Chapter 19
NINETEEN
JAX
We’re lying in her bed, her head resting against my chest, her fingers lazily tracing patterns across my stomach. It’s quiet, the kind of silence that feels comfortable.
But there’s something I need to say. “Do you really want to know things?” I ask, my voice low, breaking the stillness.
She looks up at me, her chin resting on the top of her hand, eyes searching mine. Then she nods. “Yeah.”
I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand down my face. “Then there’s something I think you should know.”
Her brows pull together. “What is it?”
I hesitate, hating the way this is going to hit her. But she needs to know. I don’t want this to come between us later on down the road.
“I caught Mike creeping around your house,” I tell her, watching her face closely. “Looking in your windows.”
Her whole body stiffens. “When?”
“The night of your girls’ night,” I say, my voice tight.
Her lips part slightly, realization setting in. “ Girls’ night? ”
I nod. “Yeah. And that’s not all, Bella. He had a bag with him.”
I feel her breath hitch, her fingers stopping their slow movements on my stomach. “A bag?” she echoes, like she doesn’t want to know the answer but has to ask anyway.
I clench my jaw. “Full of shit—duct tape, zip ties. A fucking knife .”
She pulls away from my chest, sitting up, fear flashing across her face.
My gut twists. I hate seeing that look on her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely there. “I should have told you.”
I sit up too, leaning against the headboard, my eyes locked on hers. “Told me what ?”
She swallows hard. “He’s been calling. Texting. I just kept ignoring him, hoping he’d get the hint and stop. But now?” She shakes her head, her arms wrapping around herself. “Now I feel stupid .”
I grip her chin, tilting her face up so she has no choice but to look at me. “Don’t,” I say firmly. “This isn’t on you. It’s on him .”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “But if I had just said something—”
“Bella,” I cut her off, my voice rough. “I handled it. You never have to worry about him again.”
Her breath catches, and I can feel the question hanging between us. She wants to ask, how ? And where ? But she doesn’t. Instead, she lets out a slow exhale, nodding once. Then she presses her forehead to my chest, her fingers gripping onto me like she’s grounding herself.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, letting her know without words that she’s safe . That she’ll always be safe. As long as I’m breathing, no one is ever going to touch her again.
Bella’s bed is smaller than mine, the sheets softer, carrying the scent of her—vanilla and something sweet, something her . It lingers in the air, woven into the fabric, clinging to my skin like she’s marked me without even trying. And I fucking love it.
Bella’s curled up against me, one bare leg thrown over mine, her arm draped across my stomach like she’s trying to keep me from moving. Her face is pressed against my chest, her warm breath steady and slow. Peaceful.
I need this, every damn morning for the rest of my life. I need to figure out a way to get her moved into my place ASAP. This back-and-forth shit ain’t doing it for me. I press a kiss to the top of her head, letting my lips linger in her messy hair. “I gotta go, baby,” I murmur. “Gotta let Oreo out and feed her. Then I’ve got church.”
A soft groan vibrates against my chest, and she tightens her grip around me. “No,” she mumbles, nuzzling closer.
I laugh, rubbing my hand slowly down her back. “No?”
She shakes her head against me. “Stay,” I smirk, shifting slightly, but she just clings harder. “Five more minutes,” she whispers.
I shake my head with a smirk on my face. “Oh no, we can’t play this game. I give you five now, and you’re going to ask for five more.”
She tilts her head up, her brown eyes still heavy with sleep but she smiles innocently. “Maybe if you didn’t make the bed so damn comfortable, I wouldn’t care if you left.”
I grin, brushing my fingers along her spine. “Pretty sure it’s you making it hard to leave.”
Bella bites her lip, studying me for a second before shifting up to press a lazy, warm kiss to my jaw. “Then don’t leave,” she murmurs against my skin.
Fuck me. I cup her jaw, tilting her face up and kissing her slow, deep, letting myself get lost in her for a few seconds. She melts into me, her fingers digging into my side like she doesn’t want to let go. And for a second, I really consider blowing off the club and spending the whole damn day right here.
But duty calls.
I pull back with a sigh, resting my forehead against hers. “What do you got going on today?”
