Chapter 4
Koby
Soon isn’t soon enough.
It’s well past ten at night when the text finally comes through. My phone buzzes, and that single vibration jolts me out of my wait-induced stupor.
My lungs empty in a long exhale, relief, dread, and anticipation tangled together. I jump up and get as far as grabbing the door handle before I falter.
Despite my every muscle screaming for motion, begging me to put a bullet through Jax’s skull, grab Leilani, and run, this isn’t the time for rash decisions.
I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door, breathing hard to contain the recklessness. I need to consider the consequences of killing him at the heart of a busy casino floor.
Risky... too public.
I want to be around once Leilani’s free, not rotting behind bars.
Besides, he can’t die yet, period.
He’s negotiating with Carter on Noretto’s behalf.
She needs to be alone when I take her... and that means I need surveillance.
I head into my office, fetching Ryder’s emergency duffel bag of equipment. He has one at Carter’s, and another at Broadway’s, just in case.
An hour later, I’m parked across from Hotel Vega, the neon sign flashing against the windshield. Rain streaks the glass, distorting the letters, the weather as grim as I am.
The tiny black camera I planted feeds grainy footage straight to my phone. Just a pinprick on the wall, invisible unless you know exactly where to look. The door of 514, the number engraved into its shiny brass plaque, fills the screen, but I keep checking the angle in case I miss something.
I shift in my seat for the hundredth time, rubbing a damp palm down my jeans as if that will ease the feeling of impending doom. Every creak of the leather seat, every barely audible tick of my wristwatch, every drop of rainwater sliding down the windshield drives me fucking insane.
I don’t even know what I’m hoping to see. Whether it’s better if I’m right or wrong. Both options have their merits. If Jax is hurting her, I can act: extract her from a bad situation and keep her away from the fucker. That option, however, means she’s hurt.
And that thought makes me nauseous.
On the other hand, if my gut feeling is wrong, if I’ve misread her behavior and she’s perfectly fine, there’s nothing here for me.
And that thought makes me nauseous.
My chest is tight, my leg bounces, restless energy with no outlet sings through my blood. I’m an animal locked in a cage, pacing, circling, waiting for the lock to snap.
My head hits the headrest, a half-amused, half-pained groan vibrating my chest. I’ve only seen her twice.
How is she in my bloodstream like this?
How is she all I can focus on day in and day out?
If Carter, Broadway, or Ryder knew where I am they’d kick my ass, I’m sure. I should be at home. I should be dealing with shit while Carter and Ryder tend to their girls. I should be out there with Broadway, keeping busy instead of this.
But there’s nothing I can do about the gnawing unrest. Leilani looked scared in Scarlett. She flinched when Jax got close.
I can’t ignore that.
Thanks to Blaze, we’ve seen too many girls held against their will. Too many girls being used. Violet’s a prime example. Just the thought of Leilani going through what Violet did pushes a nine-inch, rusty blade through my sternum.
I don’t know what it is about that girl or where my protective instincts come from, but I’m trusting them.
Broadway did and it paid off.
So I remain in full Ryder-mode, staring at the screen of my phone. He’s much better at stakeouts than I am, proven hours later when movement flashes across the grainy feed.
I’ve been so focused on the screen I missed Jax pulling up right outside my fucking windshield.
He appears in the fifth-floor corridor, dragging Leilani behind him like luggage. He’s holding her by her dainty wrist, and even though the picture quality is shit, the black-and-white static blurring their outlines, my brain fills in the blanks.
His grip is too tight.
I can practically feel the strain in her delicate bones from here but.
.. she doesn’t fight him. Doesn’t look as scared or timid as she did in Scarlett.
She holds herself with poise. Chin high, shoulders squared back.
Her hair falls forward, a dark curtain obscuring her face. It kills me that I can’t see her eyes.
Still, something is off. There’s tension in Jax’s posture. He rushes, fumbling with the key card, saying something I can’t hear. He shoves the door open, drags her inside, and the screen goes still again.
I crack my neck, and sit back, replaying every frame while taming the monster in my head.
Jax is bound to leave her alone at some point.
***
The morning sunshine pouring into my car through every window has been pissing me off for hours. To be perfectly honest, everything’s been pissing me off all night long.
The music playing on the radio, the street sounds, the fact I’m being smart, patient, and mature instead of barging into room 514 to fling Leilani over my shoulder like a caveman.
