JAX
Everything went to shit just like I knew it would.
I lunged up the stairs, doing a cursory sweep for anything we could’ve left behind. Despite the unexpected hiccup, I was calm, mechanical. Panic didn’t shut me down; the opposite, actually. My mind cleared, my instincts sharpened. I was in my element, a predator set loose from its cage.
Except I wasn’t hunting.
I was running.
Our guest came up the stairs behind me, still jabbering away on his phone. Quickly, I ducked into the nearby study nook, inwardly groaning as I folded myself beneath the tiny desk.
Served me fucking right.
My neck panged at the awkward angle, my knees smashed against my chest. I’d never been good at hiding, not even as a kid when I’d tuck myself in small spaces to avoid my old man during one of his violent rampages.
He’d always find me eventually, and the pain of uncurling after hours in the same position was almost as painful as his fists. Well, not really.
Stop whining, boy.
I squeezed my eyes shut like I could expel him from my head forever.
He loved to pop up at the most inconvenient times like a patronizing ghoul.
As the footsteps retreated into the main bedroom, my father goaded me into jumping on the man’s back and twisting his neck until it snapped.
It sounded easy, but I knew it wasn’t. Humans didn’t just die quietly.
My father had groaned and flailed like a fish when his heart gave out.
They said it was instant—nothing could save him—but man, did it go on forever.
Still thinking about me, boy.
Right. Think about something else. Like the fact that I was still ragingly hard.
Every time I shifted, trying to adjust, my weeping tip jutted against my zipper and sent a bolt of heat through my lower half.
It was a stress boner. Or a rage boner. Fuck if I knew the difference anymore.
I’d spent most of my turbulent youth jacking off, even when I was angry—no, especially when I was angry.
And, what do you know, I was still thinking about my dad.
My mouth went dry, and my hands started to tremble where they were fisted around my shins. Now wasn’t the time for my mega daddy issues to screw me over. They were too distracting, just like her.
Thinking of Olivia made my chest tight in a good way.
I chased the feeling greedily, replaying the feel of her body against mine, the burning hatred and desire as I gave her what she desperately wanted—a rough, emotionless fuck.
She could deny it all she wanted, but I knew the truth.
She was guarded and clean, not pure but unspoiled.
I wanted her to kneel at the altar that was my angry outlaw cock.
Fuck. This wasn’t helping.
Trying to be quiet, I jammed my fist into my dick. I wasn’t a sadist—I suspected that was more Madoc’s thing, which I could not think about right now—but the pain was grounding. In the main suite, I heard the shower turn on, a door click shut.
Time to end this nightmare.
I crawled out with a silent groan and took the stairs two at a time. When I reached the third landing, the first thing I saw was the door of the linen cupboard, open. My heart hammered into my sternum. Of fucking course. I knew she wouldn’t listen. I just knew it.
My head snapped to the right when I caught movement in the doorway.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growled.
Madoc tilted his head softly as he leaned against the frame, like I was late to some standing appointment. Normally, I appreciated his unwavering calm—now it only fed the wild animal in my chest.
Silently, Madoc stepped aside, giving me a glimpse into Salvadore’s office. I immediately clocked Olivia curled up on the floor, her back to me, her shoulders hitching in silent sobs. I shot Madoc a questioning look, which he returned flatly. Right. Too many emotions for him.
“Take watch,” I told him quietly. “We bounce in five.”
I didn’t hear his acknowledgment, but he was gone before I’d made it halfway across the room.
Olivia didn’t react as I knelt beside her.
She was blank-faced, despite her trembling frame.
In her lap was a thick, leather-bound notebook with a gold-woven spine.
It was fancy and well-used, like a relic or tome. My eyes shot up to the safe.
“It’s not enough,” Olivia mumbled, her voice thick with tears. Then she glanced up at me, rosy-cheeked and eyes like molten silver. “You came back for me.”
I didn’t acknowledge the shock in her voice. I kept my promises.
“The hell is it?” I gestured to the notebook.
She handed it to me despondently. I flipped it open to a random page, then paused at the list of handwritten scrawls.
Names and dates. A guestbook. It was no signed confession or serial killer scrapbook, nothing blatantly incriminating like Olivia obviously hoped it would be.
I scrutinized the names, pressing my side against hers. “Do you recognize any of the names?”
“No,” she said, sniffling. “It’s weird, right? He must host some big parties. Why else would he need a record of attendance?”
My mind went to underground orgies and sex clubs—discreet, undocumented. If Salvadore was manufacturing date rape drugs, he had to be using them somewhere. But the guestbook didn’t make sense.
