up on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“Get Tank. Bring the van.” My voice is deadly calm. “I got a problem at Bella’s.”
A beat of silence. Then, “On our way.”
I shove my phone back in my pocket and crouch down next to Mike, gripping his hair and yanking his head back so he has no choice but to look at me.
“You just made the biggest mistake of your fucking life.”
The van pulls up ten minutes later, Piston at the wheel and Tank in the passenger seat. They take one look at the situation—at me, at Mike, at the bag—and they don’t ask questions.
Tank cracks his knuckles. “You want him breathing when we get there?”
“Barely,” I growl.
Piston nods, and together, we haul Mike into the back of the van. He tries to struggle, but one hard punch from Tank and he’s out cold.
We take a drive—long enough that no one’s going to hear what comes next.
The warehouse is abandoned, a place we’ve used before when things needed to get handled . It’s cold and damp, the kind of place that makes a man rethink every bad choice he’s ever made.
And right now, it’s the last place Mike’s ever going to see if I have my way.
We drag him inside, dump him onto the concrete floor, and wait for him to come to. It doesn’t take long.
His eyes blink open, groggy at first, then wide with panic as he realizes where the fuck he is.
“Wakey wakey,” Piston drawls, rolling his shoulders. “You and us? We’re going to have a little chat.”
Mike’s breathing picks up. “P-please, man—”
I kick him in the ribs, cutting him off. He chokes on a wheeze, curling onto his side.
Tank crouches beside him, grabbing the bag and dumping its contents right in front of him.
“Tell me,” Tank says, his voice dangerously low. “What the fuck were you planning to do with this?”
Mike’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes darting between us.
I crouch down next to him, my fists clenching. “You were going to take her, weren’t you?” My voice is quiet, deadly. “Duct tape her mouth. Tie her up. Do whatever sick shit you had planned.”
Mike shakes his head frantically. “No, man—I wasn’t—I just wanted to talk to her—”
I don’t let him finish. My fist slams into his face, blood spurting from his nose. He cries out, but I’m not done. I grab the roll of duct tape and slap it onto the floor between us.
“You were just going to talk ?” I growl. “Then why the fuck did you need this ?”
He’s shaking now, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Piston steps forward, cracking his neck. “You got two options, asshole. Option one—you start talking. Right now. Option two?” He glances at Tank. “We make you.”
Mike whimpers. “Please, man, I—”
Tank kicks him in the gut so hard he screams . “Wrong answer,” Tank mutters.
Mike coughs, spitting blood onto the cold concrete floor, his whole body shaking. His face is wrecked—one eye swollen shut, his lip split wide, blood dripping from his nose. He’s breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling in short, panicked bursts.
I crouch down, gripping the collar of his jacket, yanking him up just enough to make sure he’s listening.
“You’ve got one shot,” I growl, voice low and steady. “Tell me what the fuck you were doing at Bella’s house.”
His lips tremble. “I—I just wanted to talk to her—”
I slam him back against the wall so hard his teeth slam together. “ Talk? You were hiding in her bushes, you sick fuck. You had a kit —duct tape, zip ties. That’s not talking . That’s something else.”
“I—I wasn’t going to hurt her!” he gasps. “I swear!”
Tank steps forward, picking up the knife from the bag Mike brought with him. “You sure? Because this says otherwise.”
Piston crouches on the other side of Mike, cracking his knuckles. “You better start telling the truth, or we’ll make sure you wish you had.”
Mike’s whole body trembles, his gaze darting between us, realizing there’s no escape.
“I just… I wanted to talk to her,” he stammers. “She kept ignoring me. Wouldn’t answer my texts and calls. I left her a note and nothing .”
I freeze, my blood turning ice cold. “What?” My voice is dangerously quiet.
Mike licks his busted lip, his face twisted with desperation. “She just kept pretending I didn’t exist. I didn’t mean to scare her—I just thought if I could get her alone, she’d listen . She’d realize we belong together .”
