Chapter 2 – Jaxon
The rhythmic thrum of music pulsed through my veins as I walked the perimeter of Club V, my boots striking the polished floors with purpose.
I wasn’t just the head of security here — I was its watchdog, its last line of defence. The weight of that responsibility sat comfortably on my shoulders, like an old friend I didn’t mind carrying.
I moved through the building methodically, my eyes scanning every corner, every cluster of patrons. The main floor was alive, a blur of sequins and sharp suits, with laughter and music weaving through the air.
This place ran like a machine, every piece designed to seduce and distract - but my job was to look past the glitter, to spot the cracks before anyone else did.
The staff gave me quick nods as I passed — acknowledgments, but not interruptions. They knew better than to get in my way. I wasn’t unapproachable, but I wasn’t the kind of guy who invited chitchat either.
“Brooks.”
The voice came from behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I turned to see Sean Weston standing by one of the bars, his posture stiff and his expression tense. His usual cocky ease was missing, replaced by something… off.
“Weston,” I greeted, my tone neutral but probing.
He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Busy night.”
“Same as always,” I replied, studying him closely. Sean didn’t rattle easily, not since our days in the military together. Tonight, there was a tightness in his jaw, a distracted edge to his movements.
I crossed my arms. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he said too quickly, his gaze darting to the floor. “Just keeping things moving.”
I didn’t press further, but a knot of unease tightened in my gut. I’d vouched for Sean, pulled strings to get him this job when he needed a fresh start. We’d been together in the sandbox, side by side through deployments that pushed us past every physical and mental limit.
Back then, Sean was the guy you’d trust to have your six, the kind of soldier who kept his cool even when the world went to shit around him.
Civilian life wasn’t easy for a lot of us, and Sean was no exception. The structure of the military didn’t prepare you for the aimlessness that came after, the way the noise in your head didn’t quiet even when the world around you went silent.
Sean had struggled. He hadn’t said it outright — guys like us rarely did — but it didn’t take much to see if you knew what to look for.
When he’d called me a year ago, his voice tight and strained, asking for help, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled every favour I had to get him in here, pitching him as a guy who’d bring discipline and reliability to Club V’s tight operation.
For the most part, he had.
Sean had thrown himself into the job like it was a lifeline, working his way up from a bouncer to handling the club’s logistics. He’d seemed like he was finding his footing, or at least, I thought he had.
I wanted to ask more, but I knew better. Sean wasn’t the kind of guy you pushed unless he was ready to talk. Still, the unease didn’t leave me as he muttered something about needing to check on the lounge and walked away.
The VIP lounge came into view, its sleek glass wall a reminder of the exclusivity that made Club V what it was. The high rollers inside paid for privacy, and it was my job to ensure they got it.
That’s when I saw her.
A woman lingered near the restricted area, her dark hair catching the light and glinting with subtle copper undertones as she turned her head slightly, scanning her surroundings.
She was tall, with a lean, graceful build that hinted at confidence without being overt. Her black dress hugged her figure in all the right places, elegant but understated, the kind of thing that suggested she wanted to blend in but wasn’t afraid to stand out if needed.
Her heels were sky-high, accentuating long legs that seemed to glide with every step, but it was the way she carried herself that drew my attention. She moved with the kind of precision that made you notice — even if you couldn’t figure out why.
Her eyes, a dark hazel that seemed too observant, flicked across the room, cataloguing everything they landed on.
She had the kind of beauty that wasn’t just in her features — the high cheekbones, the soft curve of her jaw, the faintest hint of freckles that softened her sharpness — but in the way she seemed entirely aware of the effect she had without being overt about it.
But it was the tension in her movements that really set her apart. Her steps were like someone on a mission trying not to be noticed — and failing, at least where I was concerned.
She was trying too hard to look like she belonged, and that made her stand out to me all the more.
She looked good. Too good, if I was being honest. She had the kind of beauty that turned heads, but it wasn’t just the dress or the heels that caught my attention. She knew how to scrub up well but I could tell that she didn’t bother doing it often. There was a freshness about her, something untouched by this place’s over-polished perfection, and I found that both quirky and irritating.
What is she trying to prove, walking around like she owned the damn place?
I stepped closer, my gaze sharpening as I took her in. The delicate line of her shoulders, the confident tilt of her chin, the way her hair framed her face and fell to her ribs sinfully — it all added up to someone who knew how to play the part. But there was a vulnerability tucked in the edges, something she probably thought no one else could see.
Then I noticed it.
A thin gold chain circled her throat, delicate and just barely catching the light. My jaw tightened, a reaction I didn’t want to analyse too closely. The thought flashed, unbidden and unwanted:
What if it wasn’t jewellery she wore there? What if it was something else entirely?
Something that felt more personal.
Like my hands.
The idea hit me hard and fast, a mix of intrigue and frustration knotting in my chest.