Perverts didn’t typically keep records. Not unless…
My brain stalled on the dark red smears by each name.
“It looks like blood,” Olivia observed with a cute wrinkled nose. “God, it’s so archaic. Like voodoo or something.”
“Or collateral.” My brain was piecing it together quicker than I could communicate. “It’s like a blood signature. DNA. Indisputable proof that they were really here.”
“Ew. But why?”
“Blackmail. It buys their silence.” A sharp emotion daggered into my chest. “Fuck this. We’re leaving.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “No, you can’t! Not yet. Jax—”
“We had a deal,” I reminded her firmly. “You hold what you find until my crew is far away from this place.”
“But I don’t know what any of it means yet!” Olivia clambered onto her knees and shuffled closer until she could grab onto my shoulders. My hand automatically went to her waist to steady her. “This isn’t enough. You owe me until sunset. That was the deal.”
At my furious glare, she softened. “We can wait and hide until he leaves.”
“You’re not so good at the waiting part.”
Her expression turned sheepish. “I saw an opportunity. I’m not sorry for that.” She waved the guestbook between us. “This proves there is something fishy going on. We haven’t looked outside the mansion. He might have other hiding spots.”
I shook my head and extracted her claws from my shoulders. “Not happening. This was already too close. Others could be coming.”
Olivia chewed her lip, looking stubborn.
“I’m not leaving,” she decided. “Not yet. I owe Molly that much.”
I bared my teeth. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”
“Better than being a coward.”
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped me as I got to my feet. The word was a trigger, a hatchet to my aforementioned daddy issues. It took every ounce of willpower not to grip that pouty mouth and force her to take it back.
I stood over her instead, taking sick satisfaction in the way she looked up at me, eyes fluttering nervously at the danger on my face.
My voice was dark. “Good luck then, princess.”
“Wait,” she said, softly, regretfully. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”
I faltered.
“I’m just—shit.” She scrambled, clearly flustered. “I can’t think when you look at me like that.”
My lips twitched, despite myself. “Like what?”
“Like you want to murder me and flush me down the toilet.”
“This your first apology?”
“Shut up,” she said, sighing defeatedly. “I’m just so overwhelmed. I thought I was ready, that I was prepared. But I’m not. I have no idea what I’m doing.” Her eyes met mine. “Without you and—god, Madoc—I would’ve never have gotten this far.”
“Better.” I grinned at her.
Her cheeks warmed. “Please stay.”
My grin dropped. I turned away, unable to look at her, at those grey-blue eyes so wide and sincere. I liked it when she begged, but not like this.
Did I have a weakness for cute girls who needed saving? Or was I simply preying on that weakness? Devouring it?
Grinding my jaw, I turned back to her. “I’m not hiding.”
She frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You want answers, I’ll get them. But you won’t like how I do it.”
In my ear, I heard my crew latch onto my words and the meaning behind them. As if on cue, Madoc reappeared in the doorway, eyes alight with hunger that made my insides lurch.
I gave him a solemn nod. “Root canal.”
His lips curled up slowly.
“You sure about this, chief?” Callum asked in my ear, his voice hitching as he came up the stairs.
My eyes flickered to Olivia. She stared back at me questionably. “No.”
But fuck it. I was doing it anyway.
Ryle arrived next, looking pale but determined, gun already in hand. I took one look at him, all his twitchy glory, and said, “You stay with Olivia.”
Instantly, his face dropped. “I’m not a kid.”
He was, but I knew better than to point that out right now. “Someone needs to make sure she doesn’t get tangled in the insulation.”
Olivia chirped in outrage. “That is so—”
Ryle’s protests were louder: “I hate when you treat me with kid gloves. It’s bullshit.” He pouted and shuffled into the room like a moody teenager.
Madoc kicked his shin as he passed, a solitary reassurance that made Ryle hiss and hobble. “Dick.”
I met Callum, Zola, and Nate on the landing, all of them masked and armed, which made my chest swell up all prideful.
“Secure the painting.”
Zola nodded, dark eyes glinting dangerously above her pretty rhinestone mask. Madoc slipped out behind me and prowled up the stairs. His eagerness for bloodshed should’ve been alarming to me—instead, I found it strangely arousing. My own blood started to boil, my heart thumping hard.
I shot one last glance at Olivia. She met my gaze steadily, even as my demons unleashed from their brittle chains.
She wanted a savior. I’d give her a monster instead.
As I lunged up the stairs, I sank deeper into the crimson-tinged fog. By the time I made it to the bedroom door, I was feral. Callum stood on my left, Madoc on my right. Nate covered my back, for once, utterly still and silent.
We didn’t say a word.
And when the door opened, we attacked.