Chapter 20
TWENTY
KNOX
The cabin door is open and there's blood on the porch when I come around the final bend. The wood is slick with it, a dark trail that catches the fading afternoon light.
Jax is on the ground, slumped against the railing like a discarded puppet. There's so much blood I can't tell where it's all coming from, his shoulder, his side, maybe both. His face is pale, almost gray, his breathing shallow and rattling in his chest.
I'm off the bike before it fully stops, the engine still rumbling as I let it fall.
"Jax!" I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over him, not sure where to touch without causing more damage. "Brother. Stay with me."
His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then locking onto mine. "Knox..."
"Where are you hit?"
"Shoulder. Maybe ribs. I don't—" He coughs, and blood flecks his lips, bright red against the pale. "He took them. Two men. Dark sedan. Headed west on the old fire road. Maybe ten minutes ago."
I check his pulse. It's there, but weak. Too weak. His skin is cold and clammy under my fingers.
Tiny's truck roars up the drive, gravel spraying everywhere. He's out and running before the engine dies, his boots pounding across the dirt.
"I've got him," Tiny says, already pulling out a field kit from the pack on his back. His hands are steady, efficient. "Go. Go now."
I look at Jax one more time. His eyes are barely open, glazed with pain, but he manages to rasp, "Get them back."
I will.
I'm on my bike and hitting the club-wide channel before the thought fully forms. "All units.
Justin has Ainsley and the boy. Last seen west on the old fire road in a dark four-door sedan.
I want every available rider on the road now.
Mason, Dagger, lock down every road out of the county.
I don't care if you have to park your bikes across the goddamn highway.
Steele, Riot, Rook, meet me at the secondary checkpoint.
Switch, I need plates and traffic cams if any still work up here. Anything. Everything."
Acknowledgments come back in a rapid string of voices, overlapping, urgent. Mason's is the calmest and the most lethal.
"We're rolling. You stay on the line, Knox."
Steele, Riot, Rook, and Switch are already with me, their engines a chorus of fury as we tear down the mountain. We spread out in a net formation, covering every possible route west, every dirt road and forgotten trail that could lead out of these mountains.
It takes forty-three minutes. Forty-three minutes that feel like forty-three hours.
Switch is the one who finds the sedan, parked behind a falling-down house that doesn't appear on most maps, hidden in a stand of overgrown pines. He keeps eyes on it while the rest of us close in on foot through the trees, our boots silent on the carpet of dead needles.
I can see the glow of a single light through a dirty window, flickering like a candle. One vehicle. No sentries visible. Either they're cocky or they're stupid.
Mason's voice is quiet in my ear, barely more than a breath. "Your call, Knox."
"We go now," I answer, my voice hard. "Non-lethal if possible until the woman and child are clear. After that I don't care what happens to them."
We move.
Steele and Riot take the back entrance. Weston and Wyatt cover the sides, weapons drawn. Rook and Switch stay on the tree line with long guns, scopes trained on every window. Dagger and Mason hold the road in case anyone tries to run, their bikes positioned like roadblocks.
I kick the front door.
It explodes inward, the rotten wood splintering under my boot.
Justin is in the middle of the room, Ainsley half-shielded behind him, Owen clutched against her chest. The boy's face is buried in her shoulder, his small body trembling.
The second man is reaching for a weapon on the table, a shotgun, old but functional.
He never makes it. Steele shoots him in the head and he goes down hard, screaming, the weapon clattering to the floor.
Justin spins, using Ainsley as a shield, the barrel of his gun pressed under her jaw. I can see the indent it makes in her skin, the way her pulse jumps beneath it.
"Back up," he snarls, his voice high and frantic. "Everyone back the fuck up or I paint the wall with her. I swear to God I'll do it."
I stop six feet away. My own weapon is trained on the small patch of his forehead I can see above her hair, right between his eyes.
"You're done," I tell him, my voice flat and cold. "You just don't know it yet."
Ainsley's eyes find mine. There's terror there, raw and animal, but also something else. Something broken and hollow.
She thinks Jax is dead.
I can see it in her face, in the way her expression has gone slack, like all the hope has drained out of her.
Before I can say anything, before I can tell her he's alive, the door behind me opens.
Ainsley's eyes go wide, impossibly wide.
I don't turn. I don't need to.
I know that uneven footstep, the drag of a boot that can't quite lift properly. I know that labored breathing, wet and painful.
Jax.
He's barely standing, one arm in a makeshift sling, his shirt soaked through with blood, fresh blood, still seeping through the bandages Tiny wrapped around him. Tiny is right behind him, looking furious, one hand hovering near Jax's back in case he falls.
"Couldn't keep him down," Tiny mutters, shaking his head. "Stubborn bastard."
Ainsley makes a sound, half sob, half gasp, like all the air has been punched out of her lungs. "Jax?"
"Hey, baby," Jax says, his voice rough but steady, so steady it must be taking everything he has. "Miss me?"
Justin's grip on her tightens, his knuckles white around the gun. "Stay back or I—"
Ainsley moves. She drops her weight, twists, and drives her elbow back into his ribs at the same moment she shoves Owen toward Jax. It's desperate and clumsy but it works. Jax catches him with his good arm, stumbling but staying upright, clutching the boy against his chest.
I close the distance in two strides and put Justin on the floor so hard the gun skitters away across the boards, spinning into the corner.
