Ride me Down

Chapter Four -Echoes and Eyes

Taylor woke up alone in Jax’s bed. The sheets were still warm on one side, a faint impression of his weight left behind, like even his absence had a presence. She blinked at the ceiling, disoriented for a second, the room quiet except for her own breath. A heavy silence settled over her chest—half relief, half something else. Something harder to name.

Last time she’d woken up here, she didn’t remember the details. This time, she remembered everything.

The fear. The call. Jax’s voice telling her he was on his way. The ride. The house. The decision made for her to sleep in his room again.

And the way everyone had looked at her when she walked in.

She pulled the covers to her chin and sighed, annoyed at herself for still caring what strangers thought. But it wasn’t just about being new. It was about belonging—or not.

And here? She didn’t.

With a slow breath, she climbed out of bed, legs sore from too much tension and too little sleep. The box with her earrings still sat on the nightstand, unopened now, like a reminder she’d come back by choice. Sort of.

She padded to the bathroom, bare feet cold against the hardwood. Jax’s ensuite was surprisingly tidy. Simple. Clean lines. Dark tones. A bottle of cologne on the counter that smelled just like him—warm spice and something vaguely addictive.

Taylor avoided her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her teeth with a new toothbrush still in the wrapper. She found a towel folded under the sink and washed her face, hair pulled into a loose bun.

Every movement was slow. Stalling.

She wasn’t ready to leave the safety of this room. Out there—beyond the heavy door—was the clubhouse common area. The bar. The couches. Them. Rough-looking men with knowing eyes and women who wore leather like armor. She didn’t know them. But she felt like they all knew her. Like they knew how Jax had touched her.

How he’d claimed her space. Her sleep. Her safety.

And worse—how she’d let him.

Taylor leaned over the sink, palms braced against cool marble. Her heart thudded, not in panic, but in something quieter. Something that lingered just beneath shame and desire and defiance.

She hated the way their eyes had followed her.

But she hated even more that a small, awful part of her liked it.

She took her time in the shower.

Hot water pounding against her skin, steam thick around her, she scrubbed herself down with her own vanilla-scented body wash—the same one she always used. She refused to walk out of that room smelling like him. Like smoke and leather and dark promises.

Everyone already looked at her like Jax had claimed her. Like she belonged to him. Like she was marked.

She wasn’t.

When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in the towel, moving with purpose. She lotioned herself down with thick vanilla body butter. Spritzed her hair and neck with matching mist. She smelled like warmth and sugar and herself—not like a damn biker clubhouse.

Then came the armor. A fitted lilac dress with gold buttons and a flared skirt. A soft shimmer on her cheekbones. A swipe of gloss. Mascara, perfume. The full effect. Because just because she was in their world didn’t mean she had to become part of it.

Yes, she was staying in their territory. Yes, she’d woken up in his bed. But she was still Taylor Hayes.

She liked glitter, lip gloss, vanilla, and overpriced skincare. She wasn’t going to dull her shine to make anyone here more comfortable.

And as for Jax?

They weren’t a thing.

It had been one night. A mistake.

He didn’t chase.

And she didn’t need anyone.

Once the threat was gone, she’d go back to her life. Her brand deals. Her condo. Her control. Perfect. Untouched.

Unbothered.

She took a steadying breath, then opened the bedroom door.

The house wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. Low voices echoed down the hallway. Laughter from someone near the bar. A glass clinking. The scent of breakfast—coffee, eggs, bacon—drifted from somewhere she couldn’t see.

She stepped out and walked toward the main room like she was on a runway.

Chin high. Shoulders back. Glitter unapologetic.

Conversations dimmed slightly as she entered.

Eyes flicked toward her. A few subtle, a few not. Some surprised, some amused. She passed a man leaning against the pool table—inked, heavy beard, eyes sharp. He didn’t say anything, just gave her a look that said, you’re not what we expected.

Good.

Let them look. Let them talk. Let them choke on their assumptions.

Dani appeared from behind the bar with two mugs in her hands. She blinked at Taylor’s outfit, then gave her a grin that was all challenge and approval.

“Morning, sparkles,” she said, handing her one of the mugs.

Taylor took it like she didn’t need it. Like her hands weren’t shaking a little.

“Morning,” she replied smoothly, then took a slow sip.

The coffee was strong. Bitter. Probably a health code violation.

