“Ho, look at the girly go.” He wrenches me left and then right, for no other reason than to throw his weight around as if I’m a ragdoll. My brain rattles in my skull at the force, but he’s left himself wide open in his glee at manhandling me.
“Fuck you,” I grunt, and as hard as I can, I bring my knee up between his legs.
His grip falls from my wrist instantly, and he bellows over, a high-pitched squeal leeching from his mouth.
“That’s for Nellie, you piece of shit.” I flip my hair out of my face and rub my wrist.
“You little bitch,” he rasps, clutching his jewels. “I’m gonna rip your fucking—”
I take a step back, anticipating a lunge, but he’s suddenly yanked backwards. Gripped by the neck, Jax throws him on the ground. Where he came from, I have no idea, but the fury on his face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
He’s feral, chest heaving. The veins in his forearms pulse and ripple as he trembles with rage. For the first time, I get a glimpse of the merciless killer. Every line of his body radiates violence. Even without a gun in his hand, he’s deadly. Because heisthe weapon. Lethal and ruthless, this is the Jax Landon who knows that strangulation is the cleanest kill.
“Finish that sentence,” his tone is cold and deceptively level as he stares down at Arnold, “Idareyou.” He places a boot on his throat.
Arnold’s eyes bulge as the whites redden, a sick, gurgling sound rattling up his throat. I wince until I realize the sound is him laughing and that the prick is smiling.
“I knew you were full of shit,” Arnold chokes around the boot. “You’re just as whipped as I thought,” he hacks out another laugh.
“Yeah, I am,” Jax says. “Which means you should have known better.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jax
The world is narrowed to nothing but my boot and Arnold’s throat. Everything else is a throbbing red and black at the edges of my vision. He touched her. His greasy hands sullied her skin. It was a violation. A theft. The image of his fingers digging into her flesh, grabbing and pulling…
I push down harder, the heel of my boot grinding against his windpipe. The satisfaction is white-hot. Kira Noland ismine—I catch her rigid form in my peripheral. No one touches what’s mine and lives.
“Come on,” Arnold gurgles at the sudden intensity, clawing at my soles. “Don’t let a bitch get the better of you. Let Uncle Arnie up.”
My fist clenches. There was a time, when I was too young and too stupid to understand, that I thought of Arnold as an uncle. He was around more than James. He taught me how to ride a bike and how to shave with a razor blade. He’s the one who showed me how to aim a gun so that when James took me hunting, I wouldn’t have to miss and take the beating that followed.
But that was a long time ago, and I’ve known for years now that Arnold was never an uncle. He was a handler. A leash James kept tight around my throat, disguised as a guiding hand.Every so-calledlessonwas just another chain welded into place, making sure I grew up brutal enough to serve but obedient enough not to stray.
Now he’s choking under me, and I wonder how many times he’s replayed the same scene with someone smaller, weaker—someone who didn’t have the strength to fight back. The glint in his eyes says it’s plenty. It says he wants to do it to Kira too. Kira, who shifts behind me, is probably able to see it too.
He might be laughing, thinking we have some sort of kinship, but the moment his fingers touched Kira, he signed his death warrant. What twisted bonds and ties I had to him are ashes in the wind now. And if James wasn’t already paying attention, if I wasn’t already hanging by the thinnest of threads, Arnold would already be a corpse bleeding into the grass. But I have to be patient. I’ll get rid of him the way I do for clients. Cleanly. No traces. Just the way he taught me.
But first… a little teaser.
My boot slides off his throat, but not in mercy. I just need to give my fist some room. The crunch of cartilage under my knuckles is better than any high money can buy. Blood bursts from his nose, flooding his twisted smile as he gasps and spits. I glance at Kira over my shoulder, making sure she sees what he deserves.
“We’re done,” I say to the piece of shit on the ground, my voice low, shaking with rage. I press my fingers into his jaw, tilting his head back as it drops another octave in an attempt to find some restraint. “Did you hear me? I don’t want to catch you in my sight again. You do what you need to for James, but you stay the fuck away from me. And don’tever,” I grip him tighter to pull him up and then slam his head into the ground, “put your filthy fucking hands on her again. Do you understand?”
His eyes flutter and swim in their sockets.
“Do youunderstand?!” I bite out.
He chuckles, but the sound is weak in his daze. “Sure, Jaxy,” he slurs.
Disgust crawls up my arm, and I let him go, not sure I can keep my hands on him and keep him alive at the same time. Kira exhales behind me.
“Get up,” I say, straightening. “Get out of here. Now.”
He turns onto his side, spits, and then stumbles to his knees, though his pride stays on the ground as he wobbles to his feet. Blood streaks down his shirt as I watch him take haggard breaths, and I relish the damage I’ve wanted to do for years.
“You’re gonna regret this, boy,” Arnold says once he steadies himself, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
