Burn it Down
895 Words
The morning light filtered through the blinds in soft gray stripes, painting lines across Jax’s bare chest. Abby stirred against him, her cheek pressed to warm skin, breath still steady with sleep.
Jax didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
Because this—her tangled in his sheets, wearing nothing but his shirt and a satisfied smile—felt like something he hadn’t had in years.
Peace.
He watched her for a long time. Let his fingers trace the slope of her hip, the curve of her back. She was soft, warm, real in a way nothing else in his life had been in a long, long time.
Then her eyes fluttered open.
And just like that, the whole damn world shifted again.
“Hey,” she whispered, voice scratchy from sleep.
He grinned. “Hey yourself.”
She stretched slowly, catlike. “You always this nice in the morning?”
“Only when I wake up with you in my bed.”
Her smile faltered. “Is it still okay? Us. After last night?”
His hand slid into her hair. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life I regret. That wasn’t one of them.”
They kissed—slow, lazy, like they had all the time in the world.
They didn’t.
Later That Morning — Back at the Bakery
The cleanup was quiet.
Abby refused to let Jax do most of it, but he didn’t leave her side. Not once.
And when she unlocked the back room to start checking inventory, something caught her eye.
A note.
Taped to the inside of the flour bin.
No envelope. No signature.
Just one line in blocky, ugly letters:
“Get out now. Or next time, we don’t miss.”
Her breath whooshed out of her lungs.
Jax caught it a second later, yanked the note from her hand, read it, and went stone cold.
“Who has keys to this room?” he asked.
Her voice shook. “Just me. And Gina, my part-time girl.”
“Anyone else? Old deliveries, maintenance?”
“No one I can think of.”
He ran a hand through his hair, muscles rippling under his tee. “This wasn’t random.”
She swallowed hard. “You think someone’s targeting me?”
“I know they are.”
He pulled out his phone, sent a string of texts. “We’re locking this place down. Cameras. Wires. You don’t come here without one of my guys. No exceptions.”
She stepped forward. “Jax—”
“No.” His voice was low. Tight. “I let this go once. I should’ve known better.”
He paced once. Twice. Then he stopped cold.
“There’s only one crew that would do this and leave a message.”
“Who?”
His eyes lifted. Dark. Lethal.
“The Saints. Bastards wear white cuts. Smile when they stab you.”
Abby’s pulse raced. “You’ve dealt with them before?”
He nodded. “Years ago. We took something from them. They never forgot.”
She stepped into his space. “You think they’re back?”
“I think they never left.”
Meanwhile — Reapers’ Clubhouse
The mood in the garage was volcanic.
Vex slammed a wrench onto the table. “They hit her bakery? Her?”
Scar growled. “They’re trying to bait you, Jax. You hit back now, they’ll have you in cuffs before lunch.”
“I’m not waiting for another warning,” Jax said flatly. “I want eyes on that bakery 24/7. I want intel on the Saints. And if they so much as breathe near her again—”
Ace cut in, voice low. “You gonna let the club get dragged into war over a girl?”
Jax turned slowly. Calm. Deadly.
“She’s my girl. That’s all the reason I need.”
No one argued.
That Night — Abby’s Apartment (with Jax posted up)
Abby couldn’t sleep.
The bakery was repaired. The cops had dusted for prints. But her skin still crawled like someone had been watching her.
She stepped into the kitchen, found Jax sitting at her tiny table, legs stretched out, pistol on the counter beside his coffee.
“You’re really not gonna sleep, are you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not tonight.”
She walked over, slid into his lap without asking. His hands came around her automatically.
“You don’t have to keep saving me,” she whispered.
“I do,” he said. “Because no one else ever did.”
That silence between them went deep.
“I was sixteen when I joined the Reapers,” he said after a beat. “My dad was a drunk. My mom ran off. The club gave me something I never had—loyalty. A family. But it came with a cost.”
She kissed his jaw. “You ever think about walking away?”
He looked down at her. “I wasn’t thinking about it… until you.”
Her heart skipped.
“I’m not asking you to change,” she whispered.
“I already am,” he said. “You just haven’t figured out how dangerous that makes you.”
And then he kissed her—slow, possessive, like the threat had already arrived and he needed to remind himself she was his before the storm hit.
- Writer
