Chapter Four – Smoke and Sparks
1217 Words
The second Jax stepped into the Barrel, the room dipped into silence like it recognized a storm had arrived.
The chaos stilled.
A barstool was overturned. One of the club girls had blood on her cheek. Dani stood dead center, fists clenched, eyes wild—until she saw him.
“Enough,” Jax said, voice like steel dragged over gravel.
Dani backed off immediately, letting her shoulders drop, rage dissolving like it had never been there. She didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. His presence alone pulled her back from the edge.
Diesel moved toward him, eyes wary. “Sorry, man. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t bad. She snapped—like, really snapped. Some girl said something about Ghost.”
Jax’s jaw ticked, but he nodded once. That name still cut like a damn blade.
“We’ll handle it,” he said, calm but final.
He turned to Dani. “Outside. Now.”
She didn’t protest. Just followed.
And that was when it happened.
A flicker in his periphery. He didn’t mean to look—but he did.
Across the room, seated on a tall stool with a glass of something golden in hand, was the singer.
Lark.
Her long blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, her expression unreadable. Blue eyes locked onto his—unflinching, almost curious. No flirtation. No expectations.
Just watching him.
Jax looked away first.
He hated that.
“Let’s go,” he muttered to Diesel, already pushing the door open.
The night air hit sharp and cool as the door slammed shut behind them. Jax lit a cigarette with steady fingers, his back leaned against the wall beside the bikes. He didn’t speak—not yet. Dani stood a few feet away, her arms crossed tight over her chest, looking anywhere but at him.
The silence stretched.
“You want to tell me what the hell that was?” Jax asked, not unkindly.
Dani shrugged. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “One second I was fine, and then someone mentioned him—Ghost—and I just—” Her voice broke off, caught on something thick in her throat. “I f*****g lost it.”
Jax took a slow drag from his cigarette. “Yeah. I get it.”
That made her glance at him, eyes glassy. “Do you?” she snapped, but it didn’t hold heat. “Because you don’t break, Jax. You just keep it all locked up like it doesn’t claw at you from the inside.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The shadows under his eyes said enough.
Dani covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said through her palms. “I just—he was supposed to be around forever, you know? And then Taylor left and now everything just feels f*****g wrong.”
Her voice cracked fully then, and the tears started to fall.
Jax dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot.
He stepped in.
No words.
He just wrapped his arms around her.
Dani froze at first—because Jax didn’t do hugs. He didn’t do comfort like this. But when she pressed her face against his chest, she crumbled all the way. The sobs hit hard, the weight of grief poured out onto the front of his cut, and he held her through it like stone.
“I miss them too,” he said quietly, the only truth he could offer.
Because he did. Every damn day.
By the time Dani’s sobs had faded into soft, uneven breaths, Jax caught Diesel’s eye through the bar window and gave him a subtle nod.
Diesel came out fast. No questions. Just a solid arm around Dani’s shoulders and a look of quiet thanks to Jax.
“I got her,” Diesel said.
Jax gave a short nod, stepping back. “Get her home. She needs a soft night.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned toward his bike, jaw tight, lungs full of too much night and memory. He reached for his keys—then heard the soft fall of boots behind him.
“Hey.”
Lark.
He didn’t turn right away. He could already feel her gaze. Curious. Bold. Too damn warm for his current mood.
“You always fix s**t like that?” she asked, sidling up beside him. Her voice had that singer's edge—low and lyrical, like she could hum through a storm and make it hush.
Jax shot her a side glance. “Only when my people need me.”
She smiled, a little lopsided. “Well… you looked hot doing it.”
That got him to look at her fully. Pale blue dress again, leather jacket slightly askew. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, catching in the wind like it belonged there. Her eyes were bright, too bright for someone who didn’t know what it meant to watch your world fall apart.
“I don’t do compliments,” he muttered.
“Good thing I wasn’t asking for one.” Her grin widened.
Jax shook his head, one corner of his mouth twitching before he caught it. “You always this forward?”
“Only when the man in front of me looks like he’s trying really damn hard not to feel anything.”
That made something flicker deep behind his ribs.
Jax looked away, pulling on his helmet. “You don’t want this road, Lark. Trust me.”
“I never said I was scared of rough rides.”
She said it soft, but it landed sharp. And then she turned on her heel and walked back toward the bar without another word.
Jax stood there for a beat longer, watching her go.
Damn singer had a spark.
But he still smelled smoke from a fire he hadn’t put out yet.
The ride home was long, but Jax didn’t take the fast route.
He let the engine growl beneath him, let the wind bite at his face, let the road hum under his wheels. Sometimes silence wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed miles of asphalt to drown out what you didn’t want to feel.
By the time he reached the compound, it was deep night. Most lights were off, the place settled into its usual rhythm of guarded quiet. He parked his bike, climbed the stairs, and didn’t bother turning on the light when he stepped into his room.
He didn’t need to see it. He could feel the shape of every shadow, every memory folded into the corners of the space.
He crossed to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out the photo.
The three of them—Jax, Ghost, Taylor.
Ghost, laughing like he always did when he wasn’t trying to look like a menace. Taylor, with that secretive smirk that used to undo him from the inside out. And him, standing between them like the glue that held it all together.
Only now it was just a photo.
Only now the glue had cracked.
Lark had spark. He couldn’t deny that.
But the fire he once knew? The one that burned through him like gasoline and want?
That belonged to Taylor.
And the ashes she left behind still smoldered.
- Writer