Perfect.

“Jax is out back,” Dani added, voice casual. “Running security checks. He’ll be in soon.”

Taylor didn’t respond.

She didn’t need to see him.

She just needed to survive this house without losing herself. One perfectly scented, glittery step at a time.

Dani stayed close, casual but deliberate. Taylor wasn’t stupid—she knew the woman had been told to keep an eye on her. Maybe to protect her. Maybe just to report back.

Either way, she didn’t care.

She set the coffee mug down on the bar with a faint grimace. The brew was strong enough to dissolve rust. It made her miss her frothy cappuccino, with oat milk and cinnamon, from the café across from her condo. The one with pastel chairs and overpriced croissants.

She didn’t think she was high-maintenance. Not really.

But judging by the looks she’d been getting since she stepped out of Jax’s room, everyone else here seemed to have made up their minds.

Spoiled city girl.

Brat in heels.

Accessory to the boss.

Let them.

If they wanted a show, she’d give them one—with glitter and a gold-plated middle finger.

“I like my coffee with milk,” she said sweetly, flashing Dani a polished, too-perfect smile. “Mind if I make a cappuccino?”

Dani arched a brow, half-amused. “Have at it, sparkles.”

The nickname was clearly meant to tease.

But Taylor didn’t flinch.

She liked her sparkles.

She wore them like armor.

She made her way to the little coffee station in the corner, heels tapping on the floor like punctuation marks. The machine was old, but she figured it out with a few button presses and a little finesse. Foam hissed. Milk steamed.

Let the room hear it.

She sipped the first frothy mouthful like it was a power move, then glanced back over her shoulder.

Dani was still watching.

But now her smirk had softened into something closer to respect.

“Not what I expected,” she said after a pause.

Taylor tilted her head. “You thought I’d cry in the bathroom?”

Dani shrugged. “Wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Taylor took another sip. “Yeah, well. I’ve done enough crying. Now I’m just mad.”

Dani nodded slowly, then leaned against the bar. “That’s good. Stay mad. It keeps you sharp.”

Before Taylor could reply, the front door creaked open behind her.

The air shifted.

Boots on concrete. A presence that filled the room before she even turned around.

Jax.

Conversations lulled, then resumed—quieter, more cautious.

Taylor didn’t move at first. She kept sipping her cappuccino, eyes forward, back straight. If he wanted to talk, he could come to her.

She wasn’t the one who left without saying goodbye this morning.

“I see you’re fitting right in.”

The words were smooth, but the jab underneath was clear.

Taylor didn’t bother looking at him. She sipped her cappuccino slowly, letting the foam kiss her lip, her posture relaxed like she wasn’t on high alert.

“Since you dragged me back here,” she said coolly, “I might as well try to get comfortable.”

She felt him sit down next to her, the shift in the air immediate. He didn’t need to touch her to make her skin buzz—he just had to be close. Jax radiated heat and control like he carried both in his back pocket.

Dani caught the shift and, without a word, peeled away from the bar, disappearing down the hall like a silent signal had been exchanged.

Taylor hated that her breath caught as soon as Jax leaned in.

“You smell good, darling.”

Just five words. Soft. Low.

Devastating.

Her heart tripped. Heat slid down her spine and coiled low in her stomach before she could even blink. She could feel it pooling between her thighs like her body didn’t remember all the warnings her mind had put up.

She clenched her jaw.

“Vanilla,” she muttered, staring straight ahead. “The scent of spoiled city girls and overpriced body mist.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Smells like you.”

“Exactly.”

Jax shifted closer, his forearm brushing hers on the bar. A subtle touch. Intentional.

“I didn’t drag you here,” he said. “I kept you breathing.”

Taylor turned toward him slowly, her expression calm—but her pulse was chaos.

“And now what?” she asked. “You keep me locked in your room like some sparkly hostage?”

He studied her, eyes dark and unreadable. “You’re not a hostage, Taylor. You’re a storm. I just don’t like leaving storms unattended.”

Her lips parted—sharp comeback on the tip of her tongue—but the sound of footsteps echoed before she could use it.

Diesel appeared in the hallway, expression grim.

“Jax. We’ve got a problem.”

Taylor straightened instantly. Jax’s body went still.

“What kind of problem?” he asked, voice steel.

Diesel’s eyes flicked to Taylor, then back to Jax.

