Chapter 2: Chapter 2
She brought her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss a brand more permanent than any of the ink on her skin.
The crunch of gravel under a heavy boot came from the doorway again.
She spun around, her heart lurching, a confusing mix of fear and that lingering heat surging back. "Forget something—"
It wasn't Cole.
Jax stood in the wrecked frame, his lean form blocking the weak light from the street. He’d returned alone. His eyes, dark and sharp, scanned her face, and she knew with a sickening certainty that he’d seen it. He’d seen the aftermath of Cole on her.
He didn’t step fully inside, just hovered on the threshold, a vulture waiting for a sign of weakness. The raw scar on his face seemed to pulse in the fluorescent glow.
"He tell you to act normal?" Jax’s voice was a low rasp, devoid of the frantic energy from before. It was cold, calculated.
Raven forced her hands to her sides, willing them to be still. "He told me to lock up. Hard to do with no door."
A humorless smirk twisted Jax’s mouth. "Yeah. Well. Normal’s off the table now." He finally took a step inside, his eyes doing another quick, paranoid sweep of the garage. "Cole’s good at giving orders. Not always so good at seeing the holes in his own plans."
"And you are?"
"I'm the one who cleans up the messes." He stopped a few feet from her, close enough that she could smell the sweat and gasoline on him. "He thinks you’re just a mechanic who got lucky. I think you’re a problem."
"Take it up with him."
"He’s not here." Jax let the words hang, a simple, terrifying statement of fact. His gaze dropped to the wrench on the bench, then back to her. "That tracker didn't just appear. The guys who hit our place? They're not some random crew. They're professionals. And now they know Cole was here, with you, for a good long while after they pulled out."
A cold knot tightened in her stomach. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying they'll be curious. They'll want to know what he told you. What you did." He took another step, closing the distance. He was shorter than Cole, but the violence coiled in him was just as potent. "He marked you. Not just with that kiss. By being here. By you touching his bike. You’re a loose end."
"Get to the point, Jax."
"The point is you don't get to play the tough, independent mechanic anymore. This isn't about your pride. This is about you staying alive." He pulled a small, folded slip of paper from his jeans pocket and held it out. It was grimy, stained with what looked like oil. Or blood. "You see anyone. Anything. You don't call the cops. You call that number. You ask for me. You don't talk to anyone else from the club. Just me."
Raven stared at the paper, her mind racing. This was spiraling too fast, the walls of her world bending in ways she couldn't control. "Why would I trust you?"
"You don't have a choice." He didn't shove the paper at her, just held it there, a silent ultimatum. "Cole’s in a war. He sees the big picture, the enemy lines. He misses the sniper in the tree. That’s my job. To see the sniper. Right now, you’re standing right in the crosshairs."
Her fingers trembled as she finally reached out and took the paper. It felt heavy, dangerous.
Jax nodded, a quick, sharp dip of his chin. His job was done. He turned to leave, his boots silent on the concrete now.
"Jax," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Who are they?"
His eyes were flat, dead. "The kind of people who make guys like us look like choir boys. They don't wear cuts. They don't have a name. They're just a storm. And it's coming."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the night, leaving her alone with the shattered door, the taste of one man on her lips, and the warning of another burning a hole in her palm. The paper felt like it was weighing her down, anchoring her to a fate she never asked for. She looked at the number, then balled her fist around it, the digits imprinting themselves into her skin.
She walked to the broken door, the night air cold on her face. The street was empty. Quiet. But it didn’t feel peaceful anymore. It felt like the calm before the storm. A storm with no name.
She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. She typed the number from the crumpled paper into a new contact. She didn't save it under a name. Just a single letter: J.
She slid the phone back into her pocket, the weight of it now a different kind of tool. A lifeline to a world she wanted no part of. She picked up the broom again, the familiar task a futile attempt to reclaim some semblance of order. But every sweep of the bristles across the concrete sounded like a countdown.
She brought her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss a brand more permanent than any of the ink on her skin.
The crunch of gravel under a heavy tread snapped her head up.
