Chapter Five
Jax
T he Bentley's engine purred as I pulled away from Jovie's mansion, having dropped the little menace home safely. My hands gripped the leather steering wheel harder than necessary as I replayed the evening.
Avery's infectious laughter, Jovie's suspicious glance when I'd volunteered for pickup duty again tomorrow, and most importantly, the way Estelle had avoided my eyes at dismissal.
She'd looked exhausted. Overworked. Running herself into the ground while the world took and took and took from her without giving anything back.
Mine.
The word pulsed through me like a heartbeat, fierce and undeniable. She didn't know it yet, but every breath she took, every step she made through that goddamn obstacle course she called a life, she was walking toward me.
Toward the safety I could provide, the protection she desperately needed, the love she'd never have to fight for .
Adrian was waiting outside his own colossal home, leaning against a black, beat-up SUV, specifically kept for undercover work with windows tinted to oblivion and plates swapped weekly. He tossed me the keys as I stepped out, his grin sharp beneath the blue LED lights of his yard.
“Going incognito, Lion?" He nodded at the Bentley, its chrome gleaming under the blue lights. "She's really got you slumming it, huh?"
I ignored the jab, shrugging off my tailored Armani jacket and tossing it into the Bentley's backseat like it wasn't worth more than the shitty SUV I was about to spend my night in.
The night air cut through my shirt, warm, and I welcomed the chance to dull the restless heat burning under my skin, the desperate need to see her, to make sure she was safe.
"Just being discreet," I grumbled.
Adrian snorted, kicking the SUV's battered tire with his designer sneaker. "Discreet. Right." His green eyes glittered with mischief as he studied my face, reading the tension there like an open book. "Want me to tag along? Bring some rope and duct tape for your girl?”
The thought of Adrian anywhere near Estelle's neighborhood, much less kidnapping her, made something violent and possessive roar to life in my chest.
"No." The word came out harsh, sharp. Adrian's grin widened, green eyes dancing with amusement, but he didn't push. He knew better than to test me when it came to her already.
The SUV smelled like bleach and gun oil, the ghost of our previous adventures clinging to the interior like guilty secrets. The floor mats were stained with things I’d rather not identify, and the dashboard was scratched from years of hauling equipment.
But it was anonymous and forgettable, perfect for what I needed tonight.
As Estelle's neighborhood came into view, my jaw clenched hard. It was worse than the background check had indicated, worse than what her security cameras made it look like.
I'd studied those images until I could navigate her streets blindfolded.
Graffiti covered every available surface, tagged walls proclaiming territory and threats in spray paint that glowed under dying streetlights.
Men clustered on corners with their hands buried in their pockets and eyes that tracked movements with predatory gazes. Drug dealers, probably, or worse. The kind of men who looked at women like Estelle and saw opportunity wrapped in vulnerability.
The kind of men I'd enjoy introducing to Adrian's collection of modified tools.
I parked just outside her building, the engine ticking as it cooled, and turned off the lights. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by distant sirens and the occasional shout echoing off concrete walls like the soundtrack to urban decay.
I reached over to the passenger seat and picked up my silver gun, placing it on my lap for good measure as I looked at the building.
This was where she lived. This was where she brought Leo and herself home every night.
My fingers tightened around the grip of my gun.
The rage that filled me was hot as molten steel. She should be living in my mansion overlooking the ocean and sleeping on Egyptian cotton. She should be waking up to room service and fresh flowers, not the sound of gunshots and domestic violence bleeding through walls.
She should be waking up next to me.
I'd never stalked a woman before. At least not in a way that mattered. Sure, I'd had some checked out, background verified, the usual due diligence for a man in my position. But that was business—protection for my reputation, my assets, my public image.
This was different. This was personal. This was about her protection, her safety, her desperate need for someone strong enough to shoulder the weight she carried alone.
The apartment was on the first floor, just like the comprehensive report had detailed.
A dim glow seeped through blinds that looked older than Leo, casting rectangles of weak light onto the cracked sidewalk.
