The Pact Of Five

I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PACT

THE PACT OF FIVE

CHAPTER 13: I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PACT

The rain from earlier has stopped, but the air still carries the scent of wet earth and ozone as I slip into my suite at Blackthorn Manor. The grand double doors click shut behind me, the sound echoing in the vast space. My bedroom is a sanctuary of deep blues and blacks, the kind of room that feels like a hug and a warning all at once. The four-poster bed is turned down, the silk sheets inviting, and the fire in the hearth has been lit, casting a warm glow across the dark wood floors. The scent of jasmine and vanilla from my diffusers mixes with the faint smell of the rain still clinging to my hair.

I’m exhausted. The confrontation with Cole in the car, the way Knox’s eyes burned into me through the rain-soaked window, the tension that’s been building for *weeks*—it’s all catching up to me. I just want to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and pretend, just for a little while, that my life isn’t a goddamn minefield.

I kick off my shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the floor barely audible over the crackle of the fire. My fingers work at the buttons of my blouse, the fabric sticking slightly to my skin from the humidity. I’m halfway through undoing them when I hear it—a soft, rough chuckle from the direction of my bed.

My blood *runs cold.*

I freeze, my fingers stilling on the buttons. That laugh—I’d know it anywhere. It’s *Jax.* And it’s coming from *my bed.*

I turn slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. And there he is, sprawled across my mattress like he owns the damn thing. His dark hair is messy, his gray eyes *gleaming* with mischief in the firelight. He’s shirtless, his tattoos on full display—wolves, flames, and that hidden "L" I noticed once before. His jeans are low on his hips, the button undone, and the sight of him—*in my bed*—sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.

His smirk is *wicked.* "Took you long enough, *sweetheart.*"

I clench my fists, my voice shaking with a mix of fury and something darker, something *hungrier.* "What the *f**k* are you doing in my bed, Jax?"

He rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his hand, his eyes raking over me like I’m the last meal he’ll ever eat. "Waiting for you."

I take a step back, my breath coming in short gasps. "Get *out.*"

He doesn’t move. Of *course* he doesn’t move. Instead, he patches the space beside him with a slow, deliberate motion. "Come here."

My pulse *spikes.* The firelight dances across his bare chest, highlighting the hard planes of his muscles, the dark ink of his tattoos. He looks like *sin* personified, and *God help me*, I want to touch him.

I should scream. Should call for Daniel. Should *do* something. But I just stand there, my body trembling, my mind racing.

His smirk deepens. "You gonna stand there all night, or you gonna *join* me?"

I close my eyes, my voice a whisper. "Jax, *please.*"

His laugh is low, rough. "Since when do you *beg*, Lena?"

I open my eyes, my gaze locking onto his. The challenge in his eyes is *unmistakable.* And so is the *hunger.*

I take a step forward, then another, my bare feet silent on the plush rug. The closer I get, the more I can *smell* him—leather and gunpowder and *Jax.* It’s intoxicating. Dangerous.

I stop at the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the wooden post. "This is a *bad* idea."

His fingers trail up my calf, sending a *shiver* up my spine. "Best ideas always are."

I should pull away. Should *run.* But I don’t. I just stand there, my heart *hammering,* my body *aching* for his touch.

His hand slides up to my knee, his thumb *teasing* the inside of my thigh. "You *want* this, Lena. Don’t lie to me."

I swallow hard. "And what if I *do?*"

His eyes *darken.* "Then stop *fighting* it."

His other hand lifts, his fingers brushing the buttons of my blouse, undoing them one by one. The fabric parts, revealing my black lace bra, my skin *tingling* under his touch.

"You *know* the pact," I whisper, my voice shaky.

His fingers still, his gaze locking onto mine. And then he *grins*, that *wicked* smirk that makes my stomach flip. "I don’t *care* about the pact."

My breath *catches.* The words hang between us, heavy with *defiance*, with *promise.* With *danger.*

I *should* push him away. Should *remind* him of the consequences, of Knox’s rage, of the *war* this could start. But I don’t. Because the truth is, I *don’t* care either. Not right now. Not with his hands on me, his eyes *burning* into me, his body *calling* to mine.

His fingers slide up to my ribs, his thumbs *brushing* the undersides of my breasts. "Tell me to stop."

I *should.* I *know* I should. But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is, I *don’t* want him to stop.

His lips crash onto mine, *hard* and *hungry,* and I *moan* into him, my hands flying to his chest, my body *melting* into the bed. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, *claiming* me, *owning* me, and *f**k,* it’s *everything* I’ve ever *fantasized* about and *more.*

He rolls me onto my back, his body pressing me into the mattress, his hands *everywhere*—my waist, my thighs, my *breasts.* I arch into his touch, my nails digging into his shoulders, my mind *screaming* at me to stop, to *think,* to *breathe.*

But I don’t *want* to stop.

I want *him.* I want *this.*

His lips trail down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, and I *whimper,* my body *aching* for *more.* His hand slides up my thigh, his fingers *teasing* the edge of my panties, and I *gasping,* my hips *bucking* into his touch.

And then—

*Click.*

The sound of my bedroom door *opening.*

We *freeze.*

Jax doesn’t move away. Not at first. He just *watches* me, his eyes *dark* with promise, his smirk *wicked.* "Your loss, *brothers.*"

Then he rolls off me, but his voice is a dark caress. "This isn’t over, *sweetheart.*"

I sit up, my heart *pounding,* my body *trembling* with need, to see **Knox, Cole, Zane, and Micah** standing in the doorway, their expressions a mix of *rage* and *hunger* and *betrayal.*

Knox’s voice is a *whip-crack.* "Get the *f**k* out, Jax."

Jax just *grins,* pulling on his shirt with deliberate slowness. "Make me."

Knox’s jaw *clenches,* his hands *clenching* into fists. For a second, I think he’s going to *lunge* at Jax. But then his dark eyes *lock* on me, and his voice is a *growl.* "Lena. *Bedroom. Now.*"

I swallow hard, my body still *trembling* from Jax’s touch. I should be *furious.* I should be *screaming.* But all I feel is this *ache*, this *need* coiling tighter in my stomach.

Jax leans down, his lips brushing my ear, his voice a dark whisper. "Remember, *sweetheart.* I don’t *care* about the pact." And then he’s gone, striding past the others like he doesn’t have a *care* in the world.

Knox steps forward, his dark eyes *burning* into me, his voice a *promise.* "You’re gonna *regret* that."

And then he’s gone too, leaving me sitting there, my blouse undone, my lips *tingling*, my body *aching* with a need I don’t even understand.

Because the *worst* part?

Jax is right.

I don’t *care* about the pact either.