41. Jax
Jax
I’m not sure what time it is when the door opens. I’ve been lying on a concrete floor for hours, and it’s fucking freezing.
The scuttling behind the large metal railings in one corner reminds me of how close to a rat you always are when you live in New York City. My hands are tied behind my back, a piece of black, thick tape over my mouth that’s pulling on my skin.
I’ve heard nothing but rats since I was shoved in here. But at least I’m alone.
Two sets of shoes enter the room, scuffing against the rubble and dust all over the floor. My eyes run up the bodies of the guards. They are big guys, both dressed in black joggers and tennis shoes.
I’m hauled roughly to my feet, meaty fingers curling around my arm as one of them says something to the other in a language I don’t understand. They flank me, one moving a hand to the door, about to pull me out of here to god knows where.
But if they wanted me to come quietly, they shouldn’t have left me lying here so long.
I kick out with my foot, the ball of it slamming hard into the kneecap of the guy on my right. The second his leg goes out from under him, I headbutt him, hearing a satisfying crack as his nose breaks.
He hollers in pain as he staggers back.
I swing around and kick my leg out to the other one.
I’m struggling to balance with my hands tied, but I’ve taken them both by surprise.
The other guy has no time to pull his gun before he flips backward, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of him as he lands on his back with a grunt of shock.
I’m running before the other one has gotten to his feet. I can see the blood from his nose dripping onto the floor, and I don’t want to be around when he recovers.
I charge through the doorway across the cold concrete floor, trying to take in everything around me in case I need to remember it for later.
There are windows running along the hallway in front of me that lead to a huge door that looks as if it’s bolted shut.
Hallways run off on either side as I sprint past, trying to judge which one would be best to run down. I can already hear one of the guards pursuing me, and there’s the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.
I lurch sideways to my left, tugging at the bonds on my hands as I run past metal trollies and endless stacked-up cardboard boxes.
Doors lead off on every side, but what I’m really looking for is daylight.
It’s only when I pass below a high window in the wall and see a flash of the night sky that I realize I must have been unconscious for a lot longer than I thought.
My head throbs as I reach the end of the hallway, looking from right to left, only for a door to open nearby and Nick fucking Monroe to saunter through it, casual as can be.
Two massive guys follow him, holding their guns at their sides as he watches me with a little smile on his face.
“Jaax,” he says in a sing-song voice. “You’re making quite a mess of things today, aren’t you?”
I can’t speak as he approaches me. I’m breathing heavily, the tape cutting into the skin around my mouth.
Two sets of footsteps run up behind me, and I stiffen as Monroe looks over my shoulder, giving them a long, hard stare.
“Are you so fucking incompetent you can’t even handle a girl?” he asks, his voice snapping like a whip in the silence.
He turns to me, his hand coming up to caress my jaw as I jerk back from him.
“Come on, Jax, I just want to help you,” Monroe says gently, his finger and thumb pinching the corner of the tape as he peels it from my face.
It snags against my skin, uncomfortable and itchy as it peels from my mouth.
He tugs it off, nodding with satisfaction as he lowers his hand, folding it up and placing it into his palm in a neat little square.
“You’re shaking,” he says, with fake concern.
Yes, fucker, it’s fucking freezing in here.
“Where are my brothers?” I bark.
“You know, I had asked for you to be accommodated a little more generously than them,” he says, ignoring my question. “I really was very upset when they tried their little,” he coughs, “uh, coup.”
The guards are laughing now, and my stomach drops as I think about what they might have done to them.
“Come.” Monroe continues. “Let’s go somewhere a little more pleasant. I’m afraid this isn’t quite as luxurious as my apartment. But I’d love to show it to you someday.”
Big hands grip my upper arms from behind me, tight enough to bruise as I am shoved forward after Monroe.
He’s wearing the ridiculous cloak again. It looks absurd, and I wonder how many of his goons would have the balls to tell him so. My guess is not a one.
“Where are my brothers?” I ask again.
“This space was originally for airplanes,” Monroe says in the same melodic tone as he continues down the hall, gesturing to the room we’re approaching. “But I’ve repurposed it. This is larger than my other operation, you know, Jax. I’ve made quite a name for myself in this city.”
I roll my eyes as he pushes through some plastic sheeting, and we come out into a huge space, flooded with brightness from enormous lights above our heads.
Men in the distance work on cars, talking in low voices. More boxes and equipment are stacked against the walls, and there’s endless movement around us as workers bustle to and from their posts. But it’s ominously quiet.
