Chapter2
925 Words
CHAPTER TWO — THE ENFORCER’S EYES
The chapel room emptied slowly, men filing out with the heavy steps of people who’d seen too many funerals and expected too many more. Rae stayed where she was, fingers resting on the edge of her father’s casket, the leather of his kutte warm under the candles’ glow.
She didn’t cry.
She hadn’t cried in years.
Grief was a private thing in Briar County, and weakness was a luxury no one survived.
When the last pair of boots faded down the hall, she exhaled and stepped back. The silence pressed in around her, thick and suffocating. She could almost hear her father’s voice — gravel‑rough, commanding, always two breaths from anger.
You’re Callahan blood. You don’t run from anything.
She had run. And now she was back.
The door creaked behind her.
She didn’t turn. “If you’re here to tell me to leave again, save your breath.”
Jax’s voice came low, steady. “Didn’t come to tell you anything.”
She turned then.
He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, shoulders filling the frame like he’d grown into a wall while she was gone. His kutte hung open, revealing a black shirt stretched across a chest that looked harder than the last time she’d seen him. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable.
But the way he looked at her — that hadn’t changed.
It was the same look he’d given her the night she left.
Like she was a wound he couldn’t stop reopening.
Rae forced her voice steady. “Then why are you here?”
Jax stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. The candles flickered, shadows shifting across his face.
“Tank shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” he said.
She blinked. “That’s new. You defending me.”
“I’m not defending you.” His jaw flexed. “I’m keeping the peace.”
“Right,” she said. “Because that’s what you do now.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what I do.”
“I know enough.”
He stepped closer, boots silent on the worn wooden floor. Rae held her ground, even as her pulse kicked up. Jax Maddox had always moved like a storm — slow, inevitable, dangerous.
“You think you can walk back in here,” he said quietly, “and everything’s the same.”
“I don’t think that.”
“You do.” His voice dropped lower. “You think you can ask questions. Demand answers. Stir up old ghosts.”
Rae’s breath hitched. “My father is dead. I’m allowed to ask why.”
Jax’s expression flickered — pain, anger, something else she couldn’t name. “You think we don’t want answers? You think we’re not looking?”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Then Jax stepped even closer, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jaw, the one she didn’t remember. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the tension radiating off his body like a live wire.
“You don’t get to accuse me,” he said softly. “Not after the way you left.”
Rae swallowed hard. “You don’t get to use that against me forever.”
“Forever?” His voice cracked like a whip. “You were gone eight years, Rae. Eight years without a word.”
She flinched. She hated that she flinched.
Jax saw it. His expression softened — barely, but enough.
“Why did you come back?” he asked.
She stared at him. “You know why.”
“Not for the funeral.” His eyes searched hers. “Not just for that.”
Rae looked away, throat tight. “I came back because someone killed him. And I’m not leaving until I know who.”
Jax exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath since she walked in. “Then you’re going to get hurt.”
“I’ve been hurt before.”
“Not like this.”
She met his gaze again. “Try me.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The candles flickered. The air thickened. The space between them felt charged, dangerous, familiar.
Then the door slammed open.
Tank’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Church meeting. Now.”
Jax stepped back, the moment breaking like glass.
Tank’s eyes landed on Rae. “You too.”
Rae stiffened. “I’m not a member.”
“You’re Callahan blood,” Tank said. “And your father left something behind that concerns the club.”
Jax’s gaze snapped to Tank. “Tank—”
“Save it,” Tank growled. “She’s coming.”
Rae lifted her chin. “Fine.”
Tank turned and stomped down the hall.
Jax stayed where he was, watching her with that same storm‑gray stare.
“This isn’t a game,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“You’re walking into a room full of men who don’t want you here.”
“I know that too.”
“And some of them…” His voice dropped. “Some of them would rather you’d stayed gone.”
Rae stepped past him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his.
“I’m not afraid of them,” she said.
Jax’s voice followed her, low and rough.
“You should be.”
She didn’t look back.
She couldn’t.
If she did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk away.
- Writer
