“So, you murdered him.”
“I eliminated a threat. Just like I’m doing with Hunter.” He stands, paces the small room. “Men like them don’t understand what it takes to create something that lasts.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m pragmatic. I’ve spent years protecting the Vipers.” His voice rises with conviction. “Every decision, every sacrifice—even this—it’s all necessary.”
“You’re not a hero, Jax. You’re a monster.”
He smiles, genuinely amused. “We’re all monsters, Aurora. Some of us just admit it.” His expression shifts again. “Your sister understands. Olivia sees the truth in me. The power.”
My hands clench into fists. “If you touch her again, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
“Olivia comes to me willingly. She’s... magnificent in her surrender.”
I lunge at him. “You better not hurt her, or I promise you’ll never see it coming.”
Jax just smiles. “So much like your father. So naive.”
I stare at Jax as he continues his twisted monologue, and clarity washes over me like ice water. This isn’t just paranoia—it’s complete delusion. His eyes shine with messianic fervor. He genuinely believes he’s the hero of this story.
“The Vipers needed protection,” he continues, voice rising with conviction. “Every move I’ve made—eliminating threats, securing our position—it’s all been for the greater good.”
In his mind, he’s rewritten the murder of my father into an act of noble defense. Pushed a man off a cliff and called it salvation. The realization makes my blood run cold.
“You’re not protecting anything,” I say flatly. “You’re afraid someone might take your power.”
His expression hardens. “You don’t understand what I’ve built.”
“I understand perfectly. You’re a killer who can’t stand competition.”
His eyes darken. The gentleness from moments ago evaporates, as if it never existed. “I thought you might be different. More like your sister. More... receptive to the truth.”
“The truth?” I laugh. “You wouldn’t recognize truth if it pushed you off a cliff.”
His jaw tightens. “I’ve been patient with you, Aurora. Too patient.” He pulls something from his pocket—a small tablet. The screen glows blue in the dim cell.
Jax turns the tablet toward me, his expression triumphant. “You think Hunter is so different from me? That he’s coming to rescue you? Your white knight?”
The screen shows security footage of the cliff—my father’s cliff. The same rocky ledge where Hunter pulled me back that day. My stomach twists with dread.
“What is this?” I whisper.
“Watch.”
Two figures appear on the cliff. One is unmistakably Hunter. The other man I don’t recognize—middle-aged, wearing an expensive suit.
“This was four years ago,” Jax says quietly.
Hunter moves closer to the man, backing him toward the edge. The stranger’s hands are up, placating, his mouth moving rapidly. Pleading. Hunter’s face is cold, expressionless. Nothing like the man I thought I knew.
“No,” I breathe. “He wouldn’t?—”
But he does.
In one swift motion, Hunter lunges forward and shoves the man. There’s no hesitation, no struggle. Just a calculatedly violent push, and the stranger disappears over the edge.
Hunter doesn’t even look down. He straightens his jacket and walks away.
