Page 15

CHAPTER 15

JAX

The kiss deepens, and the heat building inside me threatens to burn me alive. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s been lit on fire.

Aw hell, we’re gonna fuck, aren’t we?

He slides his fingers into my hair again, taking possession of me and holding me prisoner against his lips. Pharo's presence is overwhelming—the way he towers over me, the scent of him, the incredible heat his body is throwing off—He’s suffocating me. He’s a force of nature, and I’m caught in his storm.

The world around us feels like it’s collapsing, and all that remains is him—his desire, his strength, the overwhelming intensity of it all.

The pressure in my groin tightens uncomfortably. There's only one way I can think to relieve the ache.

Yeah, we're gonna fuck.

He growls into my mouth, like he's physically restraining himself from tearing me apart. It's probably the hottest thing I've ever heard. Everything about Pharo is so intense. Why would the way he kiss be any different?

I can only imagine how he fucks.

Every touch sends a shock through me, every shift of his body pulls me closer into the chaos we’re creating, and I’m not sure if I’m fighting it or surrendering to it.

He pulls back just enough to peer at me, his eyes dark with desire, his breath uneven. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice is rough, like he’s barely holding it together, like he’s holding himself back from something bigger than both of us.

I want it, and I don’t. If he’d step back a little, maybe I could think straight. My heart is hammering in my chest, every nerve on high alert. I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let me, his grip tightening like he can feel the push and pull inside me.

I shake my head, trying to regain control, to find the space to breathe without him clouding everything. But when he presses closer, I’m lost again.

It’s a dangerous thing—His proximity, his intensity, his undeniable pull. But maybe… maybe I need to feel it, even if it burns me. Even if it’s the last thing I should let happen.

I tilt my head back, searching his eyes for something—anything—grounded, real, but all I find is fire.

“Pharo,” I whisper, my voice pleading. I need him to stop. To slow down so I can think. So I can breathe. “Stop.” He tightens his hold on me, like he’s never letting me go. “Stop,” I snarl, pushing against his brick-wall of a chest. But he doesn’t let go. His hands slide down my back, pulling me even closer, as if my resistance is nothing more than a challenge he’s determined to break. “I said stop!” My hands find his shoulders, pushing harder, but it’s no use. He’s too much. He’s always been too much.

For a moment, his grip falters, and I think I might have a chance to pull away, but then he shifts, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath hot and steady. Panic thickens my throat. I feel my resistance slipping, and I’m afraid that if we continue, I’ll lose myself in him completely, and that scares the hell out of me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “I— no, I’m not, but, fuck ,” he hisses, pulling back slightly, like he’s at war with himself. “I came here to talk, to take you to dinner, and here I am about to…”

I’d love for him to finish that sentence, but I know he won’t. Because he can’t. The words are stuck in his throat, and I know damn well why. I know what he wants, but I don’t think he’s ready to admit it, not even to himself.

I pull out of his arms, stepping back just enough to regain some semblance of control. My heart’s pounding in my chest, my skin still buzzing from the heat of his touch. I smooth my shirt, the movement almost mechanical, trying to cover up the fact that every part of me still feels like it’s on fire.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as I take a step away from him. “You make everything complicated.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stands there, watching me with those eyes of his—golden, intense, unreadable. I don’t know if he’s frustrated, confused, or just as turned on as I am. Maybe it’s all of the above.

“You don’t get to do this, motherfucker,” I add, my voice steady despite the chaos inside. “After years of putting up with your bullshit, you can’t erase years of hell with one apology and a kiss.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. “It was one heck of a kiss.”

“Yeah, well, you can at least buy me dinner first.” It slips out before I can second-guess myself, my attempt at breaking the tension falling flat the moment it leaves my mouth.

Pharo’s gaze darkens, but there’s a flicker of something more in his eyes. He leans in just a little closer, his presence almost suffocating, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll push me into another kiss.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets out a low chuckle, almost like a growl. “Dinner, huh?” His voice is soft, dangerous. “You think that’s all it’ll take to make you forget what just happened?”

I swallow, trying to keep my composure. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s a good start."

Pharo steps back, clearly wrestling with something behind his eyes. "You’re a pain in the ass, Jax. You know that, right?"

“I’ve been called worse,” I reply, trying to keep the teasing edge in my voice even though my heart is hammering in my chest. “But yeah, dinner. You owe me that much, at least.”

There's a beat of silence before he sighs, running a hand over his face. “Hell, I thought you were buying. I’ve had a hell of a week.”