It wasn't Cole. The footfall was wrong—lighter, quicker, with a nervous energy that set her teeth on edge. Jax stepped back through the ruined doorway, his lean frame blocking the weak light from the street. He’d cleaned the blood from his knuckles, but a fresh smear of it stained the denim over his thigh. His eyes, dark and jumpy, scanned the shadows of the garage before landing on her.
“He forget something?” Jax’s voice was a rasp, his gaze darting to the broom on the floor, then back to her face, reading things she didn’t want him to see.
“No.” Raven forced her hands to her sides, willing them to be still. “What do you want?”
He took a step inside, ignoring the glass. The air shifted, the lingering heat from Cole’s presence replaced by a cold, sharp anxiety that radiated from Jax. He was a live wire, sparking with barely-contained panic.
“He tell you to act normal?” Jax asked, a brittle laugh escaping him. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
“Get to the point.”
“The point is, my Prez just rode off to a war, and his head’s not where it should be.” Jax’s eyes locked onto hers, intense and frighteningly sincere. “It’s here. With you. And that’s a problem.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It is now.” He took another step, close enough that she could smell the stale smoke and coppery scent of blood on him. “You’re a loose end. He’s too… invested… to see it. I’m not.”
A cold knot tightened in her stomach. She glanced toward the bench, the wrench a lifetime away. “You here to tie me up?”
“I’m here to give you a chance.” He pulled a cheap, disposable phone from his pocket and tossed it onto the workbench. It skidded to a stop next to a greasy carburetor. “My number’s the only one in it. You see anything, anyone, that doesn’t feel right, you call me. Not him. Me.”
She stared at the phone, a little black rectangle of pure trouble. “Why?”
“Because if they come for you, and he comes racing back here, it’s a trap. They’ll be waiting. They’ll cut him down in the street for a girl he just met.” Jax’s voice dropped, low and vicious. “And I will not let that happen for some townie mechanic with a pretty face. You understand me? You call me. I’ll handle it. Clean.”
The raw loyalty in his threat was more terrifying than any generic violence. He wasn’t just protecting the club; he was protecting Cole from himself. From her.
Before she could form a answer, the sound of an engine, deep and familiar, growled in the distance. Getting closer.
Jax’s head snapped up, his body going taut. He looked from her to the door, a wild calculation in his eyes. The phone sat on the bench between them, a silent pact.
“Remember,” he hissed. Then he turned and melted back into the darkness, a ghost swallowed by the night.
The engine roar faded, never turning onto her street. A coincidence, or a patrol? She didn't know. The silence he left behind was even heavier than before.
Raven looked at the shattered door, the glass, the phone. The taste of Cole was still on her lips, but Jax’s words were a cold splash of reality. She wasn't just a variable. She was bait.
She picked up the disposable phone. It was light, plasticky, final. A single green icon glowed on the screen: a contact named "J."
The real phone in her back pocket buzzed, vibrating against her hip. She jumped, her heart lurching. She fumbled for it, the screen glowing with the name of her parts supplier. A normal call. A normal life.
She let it go to voicemail, her thumb hovering over the cheap plastic of the burner in her hand. The neon sign outside flickered, casting the entire ruined shop in a pulse of bloody red light.
She brought her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss a brand more permanent than any of the ink on her skin. The scent of him—leather and night and something uniquely savage—lingered in the air, a confusing aftershock that left her nerves frayed and raw. The shattered door frame groaned in the slight breeze, a reminder that her world had just been cracked open.
Then the roar. Not Cole’s bike, but the higher, angrier snarl of Jax’s Harley. It ripped through the quiet, closer this time, tearing up the gravel in the lot before cutting out abruptly.
Boots crunched on glass, fast and heavy. Jax filled the broken doorway again, his lean frame taut with a new, jittery energy. A fresh cut bled above his eye, mingling with the sweat and rain on his face. His knuckles, still split and swollen, gripped the frame like he might tear it loose.
“He’s gone?” Jax’s voice was a ragged scrape, his eyes darting around the garage as if expecting an ambush.
