Page 112 of Jax & Knox

"Hey, baby," Jax says, his voice rough but steady, so steady it must be taking everything he has. "Miss me?"

Justin's grip on her tightens, his knuckles white around the gun. "Stay back or I⁠⁠—"

Ainsley moves. She drops her weight, twists, and drives her elbow back into his ribs at the same moment she shoves Owen toward Jax. It's desperate and clumsy but it works. Jax catches him with his good arm, stumbling but staying upright, clutching the boy against his chest.

I close the distance in two strides and put Justin on the floor so hard the gun skitters away across the boards, spinning into the corner.

He tries to fight. I don't let him.

The rest of the brothers flood the room like a wave. In under a minute Justin is face-down, wrists bound with zip ties, bleeding from a split lip and a nose that will never sit straight again. The second man is cuffed and moaning, still clutching his shoulder.

Ainsley is on her knees in the middle of the room, shaking so hard her teeth chatter, both hands pressed to her mouth like she's trying to hold in a scream.

I drop beside her and pull her against me. She clutches at my cut like it's the only solid thing left in the world, her fingers digging into the leather.

"I've got you," I tell her, my voice low and steady. "Both of you. It's over. It's done."

She's sobbing now, ugly and raw, her whole body convulsing. "I thought, I thought he was⁠⁠—"

"I'm right here," Jax says, kneeling beside us despite Tiny's protests, despite the way his face goes white with pain. "I'm okay, baby. I'm okay."

She reaches for him with shaking hands, and he pulls her into his good arm. Owen is crying too, his small sobs muffled against Jax's chest, and we're all just holding each other in the middle of this wreck of a room, surrounded by blood and broken wood and the men who tried to destroy us.

Mason steps into the doorway, takes in the scene with those cold, calculating eyes, and nods once.

"Bring him outside," he says, gesturing to Justin with a jerk of his chin.

Steele and Riot haul Justin to his feet and drag him out, his boots scraping trails in the dirt floor. The second man follows, half-carried by Dagger and Weston.

Outside, the sky is starting to lighten, pale pink and gold bleeding across the horizon.

Justin is on his knees in the dirt, hands bound behind his back, blood dripping from his face onto the ground. He's still trying to look defiant, but there's fear in his eyes now. Real fear.

The entire club is here now. Weston. Wyatt. Steele. Tiny. Rook. Switch. Mason. Dagger. Every brother who answered the call, who dropped everything and rode into the mountains to help us. Their bikes form a semicircle, engines ticking as they cool.

Ainsley is standing between Jax and me, Owen in her arms, his face still buried against her. She's still shaking, but she's standing. That's what matters.

I walk over to where Justin's gun is lying in the dirt, half-covered in pine needles. I pick it up, check the chamber, five rounds left, and walk back to Ainsley.

I hold it out to her.

"Your choice," I say quietly, so only she can hear.

She stares at the gun like she doesn't understand what it is, what I'm offering her.

"Knox—"

"He's not going to stop," I tell her, keeping my voice level. "He's never going to stop. Not unless you end it. You know that. Deep down, you know."

Justin laughs. It's a wet, ugly sound, blood bubbling between his teeth. "She won't do it. She's too weak. She always has been. That's why she needed me. That's why she'll always need someone."

Ainsley's eyes flick to him, then back to me. I can see something changing in her expression, something hardening.

"You don't have to," Jax says softly from beside her. "We can handle this. You don't have to carry this."

But I can see it in her face. She knows.

She knows this only ends one way.