“They know she’s here.”

Jax held her gaze, steady and unshaken. “I need to take care of this.”

Before she could ask what this was, he turned to one of his men—a younger guy, broad-shouldered, serious eyes, jaw set like granite. Barely older than her, but there was nothing soft about him.

“Stay close to her,” Jax ordered. “She doesn’t leave your sight. I trust you.”

The guy gave a sharp nod. “Got it.”

Then his gaze shifted to her, more respectful than curious. “Might be smart to finish your coffee in Jax’s room. You’re safest there.”

Taylor turned to Jax, straightening. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said, her voice low but clear. “I’m tolerating this. You playing bodyguard, the lockdown, the clubhouse full of people who think they know me. Because you are keeping me safe.”

Jax’s smirk was infuriating. And unfairly hot.

“Good,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I like a girl who knows the score.”

She stepped in closer, just a breath between them, her voice a whisper that only he could hear.

“I’m not afraid of you, Jax.”

“I know,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to her lips. “That’s half the problem.”

Then he turned, already moving, already in that leader-mode that made the others fall into step around him like pieces on a board.

Taylor exhaled slowly and took the last sip of her cappuccino—now lukewarm, but she didn’t care.

She handed the empty cup to the young man standing beside her. “Lead the way, babysitter.”

He didn’t smile, but his lips twitched. “Name’s Mason.”

She didn’t respond. Just walked past him toward the hallway like she owned the damn place. If she had to be trapped in this world, she was going to do it on her terms.

Glitter, heels, cappuccino foam and all.

Mason said nothing as he led her down the hall, but Taylor could feel his presence like a shadow at her back—quiet, solid, constant. He didn’t hover, didn’t speak unless necessary, but she had no doubt he was armed and deadly if the moment called for it.

The door to Jax’s room looked the same as it had earlier that morning—worn wood, reinforced lock, a place that was somehow both sanctuary and cell.

She stepped inside first.

It smelled like him again. That same intoxicating mix of leather, cedar, and something darker—spice and heat. Taylor rolled her eyes at the involuntary flutter in her stomach and made her way toward the bed, tossing her bag down with more force than necessary.

“Do you always follow orders that easily?” she asked over her shoulder.

Mason leaned against the inside of the closed door, arms crossed. “When they make sense.”

She turned to him. “And keeping me locked in a room—does that make sense to you?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Keeping you alive does.”

Taylor hated that she didn’t have a clever response for that.

Instead, she sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing out her skirt, eyes flicking around the room—again. There wasn’t much else to see. It was spare, but lived in. Everything had a purpose.

Except her.

“Do they all hate me?” she asked suddenly, surprising herself.

Mason blinked. “What?”

“The others. Out there. I can feel it. The stares, the whispering. Do they all think I’m just some spoiled girl Jax dragged in off the street?”

A long pause.

“They don’t hate you,” Mason said finally. “They just don’t know where to place you yet.”

“Great,” she muttered. “I’m not furniture. I don’t need to be placed.”

“No,” Mason agreed, voice quiet. “But you’re in his space. That means something here.”

Taylor looked at him, unsettled by how calmly he said that.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?”

Mason didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Because she already knew—out there, in this world, being in Jax’s bed meant something. Even if it meant nothing to her.

And the more she tried to pretend it didn’t affect her…

The more it absolutely did.

“You’re his, Taylor,” Mason said, voice steady, like he was stating a fact, not an opinion. “That means we respect you. Protect you. You might not realize it yet—and they’ll probably give me hell for saying this out loud—but it also means your word carries weight around here. You get me?”

Taylor blinked, the words settling over her like fog.

You’re his.

The phrasing hit a nerve—deep, instinctive, and raw.

She straightened on the bed, tension coiling through her shoulders. “I’m not anyone’s,” she said, slower now. “Let’s be real clear about that.”

Mason didn’t flinch. “I’m not talking about feelings, Taylor. Or some romantic label. I’m talking about position. Territory. The way things work around here.”

“So what,” she bit out, “I’m property now? Is that what this is?”

“No,” he said calmly. “But you’re in his space. You walked in through the front, not the back door. That puts you on a different level than anyone who just drops in for a night. Jax doesn’t let people close unless he plans to keep them close.”

