Warpath
876 Words
“Abby?!”
Jake’s voice cracked through the garage like a whip.
Jax didn’t move.
But Abby did.
She jerked back, like she’d been caught doing something dirty—which, technically, she had.
Jake stormed across the oil-streaked floor, hand on his belt like he was seconds from drawing the badge he wasn’t wearing. His jaw was tight. His eyes locked on Jax.
“What the hell are you doing with my sister?”
Jax didn’t blink. “Talking.”
Jake’s nostrils flared. “That what you call it when your tongue’s down her throat?”
Behind them, a few of the Reapers were watching now—alert, still, one hand already resting on a socket wrench like they were waiting for the go.
“Jake,” Abby warned. “Don’t.”
“You think this is a joke?” he snapped, eyes still on Jax. “He’s thirty-seven. You’re twenty-three. That’s a whole lot more than an age gap. That’s a power gap. A threat. And I’m not gonna stand by while he drags you into this world.”
Abby stepped between them. Her voice low. “You’re not standing by. You’re standing in the way.”
Jake’s expression twisted. “This man is a criminal, Abby.”
She looked over her shoulder at Jax. “Is that true?”
Jax’s jaw ticked once. “I’ve done things. Things I’m not proud of. But I’ve never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’ve never lied to you.”
“And what is this?” Jake barked. “You think you’re protecting her?”
Jax’s voice dropped to something lethal. “Yes. And if something happens to her because you push her away from me—because you make her walk home alone, or sleep in that bakery while someone watches—I will burn this town down looking for whoever touches her.”
That shut Jake up.
For a moment.
Then he turned to Abby, eyes full of something like fear. “Please. Don’t make me watch you fall for someone who’s going to destroy you.”
Abby’s throat tightened. “Maybe you don’t get to choose who I fall for.”
Jake turned and walked out. Didn’t slam the door this time. Just left like a man who’d already started grieving someone still standing.
Jax stepped beside her. Quiet. Watching.
“You okay?”
“No,” Abby whispered. “But I will be.”
Then her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen—and her blood froze.
Security alert — motion detected at Wells Bakery — 10:03 PM
She checked the time.
10:06 PM.
She looked up at Jax, panic flooding her chest. “Someone’s at my shop.”
His expression darkened. “Let’s go.”
Twenty Minutes Later – Main Street, Willow Creek
The front window was smashed.
Glass scattered across the sidewalk. A brick lay in the middle of the bakery floor, surrounded by shards and ruined cupcakes.
Abby’s knees buckled. “No…”
Jax caught her before she hit the ground.
“Stay here,” he said, his voice deadly calm. He drew something from his waistband—a pistol, clean and cold and real—and stepped inside.
He was back in sixty seconds.
“Clear,” he said.
But she was already crying.
Not just for the mess.
But because this place—this warm, safe space she’d built with her own hands—wasn’t safe anymore.
Jax came to her, tucked a hand under her chin. “You’re coming with me tonight.”
“I can’t just leave—”
“You’re not staying here. Not after this.” His voice softened. “Let me protect you, Abby.”
She swallowed. Hard. “Okay.”
🛏️ That Night – Jax’s Place
His home was tucked behind the garage. Spartan. Clean. Black leather couch. One bedroom.
He gave her the bed. Insisted.
But when she came out in one of his shirts, hair wet from his shower, mascara smudged from earlier tears…
He was done pretending.
She stopped in front of him. “Thank you.”
He reached up. Touched her wrist. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispered.
He stood. “If I kiss you again, I’m not stopping.”
“I don’t want you to.”
His hands were on her face in the next breath, his mouth claiming hers like he had something to prove. This kiss was different. Less anger. More ache.
He lifted her. Carried her to the bed. Laid her down like she was made of glass and he still wanted to shatter her.
And when her hands tangled in his hair and she whispered his name—Jax—it nearly undid him.
He didn’t just kiss her this time.
He worshipped her.
And somewhere in the middle of the night, when her head was on his chest and his fingers were tracing idle circles on her bare back, he whispered:
“I don’t know what this is. But I know I’d kill for it.”
And she believed him.
Because for the first time in her life, Abby Wells wasn’t afraid of the dark.
She was wrapped up in it.
- Writer
