Chapter Twenty-Six
Jax
The gym was a cathedral of violence this morning, shadows and steel under the lights. The place was heavy with the scent of old sweat, leather, and the metallic tang of blood that never quite washed out of the mats. I wrapped my hands, each loop of tape a ritual, a promise of pain to come.
Connor was already destroying the heavy bag, his fists landing with the sound of sledgehammers on bone. Each punch was a masterpiece of controlled brutality.
“Killer's been at it for an hour," Adrian announced from his perch on the bench, lime green cropped tank riding up to show the full gallery of ink covering his abs.
His brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and those green eyes gleamed with barely contained chaos.
"Think he's imagining someone who looked at Bee wrong?”
I chuckled, flexing my fingers to test the wrap. “They’re probably already dead.”
Adrian's grin turned feral. "Good point. Maybe he's imagining the next one." He bounced to his feet, stretching out like a cat. “Surprised you showed up, though. Thought your girl might have locked you up.”
I smirked, rolling my shoulders. The memory of Estelle pinned beneath me, the gun between her lips, the way she'd finally surrendered completely, sent heat straight to my dick.
"Some of us had important negotiations to get through.”
"Negotiations?" Connor asked without breaking rhythm, each punch landing with devastating force. His voice carried that dry sarcasm he never lost.
“Estelle's moving in," I announced, stepping into the ring. The words tasted like victory.
Adrian's hands paused mid-stretch. "Wait, what? When did this happen?"
"Last night." I caught the gloves he tossed me one-handed. "After I worked some sense into her."
Connor's lips twitched in rare amusement, probably knowing what I really meant. He finally stepped away from the bag, his massive frame giving me a once-over. “You look different.”
"Different how?" I asked, though I had an idea. There was something settled in my chest now, something that hadn't been there before. Purpose. Possession. The satisfaction of a predator who'd finally claimed his territory and been claimed in return.
"Domestic," Adrian supplied helpfully, dodging the glove I threw at his head. "Like a house cat who just ate the canary."
“House cats don't eat canaries, you psychotic fuck."
"Mine would," Adrian confirmed with absolute certainty. "If I had a cat. Which I don't, because Toffee is my one and only. I’d never dare cheat on him.”
Connor shook his head, but there was fondness in his expression. "We sparring? You've got a title defense in a week.
I nodded, and we fell into our familiar dance—circling, feinting, testing each other's defenses.
But my mind kept drifting to yesterday, to the two pieces of shit who'd dared to threaten what was mine. The memory of their faces made my vision blur with rage.
I wanted to peel their skin off strip by strip and mail it to Damon in a fucking gift box.
"Earth to Jax," Adrian's voice cut through my thoughts just as Connor's fist connected with my jaw, snapping my head back. "You planning on blocking any time soon, or are you too busy thinking about your princess?"
The taste of copper flooded my mouth. I spat blood onto the mat and grinned. "Just warming up."
"Bullshit," Connor said, dropping his hands. His black eyes studied me with that unnerving intensity. "You're thinking about killing someone. What's going on?"
I hesitated, then stepped back, pulling off a glove to wipe sweat from my brow. “Estelle's got trouble. Some asshole wants custody of the kid.”
Adrian's eyes lit up immediately, that dangerous gleam I knew too well. The same look he'd had when we carved up Jerry piece by piece.
"Custody battle? That's adorable. Please tell me it involves the warehouse. I just got some new toys I've been dying to try out."
“It's not fucking adorable,” I growled, though the idea was more than tempting. “He's connected to a drug cartel. Has men watching her fucking apartment.”
Connor's expression darkened. “Like Jerry.”
The name meant the same between us, heavy with shared history. The man we'd made suffer for every tear he'd ever caused Sierra to shed.
“Kind of,” I said, though the comparison had crossed my mind. “This guy's not directly hurting her, yet. He's trying to take the kid.”
“Why?” Connor asked, always cutting straight.
"To groom him for the family business. Drug running." The words were like poison. "Estelle's sister died of an overdose, the same shit this bastard got her hooked on. "
Adrian's grin faded, his expression turning grim. For all his chaos and bloodlust, he had a soft spot for kids. “Motherfucker.”
"I've got people on her old apartment," I continued. "But these guys showed up yesterday, made threats. Implied she's turning tricks to afford her new clothes."
