Chapter 15 – Madeline
It was strange how quickly the unfamiliar could become routine. A few weeks ago, the idea of living in Jaxon’s apartment had seemed like a terrible idea — a collision waiting to happen. Now, around 4 weeks into our new arrangement, it was... fine. Pleasant, even, in a distant, noncommittal kind of way.
Our mornings started the same: Jaxon brewing coffee in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone while I curled up on the couch with my laptop.
We’d exchange the occasional word — mostly polite inquiries or sarcastic remarks — but nothing that felt like real conversation. It worked, though. The space between us was comfortable enough, and I wasn’t about to complain.
The late night hours after the club had closed were different. The apartment felt heavier then, quieter in a way that made my thoughts louder, harder to ignore. I’d find myself lying in bed, replaying little moments from the day — how his voice dropped when he was frustrated, the way his muscles flexed when he folded his arms, or that rare, fleeting smirk that always seemed to sneak up on me.
It was ridiculous, really. He wasn’t even trying, but there I was, hyperaware of every detail about him. And when those thoughts got too loud, I’d reach for the only outlet I had. My vibrator, tucked away in a hidden spot I’d chosen carefully after realizing just how often I needed it lately, had become my escape.
Every brush of his hand when he passed me, every accidental meeting of our eyes, only made it worse.
I could still feel the tension simmering beneath our polite distance, unspoken but undeniably there. And in the quiet, with nothing else to distract me, it always found its way into my head — and my body.
The memory of last night wouldn’t leave me alone, no matter how hard I tried to shake it.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, but the words on the screen blurred as my thoughts wandered back to the muffled sounds that had woken me.
The first night it happened, I’d been so shocked that I’d fled to the hall, unsure of what to do, unsure if he’d even want me there. But the sounds hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d grown worse, his torment bleeding into the stillness of the night until I couldn’t take it anymore.
For weeks, I’d been awakened to the same thing. The sounds of distress, the occasional low, pained groan that slipped through the walls. And every time, I’d stayed frozen in my bed.
But last night... something in me had changed. It was like a switch had flipped, and I’d found a spark of bravery I didn’t even know I had.
When the noises started again, louder and more desperate than before, I couldn’t just sit there. The fear of intruding or overstepping was drowned out by something stronger — a need to help.
So, I’d gotten up, my heart pounding as I padded down the hallway, the faint sounds of his anguish pulling me forward like a magnet. When I finally pushed open his door, my heart had been in my throat.
And there he was.
“Jaxon,” I whispered, stepping closer, my voice soft but steady despite the storm brewing in my chest.
He didn’t respond at first, his body rigid, hands clutching the sheets like they were his only tether. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and I could see the sheen of sweat on his brow, his face twisted in a torment that made my chest ache.
I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his arm. The contact seemed to break through whatever nightmare had him in its grip. His body jolted, his eyes flying open — wild, unfocused, like he was still somewhere else entirely.
“Jax,” I said again, firmer this time, my hand shifting to his shoulder.
His gaze locked onto mine, confusion giving way to recognition. “Madeline?” he rasped, his voice rough, like he’d been screaming in his sleep.
I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. It’s me.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He just stared at me, his chest rising and falling as he fought to steady his breathing.
Then, slowly, he sat up, dragging a hand over his face as if trying to erase the remnants of the nightmare.
His shoulders slumped, the tension easing but leaving behind an exhaustion that seemed to settle into his very bones.
“You okay?” I asked gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on his hands. “Yeah,” he said finally, but the word felt hollow, like he didn’t even believe it himself.
I didn’t push. Instead, I shifted closer, my hand resting lightly on his forearm. The contact was small, tentative, but enough to remind him he wasn’t alone.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I said softly.
His gaze flicked up to mine, searching, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Because I care,” I said simply, my words steady as I held his gaze. “And because you’d do the same for me.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then something in him shifted. The walls he always kept so carefully in place cracked just a little, and he nodded.
Without thinking, I moved closer, slipping onto the bed behind him. My arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, the movement instinctive and gentle.
At first, he stiffened, his body rigid under my touch, like he wasn’t sure how to accept the comfort being offered.
“It’s okay,” I murmured softly, my cheek resting against the back of his shoulder.
For a moment, I thought he’d push me away, his breath uneven, his muscles taut. But then he exhaled, a long, shaky breath that seemed to release some of the weight he’d been carrying.
I felt him lean back into me, just enough to show he wasn’t pulling away.
We stayed like that, my arms draped over him, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. His head dipped slightly, and I could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Let me carry it for a while, okay?” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t respond, but his hand came up, covering one of mine where it rested against his chest. His grip was firm, grounding, like he was holding onto me as much as I was holding onto him.
I stayed until the tension in his body eased completely, until his breathing evened out, until the weight he carried didn’t feel quite so crushing.