Who the fuck was she, and what was she doing here? The way she moved didn’t scream “trust fund princess” or “bored socialite.” No, she was working an angle — one I didn’t know yet but would damn well find out.
I stepped in front of her, cutting off her path near the VIP entrance. My voice came out low, clipped. “You look lost.”
She turned toward me, her expression calm but her eyes sparking with something sharp and playful. “Do I? Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
I didn’t bother with a smile. “Faces don’t get you into the VIP lounge. Credentials do. You don’t strike me as the VIP type.”
Her lips quirked into a small smile, the kind that could either be a challenge or an invitation. “Oh? And what exactly is the VIP type?”
I crossed my arms, holding her gaze steady. “Someone who doesn’t look like they’re sneaking around.”
She laughed softly, a sound that somehow managed to annoy and intrigue me all at once. “I’m not sneaking. I’m exploring. There’s a difference.”
“Not here, there isn’t,” I said flatly, my tone hard enough to cut through her charm. “ID. Now.”
Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she reached into her clutch and pulled out a slim card, handing it over with an infuriating calmness. “Here you go, officer.”
I ignored the jab and took the card, glancing down at the name: Madeline Hart . 25 years old, if her ID was valid and to be believed. New York address. Polished enough, but it didn’t tell me anything useful beyond confirming she wasn’t local.
She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening with playful curiosity. “What’s the verdict? Do I pass inspection? Am I as innocent as I look?”
“You’re a problem,” I muttered, stepping closer. As I did, a subtle scent hit me, one that I hadn’t noticed before. Her perfume was soft but striking — something floral with a hint of spice, the kind of fragrance that didn’t shout for attention but lingered just enough to make you notice.
It threw me off, not because it was too strong but because it was too fitting. She smelled… balanced. Like someone who knew exactly what impression they wanted to leave. And dammit if it didn’t work.
“You’re awfully close,” she said, her voice light, teasing. “Should I be worried?”
“Not yet,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay even. “But keep testing me, and we’ll see.”
She tucked the card back into her clutch with a smoothness that made me wonder just how often she played games like this.
Her smile widened, clearly enjoying this. “You sure you’re not a little too serious for a place like this? I mean, you’re practically scowling . Don’t they teach you to smile in whatever security training camp you went to?”
I stepped back, needing to put some distance between us — not because I was intimidated, but because she was starting to get under my skin in a way I didn’t like. “I don’t smile at problems, Scout,” I said coolly, crossing my arms. “I deal with them.”
She tilted her head, that maddening smirk still playing on her lips. “I’m not a problem. I’m just curious.”
“Curiosity gets people in trouble,” I said, my tone clipped. “I’m not in the mood to bail you out.”
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, and for the first time, I thought I saw something shift in her expression, like she wasn’t just playing anymore. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same infuriating confidence.
“ Scout’s honour ,” she said, raising two fingers in a mock salute. “I’ll be good.”
“Sure you will,” I muttered, watching her as she turned and walked away. That damn perfume of hers still lingered in the air, and I hated how easily it clung to my thoughts.
She might’ve promised to behave, but I didn’t buy it for a second.
No, she was going to be trouble — I’d bet everything on it.
I watched her retreat, her movements slow as if she wanted me to notice every step.
Most people I dealt with folded like paper when confronted, but she had the nerve to smirk as she walked away. It was like she was daring me to stare at her and she strutted off.
Back in the security office, I slid into my chair, the memory of her smirk still lingering in my mind like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Her name was already running through my head as I pulled up the security feed.
Madeline Hart.
The ID had checked out — at least on the surface — but something about her didn’t sit right.
She wasn’t just another patron looking for a good time.
She appeared on the screen a moment later, back on the main floor.
From a distance, she looked like everyone else — elegantly dressed, champagne glass in hand, her posture relaxed and natural. If I hadn’t stopped her near the VIP lounge, I would’ve written her off as just another polished socialite trying to rub elbows with the elite.
Now I couldn’t stop watching.
She wasn’t just blending in. She was studying the room, her eyes sweeping over every corner like she was cataloguing details. The way she moved wasn’t aimless or distracted; it was purposeful.
I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the desk as I tracked her movements across the monitors. She smiled at the right moments, laughed softly at whatever was said in passing, but her eyes told a different story. There was focus in them, a sharpness that didn’t belong in a place like this.
Who the fuck are you, Madeline?
Why do I feel like you’re hiding something?
As I watched her, a knot of suspicion twisted in my chest, but it wasn’t the only thing. There was something else, something I hated to admit. Curiosity.
She was a challenge— of that I was sure — but challenges didn’t usually come wrapped up in perfume and a smirk that managed to be infuriating and intriguing all at once.
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. Trust didn’t come easy to me, and she wasn’t about to change that.
But damn if I didn’t want to figure her out.