Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
KNOX
The second I read that text, everything inside me goes cold and sharp. It's like someone dumped ice water straight into my veins, freezing me from the inside out. My muscles lock up, my jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding together.
I'm coming for you.
Four words. That's all it takes to turn the whole night sideways. Four words from a man who should've stayed in Ainsley's past, buried and forgotten. But here he is, crawling back into her life like the parasite he is, threatening everything we've built together.
Jax is already moving, phone to his ear, voice low and clipped as he hits Mason's number.
I stay crouched in front of Ainsley, my hands on her knees, feeling the fine tremor running through her.
It's not just fear, it's the kind of bone-deep terror that comes from knowing exactly what someone can do because you've lived through it before.
Her eyes are wide, fixed on the phone in her hand like it might bite her, like those words might jump off the screen and become real.
Owen is upstairs sleeping, safe in his bed, with no idea that the monster from his mother's past is closing in.
That fact sits in my chest like a live grenade with the pin already pulled, counting down to an explosion I can't see coming.
"Look at me," I tell her, my voice rougher than I meant.
She does. Her pupils are blown wide, her breathing shallow and uneven.
"He's not getting through that door. He's not getting near you. He's not getting near Owen. I don't care what I have to do. I don't care who I have to go through. That bastard doesn't touch what's mine."
She whispers, "You can't promise that."
She's wrong. I can. I will. I'll burn the whole goddamn world down before I let Justin lay one finger on her or our boy.
I stand and pull her up with me, keeping one arm locked around her waist, holding her to me.
She's still trembling, and I can feel her heart hammering against my chest. Jax is already barking orders into the phone, full lockdown, blackout protocols, every brother who can ride needs to be here twenty minutes ago.
I take the bag she packed earlier from her hand, the go-bag we put together two weeks ago when she first told me Justin had been calling, leaving messages, showing up at places he shouldn't know about, and set it by the door.
We're not staying at the clubhouse. Too many eyes.
Too many ways in. Too many people who could get caught in the crossfire if this goes bad.
"Go upstairs," I tell her, keeping my voice steady even though every instinct in me is screaming to get them both out of here right now. "Stay with Owen. Five minutes. That's all I need."
She nods, her throat working as she swallows hard, and disappears up the stairs.
I watch until she's out of sight, making sure she's moving, making sure she's safe for these few precious minutes.
The second she's gone, Jax and I lock eyes across the room.
His face is as hard and deadly as I've ever seen it.
"We don't just hide," I say, my voice flat and cold. "We end him."
Jax's jaw flexes, that muscle jumping the way it does when he's thinking something violent. "Agreed. But we move her first. Cabin's ready. Generator's tested. Water, food, security system. No paper trail. No way to trace it back to us or the club."
I nod once, sharp and quick. "Steele and Riot ride escort. Tiny stays here with Lucy and the kids until we give the all-clear. Mason and Dagger coordinate the rest. I want eyes on every road, every motel, every place that bastard might be hiding."
We move fast, with the kind of speed that comes from years of riding together, trusting each other with our lives.
By the time Ainsley comes back down with Owen still asleep in her arms, his little face peaceful, with no idea that everything is about to change, the common room is full of cuts and hard faces.
Brothers I'd trust with my life. Brothers who know what's at stake.
Mason is already on-site, Dagger beside him, both of them radiating the kind of quiet danger that comes before a storm.
The president's eyes are flat and dangerous when he looks at me, and I see the unspoken promise there: we protect our own, no matter the cost.
"You take the lead on this," Mason says, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "He's your woman's problem. You want him gone, we make him gone. But we do it clean enough that it doesn't blow back on the club. We can't afford ATF or local PD sniffing around our business right now."
"Clean isn't the priority," I answer, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Dead is."
Mason doesn't argue. He just nods, and that's all the permission I need.
We load out through the side door under cover of darkness, moving like shadows.
Two bikes, blacked-out cage, no lights until we're past the second turn and well away from prying eyes.