And just like that, everything changes. The teasing, the tension, it’s all pushed aside, replaced with something deeper. Something real.

“Buy me a burger and tell me about it. I’m dying to know who Arlo is.”

* * *

The Black Mountain Tavern is, hands down, the best spot in town—at least, in my humble opinion . The burgers are perfect, the pasta is killer, and don't even get me started on the chicken. They've got a full bar, live music, a jukebox, a dancefloor, and best of all, karaoke. Honestly? You can’t beat it.

The place has this cozy, old-school charm—wood floors that creak underfoot, rustic beams hanging from the ceiling like something out of a country music video. I come here with the Bitches all the time, but never on a date. Not that this is a date. Definitely not a date. Honestly, I’ve never been on a date. Why start now—with this asshole?

Neither of us says a word as we look over the menu. The tension grows more awkward with each silent minute that passes.

Our waitress struts over, all smiles and energy. “Hey, what can I get you guys tonight?”

Before I can even open my mouth, Pharo jumps in, his voice smooth and commanding. “I’ll take the blackened pork chop with a loaded potato, and he’ll have the jalapeno, onion, and Monterey Jack burger with fries. Oh, and don't forget the pickle. In fact, maybe you could bring him an extra one?” he adds with a grin and a wink.

I wait for her to walk away before I shoot him a look. “I can order for myself.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, did you want to change your order?”

“No," I snap, "but that's not the point.” The fact that he knows my order grates on me more than I want to admit.

Pharo chuckles, the sound annoyingly smooth. “Pull your twisted panties out of your ass and take a deep breath.” He pauses, glancing down to silence his phone, and that tiny, casual movement somehow makes the tension in my chest tighten even more. This is important to him. “Should we talk about that kiss?” he asks, his voice hesitant but still probing.

“Anything but that,” I bark, my pulse picking up.

He tilts his chin, shifting in his seat. “I really appreciate you checking on my mom while I was gone.”

“Definitely not that either,” I mutter, my frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Pharo grins, and something about it makes my skin prickle—like I’m some sort of amusement to him. “What’s a safe topic, then?” he asks, the challenge clear in his tone.

Just then, our waitress returns with our drinks. I unwrap my straw, taking a sip of my ginger ale, trying to keep my cool. “How about we start with where you went?”

“Egypt,” he replies easily. “I was deployed for work.”

I narrow my eyes, setting my drink down. “So that part wasn’t a lie? It’s getting hard to separate truth from fiction with you.”

“Did you miss me while I was gone?” he teases, his grin widening. “Tie a yellow ribbon around the tree? Light a candle for my safe return?”

Smug bastard. He knows I didn’t. “So what is it you do over there?”

“Pilot the helicopter. A Blackhawk UH-60A. She’s a beauty. I named her Raven.”

He takes a sip from his glass—no straw, because Pharo’s too cool for straws. “Raven? The harbinger of death. Fitting, I guess. What’s your call sign?”

His grin widens, almost like he’s savoring my reaction. “Havoc.”

“Of course it is,” I sneer, unable to hide the irritation creeping into my voice.

“What?” He laughs, playing the clueless act, but I see that spark in his eyes—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Just looking at him makes my blood boil. With his sun-kissed shoulder-length hair that naturally catches the light, those topaz eyes that could melt women’s—and men’s!--panties straight off their asses, and that golden skin. His rugged, angular face could’ve been carved from stone—or cast in a movie. Ugh.

“Come on, really?” I can’t help it now. There’s no holding back. “I’m Pharo, but you can call me Havoc, because I’m dangerous and daring. Check out my bird, Raven—the death bringer.” My voice drips with mockery, every word sharp with cruelty. I even flip my head, pretending like I have his long hair.

Pharo laughs, clearly enjoying the sting of my sarcasm. “My team’s called Gehenna,” he adds with a conspiratorial smirk.

“God’s justice?” I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “Showoff. You don’t know when to quit, do you?” I take another sip of my drink, the tension in my shoulders easing just a bit. “I didn’t know you had your pilot’s license. What’s it feel like to fly that thing? And Egypt? Damn, you hit the jackpot with that assignment.”

He leans back, his gaze drifting for a moment, and his voice softens. “I requested Egypt because of my mom’s heritage. She taught me some Arabic when I was younger, and I just... I wanted to see where she grew up. I thought, how cool would it be if I could describe it to her in my own words? To help her see it in her mind one last time.”

