Love against vengeance

Chapter 7

‎The speedometer climbed—70, 80, 85—as the suburban sprawl of the Highlands bled into the jagged, unlit treeline of the canyon road. Jax drove with a terrifying, surgical precision, his eyes fixed on the asphalt as it vanished beneath the Bentley’s hood.

‎"Where are we going?" Caroline asked, her pulse drumming against her ribs. She reached for the door handle, not to jump, but to ground herself.

‎"Nowhere," Jax spat, his voice tight. "That’s the point of this town, isn't it? You drive in circles until you end up exactly where you started, just with a more expensive car and a soul that’s a little more hollow."

‎He jerked the wheel, swerving around a sharp bend that overlooked the valley. The tires shrieked, a sound like a wounded animal, but Jax didn't flinch. He seemed to be chasing the edge, testing the physics of his own rage.

‎"Stop the car, Jax."

‎"Why? Scared of the 'monster'?" He glanced at her, a manic glint in his eyes. "This is the 'rules of the game' in real-time, Caroline. You want to see who I am? I’m the guy who doesn't hit the brakes because he’s got nothing to lose if he hits the wall. Carl would’ve been crying by now. Is that what you want? To see me break?"

‎"I want you to stop acting like your father is in the backseat!" she yelled over the roar of the wind.

‎The mention of his father acted like a physical blow. Jax slammed on the brakes. The Bentley skidded, the ABS pulsing violently before the car came to a shuddering halt on a gravel turnout overlooking the city lights.

‎The silence that followed was deafening. The engine ticked as it cooled, and the only other sound was Jax’s ragged, uneven breathing. He slumped against the headrest, his hands finally dropping from the wheel. They were shaking.

‎"He’s always in the backseat," Jax whispered, his voice cracking. "He’s in the mirror. He’s in the way I talk, the way I hit, the way I breathe. I can't outrun him."

‎Caroline looked out at the valley. From up here, the Highlands looked like a toy set—tiny, glowing boxes where people lived out scripted lives.

‎"You can't outrun him by becoming him," she said softly.

‎Jax turned his head toward her, his face pale in the moonlight. The armor was gone again, leaving him looking hollowed out. "Then tell me, counselor... if I’m not the sharpest tool, and I’m not the All-State legacy... who the hell am I?"

‎The question hung in the air, raw and unanswered. At that moment, a pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, winding up the road toward them—a black SUV, moving fast.