As I sat there, holding him, the world outside fading into the background, I realized I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
Now, as I stared at the cursor blinking on my laptop screen, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been enough.
Jaxon was a fortress, walls built high and impenetrable. But last night, I’d seen the cracks in the stone, the places where the weight of whatever he was carrying had started to show.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I didn’t regret going to him — I never would — but it left me with a knot in my chest that I couldn’t untangle.
Because now I knew just how much he was holding back.
And it made me want to hold on to him even tighter.
Falling into a daily routine almost felt too easy. I even started going to the club with Jaxon during his shifts. Partly because I was bored of staring at the walls, but also because Quinn Carson had become my unofficial partner in crime.
The staff didn’t seem to mind me hanging around as long as I stayed out of the way. Most of them were nice, a few even friendly. But there was one exception: Sean Weston.
Sean was... complicated. He wasn’t rude, exactly, but there was a coldness to him, like he was always holding something back. Our interactions were polite on the surface but stilted, like he was sizing me up every time we spoke. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t like me or if he just didn’t care enough to make an effort.
Either way, it was irritating.
One evening, I was perched on a barstool in the lounge, lazily spinning in circles while Quinn flipped through her phone beside me. The club wasn’t open yet, but the place was alive with pre-show fanfare. Bartenders scrambled to stock shelves, chairs were being dragged across the floor, and someone was swearing at a stubborn keg in the back.
“You know,” I said, watching a bartender nearly drop a precarious stack of glasses, “for a place that drips glamour, this backstage vibe is giving... I don’t know, reality show outtakes? Kind of a letdown.”
Quinn didn’t even look up. “You expected sequins and champagne? Sweetheart, this is the sausage factory. Glamour’s out front. Back here, we’re all just trying not to light anything on fire.”
I grinned. “You’re telling me this whole ‘elegant allure’ thing is one big con?”
Quinn finally glanced up, a smirk curling her lips. “Welcome to the circus, babe. Keep your hands inside the ride, or you’ll see the strings.”
I laughed, but my attention drifted to the other side of the room, where Jaxon stood locked in what looked like a very intense conversation with Sean. Jaxon’s arms were crossed, his expression unreadable but clearly pissed, while Sean leaned in with the kind of attitude that screamed poking the bear just for fun.
“What’s their deal?” I asked, nodding toward them.
Quinn followed my gaze and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, that? Just Jaxon and Sean doing their favourite dance. It’s a classic: ‘Who’s the bigger pain in the ass?’”
“Looks tense,” I said, tilting my head as Sean threw his hands up in what I could only assume was an are you kidding me? gesture.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “That’s just foreplay for those two. Sean’s allergic to authority, and Jaxon doesn’t know how to function without it. It’s a miracle they haven’t thrown punches yet.”
“So... coworkers of the year?”
Quinn snorted. “If by ‘coworkers,’ you mean two alpha males locked in a never-ending pissing contest, then yeah. Total dream team.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s Sean’s problem, anyway?”
“Sean?” Quinn shrugged. “He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the Strip. Probably gets sore carrying it around all day. Don’t let the broody ‘I’m too cool for this’ vibe fool you — he’s a walking midlife crisis in denial.”
“And Jax?”
“Oh, Jaxon’s easy,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s all about control. Safety, order, rules — that’s his jam. And guess what Sean hates most?”
“Control.”
“Bingo.” Quinn grinned, throwing her hands up like I’d just won a game show. “It’s like watching a telenovela in real time. Only with less kissing and more death glares.”
“Sounds healthy,” I muttered, watching as Jaxon’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly running thin.
“Healthy? Oh, honey, no.” Quinn laughed, her voice bright and full of mischief. “It’s a slow-burn trainwreck. Stick around long enough, and you’ll get popcorn-worthy drama for days.”
Just then, Sean’s voice carried over, sharp and biting. “You don’t need to hover like some overprotective dad.”
Quinn, without missing a beat, leaned closer to me and murmured, “Ohhh, daddy ...”
I choked on a laugh, clapping a hand over my mouth to smother the sound. “Quinn!”
She grinned wickedly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What? Am I wrong? Look at that man and tell me that you do not think that he’d spank you if you misbehaved.”
My cheeks burned as I tried — and failed — not to picture exactly that. “Stop. Seriously.”
Quinn cackled, leaning back in her seat like she’d just won a prize. “Oh, Maddie. You’re too easy. No wonder you’re blushing. I bet he’d enjoy it, too.”
“Quinn,” I hissed, glaring at her even as I fought the smile tugging at my lips. “Behave.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Please. Like you weren’t already thinking it.”
Jaxon’s gaze flicked in our direction, and for a moment, his eyes locked with mine. The hard edge in his expression softened just slightly, a crack in his impenetrable armour. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual stony mask.
