Chapter 11 #3
"We're already in danger," Jax says, stepping closer. "The moment we saw you on that highway, we were in danger. The moment we brought you here, we were in danger. The moment we fell for you, we were in fucking danger. But we chose it. We chose you ."
"You don't know what you're saying.”
"I know exactly what I'm saying," Jax says. "I'm saying you're ours. I'm saying we're not letting you go. I'm saying we're going to handle Justin Williams, and we're going to keep you and Owen safe."
"You can't promise that.”
"Watch me," Knox says.
I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. "I'm scared. I'm so scared of how much I need you. And I'm terrified that if I stay, I'm going to lose you."
Knox crosses the room and pulls me into his arms.
"It is real," he murmurs against my hair. "This is as real as it gets."
Jax wraps his arms around both of us.
"We're changing the plan," Knox says quietly. "Justin made a mistake."
"What do you mean?" I whisper.
"He showed his hand," Jax says. "Now we hunt him."
I pull back, looking between them. "What?"
"He's been watching," Knox says. "Which means he's close. Which means we can find him."
"And when we do?" I ask, my voice shaking.
"We end this," Jax says simply. "For good."
I close my eyes, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks.
"I'm staying," I whisper. "I'm not running anymore."
"Good," Knox says. "Because we're not letting you."
"We're going to handle this," Jax adds. "We're going to handle him. And then we're going to build a life together."
I nod, my face pressed against Knox's chest, breathing in his scent, letting it ground me.
"I'm staying," I say again. "I'm not running anymore."
Knox tilts my face up and kisses me, slow, deep, full of promise.
When he pulls back, Jax is there, his hand cupping my face.
"We've got you," he says. "Always."
I believe them.
For the first time, I truly believe them.
JUSTIN
The truck smells like stale coffee and sweat.
I've been sitting here for three hours.
Watching.
Waiting.
The telephoto lens is heavy in my hands, but I keep it steady, trained on the park across the street.
There.
Movement near the swings.
I adjust the focus and my breath catches.
Her.
Ainsley.
My Ainsley.
She's pushing Owen on the swing, her face lit up with a smile I haven't seen in months. Maybe years.
She looks... happy.
That pisses me off more than anything.
I zoom in closer, my jaw clenching as two men step into frame.
The bikers.
The ones who stole her from me.
One of them, tall, dark hair, cocky grin, says something that makes her laugh. The other one, quieter, more intense, reaches out and touches her lower back.
Possessive.
Like he has a right.
My finger tightens on the camera, snapping photo after photo.
Click. Click. Click.
Evidence.
Proof.
She didn't leave me.
She was taken.
It took me three days to trace her phone.
Three fucking days of calling in favors, lying to my lieutenant, running searches through the department database when no one was looking.
"Just checking on a lead," I told Dave when he asked why I was running plates at two in the morning.
He didn't push.
Cops don't question other cops.
That's the rule.
The towing company gave me Jackson. A small-town mechanic confirmed the car had been picked up and junked. Then it was just a matter of time.
I've been here for a week now.
Watching.
Learning their routines.
The bikers leave in the mornings. She stays home with Owen. Sometimes she goes to the bar, Perdition, the sign says, but never alone.
Always protected.
Always guarded.
Like I'm some kind of threat.
I'm not the threat. They are.
I lower the camera and stare at the photos on the screen.
Ainsley smiling.
Owen laughing.
The bikers touching her like she belongs to them.
My hands shake.
She doesn't understand.
She never did.
I tried to protect her. I tried to keep her safe. I gave her everything, a home, stability, a future.
And she threw it away.
For what?
For them?
Two criminals in leather cuts who probably fuck anything that moves?
She's confused.
That's the only explanation.
She's scared and confused and she doesn't know what she's doing.
But I can fix it.
I always fix it.
My phone buzzes.
A text from the precinct.
Lieutenant: Where are you? You were supposed to be in for your shift an hour ago.
I stare at the message, my jaw tight.
Fuck.
I type back quickly.
Me: Family emergency. Taking a personal day.
Lieutenant: Everything okay?
Me: Yeah. Just need to handle something. I'll be back tomorrow.
I silence my phone and toss it onto the passenger seat.
