Chapter Nine - Isabella
My body still hums with the memory of what we just shared.
The slow, deliberate drag of his tongue between my thighs, the thick stretch of him sliding deep inside me, the low growl vibrating through his chest as he came.
Even now, after we dressed in warm clothes, his fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine, each light touch sending sparks across my skin.
I press a soft kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart.
He exhales sharply, but his body tenses beneath me like a coiled spring. His hand stills on my back. “We can’t do this again.”
I lift my head to look at him. His storm-gray eyes are dark, conflicted, the lines of his face tight with something that looks a lot like pain. “Why not?” I ask softly. “We both felt it. We both wanted it.”
His jaw clenches. “Because wanting it doesn’t make it safe.
” His voice is low, rough, and edged with frustration.
“I’ve spent years keeping my distance for a reason.
Emotions cloud judgment. They slow reaction time.
They get people killed. I’ve seen it happen too many times. I won’t let it happen to you.”
I trace a finger along the fresh scar on his ribs, the one he earned protecting me earlier. “You’re not going to let anything happen to me. I trust you.”
He kisses me, and I feel the war inside him. His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips like he’s trying to hold on and push me away at the same time. For a moment, the kiss deepens, heat flaring again, but then he pulls back, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged.
“Goddamn it, Bee,” he mutters. “You’re going to try to break every rule I have, and I’m terrified I’m going to let you.”
Before I can answer, a faint scrape of boots sounds on the wet porch outside. Then the side door explodes inward with a violent crash of splintering wood.
Cold, rain-soaked air rushes in, carrying the sharp scent of wet pine and mud. Two masked figures burst through, water streaming from their dark tactical gear. One grips a long knife that glints coldly in the lantern light, and the other holds up a gun.
Time slows.
“Jax!” I gasp, scrambling for the blanket.
He moves like lightning. In one brutal motion, he rolls off the couch, shoving me hard behind it. “Stay the fuck down!”
The first intruder lunges with the knife. Jax blocks the downward strike with his forearm. He drives an elbow into the man’s masked face with a sickening crunch of cartilage. Blood sprays from the broken nose.
The second intruder raises his pistol, aiming straight at me.
I grab the heavy lantern and hurl it. It slams into the gunman’s shoulder. The impact knocks his aim wide. The bullet thuds into the wall inches from where I was, plaster dust exploding outward.
Jax roars—a raw, furious sound—and charges the gunman.
Their bodies collide with a heavy smack of flesh and bone.
They crash into the table, sending it skidding across the floorboards.
Jax drives a knee into the man’s gut with a wet oof, then follows with a vicious right hook that snaps the attacker’s head sideways. The pistol clatters across the floor.
The knife-wielder recovers fast. He comes at Jax from behind, blade whistling through the air. Jax twists at the last second, but the knife still slices across his ribs. Blood blooms instantly.
“Jax!” I cry.
Fury flashes across his face, not at the attacker, but at himself. His eyes burn with self-loathing. He spins with a guttural growl, catches the man’s wrist, and wrenches it backward until the knife clatters to the floor.
The lodge falls deathly silent except for our ragged breathing.
Jax stands in the center of the chaos, chest heaving, blood running down his bare torso. His eyes find mine instantly, scanning me from head to toe for injury. The fury in them is raw and directed inward.
“Are you hurt?” he demands, voice rough and edged with anger.
I shake my head, already moving toward him. “No, but you are. Sit down.”
He doesn’t sit. He checks both men with sharp, efficient movements, securing their wrists and ankles with zip ties, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps. Only then does he lower himself onto the edge of the couch, one hand pressed hard against the bleeding gash.
I grab the first aid kit, hands shaking as I kneel in front of him. Tears burn my eyes. “I’m sorry. We were so caught up, I didn’t hear them.”
Jax catches my wrist, stopping me. His grip is firm, almost too tight, slick with his own blood.
“This is exactly why I don’t do this,” he growls, anger and self-loathing thick in his voice.
“I let my guard down for five fucking minutes, and you almost got shot. Again. Because of me. Because I couldn’t keep my hands off you. Look where it got us.”
Fresh tears spill over. I press gauze against the wound to apply pressure. The metallic scent of blood fills the air between us. “When I saw that knife coming at you. I can’t lose you either. I know you think emotions make you weak, but we could be stronger together.”
He stares down at me, breathing hard through his nose, the conflict raging across his face. For a long moment, he says nothing, jaw working. Then he cups my cheek roughly with his free hand, thumb brushing away my tears.
“You already passed my walls,” he says, voice low and strained. “But that doesn’t make this smart. I’m supposed to protect you, not fuck you while hostiles are closing in. I swore I wouldn’t let this happen. I swore it for a reason.”
I lean into his touch anyway, refusing to back down. “We’re in this together now. The ledger, the threats, everything.”
He pulls me up into his lap, careful of his injured side, forehead resting heavily against mine. His breathing is still ragged, anger and desire warring inside him.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Bee,” he mutters, voice rough with frustration and something deeper, fear. “I can’t afford to want you like this. Not when it makes me sloppy. Not when it nearly got you killed tonight.”
I cup his face with both hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Then stop trying to carry it all alone. Let me stand beside you. Let me be more than something you have to protect from a distance.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His grip on my waist tightens, almost bruising, as if he’s still fighting the urge to push me away and pull me closer at the same time.
I kiss him softly, tasting salt from my tears, then go back to tending his wound with steadier hands. The gash needs proper stitches, but the gauze and tight bandaging will hold for now.
As I work, the reality of what just happened sinks in. The thieves had found us here. The scattered ledger notes on the floor are a stark reminder that the danger is far from over.
Once the bleeding slows, Jax stands slowly and secures the broken door with spare boards. He drags the two unconscious men to the far corner and reinforces their restraints. Only then does he return, pulling me back into his arms.
I rest my head carefully against his uninjured shoulder, one hand over the fresh bandage. “We need to call your team. Get these two out of here and get you proper medical help.”
“We will,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. His voice is still rough, still fighting himself. “But right now, you’re safe. That’s what matters.”
I close my eyes, letting his warmth surround me. Jax might still be fighting this with every stubborn inch of himself, but the walls between us had finally started to crumble.
Whatever came next, we would face it together, whether he was ready to admit it or not.