As the weeks had gone by, I’d even met Declan Frost on one or two occasions. The elusive owner of Club V was every bit as standoffish as I’d imagined. Sharp suit, sharper eyes, and a polite smile that didn’t quite reach them.
He didn’t say much to me, but the way he watched made me feel like he was cataloguing everything about me for some private ledger in his mind. Aloof, sure, but not unfriendly.
It was weirdly reassuring — like the guy could destroy you in five moves but chose not to because he didn’t see the point.
But that was the thing about this place: even with all its edges, I was starting to like it here. The buzz of the staff, the quiet rhythm of preparation before the club opened — it all made me feel less... aimless. I’d started to crave the hum of life that came with being here.
Until the call.
I was sitting at one of the high tables near the bar later that day, scrolling through emails on my phone while Quinn bantered with one of the bartenders. The room was alive with the low chatter of staff and the clink of glassware, soothing in its way.
My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.
Without thinking, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”
For a second, there was only silence on the other end. My brows furrowed, and I was about to hang up when I heard it—a voice that sent a shiver down my spine. Low, cold, and familiar.
“I warned you, Madeline.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. My grip tightened on the phone, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.
“Who is this?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady.
The man chuckled, a sound that felt like it crawled under my skin. “You don’t need to know who I am, but you do know what I want.”
My throat felt dry, but I forced myself to sound sharp. “If this is about selling me extended car insurance, you’re really overdoing it.”
The chuckle stopped, replaced by a sharp edge of menace. “You think this is funny? Fine. Here’s your last joke, sweetie: stop coming around the club. Stop sticking your ass where it doesn’t belong. You won’t get many more warnings.”
My breath hitched, but I refused to let him hear my fear. “Or what? You gonna keep calling me from unknown numbers? Real scary.”
There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was ice. “Next time, it won’t be a call.”
The line went dead.
For a second, I just stared at the screen, my pulse pounding in my ears. My hand was trembling, so I set the phone down on the table, face down, like that would make the whole thing disappear.
“Mads?”
Quinn’s voice snapped me back to reality. I turned to find her staring at me, her head tilted, one perfectly arched brow raised. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I forced a laugh, though it felt shaky and hollow. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... stupid spam call.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me, then flicked to the phone lying face down on the table. “Uh-huh. That didn’t look like a ‘your car’s extended warranty is expiring’ face, Maddie. What’s going on?”
“I swear, it’s nothing.” I plastered on a smile that felt brittle, waving a hand dismissively. “Just one of those weird calls where someone breathes into the phone and hangs up. Creepy, but harmless.”
“Harmless?” Quinn set her phone down, giving me a look that pierced straight through the act I was putting on. “You’re shaking. You look like you’re about to fall apart, and I don’t buy that it’s from some random perv call.”
Her words hit a nerve. My hands clenched into fists in my lap, and I swallowed hard. I felt the tears well up before I could stop them, a hot, stinging flood that blurred my vision.
My breath hitched as I tried to hold it together, but it was useless. The tension, the fear — it all crashed over me like a wave.
“Maddie,” Quinn said softly, her tone completely shifting. She scooted closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Hey, hey, look at me. What’s going on?”
I shook my head, biting my lip hard enough to hurt. “I—It was him,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Who?”
“The one from before,” I said, finally letting the words tumble out. “He told me to stop coming here. That I was out of warnings.”
Quinn’s expression darkened, her playful edge replaced with something cold and serious. “What the fuck?” She grabbed my hand, her grip grounding. “You’re telling me that asshole actually had the balls to call you?”
I nodded, wiping at my cheeks angrily. “I shouldn’t have answered. It was a stupid unknown number, and I just... I didn’t think.”
Quinn leaned back, her eyes narrowing, and for a second, I thought she might actually murder someone. “Okay, first of all, don’t blame yourself. I can see it in your eyes, lady. I won’t have anything like that creeping into your pretty little head. Second, this is not fine. This isn’t ‘just creepy.’ This is a crime, hon, and someone’s going to pay.”
Her words hit me like a slap, breaking through the haze of fear and embarrassment. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “I…” I trailed off, my thoughts too scrambled to form coherent sentences.
“I don’t think—”
Quinn cut me off, standing up abruptly. “Nope. Don’t care. Stay here. Don’t move.”
“Wait, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice rising as panic flared.
Quinn looked over her shoulder, her expression a mix of determination and fiery protectiveness. “Exactly what needs to be done,” she said, already stalking toward the other end of the room. “You think I’m letting this slide? Hell no. Sit tight. I’m getting Jax.”
“Quinn, wait!” I called after her, but she didn’t stop. My pulse hammered in my chest as I watched her disappear, leaving me alone with my spiralling thoughts and the weight of what had just happened.