My grip on his jacket tightens, my pulse a steady roar in my ears. “You mean to tell me,” I say, my voice slow, measured, “that you’ve been calling her ? Texting her ? Leaving her fucking notes ?”
He nods quickly. “I just wanted her to answer me!”
The last thread of my restraint snaps . I punch him so hard my knuckles split on his cheekbone. His head slams against the wall, and he slumps forward, groaning in pain.
Tank lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. That’s new information.”
Piston shakes his head, muttering, “Motherfucker’s been stalking her.”
Mike coughs, blood dripping from his mouth. “It wasn’t stalking!”
I grab him by the hair, yanking his head back so he has no choice but to look at me. “You’ve been watching her . Harassing her . You showed up at her house in the middle of the goddamn night with a bag full of shit meant to keep her quiet . And you’re telling me that wasn’t stalking?” Mike whimpers, but I’m past giving a shit.
Tank crouches beside me, picking up the zip ties from the bag and turning them in his hands. “So, let’s say Bella did answer you, huh? And she still told you to fuck off. What then?”
Mike’s breath hitches. “I—I wasn’t going to hurt her…”
Piston stands up, rubbing his jaw. “But?”
Mike swallows hard, eyes flicking to the duct tape still in Tank’s grip. “I was just going to scare her a little,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper. “Make her realize she was wrong about me.”
I close my eyes for half a second, forcing myself to breathe, to think. Then I let go of his collar and stand up.
“He doesn’t leave here in one piece,” I say, my voice calm.
Tank smirks, cracking his knuckles. “Didn’t plan on it.”
Piston stretches his neck, then pulls a knife from his belt. “Let’s make sure he understands what it feels like to be scared.”
Mike starts sobbing, but it’s too fucking late for that. He wanted to terrorize Bella? Now, it’s his turn to be afraid.
It’s been a long fucking night.
When we’re done, there’s nothing left of the man Mike used to be—just a broken, bloody mess on the ground, barely holding on. His screams stopped an hour ago, his pleas before that. Now, he’s just a wheezing, sobbing shell of the piece of shit who thought he could take what wasn’t his.
But we aren’t sloppy.
We clean up the mess. Make sure there’s no loose ends. Tank and Piston work like pros, and I move on autopilot, my body running on adrenaline and exhaustion.
By the time we’re finished, the air is thick with silence, the weight of what we did settling over the warehouse. Tank wipes his hands on a rag, eyeing me.
“Didn’t think you had it in you, man.”
I exhale, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah… I didn’t either.”
Piston leans against the van, smirking. “You sure as hell do now.”
I nod, rubbing a hand down my face. “Look, thanks for coming.”
Tank shrugs. “You’re our brother.”
Piston claps me on the back. “Club business, Switch .”
I pause, frowning. “Switch?”
Piston grins, lighting a cigarette. “Yeah, man. The flip has switched… you’re not just Jax anymore.”
Tank nods. “Ain’t no going back now.”
I let that sit for a second, letting the weight of it settle in my chest. Maybe they’re right. Maybe something has changed. I don’t feel bad about it. I just feel done .
I ride home, the wind cold against my face, but it doesn’t touch the heat still burning in my veins. Mike will never touch her again. Never look at her. Never exist in her world. He’ll never have the chance to hurt her.
When I step into my house, Oreo lifts her head from the couch, wagging her tail sleepily before stretching and hopping down to greet me.
“Hey, girl,” I murmur, rubbing her ears.
The exhaustion hits me all at once, the weight of the night settling in my bones. I strip out of my clothes and take the hottest shower I can stand, scrubbing away the blood, the sweat, the grime of what we did.
When I’m finally clean, I throw on a pair of sweatpants and don’t even make it to my bed.
I crash on the couch, Oreo jumping up beside me, her big head resting on my chest.
As my eyes close, my last thought isn’t about what I just did. It’s about Bella, knowing she’s safe . Knowing she’s mine.