She shrugs, her fingers lazily tracing over my chest. “It’s Sunday, so probably a whole lot of nothing. Might read, might watch something. Probably a whole lot of nothing.”
I smirk. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“Yeah, well, it was going to include sleeping in,” she mutters, shooting me a glare.
I laugh, pushing myself up and grabbing my jeans off the floor. “That’s on you, babe. You’re the one who wouldn’t let me go.”
She huffs, rolling onto her back and watching me get dressed. “Don’t act like you hated it.”
I grin, buckling my belt. “Never said I did.”
As I reach for my cut, I glance back at her—messy hair, tangled sheets, that lazy smirk still playing on her lips.
“Lock the door behind me,” I tell her. “And make sure you pick up when I call.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”
I smirk. “Careful, baby. Don’t tempt me.”
She grabs the nearest pillow and chucks it at me. I dodge it easily, laughing as I sling my cut over my shoulders.
One last look at her, and I already know—I’m coming right back here the second I’m done.
I roll up to the clubhouse, and right away, I know something’s off.
All my brothers are outside, standing around in tight clusters, talking low, faces hard. This ain’t just hanging out—this is bad .
The second I kill my engine, I’m off my bike, striding toward them. No one has to say shit. I can feel it in the air.
Then I see it.
"Pussy Whipped." "Traitors." Other bullshit sprayed across our clubhouse walls in thick, ugly letters.
Windows smashed. Glass and beer bottles littering the ground. I push through the guys and step inside Perdition, my boots crunching over broken glass. The place is wrecked . Stools flipped, liquor spilled everywhere, the bar top covered in shards from busted bottles.
This ain’t just vandalism. This was a message.
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I turn back to the group. Blade’s standing with his arms crossed, looking ready to rip someone’s throat out. Piston’s pacing like a caged animal and Tank just stares at the mess, his whole body wound tight. Rev kicks at a broken bottle, shaking his head.
Then I hear it—the low rumble of bikes pulling in.
Mason and Dagger roll up, engines cutting off at the same time.
The second Mason steps off his bike, the whole yard goes dead quiet. Every brother stills, eyes on him.
He doesn’t say a word at first. Just walks up slowly, taking in the damage. The busted-out windows, the spray paint, the wreckage inside. His hands flex at his sides, but his face stays cold, unreadable.
Dagger stands beside him, arms loose but his stance sharp. His eyes flick over the words on the wall, then to Mason.
Mason exhales hard through his nose, like he’s keeping himself from tearing something apart. Then he turns to us, voice like gravel.
"Who the fuck did this?"
No one says it, but we don’t have to. Mason knows. We all fucking know. The ones who walked away. Butch and his little band of bitter old bastards who couldn't handle the club moving forward. The ones who thought they could do better, who thought they could run the real Iron Reapers, like this club ain't been evolving since day one.
I grind my teeth, fists clenching at my sides.
Piston lets out a low laugh, dark and humorless. “Well, guess we don’t gotta wonder how they feel about us anymore.”
Rev shakes his head, still glaring at the graffiti. “Motherfuckers got some balls, I’ll give ‘em that.”
Blade steps forward, arms crossed. “So what’s the play, Prez?” His voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge to it. He’s ready to ride, ready to crack skulls. We all are.
Mason looks around at all of us, at the rage brewing just under the surface. His gaze drags back over the clubhouse, over our home, marked up like we’re some fucking joke. Then he lets out a slow breath and rubs his beard.
“They think we’re weak.” His voice is steady, but it carries enough weight to silence everyone.
“They think ‘cause we’re taking the club in a new direction, we ain’t got the stomach to do what needs to be done.” His eyes flick to each of us, sharp, assessing. “They think they can fuck with us and walk away.” A beat of silence. Then Mason turns, faces the damage straight on, and spits on the ground. “They’re dead fucking wrong.”
A murmur of agreement rolls through the group. Low, dangerous. The kind of sound that means shit’s about to go down.
Dagger, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally speaks up. “You want us to hunt ‘em down?”
Mason exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders like he’s settling something deep inside himself. “Not yet. First, we clean this shit up. Get Perdition back in order and make sure the clubhouse is secured. We don’t move recklessly.” His gaze sweeps over us again. “But don’t get it twisted— we will move .”
