Jaxon
Exercising delayed gratification will always get results—at least, that’s what my mother used to say.
“All right. Everyone got the plan down?” I ask, scanning the group for any hesitation after going over this for what feels like the fifth damn time today.
A choir of “Yeah” and “Sure thing, boss” ripples through the team of ten. Everyone’s locked in. Except for Cade, of course.
He ambles over, claps a hand on my shoulder, and plants himself beside me, that damn cocky grin spreading across his face.
“After all these years, you still don’t trust us?
What was that, the forty-sixth time you went over the plan?
” he teases. “I’m deeply hurt.” He throws a hand over his heart, pouting like he’s offended.
The sight of a six-foot-two tatted biker pulling this act is ridiculous, but Cade knows me too well. He knows I trust this team with my life, but I’m also always checking. Especially when the assignment’s this important.
The truth is, the only time I’m truly calm is when I’ve got my hands on the target and I’m watching the light drain from their eyes.
I glare at him, hoping it’s enough to make him go away; instead, he settles in with a chuckle. Asshole.
“All right, everybody, load up!” I bark, raising my voice over the clatter of preparations. “We leave in an hour.”
The bus waits for us outside, gleaming under the setting sun.
It’s not just an RV; it’s a fortress on wheels—a tech fiend’s dream with dual monitors rigged from old laptops, a 57-inch curved screen, a weapon room, trap doors for bodies and contraband, and all the comforts of home: a kitchen, a bathroom with a shower, and two bedrooms.
This job’s going to take days, maybe longer. Good thing we’re ready.
My personal fleet backs us up when necessary: a Range, a bulletproof Escalade ESV, and my pride and joy—a 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429 Fastback, sleek and black as night, which only comes out on special occasions.
It took me years to find her, but I’m a patient man. Good things come to those who wait.
The buzz of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts. Before answering the call, I reach down and pull an earbud from its case.
“I’m listening. Go.”
“Well, hello to you too, friend,” Tris drawls, his words slurred.
“Can you make it quick? I’m trying to get the team straight.”
“Oh, goodie. Off on another top-secret mission, are we?” Tris chuckles, his amusement grating in my ear.
I exhale sharply, already dreading the wasted time. A scuffle comes through the line—static and muffled voices, I wince.
“No. Sit. Just drink the damn water,” Tré says to Tris, I assume, and he answers a now muffled voice. “No. No more shots.”
Then, blessedly, Tré’s voice cuts through clearly. “Hey, Jax. Sorry about that.”
“What’s up, Tré?”
“So, we know you are going out of town, but… we kind of need you and your brothers to keep an eye on Naomi for a few days.”
I freeze mid-motion, a clip of ammo half-loaded into my rifle. “I already told Max I would be with the team after tonight, so I put a detail of some of my best on her,” I tell him. “She’s in good hands.”
“Jaxon, please. You know we only feel comfortable with you, especially when we’re out of town. It’s only a couple of days.” He begins to beg, but I chalk it up to the liquor. He’s only a tad better off than Tris. “Just stay with her at the house. We don’t want her there on her own.”
I sigh. “Define a couple of days.”
“Ten to twelve days.”
“Tré.”
“Okay, fine. A week. Just one week.” He almost sounds sober now as he begs harder.
I shake my head, already feeling the tension coil tighter. “I can’t. I’d love to help, but I can’t. I’ve already got guys on her since I’m gonna be out for a while.”
“That’s not what we’re paying you for.”
“You’re not paying us at all,” I reply absentmindedly, settling my Glock in a holster draped around my shoulders. “You’re family.”
“Exactly,” Tré says—ever the lawyer—his voice smooth and pointed. “And wouldn’t you personally want to make sure your family is safe at all times?”
Fuck. I walked right into that, didn’t I?
“All right, man. I’ll take care of it,” I mutter. “Kaios and Nyx are out, though, so it’s just me.”
“As long as it’s one of you, I don’t care,” he says, his voice clipped, like he’s busy with something. “Tris, get back here!” he yells, away from the speaker. “Thanks, Jaxon. One week,” he adds quickly, and then he’s gone.
At the top of the hour, Cade leans out of the bus at the last second, his green eyes narrowing in disbelief. “So, you’re really not coming?”
“Nah,” I reply, arms crossed over my chest. “But make sure to fuck shit up for me.”
A toothy grin spreads across his face that makes him look like a kid—freckles run along the bridge of his nose. I always forget just how young he is. “I got you,” Cade says, his voice almost eager, like violence is a gift he’d happily deliver.