Raven lowered her hand, her voice steady despite the hammering in her chest. “What do you want, Jax?”
He took a step inside, his gaze locking onto her. “Cole’s got a blind spot when it comes to you. Thinks you’re made of tougher stuff.” He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, smearing the blood. “I don’t share his optimism.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He moved closer, the smell of gun oil and stale smoke rolling off him. “They found the tracker was gone. Knew someone had to have pulled it. Took them about five minutes to figure out where he’d been.” He stopped a few feet away, his eyes boring into hers. “They’re coming. Tonight. And they ain’t coming to talk.”
She brought her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss a brand more permanent than any of the ink on her skin.
The crunch of gravel under a heavy boot made her spin around, her heart leaping into her throat. Not Cole. The silhouette in the ruined doorway was leaner, more tightly wound.
Jax.
He stood there, rain plastering his hair to his skull, water dripping from the fresh scar on his face. His eyes, dark and hostile, scanned the wreckage and then fixed on her. "He forget something?" he asked, his voice a low sneer.
"He left." Her own voice was flat, a deliberate contrast to the chaos inside her.
Jax took a step inside, his gaze lingering on the broom she’d dropped, the empty space where Cole’s bike had been. He looked back at her, a new, ugly understanding dawning in his expression. He took in her flushed face, her slightly parted lips, the way she stood rooted to the spot.
A slow, knowing smirk twisted his mouth. "Yeah. I see he did."
Raven said nothing, her jaw tight. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"He's got a way of leaving a mark," Jax said, his eyes dropping pointedly to her mouth.
"That all you came back for? To state the obvious?" She bent down, retrieving the broom, turning her back on him in a show of dismissal that felt flimsy even to her.
Jax moved with a snake’s speed, closing the distance and knocking the broom handle aside with a sharp crack of wood on wood. "I came back because he's not thinking straight. He's got a war on his doorstep and he's stopping for...distractions." He spat the last word like it was poison.
"Get out of my shop."
"Or what? You'll call your new boyfriend?" He laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You think you're special? You think this is some kind of romance? He'll use you up and when you're no longer useful, or you become a liability..." He let the sentence hang, a clear and violent promise.
She finally turned to face him fully, her green eyes blazing in the dim light. "Are you threatening me, Jax? On his orders?"
"On my own." He was in her space now, the smell of damp leather and old violence rolling off him. "He sees something shiny, he wants it. But I clean up the messes. And you, mechanic, are starting to look a lot like a mess."
He reached out, fast, and grabbed her wrist. His grip was like iron, his split knuckles rough against her skin. "He told you to act normal. So act normal. But know this—the second you step out of line, the second you talk to the wrong person, you won't have to worry about Cole anymore. You'll have to worry about me."
Raven didn't struggle. She went still, her voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the hum of the lights. "Let go of me."
"Or?"
This time, her other hand didn't go for the wrench on the bench. It went to the small, sharp pick she kept in her front pocket. In one fluid motion, she pressed the pointed tip into the soft flesh under his jaw. "Or I find out how much pressure it takes to puncture a jugular. I'm guessing it's less than you'd think."
Jax froze. His eyes widened, not with fear, but with a kind of furious respect. He released her wrist, and she slowly lowered the pick, her eyes never leaving his.
He took a step back, a grudging nod. "Tough chick. We'll see how tough you are when they come for you. And they will come."
He turned and walked out, leaving her standing there, the sharp tool still in her hand, the taste of Cole still on her lips, and Jax's warning ringing in her ears, a counter-melody to the phantom roar of the bike. The night was no longer quiet. It was full of echoes.
She brought her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss a brand more permanent than any of the ink on her skin.
Act normal.
The words were a joke. A sick, fucking joke. How was she supposed to do that when her world had just been kicked off its axis? When her mouth still tasted like him and her garage door was a splintered mess? She bent to pick up the broom, her movements stiff, robotic. The coarse bristles scraped against concrete, pushing glass into a sad, glittering pile. Each scratch was a scream in the silence.
The crunch of tires on wet gravel wasn't the returning roar of a Harley. It was the slow, deliberate roll of a car. Her head snapped up.
