Chapter Ten - Reaper
I sit on the edge of the couch with Isabella tucked against my uninjured side, her head resting on my shoulder, while I keep one eye on the two zip-tied intruders slumped in the corner. The knife wound along my ribs throbs with every breath, but the bleeding has slowed to a steady seep beneath the tight bandage she wrapped. My focus stays locked on the door and the quiet outside.
Isabella’s fingers trace gentle circles on my thigh, her touch both soothing and grounding. After the adrenaline of the fight and the raw vulnerability of her tears while tending my wound, a fragile peace has settled over us. She had whispered that she couldn’t lose me either, and those words had cracked something deep inside my chest.
A low hum cuts through the morning quiet, the distinct sound of an approaching vehicle engine. I tense, reaching for my pistol, but the sound of the tires on the gravel drive is familiar. Channel16 had lit up my phone an hour earlier with a short update from Cal, letting me know the team was inbound and to hold position.
“They’re here,” I say, voice low. “Stay behind me until we confirm.”
Isabella nods, slipping off the couch and pulling the blanket tighter around herself. She stays close as I move to the door, pistol ready. When the knock comes, three measured raps followed by Cal’s calm voice, I exhale and open it.
Cal Hayes steps inside first, followed by two of our guys and Rhea, who is carrying a medical kit. His sharp eyes take in the scene. The broken door, the scattered research papers, the two subdued intruders, and the bloodstained bandage on my side. Rhea moves straight to me, but Cal’s gaze lingers on Isabella for a moment, noting the way she stands protectively close to my uninjured side.
“Status?” Cal asks, voice steady as ever.
“Two hostiles down. Knife wound that might need stitches. They’re breathing but still unconscious. They’ll need transport.”
Rhea is already unpacking her kit, gloved hands gentle but efficient as she peels back the bandage to assess the gash. “You’re lucky. A couple of inches deeper and we’d be having a very different conversation.”
Isabella hovers nearby, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “He took the blade meant for me,” she says quietly, voice still thick with emotion.
Cal nods once, his expression unchanging, but I catch the faint approval in his eyes. “Good work, both of you. We’ll take these two back to the Boathouse for questioning. Rhea will patch you up. The mainland is clear enough now. Power’s starting to come back in spots. You two head to your apartment, Reaper. Get some rest. We’ll debrief when you’re ready.”
The next hour passes in a blur of efficiency. The team loads the intruders into the larger vehicle while Rhea stitches my side withquick, precise movements. Isabella stays close the entire time, her presence a quiet anchor. Once the men are secured and the lodge locked down as best we can, we climb into the truck and drive back toward Tidehaven.
The ride is quiet. Isabella sits beside me, her hand resting on my knee, thumb brushing slow circles. The pinelands look battered but already beginning to recover, the sky a washed-out gray. When we finally reach my apartment in the old warehouse district, the weight of the past twenty-four hours settles in.
The moment the door closes behind us, I lock every bolt, check the windows out of habit, then turn to find Isabella watching me with those hazel eyes that see straight through my walls.
She crosses the room and gently pushes me toward the couch. “Sit. Let me check the stitches again.”
I obey, lowering myself onto the cushions while she kneels in front of me. Her fingers are careful as she inspects Rhea’s work, but the tenderness in her touch stirs something far deeper than gratitude. When she finishes, she stays there on her knees, looking up at me with quiet determination.
“Jax,” she says softly, using my real name like a caress. “We made it through the night. We’re here. Together. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I reach down and cup her face with both hands, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. The walls I have spent years reinforcing crumble a little more. “I’m scared, Bee. Scared that if I let myself have this, have you, I’ll lose you.”
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but her voice stays steady. “Don’t push me away to protect me. Let me stand beside you. Partnership, not just protection. I’m choosing you, Jax Harlan. Every scarred, stubborn, protective inch of you. Let me in.”
Her words break the last of my resistance.
I pull her up into my lap, claiming her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that tastes of relief and surrender. This time, there is no frantic desperation from the storm. No adrenaline-fueled rush. Just deliberate, possessive need. I kiss her like I have all the time in the world, savoring the softness of her lips, the way she melts against me with a quiet sigh.
My hands slide under the hoodie she’s wearing, peeling it off slowly, tossing it aside, and making quick work of the leggings she put on earlier. Her skin is warm and flushed. I explore her with unhurried touches. My palms glide over her breasts, paying close attention to each of her tight nipples. She arches into me with a soft moan, her fingers threading through my hair.
“Jax…” she breathes, hips rolling gently against the growing hardness beneath her.
I stand, lifting her with me, and carry her to the bedroom. The space is simple with a big bed and soft sheets. I lay her down gently, then strip off my own clothes, letting her see every scar, every mark of the life I have led. She watches me with hungry, reverent eyes, reaching for me as I settle over her.
This time, I take it slow. I kiss my way down her body, tasting every inch of skin I claimed the night before. When I reach the apex of her thighs, I spread her open with my hands and lower my mouth to her. My tongue strokes through her folds in long, languid licks, savoring her taste, the way she trembles and gasps my name.
“Mine,” I whisper against her slick skin, the word vibrating through her. “This is mine, Bee. You are mine.”
She comes with a soft, shuddering cry, pulsing around my fingers, her thighs tightening around my shoulders. I kiss my way back up her body, settling between her spread legs. My cock rests heavy and hard against her entrance, but I don’t rush. I brace on my forearms and look down at her flushed cheeks, parted lips, and hazel eyes dark with emotion and desire.
“Tell me again,” I murmur, nudging just the tip inside her. “Tell me you’re choosing this.”
“I’m choosing you,” she whispers, wrapping her legs around my waist. “All of you. I’m yours, Jax, and you’re mine.”
