Page 27 of Jax & Knox

But the other part of my brain, the part that lived with Justin Williams for two years, the part that knows exactly what he's capable of, is louder.

He's here. He's going to take Owen. He's going to kill you.

My vision narrows. The edges of the room blur and darken until all I can see is that car. That goddamn car with its tinted windows and its idling engine and the threat it represents.

I can't breathe.

My chest is tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around my ribs and is pulling them tighter and tighter. I try to suck in air, but it won't come. My lungs won't expand. My throat is closing.

Owen.

I drop the towel and stumble backward, my hands shaking so violently I can barely grip the edge of the bar to steady myself. My legs feel like jelly. My skin is clammy, sweat breaking out across my forehead, down my spine.

Where's Owen?

He's in the backroom with Lucy. Safe. He's safe.

But what if he's not? What if Justin already got to him? What if⁠,

"Ainsley?"

The voice is distant, muffled, like I'm underwater.

I blink, but I can't focus. The room is spinning. My heart is pounding so loud in my ears I can't hear anything else. My hands are numb. My fingers are tingling.

I can't breathe.

"Ainsley, look at me."

Hands on my shoulders. Warm. Firm. Grounding.

I flinch, jerking away, my back hitting the shelves behind the bar. Bottles rattle. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps that don't bring any oxygen.

"Hey, hey, it's me. It's Jax."

Jax.

I blink again, and his face comes into focus. Green eyes. Concerned. Intense. He's crouched in front of me, his hands hovering near my arms but not touching. Not forcing.

"Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose. Out through your mouth."

I shake my head. I can't. I can't do it.

"Yes, you can. Look at me. Just me. In through your nose."

He demonstrates, exaggerating the breath, and I try to follow. It's shaky. Broken. But a tiny bit of air gets in.

"Good. That's good. Now out through your mouth."

I exhale, and it comes out as a sob.

"Again. In."

I do it. Again. And again. Slowly, painfully, my lungs start to work again. The steel bands loosen just a fraction.

"That's it. You're doing great."

My vision clears a little more. I can see him now. Really see him. The concern etched into his face. The way his jaw is tight, like he's holding himself back from doing something.