Jax’s POV
The news about the restraining orders hit less than an hour after Layla left my room. The taste of her was still on my lips, the promise of the bar still hanging in the air when the prospect came running, his face pale.
Mendel’s call was a bucket of ice water. Frank Evans, from whatever hole his new handlers had him in, was playing the legal game—not giving up. Restraining orders. Asset seizures against Layla. It was a paper trap. They couldn’t get to her in my fortress, so they were using the system to lure her out. A court appearance. A public, vulnerable moment.
I found Layla in the kitchen, staring at a melting chocolate milkshake like it was a poisoned chalice. Maria was watching her with a motherly worry that set my teeth on edge. When Layla looked up at me, the triumph
