“So,” he says casually, mimicking my tone as he takes his own drink. “Saw the intel.”
His eyes stay on me this time. Careful. Measuring. He’s holding something back, and we both know it.
“Spit it out, Jaxon.”
He studies me for a long second, then exhales slowly. “Are you sure you want this, man?” His voice drops. “Whatever’s in that box… once you open it, there’s no closing it again. Do you really need to dig that deep? Do you really need to rip that wound open?”
I feel it then, the slow, familiar crawl of rage under my skin. The kind that never really leaves, just waits.
“Yes,” I say, flat and sharp. “He’s hiding something tied to me. That means it matters. And if he’s guarding it this closely…” My voice rises despite myself. “Then it’s something that could ruin him. Something lethal. Something I can use to finally end this.”
End him.
Be free.
Jaxon nods, jaw tight. He understands that hunger. That need. “I get it,” he says quietly. “I do. But Khai, this could just as easily be a bullet with your name on it.”
He takes another drink, then, stupidly, keeps talking.
“Liam’s dead, man. Whatever’s in that file,”
I’m on him before he can finish.
I slam him back into the fridge, metal rattling, my fist twisted in his shirt as I crowd his space, breath coming hard and fast.
“Do. Not. Say. His. Name.”
Each word is carved out of me, sharp enough to bleed. My vision narrows. All I can see is Liam’s smile, burned into my memory. All I can hear is the echo of a laugh that will never exist again.
I hold Jaxon there, fury shaking through me. His eyes flick between mine, fear, regret, grief all tangled together.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, voice rough. “I didn’t mean disrespect. I lost him too.” His throat works. “I miss him too. And I,” His voice cracks. “I’m scared I’ll lose you next.”
That does it.
The rage drains just enough to leave behind something worse.
Pain.
“Fuck,” I mutter, releasing him and stepping back. I drag a hand down my face. “I’m sorry.”
The word feels useless. Too small.
We stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of Liam pressing down on both of us like a shared ghost.
“Let me do it,” Jaxon says finally. “Let me retrieve the file. He won’t recognize my guys if things go sideways.”
I don’t argue. He’s right. And we both know it.
I give him a single nod.
The plan is moving now.
I leave Jaxon’s place after finishing my beer, the edge of my anger dulled but never gone. It never really leaves, just sinks deeper, waits. The road stretches out empty before me, asphalt glistening under streetlights, the night quiet enough to think.
Too quiet.
The car’s audio cuts through the silence with an incoming call. My jaw tightens the second the name flashes across the screen.