I've already burned through two personal days this week.
If I'm not careful, they're going to start asking questions.
But I don't care.
This is more important.
She's more important.
I watch as one of the bikers, the tall one, lifts Owen out of the swing and holds him up in the air.
Owen squeals with delight.
My son.
And this piece of shit is playing daddy like he has any right.
Rage floods through me, hot and blinding.
I want to get out of the truck.
I want to walk over there and put a bullet in both of their heads.
But I can't.
Not yet.
Not here.
Too many witnesses.
Too much risk.
I need to be smart about this.
I need a plan.
I zoom in on Ainsley again.
She's laughing at something the quiet one said.
Her hand rests on his arm.
Casual.
Comfortable.
Like she's known him for years instead of weeks.
My chest tightens.
She never looked at me like that.
Not even in the beginning.
Not even when I tried.
Because you didn't try hard enough, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.
I shove it down.
No.
I did everything right.
I gave her everything.
She's the one who fucked it up.
She's the one who ran.
I lower the camera and lean back against the seat, closing my eyes.
I can still see her face the last time I hit her.
The way she looked at me.
Not with fear.
With pity.
Like I was pathetic.
Like I was nothing.
That's when I knew.
She was planning to leave.
She was planning to take Owen and disappear.
And I was right.
I'm always right.
My phone buzzes again.
I ignore it.
Instead, I pull up the photos I took yesterday.
Ainsley at the bar, serving drinks.
Ainsley walking into a small cottage on the edge of the property.
Ainsley standing on the porch with both bikers, their hands on her, their mouths on her.
I zoom in on her face.
She looks... content.
No.
She looks brainwashed.
They've gotten into her head.
They've convinced her she's safe.
But she's not.
She'll never be safe without me.
I open the glove compartment and pull out the burner phone I bought three days ago.
Untraceable.
Unregistered.
Perfect.
I scroll through the photos on my camera, selecting the best ones.
Owen on the swing.
Ainsley laughing.
The bikers touching her.
I upload them to the burner and type out a message.
I see him. I see you. You can't hide forever, Ainsley. You belong to me.
I hit send.
Then I wait.
It doesn't take long.
Through the telephoto lens, I watch as she pulls out her phone.
Her face goes pale.
Her hands start shaking.
Good.
She needs to remember.
She needs to understand.
I'm not going away.
I'm never going away.
I send another message.
You thought you could run? You thought you could replace me? I'm coming for you, Ainsley. And when I do, I'm taking what's mine.
I watch as she drops the phone.
One of the bikers, the quiet one, picks it up.
His expression darkens.
He says something to the other one.
They both look around, scanning the area.
I sink lower in my seat, keeping the camera steady.
They won't see me.
I'm too far away.
Too careful.
After a few minutes, they gather Owen and head back toward the truck.
Ainsley is crying.
The bikers are on high alert, their hands hovering near their waistbands.
Probably armed.
Probably dangerous.
But I don't care.
They can't protect her forever.
Eventually, they'll slip up.
Eventually, I'll get my chance.
I lower the camera and start the truck.
I've seen enough for today.
I know where she lives.
I know where she works.
I know who she's with.
Now it's just a matter of timing.
I pull out of the parking lot and head back toward the motel on the edge of town.
It's a shithole, but it's cheap and off the radar.
No one asks questions.
No one cares.
Perfect.
Back in the room, I spread the photos out on the bed.
Dozens of them.
Ainsley at the park.
Ainsley at the bar.
Ainsley with them.
I stare at her face, my chest tight.
She's mine.
She's always been mine.
And I'm going to prove it.
I pull out my notebook and start writing.
Plan:
Simple.
Clean.
Effective.
I underline the last line twice.
Bring her home.
Because that's where she belongs.
With me.
Where I can keep her safe.
Where I can make sure she never leaves again.
I close the notebook and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I'll send another message.
Tomorrow, I'll tighten the noose.
And soon, very soon, I'll make my move.
She thinks she's safe.
She thinks those bikers can protect her.
But they can't.
No one can.
Because I'm not just coming for her.
I'm coming for everything.
And when I'm done, she'll understand.
She'll finally understand.
You can't run from me, Ainsley.
You never could.