The glint of cut glass catches my eye, and my fingers clench against my sweating palms.
A small table with two chairs placed opposite each other has been set in the middle of a space free of clutter. I’m shoved into one of the chairs as Nick removes his cape with a flourish and sits opposite me.
There’s a bottle of champagne and two beautiful glasses in front of me as if we’re about to have a fancy dinner together.
This guy is such a fucking shmuck.
Monroe gives a little wave, and one of the men behind me steps back, while the other secures my tied hands to the chair. I wince at the tightness of the knot, his rancid breath wafting over my face.
Monroe tuts as he looks up at the man on my left.
“You’re dripping blood on my floor,” he says conversationally as I hear a horrible, gurgling sniff from the guard, and a glob of red spit lands a foot from me on the ground. “Please forgive these brutish oafs, Jax,” Nick mutters. “They don’t know how to behave in front of a lady.”
He pours champagne as I stare at him, fighting an absurd urge to laugh. It’s like he’s watched every single gangster movie on repeat and is trying to win a prize for the best cliché.
“Now, we touched on this subject a little while ago, Jax,” he says, rising from his chair and coming to stand beside me.
He tucks a curl of hair behind my ear, making my skin crawl as he picks up the glass closest to me and raises it to my lips.
The rim hovers inches from my face as I keep my mouth clamped closed, but when he sighs and presses it against my lower lip, I have no choice but to open for him.
A sip of the champagne passes into my mouth.
I’m thirsty after lying for hours on a concrete floor, but this is the opposite of what I want to drink.
It’s sour, bubbling, bitter. I swallow as he makes a little contented sound at the back of his throat and runs a finger down my neck before returning to his seat.
Picking up his glass, he sips it approvingly. “Scott has really miscalculated things, I’m afraid,” he murmurs.
I don’t move, distracted by the guard behind Monroe, who is holding a hand to his ear. He glances at one of the others before discreetly walking back toward the other end of the room, where I can see a gleam of light.
Is that the street? If I stand up, could I run fast enough to reach it with a chair attached to my ass?
“I think it’s rather rude of him to attempt to attack me,” Nick continues, taking another sip of his drink. “Particularly when he owes me quite enough already. I mean, I could have killed him by now.”
I don’t reply, testing my bonds, flexing one wrist then the other.
“The debt is substantial, but I’m afraid I’m going to need something else. Something sweeter,” he says, his eyes shining.
He cocks his head to one side. “Do you understand my meaning, Jax? If you and I can come to some sort of arrangement, we can forget all of this ever happened. Wouldn’t that be better?”
Only a few days ago, I looked at this man and entertained the possibility of letting him touch me to save my brothers. Now, the idea is so repulsive I have to fight to keep the sneer off my face.
“What do you think?” he asks.
He’s rocking back in his chair, watching me carefully, the champagne glass held loosely in his fingers. I don’t reply.
As the silence stretches, another guard follows the other, looking around curiously. Something’s happening,
Have my brothers escaped?
“Jax.”
My eyes snap back to Monroe, and he raises his eyebrows.
“I asked you a question.”
I don’t reply.
His finger is tapping against the side of the glass now, his teeth running over his lower lip repeatedly. Then, without any warning or discernible movement from him, his foot flies up beneath the table, connecting with the edge of my seat, and I jolt back, hard.
The chair tips alarmingly as I struggle to regain my balance, but the momentum carries me backward, and I cry out as I hurtle over and land painfully against the floor, my head bouncing off the concrete.
In an instant, Monroe is on top of me, straddling me, his hand coming around my throat, as I gasp for breath.
“You’re a stuck-up little bitch, aren’t you?” he hisses at me, his mouth inches from my lips. “But don’t worry. I’m gonna train that out of you until you give in.”
His other hand moves over my shoulder as the sneer on his face turns to one of dark promise as I strain to get away from him, but his whole weight is on my chest.
Someone clears their throat.
Nick stops moving, his jaw clenching with frustration at whoever has curtailed his fun.
He twists around. “What is it?” he barks out, and there’s a murmured conversation that I can’t catch.
I let out a little sigh of relief as Nick’s weight lets up a little as I look along the floor toward the outer door.
Two polished shoes stand nearby, more guards surrounding them, but they are shiny and new.
My eyes run up the toned, muscular figure they belong to, coming to rest on two bright blue eyes that make my heart soar in my chest.
Gray fucking Jones.