Page 63 of Jax & Knox

The ones who stole her from me.

One of them, tall, dark hair, cocky grin, says something that makes her laugh. The other one, quieter, more intense, reaches out and touches her lower back.

Possessive.

Like he has a right.

My finger tightens on the camera, snapping photo after photo.

Click. Click. Click.

Evidence.

Proof.

She didn't leave me.

She was taken.

It took me three days to trace her phone.

Three fucking days of calling in favors, lying to my lieutenant, running searches through the department database when no one was looking.

"Just checking on a lead," I told Dave when he asked why I was running plates at two in the morning.

He didn't push.

Cops don't question other cops.

That's the rule.

The towing company gave me Jackson. A small-town mechanic confirmed the car had been picked up and junked. Then it was just a matter of time.

I've been here for a week now.

Watching.

Learning their routines.

The bikers leave in the mornings. She stays home with Owen. Sometimes she goes to the bar, Perdition, the sign says, but never alone.

Always protected.

Always guarded.

Like I'm some kind of threat.

I'm not the threat. They are.

I lower the camera and stare at the photos on the screen.

Ainsley smiling.

Owen laughing.

The bikers touching her like she belongs to them.

My hands shake.