Chapter Nineteen

TRAP OR NOT?

WRITER'S POV

The night was cold and quiet, but the air held something sharp, like the edge of a blade waiting to cut. Jax knew that feeling too well. He had learned long ago to listen when the world around him felt too quiet because there was nothing like silence when there was war; these were the words his father used to ring in his ears during training when he was dtill alive. These were the things his father had kept admonishing to him since he was a kid and at this point, silence could be louder than any sound.

It was eerily quiet, so quiet one could hear a pin drop from half a mile. At least to ordinary humans' ears. But Jax, he wasn’t a human. He was a very powerful and large wolf. He wore a black leather jacket and very balloony pants.

The moment he stepped into the clearing, he stopped. His boots crushed the dry leaves, but the forest felt still, like it was holding its breath. His sharp eyes scanned the darkness. He wasn’t just walking into this meeting blind. No, Jax had felt it the second Flynn sent word. It was too simple, and easy. And Flynn? Flynn never made things easy unless he wanted something.

So Jax came prepared.

Underneath his jacket, his blade was strapped tight to his side. He had packed light, but he had known he had packed smart,  because weapons weren't always everything. His father had also told him that. When he reached the meeting point, there was no Flynn. Just darkness. And Jax wasn’t surprised. Not one bit. He had long anticipated it, and he also made sure they thought he didn't bring any help or weapon.

That brought another memory of what his father taught him; never let your enemies know your next move.

He stood still for a long moment. Listening to breathing. The scent on the wind wasn’t Flynn’s. It was something else. Men. Lots of them. Masked, hiding, waiting.

Jax didn’t run. He didn’t flinch. He turned slowly, his sharp senses picking up their quiet movements. They were closing in, one step at a time, thinking he hadn’t noticed. But Jax had noticed.

A voice came from the dark.

"Hand over the girl, Jax. Or this will get messy."

He didn’t answer. He flexed his fingers once, feeling the weight of the blade against his side. Then he moved.

The first thug lunged out from behind a tree, swinging a bat wrapped in iron spikes. Jax ducked under the swing, his body moving smooth and fast. His blade came out in one swift motion. One sharp deep cut. The man  screamed and then dropped to the floor.

But the others didn’t wait. They came at him like the wolves they were, each one swinging, extracting their clawz, trying to drag him down. Jax fought like he was born for it. His blade flashed silver in the moonlight. Blood splattered the ground. But even as he fought, even as his arms grew heavy, he knew this wasn’t the real fight. This was a message. Flynn never showed because Flynn didn’t need to. He had sent them to soften Jax up. Maybe even finish him if they could.

They couldn’t. They never would.

Jax moved through them like a storm, but even storms wear down. A fist slammed into his side. Another hit his back. He could feel the sharp sting of bruises blooming beneath his skin, but he didn’t fall.

When the last thug ran, bleeding and broken into the night, Jax stood alone in the clearing. The ground was wet with blood, but his legs shook, and his head felt light. His strength was slipping fast, but he forced himself to stand tall. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to clean the blood away, and started back toward home.

The walk felt longer than usual. The weight and intensity of the fight clung to his bones. His muscles ached. Every step felt like he was dragging a mountain behind him, but his mind stayed sharp. Flynn had wanted him out of the way. Flynn had wanted him weak. But Jax wasn’t so easy to break.

When the house came into view, the porch light glowed soft and yellow, like a lighthouse guiding him home. Jack was waiting at the door. His sharp eyes flicked over Jax’s battered frame, and for once, Jack didn’t make a joke.

"You knew. You knew it was a trap.” Jack said flatly.

Jax gave a slow nod, his breath ragged. "I knew."

Jack stepped aside, letting him pass. Gabriella wasn’t in the living room. She was upstairs. Jax could feel her presence even before he climbed the steps. His body screamed for rest, but his heart pulled him forward.

He pushed open the bedroom door and found her there, curled on the bed, her eyes wide with worry. The moment she saw him, her face crumpled.

"Jax," she whispered, standing quickly.

Her hands reached for him, touching his face, his chest, his arms, as if checking he was real, checking he was still standing. He leaned into her touch, too tired to speak, too tired to pretend he wasn’t hurting.

She helped him to the bed, her hands trembling. "You’re hurt. You’re bleeding."

"It’s not bad," he lied, his voice low and rough. "I’ve had worse."

But she wasn’t fooled. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She fetched a bowl of warm water and a cloth, cleaning the blood from his skin, her touch gentle but firm.

"Why ?" she asked softly, dabbing at a deep cut on his shoulder.

"Because it was a trap," he answered. "And I needed to be sure."

She paused, the cloth soaking red in her hand. "And now?"

"Now I know," he said simply.

She didn’t speak again, not for a long time. She finished cleaning his wounds and sat beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. His hand found hers, their fingers tangling together like they always belonged that way.

"I was scared," she whispered. "I thought I lost you."

"You won’t," he whispered back. "Not now. Not ever."

And for the first time that night, the house felt quiet, but it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating quiet from before. It was a softer kind. The kind that only comes when the person you love is safe, even if only for a moment.

Jax let his eyes close, his body finally giving in. But his mind stayed awake, holding onto one truth: Flynn had started a war. And Jax would finish it.