Chapter 36
thirty-six
My biceps and shoulders hum with power as I lift the axe over my head and throw.
Bullseye!
“Damn,” Ryder huffs, clearly both put off and impressed as he watches my axe hit the target. “You know, most normal people go running or go a few rounds with a punching bag when they’re pissed off.”
I roll my shoulders, feeling some of the tension in my gut finally start to ease after an hour of hurling sharpened steel. “Yeah, well, you know I’m not normal people.”
Stepping up to the line, Ryder squares his stance as he prepares to throw. “So, you gonna tell me what’s got you so worked up, or am I supposed to guess?”
He launches his axe, landing just left of center with a satisfying thunk. “Got an update from Dylan. Looks like the Triple Six goons could be heading this way. He traced the burner phone to somewhere in southern California.”
“Shit.” Ryder’s expression darkens as he yanks his axe from the target. “That’s unnerving as shit.”
“Tell me about it.” Tightening my grip, I step back to the throwing line.
“What the hell would a fitness guru want with the mafia, anyway?” he asks, wiping sweat from his brow.
I adjust my stance, testing the weight of the axe. “Dylan thinks Ryan is trying to sell them his half of the business in order to get out from under the debt he owes them.”
“That makes no fucking sense. Why would a Vegas crime family want to own part of a fitness chain?”
“Money laundering?” I shrug before launching the axe again. It hits just above the bullseye. “Hell if I know. But the problem he keeps running into is that Sasha has first say. And there’s no way in hell she’d ever to sell to them.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“It took some convincing, but she’s going to stay with me until this all blows over.” I grab my beer off the small table behind us and take a long pull. “She’s not too happy about it, though.”
“No surprise there,” Ryder snorts.
“Yep, stubborn as hell,” I agree, unable to keep the affection out of my voice.
Ryder gives me a knowing look. “And you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your heart, right? Nothing to do with how you want to keep fucking her?”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, man.” He throws his axe, hitting dead center again. “I’ve known you for over a decade. I’ve seen you with plenty of women, and not one of them has ever gotten under your skin like she does.”
“I’m not that bad,” I argue, but it comes out weak, even to my own ears.
“Bet,” he counters, retrieving both our axes.
My jaw clenches as I take mine from him. “Even if that were true—which I’m not saying it is—it doesn’t matter. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want anything serious.”
“And you’re okay with that?” he challenges. “The tables being turned on you?”
I hesitate, tapping the eye of the axe head against my palm. “It’s complicated.”
“Always is,” he replies, clapping me on the shoulder with a laugh. “Now, are we gonna throw or talk about our feelings all night?”
“Dick,” I mutter, making him grin even wider.
I line up my shot, trying my best to focus on what’s in front of me instead of the woman who’s going to be sleeping under my roof for God knows how long. The thought of her in my house, in my space, makes something possessive flare in my chest.
The hatchet flies, hitting the bullseye with a solid thump.
“You know,” Ryder says casually as he steps up to the line again. “If those guys really are headed this way, we should be prepared.”
“How so?”
“I still have connections with a few of my Marine brothers. Guys who would know how to handle a situation like this.”
I consider his offer for a moment. “Let’s see what Dylan digs up first. If things escalate, we call for backup.”
“Fair enough,” he nods.
After a few more rounds, we call it a night.
When I get home, I sit in my truck, gathering my thoughts. Sasha’s living room light is on next door.
Having her stay with me is for sure the right call, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about it.
Not because I’m worried about keeping my hands off her, but because having her in my space, in my life, feels significant.
I tried talking her into coming over tonight, but she wasn’t having it.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my keys and head inside. Whatever this thing is between us, first thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to have to face it head-on.
My morning routine feels off knowing Sasha is coming over soon. I’ve scrubbed the whole house, changed the sheets in the guest room, and now I’m sitting on the couch, knee bouncing while I wait for her to text that she’s on her way over.
When my phone finally buzzes a little after nine, I nearly jump out of my skin.
SWEET CHEEKS
Heading over in 5
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my heart as it starts to race. This is ridiculous.
A soft knock forces me out of my downward spiral, and I jump up to answer the front door.
Standing on my porch with a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder, Sasha looks a little on edge. “Hi,” she says, offering a tired smile.
“Hey there.” I step aside to let her in. “That all you’re bringing?”
She shrugs as she brushes past me, stepping inside. “My house is literally right next door, Jax. If I need anything else, I can just run over and grab it.”
I lock the door behind her, double-checking the deadbolt. “Okay. Let me show you around. The guest room is upstairs.”
She follows me up the stairs, and I can’t help but notice how quiet she is. Usually, she’s full of energy, but this morning she seems subdued. I don’t blame her—finding out your ex might have gotten you mixed up with the mob would fuck with anyone’s head.
