Sold to the biker boss

Chapter 8

Jax

Two days.

That’s how long we stayed buried in that warehouse, living off canned food, bad coffee, and nerves stretched thin.

Viper went quiet.

That didn’t mean he was gone. It meant he was tired. Or regrouping. Either way, silence in my world never meant peace.

Grizz finally called just after sunrise on the third day.

“Looks clean,” he said. “No movement. No tails. Viper pulled his guys back.”

I leaned against the wall, phone tight in my hand. “You sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” he said. “My boys swept the routes. Nothing. If he’s still watching, he’s doing it from far away.”

That was good enough for me.

I hung up and looked across the warehouse. Layla was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up, flipping through an old magazine she’d found somewhere. She looked calmer than she had the first night. Still tense—but not shaking anymore.

“We’re moving,” I said.

She looked up fast. “Moving where?”

“My fortress,” I said. “More secure. More eyes. More guns.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It should,” I said. “Nothing gets in there unless I want it to.”

She closed the magazine and stood. “Okay. Let me change.”

She glanced toward the corner of the warehouse where her bag was.

“You want me to turn around?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Please.”

I nodded and turned my back.

Or at least I tried to.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look.

Just a second. Just enough.

I saw the sideline of her breast, clear as day. Not in some cheap way, though my thinking it probably was cheap. It was just a curve. A familiar, heartbreaking curve. The kind of line a man’s hand remembers. It swelled softly against her shirt and then tapered down, and my throat went tight.

My eyes dropped, tracing down her back. It was a soft back. I know that word sounds stupid, but that’s what it was.Soft. Not weak. Just… the kind of back you used to rest your hand on while walking, just to feel the warmth come through her shirt. The kind you’d press your lips against, right between the shoulder blades, just to feel her sigh. The muscles moved easy under her skin as she shifted her weight, and I knew every one of those movements, every little hitch when she was tired.

And then her waist. Lord, her waist. It dipped in small and neat between the swell of her hip and the line of her ribs. I could have spanned it with my two hands, thumbs touching in back, fingers meeting in front. I’d done it a hundred times in the past, pulling her close, feeling her laughter vibrate against my chest. Seeing it now, that small waist, felt like a punch. It was proof of a space that used to be mine to hold, now just empty air.

I stood there, a statue, drinking in that one stolen second. The curve, the soft back, the small waist. It wasn’t just a body. It was a map of every good memory I’d spent the years apart trying to burn out of my brain. Every quiet morning, every late-night talk. All the peace I’d ever known was tied up in those lines.

I hated myself for it—but God help me, I’d missed her.

Ten years didn’t erase that.

I didn’t see much to make me overly excited. Just enough to remind me that she was still her. Still beautiful in that effortless way that had wrecked me back then.

I clenched my jaw and forced my eyes forward.

This wasn’t the time.

This wasn’t the place.

And she wasn’t just mine anymore—if she ever really was.

I heard her clear her throat.

“You can turn around now.”

I did.

She stood there, dressed for the road. Jeans. Boots. A jacket that fit her better than it had any right to. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, catching the light.

She smiled—small, careful. “Okay. I’m ready.”

That smile hit me harder than any bullet ever had.

“Good,” I said, rougher than I meant to. “Let’s roll.”

The ride out felt different.

Less panic. More weight.

Layla rode behind me again, arms wrapped tight around my waist. Not out of fear this time—but trust. Or maybe habit. Either way, I felt it in my bones.

The road stretched long and empty. Nevada desert on both sides, wild and unforgiving. The kind of land that didn’t care if you lived or died.

I liked that.

The fortress sat tucked behind rocky hills, hidden from the highway. High walls. Steel gates. Armed guards who knew better than to ask questions.

When we pulled in, heads turned. My people noticed everything.

Layla stiffened behind me.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Just… a lot of eyes,” she said.

“They won’t touch you,” I said. “Not unless they want to lose hands.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “Comforting.”

Inside, the place felt alive. Engines. Music. Laughter. Men and women who lived hard and knew the rules. This was my world—raw, loud, loyal.

And she didn’t belong in it.

Which meant I’d burn it all down before letting it eat her alive.

I showed her to a private room. Clean. Locked. Safe.

“You can rest here,” I said. “Food’ll be up soon.”

She nodded, then hesitated. “Jax?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for getting us out.”

I nodded once. “Anytime.”

She closed the door gently.

I leaned against the wall outside and let out a slow breath.

I wasn’t proud of the thoughts running through my head back in that warehouse. The wanting. The ache. The way my body remembered her even when my brain screamed no.

But wanting her wasn’t the problem.

Letting myself act on it was.

Because I didn’t just want her safe.

I wanted her whole.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

I turned to find some of the cleaners staring at me from afar. I guess they’ve never seen me in this mood before. I glared at them—they got the message and scampered to their business.