8. Mira #2
The SUVs have to go around again. We've gained thirty seconds.
"You're bleeding pretty bad."
"It's just surface cuts."
"Your face is covered in—"
"I'm fine until you're safe."
The words hit harder than they should. This is what protection feels like.
My hands are steady as I reach over, wiping blood running towards his eyes so he can see. He doesn't pull away.
"Left here," I say, spotting a route. "The underpass."
He takes it without question. Perfect synchronization. No hesitation.
We shoot through the underpass doing ninety. One SUV appears in the mirrors, gaining.
"Where's the other—"
It comes from the side street, T-boning us at the intersection. The world goes sideways. We're spinning, metal crunching, glass shattering.
Jax's arm shoots across my chest, as if he will hold me in place as we slam into a parked car and finally stop.
My ears ring. Taste copper. But we're alive.
"Move!"
He's already dragging me out his side, pulling me behind the wreckage as bullets punch through metal where we were.
Blood runs down his face now from new cuts. But his eyes are clear, focused.
Still protecting me. Still fighting.
"Last mag," he says, checking his Glock. "Ideas?"
I spot it—a storm drain, grate partially open.
"There."
We run. Bullets spark off concrete around us. Jax turns, fires his last rounds to cover our movement.
We drop into darkness just as sirens wail in the distance.
The storm drain exit is near Runyon Canyon. We're both soaked in runoff water and blood—his, theirs, maybe some of mine. I can't tell anymore.
"This way." His hand finds mine in the darkness, pulling me up the embankment.
A Honda Civic sits lonely in the trailhead parking lot. Jax doesn't hesitate, elbow through the driver's window, glass shattering. Thirty seconds later, the engine turns over.
"You're full of surprises," I say, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Roman taught me that one." His voice cracks on the name. "Guess he taught me a lot of things that might have been lies."
Roman. The one who might not be dead.
We drive in silence up Mulholland, city lights sprawling below like scattered diamonds. He pulls into an overlook, kills the engine. The silence is almost deafening after all that violence.
"Let me see you." He turns to me, hands reaching for my face. Blood—his and others'—has dried dark on his fingers. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked." His thumbs trace my cheekbones, checking for damage. "Did they touch you? Any of them?"
The possessive edge in his voice makes heat pool between my thighs. He killed three men who tried to hurt me.
"No."
His hands move down my neck, across my shoulders, down my arms. Clinical. Thorough. Except his breathing gets rougher with each inch of skin he checks.
"Jax."
"I need to know you're okay." His hands shake now, adrenaline finally catching up. "I need—"
I grab his wrists, stilling him. "I'm okay."
We're close now, close enough that I can see tears mixing with blood on his face.
"You killed them." My voice comes out breathless.
"They were going to hurt you."
"You didn't hesitate."
"Never will. Not when it comes to you." His thumb breaks free from my grip, traces my bottom lip. "I don't even know you, and I'd burn down the whole fucking world to keep you safe."
This is it. Take him. Use him. Make him yours.
I lean forward, closing the distance. His breath catches. My lips are an inch from his when I smell it—blood, gunpowder, death. He's covered in evidence of what he'll do for me. What he'll become for me.
A killer. Just like you made yourself into.
Ice floods my veins. I'm turning him into me. Into something that kills without hesitation, that chooses violence first.
He deserves better than what you'll make him.
I pull back, my whole body screaming in protest. His eyes fly open, confused.
"Mira?"
"I need to go." I reach for the door handle.
"What? No, wait—" He grabs my wrist, not hard, just desperate. "Did I do something wrong?"
You did everything right. That's the problem.
"I just... I need to go before I—" The words stick in my throat.
"Before you what?"
I look at him—covered in blood he spilled for me, eyes still red from crying over someone who betrayed him, hands gentle despite having just killed three men.
"Before I beg you to fuck me while you're still covered in their blood."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest and completely insane.
His pupils blow wide. "Fuck, Mira."
"I know. I'm fucked up."
"We both are." His thumb strokes over my pulse point. "Maybe that's why this works."
"This doesn't work. This is disaster waiting to happen."
"I don't care."
"You should." I pull my wrist free, even though it feels like tearing off my own skin. "You should run from me. Fast and far."
"Not happening."
I laugh, bitter and broken. "You don't know what I am."
"I know enough."
"No. You really don't."
I'm out of the car before he can stop me, walking fast toward the road. I'll call a rideshare, get back to the condo, pack up and disappear. It's what I should have done the moment I felt something real.
My phone buzzes. I don't look until I'm in the Uber, heading away from him.
Jax: You okay?
Me: No.
Jax: Tomorrow. 8 PM. I'll text you where.