Taylor stood, moving to the other side of the room to put some distance between her and the weight of those words. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“He never said that.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Mason replied. “Everyone else already sees it. You might not wear a patch, but you’re carrying his mark whether you like it or not.”

Taylor turned sharply, anger flashing across her face. “You really think I asked for that?”

“No,” Mason said, a trace of sympathy in his voice. “I think it found you.”

She looked away, her throat tight.

It was too much. All of it. The looks, the judgment, the responsibility she hadn’t asked for, the heat between her legs every time Jax got too close—and now this invisible title hanging over her like a noose.

She was still standing there, silent and burning inside, when the heavy sound of boots echoed down the hallway.

Jax was back.

And from the sound of it, he wasn’t alone.

Jax stepped into the room like he was the room—his presence swallowing the air, effortless and absolute. He didn’t have to try. He didn’t even say a word, but somehow everything shifted the moment he crossed the threshold.

Mason instinctively stepped back, giving him space.

Taylor didn’t.

She stayed exactly where she was, arms crossed, spine straight, not blinking. Her pulse thudded somewhere deep in her throat—but it wasn’t fear. It was frustration. Pressure. Something unspoken curling tight in her chest.

He had that look again—focused, unreadable, all business. She knew he had information, probably about the men who were supposedly hunting her down because her ex-husband decided to gamble with her life.

But she didn’t care about that right now.

Something else burned hotter.

Something personal.

“You need to clear something up,” she said, skipping any greeting.

Jax’s brow ticked, just slightly. “Yeah?”

“Mason just told me I’m yours.”

Jax didn’t move.

“Not in the romantic way,” she added, mimicking Mason’s calm tone with a snap of her own. “In the biker-coded, tribal loyalty, claim-her-so-we-don’t-kill-her way.”

Still, nothing from him. No denial.

Taylor’s jaw tightened. “You gonna tell me that’s not true?”

Jax stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his gaze pinned to hers like he was trying to read something buried behind her anger.

“I told you,” he said quietly. “You stay in my room. You move under my protection. That means something here.”

Her laugh came sharp and disbelieving. “Great. So I’ve been branded without consent. That’s lovely.”

“You weren’t branded,” he said flatly. “You were shielded. You’re safer this way. Respected.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“No,” he agreed, calm as ever. “You didn’t ask for a lot of things. But I gave it to you anyway, because right now you don’t get the luxury of free fall. You needed something solid. I gave it to you.”

Taylor stared at him, hands curling at her sides.

“And what happens when this is over?” she asked, voice lower now. “When these guys are gone? Does your protection just... vanish? Do I go back to being a girl you screwed once in a bar and forgot about?”

Jax’s jaw flexed—just enough for her to notice.

He took another step toward her. Close now. Close enough she had to tilt her chin again.

“I don’t forget what’s mine,” he said.

Her heart did something stupid and traitorous in her chest.

But she didn’t let it show.

Instead, she stepped back. “Then maybe you should stop trying to own things you don’t understand.”

Jax didn’t move back.

If anything, he moved closer.

Taylor could feel the tension coiled between them—hot, electric, and impossible to ignore. His eyes locked on hers, dark and steady, as if he were measuring every breath she took.

“You think I don’t understand you?” he said quietly. “You walk around in glitter and fire like it’s armor, acting like no one sees through it. But I do.”

Her pulse stumbled.

“I know exactly who you are, Taylor. You’re terrified of needing anyone, because everyone you’ve trusted has stabbed you in the back. So you push. You posture. You perform. But you’re not fooling me.”

She swallowed, but said nothing.

Jax leaned in, voice low and razor sharp. “I don’t want to own you. I want to keep you breathing. You think it’s about power? It’s not. It’s about survival.”

Taylor’s heart pounded like a drum. Her lips parted, ready to fire back—until he stepped away.

Just like that, the heat between them broke.

Not gone. Just banked like coals under ash.

Jax turned toward the door, pausing only once.

“I’ll explain what I found out,” he said over his shoulder. “What we’re up against. And how I’m going to make sure they never touch you.”

She stared at his back, her chest tight.

He glanced back at her, the edge of a smirk ghosting across his lips—dark, dangerous, intentional.

“But not tonight.”

He opened the door.

“Tonight,” he said, “you sleep.”

Then he walked out and left her standing there alone, pulse racing, mind spinning, and the terrible feeling that whatever was coming…

Was already closer than she realized.