“So this is my room,” I say, pushing open the first door at the top of the stairs.
I don’t know why I’m showing her my bedroom, but it feels like a natural starting point. It’s not like she wouldn’t figure it out, since my window is directly across from hers. Plus, I’m kind of hoping she ends up sleeping with me anyway.
Baby steps.
She takes a peek. I like to keep things simple—no clutter, just the essentials—king-sized bed with a dark gray comforter facing the window, two nightstands and an area rug.
“Nice,” she says.
I lead her down the hall to the guest room that faces the backyard. “And this is your room.”
Pushing the door open, I watch her reaction as she takes in the space.
The room is painted a soft blue-gray, with a queen-sized bed covered in a white comforter. There’s a dresser against one wall and a small desk by the window.
“This set up used to be downstairs,” I explain as she sets her bag on the bed. “But I switched it out with my art studio a few months ago.”
She nods, running her hand over the comforter. “This is perfect, Jax. Thank you.”
“Bathroom’s through there,” I say, pointing to a door on the far wall. “It connects to the hallway, but you can lock both sides for privacy.”
After showing her the rest of the upstairs, including the laundry room, we head back downstairs.
“And now for the pièce de résistance,” I say with the shittiest French accent known to man. Unable to keep the excitement out of my voice, I guide her toward a door off the living room. “My art studio.”
Tall windows let a ton of natural light into the room, while adjustable overhead lights illuminate the space at night.
My drafting table sits in one corner, and shelves filled with sketchbooks, art supplies, and reference books line two of the other walls. Any additional wall space is covered with my designs, some of them framed and others pinned to corkboards.
“Wow,” Sasha says, stepping inside as she takes it all in. “This is so cool.”
Pride swells as she moves around the room. “This is where I do a lot of my sketches for tattoo clients.”
She stops in front of a large framed sketch of an original concept piece for Night Hunters. “I can’t believe you created all this.”
“It’s another happy place,” I admit, watching as she traces her fingers along the edge of my drafting table.
“I can see why.” When she turns to face me, a genuine smile graces her lips.
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. Feeling that familiar pull, I think about stepping into her, but before I can act on it, her expression changes.
“There’s something I should probably tell you.
” Her voice is tight as she starts nervously playing with her ponytail.
“The other day, when we were moving equipment into Summit, I saw a black SUV drive past really slow, like someone was staking the place out. They made a couple passes before they disappeared.”
My blood runs cold. “You’re sure about this? It being the same SUV each time?”
She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. “I thought I was just being paranoid after what you told me, but...”
“Did you happen to see who was driving?” I ask, pulling out my phone.
“No, the windows were tinted.”
I call Dylan and put the phone on speaker.
He answers on the second ring. “Yo.”
“Hey. I’ve got Sasha with me, and you’re on speaker. She just told me she saw a black SUV with tinted windows circling Summit Studio the other day. Any chance you know where our friends from Vegas are right now?”
“Let me check... According to the last ping as of three hours ago, the burner phone is still in California.”
“You’re sure?” I press, watching Sasha’s face as she listens.
“Positive. Unless they’ve ditched that phone and are using a new one, they’re still at least ten hours away.”
I blow out a breath and look up at the ceiling. “Could’ve been nothing then.”
“Or it could’ve been someone they hired to keep an eye on her,” Dylan counters. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”
“Will do.”
“Hey, Sasha.” The sudden shift in his tone makes my eye twitch—it’s the same edge he gets when he’s about to flirt. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Hi, Dylan,” she grins, glancing at me with eyebrows raised.
“Damn. Didn’t think your voice would be even sexier than you are.”
Sasha’s lips twitch, fighting a smile when I shoot a glare at the phone. “Um, thanks?”
“Any time, gorgeous. Maybe when this is all over, I could show you a few of my skills. I’m very good with my hands. Just imagine what fingers that type eighty words per minute can do to yo—”
That’s it.
Taking the phone off speaker, I hold up a finger and walk out into the hall.
“That’s enough,” I growl. “Back the fuck off.”
Dylan just laughs. Smug bastard. “Woah. You’re down bad, aren’t you? I haven’t heard you this possessive since one of the girls you were fucking in college tried to steal your sketchbook.”
“I’m not possessive, you dick,” I whisper-hiss. “I’m trying to keep her up to date and calm about this, and you’re flirting with her.”
“Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“How about you go back to doing what you’re supposed to be doing, and let me take care of things on my end,” I huff into the phone.
Dylan chuckles. “I was just giving you shit, my friend. And based on your reaction? I was right. You are so down ba—”
I hang up.