Jax’s black sedan slid to a stop just outside the wrecked doorway, blocking the exit. The engine cut. The door opened and he unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, moving with that same twitchy energy. He’d cleaned the blood from his knuckles, but the raw skin was an angry red.
He didn’t speak as he stepped through the broken frame, his boots avoiding the larger shards with an practiced ease. His eyes, dark and restless, scanned the space, lingering on the workbench, on the spot where Cole had stood over her.
“He forget something?” Raven asked, her voice carefully neutral. She kept the broom between them like a shield.
Jax’s smile was a thin, unpleasant line. “Nah. I did.” He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could smell the stale smoke on his jacket and the metallic hint of blood. “Cole’s handling business. Told me to come back. Make sure you were secure.”
“I’m fine. You can go.”
“See, that’s the thing.” He took a casual step closer, his gaze dropping to the wrench still on the bench. “Cole thinks with his dick sometimes. Gets an idea in his head about a girl, and everything else gets blurry.”
Her grip tightened on the broom handle. “You should be careful what you say about your president.”
“He’s not here,” Jax said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s just you and me. And I’m a lot more pragmatic than he is.” He finally looked directly at her, and the naked calculation in his eyes was colder than Cole’s anger. “You’re a loose end. A mechanic who knows about a tracker, who heard about a hit on our compound. That’s a problem.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“You know enough.” He circled her slowly, a shark smelling chum in the water. “Cole’s got this… code. Thinks you’re under his protection now. I look at you, and I see a liability. One that could be silenced real easy.”
He was behind her now. She could feel his presence like a cold spot in the room. She didn’t turn. She stood perfectly still, every muscle coiled.
“You’re not going to silence me,” she said, the words barely a breath.
“No?” She heard the soft snick of a switchblade opening. “Why’s that?”
Slowly, she turned to face him. He was holding the knife low, the blade catching the fluorescent light. The fear was a solid block of ice in her chest, but her face was a mask of cool defiance. She met his wild gaze and didn’t flinch.
“Because if you were going to, you wouldn’t have used the knife. You’d have just shot me from the car.” She tilted her head, a predator recognizing another. “This isn’t about silencing a loose end. This is about you. You’re testing boundaries. Seeing how far you can push before Cole finds out.”
Jax’s smirk faltered. The blade wavered for a fraction of a second.
“You think he’d choose you over me?” he sneered, but the confidence was forced.
“I think he’d kill you for disobeying an order,” Raven said, her voice flat and certain. “He told you to secure me. Not scare me. Not threaten me. You’re on his shit list already, aren’t you? That’s what this is. You’re panicking.”
His face darkened, a storm cloud of resentment and fear. He took a sharp step forward, the knife rising. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about my club.”
In one fluid motion, Raven dropped the broom and snatched the wrench from the bench. The metal was cool and solid in her hand. She didn’t raise it. She just held it, her stance widening, her weight shifting to the balls of her feet.
“I know you’re in my shop,” she said, her voice low and deadly calm. “And I know that if you take one more step, I’m going to introduce your teeth to the back of your throat. Club business or not, that’s a fact.”
They stood frozen in the dim light, the air crackling with violence. His switchblade against her wrench. His unstable rage against her calculated resolve.
The standoff stretched, seconds feeling like hours. The wildness in Jax’s eyes shifted, the calculation returning. He was weighing it. The cost.
With a disgusted grunt, he flicked his wrist, and the blade vanished back into its handle. He tucked it into his pocket, his lip curled. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
“And you’ve got a death wish. Get out.”
He stared at her for a long moment, a new, grudging respect warring with the fury in his gaze. He turned and walked back to his car, the engine roaring to life. The tires spat gravel as he sped off into the night.
Raven didn’t move until the red taillights disappeared. Then, a tremor started in her hands, a fine vibration that traveled up her arms. She looked down at the wrench, her knuckles white around the steel.
Act normal.
She let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. There was no more normal. There was only before Cole Savage, and after. And the after was looking a hell of a lot like a war she never enlisted for.