Page 10 of Jax & Knox

"You should."

"I don't." I take a small step closer, just enough that she has to tilt her head up to look at me. "Whatever it is, whatever he did to you, it doesn't change anything."

"How can you say that?" Her voice cracks. "You don't even know⁠⁠—"

"I know enough," I say. "I know you're terrified. I know you're running. I know you've got a baby who needs you. And I know you're standing here trying to convince yourself you don't need help when you're barely holding it together."

Her breath hitches.

"I'm not asking you to trust me," I continue. "Not yet. But I'm asking you to let us help. Just for tonight. Just until you figure out what's next."

She looks down at her hands. They're still shaking.

"What if I can't?" she whispers. "What if I don't know how?"

"Then we'll figure it out together."

She looks up at me, and there are tears in her eyes now. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because you deserve it."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah," I say softly. "I do."

For a long moment, she just stares at me. Then she takes a shaky breath.

"Goodnight, Jax," she says softly.

"Goodnight, Ainsley."

She closes the door, and I stand there for a second, staring at the wood.

Then I walk away.

But I know one thing for sure.

I'm completely fucked.

THREE

AINSLEY

I wake to pain. Not the sharp, immediate kind that makes you scream. This is deeper. Duller. The kind that settles into your bones and reminds you with every breath that your body has been through hell.

For a second, just one blissful, disorienting second, I don't remember where I am.

Then it all crashes back.

Justin's fists. His voice in my ear telling me I'm nothing, that I'm worthless, that Owen would be better off without me. The frantic packing. The beater car. The highway. The smoke. The terror of being stranded with my baby in the backseat while the sun set and the world grew dark around us.

The brothers on their bikes.

The Old Ladies with their kind eyes and firm hands.

Perdition. The clubhouse. The backrooms.

I try to sit up and immediately regret it. My ribs scream in protest, a sharp, breathless pain that makes me gasp and freeze halfway up. I press a hand to my side, feeling the tender, swollen flesh beneath my shirt. Justin kicked me there. Twice. Maybe three times. I lost count after the first one knocked the wind out of me.