He tries to fight. I don't let him.
The rest of the brothers flood the room like a wave. In under a minute Justin is face-down, wrists bound with zip ties, bleeding from a split lip and a nose that will never sit straight again. The second man is cuffed and moaning, still clutching his shoulder.
Ainsley is on her knees in the middle of the room, shaking so hard her teeth chatter, both hands pressed to her mouth like she's trying to hold in a scream.
I drop beside her and pull her against me. She clutches at my cut like it's the only solid thing left in the world, her fingers digging into the leather.
"I've got you," I tell her, my voice low and steady. "Both of you. It's over. It's done."
She's sobbing now, ugly and raw, her whole body convulsing. "I thought, I thought he was—"
"I'm right here," Jax says, kneeling beside us despite Tiny's protests, despite the way his face goes white with pain. "I'm okay, baby. I'm okay."
She reaches for him with shaking hands, and he pulls her into his good arm. Owen is crying too, his small sobs muffled against Jax's chest, and we're all just holding each other in the middle of this wreck of a room, surrounded by blood and broken wood and the men who tried to destroy us.
Mason steps into the doorway, takes in the scene with those cold, calculating eyes, and nods once.
"Bring him outside," he says, gesturing to Justin with a jerk of his chin.
Steele and Riot haul Justin to his feet and drag him out, his boots scraping trails in the dirt floor. The second man follows, half-carried by Dagger and Weston.
Outside, the sky is starting to lighten, pale pink and gold bleeding across the horizon.
Justin is on his knees in the dirt, hands bound behind his back, blood dripping from his face onto the ground. He's still trying to look defiant, but there's fear in his eyes now. Real fear.
The entire club is here now. Weston. Wyatt. Steele. Tiny. Rook. Switch. Mason. Dagger. Every brother who answered the call, who dropped everything and rode into the mountains to help us. Their bikes form a semicircle, engines ticking as they cool.
Ainsley is standing between Jax and me, Owen in her arms, his face still buried against her. She's still shaking, but she's standing. That's what matters.
I walk over to where Justin's gun is lying in the dirt, half-covered in pine needles. I pick it up, check the chamber, five rounds left, and walk back to Ainsley.
I hold it out to her.
"Your choice," I say quietly, so only she can hear.
She stares at the gun like she doesn't understand what it is, what I'm offering her.
"Knox—"
"He's not going to stop," I tell her, keeping my voice level. "He's never going to stop. Not unless you end it. You know that. Deep down, you know."
Justin laughs. It's a wet, ugly sound, blood bubbling between his teeth. "She won't do it. She's too weak. She always has been. That's why she needed me. That's why she'll always need someone."
Ainsley's eyes flick to him, then back to me. I can see something changing in her expression, something hardening.
"You don't have to," Jax says softly from beside her. "We can handle this. You don't have to carry this."
But I can see it in her face. She knows.
She knows this only ends one way.
She takes the gun.
Her hands are shaking so hard I'm not sure she can hold it. But she does. Her fingers wrap around the grip, white-knuckled.
She walks toward Justin. Slowly. Each step deliberate, measured, like she's walking through water.
He's still smiling, blood staining his teeth red. "You think you're strong now? You think those bikers made you tough? You're nothing, Ainsley. You'll always be nothing. You'll always be that scared little girl crying in the bathroom."
She stops three feet away from him. The gun is steady now, aimed at his chest.
"You're right," she says quietly, her voice barely carrying. "I was nothing. When I was with you, I was nothing."
His smile falters, confusion flickering across his face.
"But I'm not with you anymore."
She raises the gun higher, level with his heart.
Justin's eyes go wide, all the bravado draining away. "Ainsley, wait. Wait, we can talk about this.”
"You don't get to hurt my family anymore."
She pulls the trigger.
The shot echoes through the trees, sending birds scattering from the branches above. Justin slumps forward, a dark stain spreading across his chest, blooming like a flower.
Silence.
Complete, ringing silence.
Ainsley drops the gun like it burned her. Her knees buckle.
I catch her before she hits the ground, pulling her against me as her legs give out completely.
"What have I done?" she whispers, her voice breaking. "Oh God, what have I done?"
Jax is there, wrapping both of us in his arms despite the pain it must be causing him, despite the way his breath hitches.
"You saved our son," he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You saved yourself. You did what you had to do."
She's sobbing now, her whole body shaking, convulsing in our arms. "I killed him. I killed—"
"You survived," I tell her, gripping her tighter. "That's all that matters. You survived, and Owen survived, and that's all that fucking matters."
Mason steps forward, his boots crunching on the gravel. "Dagger. Clean it. No traces. I want this place scrubbed."
Dagger nods, already pulling gloves from his pocket. "Already on it, Prez."
The brothers move with practiced efficiency, like they've done this a thousand times before.
Within minutes, there's no sign Justin was ever here.
The body is gone, the blood covered with fresh dirt, the gun wiped clean and disappeared.
The second man is still alive, barely, and they load him into a van with no windows.
We load Ainsley and Owen into the cage, the club's SUV. Jax insists on riding with them despite Tiny's protests, despite the way he's swaying on his feet. I stay on my bike, right beside them the whole way, my hand on the door handle every time we stop.
As we ride down the mountain, the sun starts to rise, turning the sky brilliant orange and red.
It's over.
Finally, it's over.