Tank cracks his knuckles. “So we just sit on our hands ‘til then?”
Mason smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. “Nah. We let ‘em think they got one over on us. Let ‘em get comfortable.” He shifts, turning back to the group fully. “And when the time’s right?” He pauses, eyes dark and full of promise. “We remind ‘em who the fuck we are.”
A heavy silence hangs between us for a second. Then Piston lets out a sharp exhale, nodding. “Fine by me. Just make sure we don’t wait too long. I got some rage to work out.”
Rev smirks. “Ain’t that every day for you?”
Piston flips him off, but the tension in the air doesn’t break. It’s thick, electric. The kind that only comes before a storm.
Mason glances at me. “Jax, get a list of what’s broken and what we need to get it fixed.”
I nod, already running numbers in my head. “On it.”
Mason turns to Blade and Rev. “Round up a few prospects and get started on the cleanup.”
Blade rolls his shoulders. “Can’t say I’m thrilled about playing janitor, but whatever gets us to the fun part faster.”
Dagger speaks up again, his voice steady. “We all know where this is going. No way Butch and his crew stop at this.” He gestures at the walls, the windows, the wreckage inside. “They’re going to keep pushing.”
Mason’s jaw tightens. “Let ‘em.” His voice drops lower, more dangerous. “We’ll push back harder.” A ripple of approval rolls through the group. Yeah. They fucked up.
The clubhouse is still a wreck, but nobody’s bitching about it. We all know this isn’t over. Butch and his crew made their move, and now we’re waiting on Mason to decide how we’re going to hit back.
I’m stacking chairs inside Perdition when Piston strolls up, smirking like he’s got something to say. Which means he definitely does.
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You know, maybe Switch here should be the one to teach Butch’s crew a real lesson.”
That gets Dagger’s attention. He straightens up from where he’s leaning against the bar, his sharp eyes cutting to Piston. “Switch?”
Piston just grins. “Yeah, that’s what we’re calling him now.”
Tank snorts. “Did he ever really have a road name? We all just kept calling him Jax.”
Rev laughs, sipping his beer. “Yeah, guess he just slid by without one.”
Blade shakes his head. “Well, that shit’s done now.”
Dagger crosses his arms. “So, what? You just decided this?”
Piston shrugs. “Nah, man. Road names choose you . And trust me—this one fits .”
Dagger raises a brow. “Yeah? And why’s that?”
Piston’s grin fades just a little, and he glances around the room before lowering his voice. “Because I saw what he did to Mike.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Mason, who just walked in, pauses in the doorway. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Piston smirks, but his tone is serious. “Ask Switch .”
All eyes turn to me.
I exhale through my nose, crossing my arms. “Mike was creeping around Bella’s house the other night.”
Dagger frowns. “That the same piece of shit from the carnival?”
“The very same,” I confirm, jaw tightening. “I caught him outside her place, looking through her windows. Motherfucker had a kit —duct tape, zip ties, a knife. He was going to do something to her.”
The room goes deathly quiet.
Mason steps forward, his face unreadable. “What happened?”
I glance at Piston and Tank. “We took care of it.”
Mason’s gaze sharpens. “And by took care of it …?”
Piston laughs darkly. “Let’s just say… he won’t be creeping around anyone else’s windows ever again.”
Dagger smirks, but Mason doesn’t. He lifts his chin. “Follow me.”
No one argues.
We file into Mason’s office, and he shuts the door behind us. He doesn’t sit—just leans against his desk, arms crossed.
“Were you careful?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.
Tank nods. “Yeah. No mess left behind.”
Mason studies me. “And Mike?”
I meet his gaze. “He ain’t coming back.”
Mason holds my stare for a long moment, then nods. “Good.” He pushes off his desk, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Butch’s crew is going to get what’s coming to them. But if we’ve got motherfuckers thinking they can come after our women now, that’s a whole other problem.”
Piston nods. “You’re thinking retaliation?”
Mason’s jaw tightens. “I’m thinking we send a goddamn message .”
Dagger cracks his knuckles. “Good. I’m getting real tired of this bullshit.”
Mason looks at me. “You in?”
I don’t hesitate. “Always.”
Mason smirks. “That’s what I like to hear, Switch .” And just like that, it’s official.