Chapter Five
Adrian
T he guys and I circled each other in the ring, gloves up, feet light. Jax tossed a lazy jab my way, just enough to make me dance back and flash him a grin.
“Careful, Lion,” I taunted, bouncing on my toes. “Don’t want to mess up your manicure.”
Jax smirked, rolling his shoulders. “You wish you had hands this pretty, Catalyst. You’re all scars and ink.”
“Scars are just trophies,” I shot back, feinting left and swinging right. He blocked, but I felt the impact travel up my arm, satisfying as hell.
Connor snorted from the ropes, his eyes never leaving the spar. “You two gonna fight or flirt all day?”
Jax flashed him a grin. “You jealous, Killer? Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite brooder.”
Connor just shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
I loved sparring with these two; no one else could take a punch or a throw joke like the brothers I grew up with .
We'd been through hell together, knew each other's demons intimately. They'd seen me at my worst, back when anger was my only language and violence my default setting.
Jax came in fast, a blur of gold and muscle, but I ducked, letting his fist whistle past my ear. “You’re getting slow, old man,” I teased, circling him. “Star keeping you up too late?”
He laughed, sharp and bright. “Better than you, psycho. At least my girl didn’t run like I was the villain in a horror movie.”
I grinned, not even pretending to be offended. “She’ll come around.” I threw a quick combination that had him dancing backward.
“Besides, at least I don’t have to get hit by a car to make my girl like me.”
Connor barked a laugh, the sound rare and rough. “He’s got you there, Jax.”
Jax’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t miss a beat. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
I bounced on my heels, hands up, energy crackling through me. “Never. I mean, who does that? ‘Hey, Adrian, hit me with your car so I can impress the pretty teacher.’ You’re lucky I didn’t flatten you for real. Would’ve saved us some therapy bills.”
Jax rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips said he wasn’t mad at all. “Worked, didn’t it? She’s mine now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I conceded, throwing a playful jab at his shoulder. “Next time, just try flowers. Less chance of internal bleeding.”
Connor stepped into the ring, massive and silent, his presence shifting the air. “Enough talking. Let’s see if you can still hit me.”
I grinned, adrenaline surging. “Bring it, Killer.”
We traded blows, the sound of fists on flesh echoing through the gym. Connor was a fucking tank—every punch calculated, every movement efficient. I let him land a body shot, just to feel the burn, then slipped away, laughing.
“Still got it,” I panted, shaking out my arms.
Jax leaned on the ropes, watching us with that lazy, predatory amusement. “You’re both getting soft. Too much time playing house with the girls and the cat.”
Connor shot him a look, black eyes flat. “You wanna go, Lion?”
Jax just grinned, cocky as ever. “Anytime, Killer.”
We kept at it, sweat slicking our skin, muscles burning in the best way. Between rounds, I glanced at the iPads—Estelle making breakfast with Leo, Sierra feeding Toffee treats.
My chest tightened with something fierce and possessive, but also... hopeful. These two had found their peace, their balance. Maybe I could too.
Jax caught me looking, and his expression shifted, something almost concerned flickering across his features. "Already planning your iPad setup, huh?"
I shrugged, not bothering to hide my satisfaction. "Damn right. I'll have the prettiest view in the gym. Isla painting in her little sundresses while I work out? Paradise."
Connor huffed, but his voice wasn’t rough. “If she doesn’t run again.”
"She won't," I said with absolute certainty, the predator in me purring with confidence. "Not when I'm done with her. I've already started leaving breadcrumbs. She's following the trail."
They eyed me, one of those silent conversations that came from years of friendship and shared fun.
I could read it easily enough: hope that I'd finally found something to anchor me, mixed with wariness for whichever poor girl had caught my attention.
Jax cleared his throat. "Just... don’t scare her, seriously.”
My chest twisted in response to his concern. They'd seen what happened when I fixated on things, when the obsession took hold. They'd helped clean up the mess more than once.
"I'm not going to hurt her," I replied, and meant it. "She's different. She makes me want to be better."
Connor nodded, relief in his eyes.
“She’s different. She looked at me like she saw through me. Like maybe all this chaos could be channeled into something good instead of just destructive."
Jax tossed me a towel, his smile sharp but genuine. "Just don't get hit by a car, psycho. That's my move."
We all laughed, the sound rolling through the gym; three monsters, three men who'd found their way back from the edge.
They'd stick by me no matter what, but I could see the silent prayer in their eyes: Let this one save him.
After practice, I drove home just long enough to shower and change, the adrenaline from sparring still singing through my veins.
My muscles ached from exchanging blows with the guys, but the pain was pleasant as usual.
I opted for dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. No bright colors, no crop tops, nothing that screamed "Adrian the Psycho is watching you."
Tonight wasn't about being seen. I would be a voyeur in her world.
I kept the old car for occasions like this. It was parked in the back of my garage—the same black SUV with heavily tinted windows I used to hit Jax.
It was nothing like my lime green Lamborghini that announced my presence from three blocks away.
This car was a ghost, designed to blend into shadows and slip through security systems unnoticed.
Isla’s address was already programmed into my GPS, though I'd memorized the route anyway.
She lived in one of those gated communities that gave people the illusion of safety, a laughable concept. The security code at the entrance took me less than thirty seconds to bypass.
Four-digit codes were child's play; I could have done it blindfolded .
