Page 74 of The Auction
But Ben’s not done—he’s storming into the barn now, just as the second man steps down from the trailer, Dominion secured inside.
“Please,” I sob, my voice breaking. “Stop.”
Ben’s got a metal shovel in his hands now, swinging it once like a warning. “Don’t you come near this horse.”
The man squares off with him, voice low and threatening. But before he can take a step, a sound cuts through the air—sharp, distinct, getting closer.
A motorcycle.
My heart jumps. I know that sound. I’ve heard it for years.
Jaxon’s here.
The scream of his bike echoing like a warning across the atmosphere tells me he’s riding like he’s bringing hell with him.
His bike is getting louder—closer—and the fight surges back into me. I push off the barn wall with my feet, catching the man holding me off guard. He stumbles back, swearing, but keeps his grip.
Ben swings the shovel again. “Get back!”
The man wraps both arms around my stomach, trapping my arms to my sides, squeezing so hard my feet leave the ground. I can’t breathe. Can’t scream.
I kick wildly, thrashing my head back. My skull connects with his face, and the sickening crunch of his nose breaking rings in my ears.
He cusses loud, grip loosening just enough for me to suck in a breath.
“You fucking bitch,” he spits, his arms clamping down again before he hauls me up and throws me to the ground.
The impact rattles my bones. Dirt grits into my eyes and mouth. The air is knocked from my lungs, and for a moment, the world tilts sideways and spins the wrong way.
“Cassidy!” Mom’s scream rips through the chaos.
“Sit down, Lilly!” Shanae’s voice, closer, panicked.
Then—movement. A streak of black in my peripheral.
The man is yanked away from me so fast he stumbles. Jaxon’s still wearing his helmet as he drags the man back and, in the same motion, slams a fist into his face. He yanks the manforward by the shirt, driving his knee up hard, then pulling his head down to meet it. Bone meets bone with a sick crack.
The man drops, and Jaxon’s on him like a predator. “You fucked up touching her.” The words are low, deep—and nothing like the Jaxon I know. This voice is darker. Deadlier.
I feel the crack of a bone as much as I hear it and wince.
The man screams. Jaxon rips his helmet off and is at my side in the next heartbeat, hauling me upright and sitting me against the wall.
The man is screaming, holding is arm and rolling on his back like it’s the only thing he can do amid the pain he’s in.
“Are you hurt?” His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide so the deep brown is almost gone. “Are you okay?”
“Grace,” I choke out, my voice breaking.
He presses a quick kiss to my forehead, his breath still hard. “Get to your mom, baby.”
He hauls me to my feet just long enough to steady me, then he’s gone—storming into the barn, his shoulders rigid with fury.
Anger isn’t enough to describe what’s in me right now.
This isn’t anger.
It’s the kind of fury that could burn a man’s soul to ash.