It’s almost half past ten already. So far, Jax hasn’t left her alone for one goddamn minute. They emerged half an hour ago, presumably heading for breakfast, and my knee’s been bouncing ever since.
Which, I guess, is an improvement from almost tearing my hair out at two o’clock in the morning, imagining what they were doing behind closed doors.
Another fifteen minutes pass before they return. The fucker has his fingers wrapped around Leilani’s upper arm as if he’s afraid she’ll bolt if he doesn’t hold on.
The camera feed flickers but I see enough.
He drags her forward, and she stumbles, catching herself quickly, free hand clenched into a small fist at her side like she’s holding back the urge to swing.
My eyes zero in and—fuck.
A dark bracelet-like shadow coils around her wrist.
I hold the phone closer, squinting and adjusting the brightness as if it might sharpen the image. The feed glitches. The shadow pixelates, fades, then returns.
My chest caves inward.
It’s a bruise.
Fucking move! detonates in my skull and I’m out of the car so fast I damn near trip over my feet.
To hell with waiting. I can take him.
He’s almost a head shorter than me, half as broad. Months spent recovering from his near-death experience will have stripped his muscles and possibly strength. The adrenaline, the rage boiling inside means I could break him in half without breaking a sweat.
I promised myself I’d wait until he left, but that ship sailed, got torpedoed, exploded, and sank to the bottom of the ocean.
Jax isn’t getting another second with Leilani. Not one more chance to hurt her.
My chest heaves, vision tunnels, and everything inside me winds itself up tight, bracing for impact.
I enter the hotel lobby, heading straight for the elevator and ignoring the staff side-eyeing me as I wait for the ding. It would be wise to slow down, think, plan at least a little instead of jumping into action guided only by my questionable instincts.
“Fuck!” I spit once the elevator doors seal shut.
Classical music drifts from a speaker overhead, the glowing numbers creeping higher one by one.
I should’ve taken the stairs. At least then I’d be moving.
Instead, I’m boxed in, my reflection staring back from the polished steel doors.
I barely recognize myself. Jaw tight, breath pushing fast through flared nostrils.
If you look closely, you’ll see my plans for Jax’s torture session playing behind my eyes.
My hands flex at my sides, aching for violence, so I inhale deeply, switching off my imagination.
I can’t kill him. Carter would kill me. While he hasn’t agreed to work with Blaze against Octavius just yet, as soon as we heard the offer, I knew it was only a matter of time.
Carter only needs this one stone to kill two prime birds: Octavius Grey and Noretto’s business.
There are too many threats out there for us not to take this chance.
And we’ve only got one connection.
So no, Jax can’t die today. He’s untouchable.
Well, to an extent. I’m sure that after some yelling and swearing, Carter would understand why I broke his hands, jaw, nose...
You haven’t touched him yet.
I’m fast-forwarding.
A glowing number five appears on the screen, the doors slide open and I hear a loud crash.
“This again?” Jax’s baritone filters through, growing louder with every rushed step I take. “Aren’t you fucking tired of fighting?”
Another crash, followed by a dull thud.
“Fuck! Stop fidgeting and calm down!” he snaps, then groans, “Great, just what I need right now.”
My hand curls into a fist, ready to pound against the door or rip it off its fucking hinges. I don’t know which, but before I can try either, Jax wrenches it open. His shirt is wrinkled, untucked, two buttons at the top undone and gone. Torn off. Long, angry lines mark his cheek.
“What is it?” he heaves, red-faced.
I don’t answer, my vision focused over his shoulder on Leilani. She’s pressed against the far wall, breathing heavily, a wine glass clenched like a weapon between her fingers.
There’s madness in her features, but once her gaze meets mine, they collapse into a plea. A silent, broken plea that sends my inhibitions flying out the window.
“Koby,” Jax prompts. “Why are you here? Has Carter made his mind up?”
Behind him, Leilani’s wide brown eyes are still on mine, chin trembling. Her lips part on a shaky exhale. Ever so slowly, she tucks the curtain of hair obscuring her face behind her ear.
My view narrows until all I see is fucking red.
A bruise blooms across her face, from her cheekbone down to her jaw. Her eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed with unshed tears. She’s shaking, clutching the wine glass so hard I’m afraid it’ll shatter and cut her.
“What the fuck are you—” Jax starts and promptly chokes on the end of his question.
My hand shoots out on its own, fingers squeezing his throat, some biblical wrath flooding my system. His eyes go wide, panic sinking in as his face turns pink, red, purple.