I cruised through the neighborhood at exactly three miles under the speed limit, the perfect speed to avoid attention.
Her building finally came into view, a modern white structure with clean lines and balconies facing a small artificial lake.
Second floor, unit 201. The lights were on.
I positioned the SUV across the street, beneath a canopy of ancient branches. The engine was silent, and the tinted windows provided the perfect shield.
The seat reclined slightly with the push of a button, giving me an unobstructed view of her world.
And there she was.
Isla stood on her balcony like something from a dream, barefoot and ethereal in a thin white sundress that caught the warm evening breeze.
She moved with unconscious grace, arranging her easel near the railing where the sunset could kiss her canvas.
Her light gold hair was twisted into a messy bun, exposing the delicate curve of her neck and the freckles scattered across her pale shoulders like stardust.
My breath caught as she leaned over to adjust something on her canvas, and the dress gaped slightly, revealing the generous swell of her breasts.
Every curve was angelic perfection—full breasts, narrow waist, hips that flared just right. The Instagram photos hadn't lied, but they hadn't done her justice either.
She was lush, ripe, absolutely fucking edible.
She settled onto a small stool, tucking one leg beneath her, with an unconscious sensuality that made my blood surge south.
The dress rode up, exposing the milky expanse of her thigh, and my fingers tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.
Through my cracked window, I caught the faint sound of music drifting from her balcony. Something classical and complex .
Of course she'd paint to Chopin. It suited her, this blend of class and passion.
I watched her begin to work, her brush moving in confident strokes across the picture.
his was a different Isla than the one who'd run from me in panic. This woman was focused, sure, completely in her element.
Her blue eyes narrowed in concentration, her teeth catching her lower lip in a gesture that made my fingers curl with need to grip.
"Show me who you really are, angel," I murmured, shifting as my jeans grew uncomfortably tight.
The light shifted as sunset deepened, casting her in gold. She paused to stretch, arching her back like a cat, arms raised over her head.
The dress clung to every curve, silhouetting her body against the darkening sky.
When she turned slightly, I caught a glimpse of smooth, bare back—the dress was backless, revealing the curve of her spine and the gentle dimples at its base.
My body responded immediately, blood rushing south so fast it made me dizzy. It was pure agony against my zipper. I gripped myself in my jeans, hissing at the contact.
This wasn't part of the plan. I'd come to observe, learn her patterns, and gather information.
Not to be a literal fucking voyeur and get off to her painting.
But watching her move, seeing the passion with which she approached her art, the unconscious sensuality in the way she tilted her head or flexed her fingers... it was destroying me.
"Fuck," I hissed, unzipping my jeans to relieve the crushing pressure.
My cock sprang free, already fully hard and straining against my boxers.
I palmed myself through the thin fabric, feeling the heavy weight, the impressive girth that had made more than one person’s eyes widen in appreciation, but now was all for Isla .
She dipped her brush in water, the motion causing her dress to slip off one shoulder. She pushed it back up absently, completely unaware of the effect she was having on me from across the street.
There was something addicting about her lack of self-consciousness, the way she existed within her own world, creating beauty while unknowingly being observed.
I couldn't tear my eyes away as I freed myself entirely, wrapping my fingers around my length. The contrast of my tattooed hand against my flushed skin was stark in the fading light.
I stroked slowly at first, grip firm but not tight, twisting slightly at the head the way I liked it.
My thumb collected the moisture beading at the tip, using it to ease the friction as I matched my rhythm to the pace of her brushstrokes.
It was primal, intense, watching her create while I chased release.
With each upward motion, I imagined her paint-stained fingers replacing mine, her soft mouth parting in surprise as I showed her exactly what she’d invited.
I imagined how those plush lips would stretch around me, how her hands would struggle to encircle my thickness.
My breathing grew heavier, ragged in the quiet confines of the car, as I increased the pace, my fist moving with undisguised need.
She stepped back from her easel, tilting her head to assess her work. She bit her lip, considering something, then leaned forward to add a final touch to the canvas.
The movement sent her dress sliding up, revealing the curve where thigh met cheek.
That glimpse of skin was all it took.
I tightened my grip, pumping faster, my hips thrusting up to meet my fist. Release crashed through me with burning force, my vision blurring as pleasure pulsed through every nerve.
I bit back a groan, not wanting to make a sound even though there was no way she could hear me from this distance .
Hot, thick ropes painted my stomach and chest as I worked myself through the remaining waves, my body shuddering with each pulse.
As I came back to myself, breath ragged, I watched her gather her supplies, lovingly covering her canvas with a plastic.
She seemed pleased with her work, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
She should’ve been given what I’d just done from watching her wield a paintbrush.
She stood at the railing for a moment, gazing out at the darkening sky, utterly unaware of my voyeuristic presence or the fact that my stomach was covered in cum thanks to her.
"Soon," I purred, tucking myself away and readjusting my clothes. "Soon you'll be painting in my mansion, princess. And I won't be watching from across the street."
Her phone lit up, and she glanced at it before disappearing inside, sliding the glass door closed behind her.
The balcony stood empty, but the image of her, soft and beautiful, lost in her art, was burned into my mind.
I started the car, the engine sputtering to life. Tomorrow, I'd leave another breadcrumb for her to follow, another hint that I was circling closer. The hunt was half the fun, after all.
And Isla was proving to be the most enticing prey I'd ever pursued.