As she moved past the window, my breath caught in my throat like I was eighteen again instead of a grown man who commanded respect and fear in equal measure.
She was so fucking gorgeous.
She'd been stunning at the academy— guarded smiles and grace under pressure that spoke of inner steel forged by necessity. But here, in this urban hellhole, she looked fragile. Like one more crisis would shatter her completely, and the pieces would be too small to put back together.
Over my dead body.
The background check I'd ordered burned in my mind as I watched her graceful silhouette move through that pathetic excuse for a home. I'd read it three times, each pass making me more furious, more possessive, more determined to rip her out of this life and give her the kingdom she deserved.
Estelle Moore: Twenty-four years old, guardian to Leo Moore, age five. No family left except for her nephew. Mother deceased: a high-end escort who'd died young. Sister Giselle, also deceased: overdose.
Estelle had stepped up to save Leo from a system that would have chewed him up and spit him out.
No father listed. No support system. No safety net. Just Estelle, working herself to the bone, surviving on willpower and stubborn determination, one disaster away from complete collapse.
She reminded me of my own father in that way. Taking in the guys when they had no one else and turning them into my brothers. Except, Estelle didn’t have the means to take anyone in—she was tired and dirt poor.
The woman was a fucking saint, and the world treated her like she was disposable .
She made just enough for rent in this condemned building, her bank statements reading like a horror story of overdraft fees and declined transactions.
No criminal record—not even a parking ticket.
Just a string of dead-end jobs, each one barely covering the basics, none of them offering the security she needed to breathe easy.
Her current position at Seaside Academy paid better than her previous jobs, but it was still a joke compared to what she was worth.
The remote grading work she did from home brought in supplemental income, but I'd seen the hours she logged, the way she worked until her eyes burned and her shoulders ached.
It made me angry in ways I'd never imagined possible. Rage that threatened to burn me alive from the inside out.
But what really destroyed me, what made my blood run alternately hot and cold, was how absolutely beautiful she was despite everything life had thrown at her. Even in the security footage I'd acquired, she looked like something carved from starlight and dreams.
Mid-length brown hair that caught light like starlight, honey eyes that held depths I wanted to explore for the rest of my life, sun-kissed skin that begged for my touch.
Her body was sharpened by hardship and hunger, but she was perfect. Delicate bones and graceful movements, a mouth that haunted my dreams, legs that would feel like silk wrapped around my waist.
I'd gone several steps further than a simple background check, of course.
Within forty-eight hours of meeting her, I'd bought out the corporation that managed her camera’s security app.
It had taken less than twenty-four hours and a single phone call to my father's people, the kind of conversation that never happened, involving favors that didn't officially exist.
Now I could access the feeds whenever I wanted. I could see her coming and going, could track who lingered near her door, could watch how she always checked over her shoulder before unlocking the deadbolt.
Looks like I’d be joining Connor’s little iPad setup .
It was a small thing, but it made the constant worry in my chest marginally more bearable. At least now I could watch over her, could make sure she made it home safely, even if she had no idea I existed beyond those brief moments at the academy.
Even if she kept looking at me like I was just another problem to solve instead of the solution to all of them.
Tonight, I watched her through the SUV's windshield and the feed on my phone, switching between them as the shadows lengthened. She moved around that cramped apartment with restless energy, never still for more than a heartbeat, always in motion.
She was always working. Always giving. Always putting everyone else's needs before her own.
I watched her help Leo with homework at the scarred kitchen table, saw the way her entire face transformed when she smiled at him. All the exhaustion and worry melted away, replaced by pure love. She was soft with him, patient in ways that spoke of infinite reserves of tenderness.
What would it be like to have her look at me the way she looked at him? With trust, with love, with the certainty that I would protect her from anything?
She stood at the sink washing dishes with hands that trembled from fatigue, her shoulders hunched under the weight of invisible burdens.
I watched her check the locks on the door before she allowed herself to sit down. Even then, her body remained coiled with tension, ready to spring into action at the first sign of threat.