I ride shotgun with Ainsley and Owen in the back while Jax drives, his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes constantly scanning the mirrors and the road ahead.
Steele and Riot flank us the whole way up into the pines, their engines a low rumble that feels like a promise of violence if anyone tries to stop us.
The cabin is exactly where it's supposed to be, deep enough that cell service is a rumor and the only road in is one we control, one we can watch and defend if it comes to that.
I do a full sweep while Jax stays with them in the running vehicle, engine idling, ready to bolt if something goes wrong.
Windows, doors, tree line, the old game cameras we installed last fall after a rival club got too curious about our territory.
Clear. Every angle, every approach, every possible entry point.
Only then do I wave them in, my shoulders finally dropping just a fraction from their defensive hunch.
Inside, I set the alarm, check the backup generator, open the gun safe, and start laying out what we need.
Two handguns, one shotgun, extra ammo, knives, zip ties, duct tape.
Everything needed for either defense or offense, depending on how this plays out.
Ainsley is quiet, arms wrapped around herself, watching every move I make like she's memorizing it, like she's trying to convince herself this is real and we're actually going to keep her safe.
Jax settles Owen in the portable crib in the smaller bedroom, tucking the blanket around him with surprising gentleness for a man with hands that have broken bones and crushed windpipes, and comes back out, closing the door softly behind him.
"She's shaking," he says under his breath, quiet enough that only I can hear.
"I know."
I cross to her, cup her face in both hands, and make her look at me.
Really look at me. "He's not going to touch you.
He's not going to touch our boy. And when this is over, you're coming home with us.
For good. No more looking over your shoulder.
No more wondering if today's the day he shows up. I'm going to make sure of it."
She leans into both of us when Jax steps up beside me, and I feel the way her body is still braced for impact, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I hate it. I hate that Justin put this fear in her, that he's made her doubt her own safety, that he's stolen her peace.
But I'm going to give it back to her. One way or another.
Once she's in the bedroom with the door cracked so she can hear if Owen wakes, Jax and I step out onto the porch.
The night is thick and quiet except for the wind in the pines, that low whisper that sounds almost like voices if you listen too closely.
The air is cold enough to see our breath, and somewhere in the distance an owl calls out, hunting.
"We can't sit here and wait for him to find us," I say, staring out into the darkness beyond the porch light's reach.
"No."
I pull out the burner phone Mason gave me last week and dial the number he provided, a contact who still has access to certain databases, the kind that law enforcement uses but civilians aren't supposed to touch.
Twenty minutes later, after some careful conversation and the promise of cash payment, I have a partial plate, a motel name two towns over, and confirmation that Justin's been flashing cash and asking about a woman with a toddler.
Asking the wrong people the wrong questions, leaving a trail a blind man could follow.
"He's not careful," I tell Jax, feeling a grim satisfaction settle in my gut. "He's angry and sloppy. That works for us. Angry men make mistakes."
We call it in. Mason greenlights the plan without hesitation: Steele, Riot, Rook, and Switch meet us at a secondary location at 0300.
We leave Tiny and a prospect on the cabin perimeter with orders to shoot first and ask questions never if anyone they don't recognize tries to approach.
Jax stays with Ainsley and Owen. I go hunting.
Leaving her feels like cutting something vital out of my chest, like leaving behind a piece of myself that I might not get back.
But sitting still while that bastard breathes, while he plans whatever twisted revenge he's got cooking in his sick mind, is worse.
I have to move. I have to act. I have to end this before it gets worse.
I walk back inside, my boots heavy on the wooden floor. Ainsley is sitting on the edge of the couch, Owen asleep against her chest, one tiny hand fisted in her shirt. Her eyes find mine immediately, and I see the question there before she even opens her mouth.
"You're leaving," she says. It's not a question. She knows me well enough by now to read my body language, to see the shift from protector to hunter.
"Just for a few hours. We know where he is. We're going to end this tonight, one way or another."
"Knox—"