Page 110 of Jax & Knox

By the time the car finally stops, I'm numb. Hollowed out. Empty.

We're at a small, isolated house at the end of a dirt road. The house is barely visible in the pre-dawn darkness, windows dark, paint peeling. No neighbors for miles. No lights except the ones Justin turns on as he drags me inside, each click of a switch showing more of my new prison.

He locks the door behind us and sets Owen, still asleep, thank God, on a stained couch that smells like mildew and neglect.

Then he turns to me.

"You thought you could just leave," he says quietly, his voice more dangerous than any shout. "Take my son. Shack up with a couple of biker trash and play house. Did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

I don't answer. There's nothing to say that won't make this worse. I learned that lesson years ago.

He steps closer. I don't back up. I don't have the energy. Don't have anything left to fight with.

"You're going to remember who you belong to," he says, his breath hot on my face. "And then we're going to disappear. Somewhere none of those animals will ever find you. Mexico, maybe. Or further. Somewhere you'll learn to be grateful I took you back."

I look at my sleeping son, his face peaceful, unaware that his world has just shattered again.

If I make it out of this, I won't be able to live with myself. The guilt will eat me alive from the inside out.

Jax is dead. Dead and cold and gone because I was too weak to protect myself.

Knox will never forgive me. Why would he? I wouldn't forgive me.

I took Jax from his family. From the club. From everyone who loved him.

I don't deserve to survive this.

But Owen does.

So I'll do whatever it takes to keep him alive. I'll endure whatever Justin has planned. I'll become whatever I need to become.

Even if it kills me. Especially if it kills me.

At least then I won't have to live with what I've done.

TWENTY

KNOX

The cabin door is open and there's blood on the porch when I come around the final bend. The wood is slick with it, a dark trail that catches the fading afternoon light.

Jax is on the ground, slumped against the railing like a discarded puppet. There's so much blood I can't tell where it's all coming from, his shoulder, his side, maybe both. His face is pale, almost gray, his breathing shallow and rattling in his chest.

I'm off the bike before it fully stops, the engine still rumbling as I let it fall.

"Jax!" I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over him, not sure where to touch without causing more damage. "Brother. Stay with me."

His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then locking onto mine. "Knox..."

"Where are you hit?"

"Shoulder. Maybe ribs. I don't—" He coughs, and blood flecks his lips, bright red against the pale. "He took them. Two men. Dark sedan. Headed west on the old fire road. Maybe ten minutes ago."

I check his pulse. It's there, but weak. Too weak. His skin is cold and clammy under my fingers.

Tiny's truck roars up the drive, gravel spraying everywhere. He's out and running before the engine dies, his boots pounding across the dirt.

"I've got him," Tiny says, already pulling out a field kit from the pack on his back. His hands are steady, efficient. "Go. Go now."