Connor's knuckles went white around his water bottle. The memory of their stares made my fingers itch for the gun in my car. “They backed off when they saw me, but they'll be back."
"So what's the plan?" Adrian asked, rolling his neck like he was already preparing for violence. "Please tell me it involves pain. Lots and lots of pain."
I exchanged a look with Connor, who gave a slight nod. "Information first. I need to know who Damon answers to, how deep his connections go."
"Smart," Connor grumbled. "No point taking out an enforcer if the general's still giving orders."
Adrian pouted, the expression almost comical on his face. "You two are so boring. What about the direct approach? I could start with his ankles and work my way up."
"When I'm ready for that," I promised, slipping my glove back on, "you'll be the first to know."
We resumed sparring, Coach occasionally yelling at us to fix something.
My mind drifted again to last night, to the way Estelle had looked with the gun pressed against her sweet cunt, how she'd finally broken and begged for release.
Her tight heat around my cock, the way she'd screamed my name when I finally let her come
I hardened instantly in my gym shorts.
“Fuck,” I muttered, turning away from my friends and adjusting myself. The timing was fucking awful.
Adrian noticed immediately, a smirk crossing his face. “Need a minute?”
“Shut up,” I growled, grabbing a towel from the corner post.
“Been there.” Connor’s eyes went distant for a second, no doubt thinking of Sierra. “Doesn’t go away. ”
Adrian cackled, throwing his head back. “You two are fucking whipped.”
I shot him a glare, but Connor’s lips twitched in rare amusement. “Says the guy who cried when his goldfish died.”
“Mr. Bubbles was a warrior,” Adrian promised solemnly, pressing a tattooed hand to his cropped tank.
The ride to Adrian's industrial-mansion-thing was quick, the Bentley hugging the street as I followed Adrian’s ridiculous wrapped Lamborghini through downtown.
The thing was an eyesore—a lime green that just screamed for attention.
Connor's more subdued black Audi brought up the rear, all three of us pulling into the private garage beside Adrian's converted warehouse.
“Home sweet home,” Adrian announced, throwing his arms wide as we entered the loft.
The space was exactly what you'd expect from a psychotic millionaire with questionable taste.
Exposed brick walls stretched up to a vaulted ceiling, massive windows overlooked the city, and the whole place was a blend of luxury and absurdity that only Adrian could pull off.
A vintage arcade machine blinked in one corner, while an obscenely expensive Italian leather sectional dominated the living area. Art stretched along the walls.
"Still keeping the piranhas?" I asked, nodding toward the massive aquarium that separated the kitchen from the living room.
Adrian's grin turned predatory. "Added three new ones last week. They enjoyed Jerry’s fingers.”
Connor immediately claimed his usual leather armchair, pulling out his iPad and setting it up on the arm. Within seconds, he'd accessed his home security feed, his eyes softening as he spotted Sierra curled on their penthouse couch with a book.
I pulled out my phone, pulling up the feed from Estelle’s Seaside Academy classroom that I may or may not have also bought the security company of. She was bumbling about the room, helping students with what looked like counting blocks.
"Look at you two," Adrian drawled, flopping into his office chair in front of a wall of six monitors. "Watching your girls like a couple of stalkers."
"Security," I corrected, propping my phone next to Connor's iPad so both screens showed our women going about their mornings.
"Stalking," Adrian countered, but there was longing in his voice. "Must be nice, having someone to obsess over."
Connor glanced up from his screen, where Sierra was now scratching Toffee behind the ears. "You'll find someone."
"When?" Adrian asked, spinning in his chair like a child, gazing at the ceiling longingly. "I'm starting to feel left out of this whole domestic bliss thing."
"When you stop scaring them away with your murder warehouse,” I said dryly.
"It's wonderful, thank you very much. Adrian corrected with wounded dignity. "And it's perfectly romantic if you think about it. Nothing says 'I love you' like a soundproof room full of power tools."
Connor and I exchanged a look. "No," we said in unison.
Adrian pouted, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Fine. But doesn’t mean she has to know about it. You two are going to be so jealous of our twisted love story."
"Looking forward to it," I smirked, turning back to my phone. On screen, Estelle was laughing at something a child said, directing her teaching assistant to step in.
"So," Adrian called, his fingers already flying across his keyboard. "Damon Cane. I'm guessing you want the full workup?"
I nodded, forwarding him the preliminary report my security team had sent over. "My guys did a basic background check, but I need more."