I smirk. “I know.”
Cade St. Germaine is one of our executive protection specialists—sounds cleaner, more professional—but let’s be real, he’s a trained killer.
Armed to the teeth, ready to take a life without a second thought.
Most of our specialists are ex-military, maybe a cop or two in the mix. Cade, he’s an ex-con.
The second he walked into the interview, I knew he was my guy.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t posture. He didn’t need to.
His story hit like a hammer to the chest. At fourteen, he hunted down the bastard who assaulted and killed his kid sister and made sure the man didn’t take another breath.
She was all he had in the world; she was only eleven.
It wasn’t just violence; it was justice. Brutal. Unapologetic. The kind of resolve I will forever want on my team. Nyx was the one who found him; truthfully, he was his cellmate on Nyx’s very brief stay.
He chuckles, his grin turning sly. “Must be some grade-A pedigree pussy, though, if she’s got you skipping out.”
“Aye, watch your mouth,” I snap, throwing a fist that catches him on the jaw. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind him who he’s talking to.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender, still grinning like a little shit. “Nyx and Kaios meeting us there?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “You know they hate being late.”
“That’s more Nyx than Kaios,” he quips with a laugh. “Kaios couldn’t give less of a shit.”
“You’re not wrong,” I admit, shaking my head.
Before I can say more, Diane appears, striding down the steps with that long-legged grace she always has, body strapped like Lara Croft.
Thick leather running over her right shoulder and cutting across her torso, it sits flush against her like it was built for her frame.
The strap anchors at her hip, keeping whatever weapon she’s carrying steady and close.
It’s functional, not decorative, though it does draw the eye just because of how it cuts across her form.
Practical. Efficient. That’s Diane—every piece of her outfit looks like it serves a purpose.
“All right, lovebirds, cut the goodbye short.” Her cherry-stained lips move, but my mind is miles away, already somewhere it shouldn’t be.
Cade slips past her, heading back onto The Bus. For some reason, he avoids Diane like the plague.
“Should I come straight to the penthouse when we get back?” she purrs, tugging lightly at my collar as she rises onto her toes. Her auburn ponytail flutters in the wind, her amber eyes gleaming like they hold the answers to all my sins.
She’s gorgeous—unreal, even. California sun-kissed skin, legs that stretch forever. But that’s all there is. No depth, no feelings. Just sex. She knows that, and I’ve never pretended otherwise.
“I won’t be there,” I say flatly, meeting her gaze head-on.
“Oh.” She exhales the word, barely audible as she rocks back onto her heels, her gaze dropping to the ground like she’s avoiding mine. “Where will you be?” she asks, her voice soft, almost fragile.
“Get there safely. Let me know when you arrive.” My tone is clipped, firm.
Her eyes snap to mine, pleading, though she doesn’t say the words.
She’s always known this would end. I told her from the start—no promises, no illusions.
It never stopped her. If anything, it only made her cling tighter, like she thought she could change my mind. I could feel it every time we fucked.
“Sure thing, Boss Man.” She spits the words like venom, scowling as she turns on her heel and climbs back onto the bus.
I shove my hands into my pockets, forcing myself to look away.
It’s not the first time I’ve had to draw a line, and it won’t be the last—as I've told my brother, she just won’t quit.
A simple number change won’t help with this.
I watch her longing gaze, as she looks over her shoulder one last time before the doors shut.
The team’s heading into a rough one this time—a high-risk extraction, kept quiet, off the media’s radar. Governor’s oldest daughter, snatched like a ghost in the night. We managed to track her down after weeks of combing through footage, piecing together fragments until we finally got a solid hit.
They’re going in to bring her home, and I should be there.
My name’s the only one that’s not on the contract as necessary personnel though.
Still, every part of me itches to be in the field.
This is why I built the damn company in the first place—to hunt, to kill, to bleed out the tension. Instead, I’m stuck here.
No blood. No sex. Just this fucking ache pounding behind my eyes for over a week. Yeah, that’ll do it. I’m just about done with all this bullshit.
The phone barely rings before she picks up.
“Hm?” Her voice is soft, groggy, right on the crescent of sleep. For a moment, I almost feel guilty.
Almost.
“I’m in the sitting room. Come down.” I don’t wait for a response. The line goes dead before she can argue.
I stare at the phone for a second before rubbing my temple, exhaling slowly. This night has already been a goddamn mess.