Aw, fuck, there he goes acting human again.

Pharo continues, his voice turning more somber. “Egypt is unforgettable. Absolutely some of the most gorgeous sights I’ve ever seen, and the sunsets are priceless, but the country is steeped in conflict and—” he pauses, his face turning hard. “I’ve seen more violence there than I did in Iraq. Which is saying something.”

It sure is. I served with him in Iraq, and I know exactly what he saw. It still haunts me to this day.

“I’ve flown through regions hotter than a beach party in Cabo. I’ve washed so much blood out of my bird. I’ve heard men scream. I’ve heard them cry. I’ve heard them pray. But the worst is when they’re silent, because they’re already dead. Do you know what it does to your head when you know you’re not going to make it back in time to save them, but you tell them to hang on anyway, that help is coming? The screaming that you think is never going to end, but then it does, they go silent, and you know you lost them, you lost the race against time.”

My stomach churns with anxiety, for what he’s describing, what he lived through, and most likely, what he sees when he closes his eyes at night. I’m positive Riggs has suffered the same hell when he was a combat medic. I’ve seen a glimpse of the shadows that haunt him. Do they haunt Pharo as well?

“I’m glad Rhett found freedom in flying, but I don’t ever want to be up in the air again after my contract ends. And it’s not just the lives I couldn’t save. It’s the ones I took.” Pharo’s voice drops, heavy, somber. “I aimed my missiles and guns, pressed the button—and in the blink of an eye, I erased their existence. I’ve been shot at more times than I can count. Dodged missiles, rockets. Had two near-collisions with other birds. Hell, one time they shot out my tail rotor, and I almost went down—with a full crew and passenger load.”

Pharo swallows hard, his throat working as he shakes his head, as if trying to shake off the memory, but it lingers in his eyes.

The mood drops like a stone sinking in a shallow pond. I scramble for something, anything, to shift the conversation. “Tell me about this Arlo guy.”

A small twist tugs at his lips, but it’s not quite as light as usual. “Arlo Bacille. He’s a real badass. Our team leader.” He leans back slightly, his tone more thoughtful now. “When I first started, I shadowed him for a while. But after a bit, I realized I had no interest in having my boots on the ground anymore. So, I switched gears and started training for my pilot’s license.”

“And he’s the reason you ran back to Egypt like your ass was on fire?” My voice comes out sharper than I meant it to. Do I sound bitter? Because I feel bitter.

“You can’t imagine the guilt I felt when he got hurt and I wasn’t there.”

Conceited bastard. “No? I can’t? It’s not like I’ve ever been through anything remotely similar.”

His eyes flash with a flicker of regret. “I’m sorry. Yeah, you’re right. You’d understand better than anyone, I guess. I had to go back, to…”

“Play hero? Save the world?”

Pharo exhales sharply, clearly frustrated. “Yes? No. I don’t fucking know, Jax. I look up to the guy, alright? I had to be there.”

I feel a bitter twist in my chest. The same way I used to look up to him when he was my commanding officer. I hate the loyalty, the affection he has for this guy—maybe because when he was my leader, I didn’t just look up to him. I was attracted to him. But is he attracted to Arlo?

“Let me see a picture of this guy.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t?—”

“Don’t bullshit, Pharo. I know you have pictures on your phone of your entire team.” What friend wouldn’t?

Our waitress interrupts by sliding our plates onto the table. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she adds, placing a bottle of ketchup before me.

Pharo pulls out his phone, scrolling through pictures with a casual flick of his thumb, then turns it towards me, like he’s waiting for my reaction.

Oh, this fucking guy! Really, Pharo? Dark hair peppered with gray and buzzed short, muscles bulging, and a jaw so squared it could cut glass. I whistle long and low. “You’re kidding me, right? This GI Joe wannabe is the guy you look up to? This Daddy ? Or is it Zaddy ? Is that what you call him when you’re alone?” I can’t help but snort, the bitterness slipping out before I can stop it. “I bet you look up to him, from your fucking knees.”

“It’s not like that,” he wheezes, trying to hold back his laugh. “Zaddy? God, you’re a mess.”

“At least the money makes it worthwhile, right?”

“I guess. But money isn’t everything.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen your townhome—packed with expensive crap. Your clothes, that bougie cologne, your shiny new truck, and that high-end bike you ride. You pay for your mom’s care, and let’s not forget about that empty lot outside of town. Money might not be everything, but it sure as hell makes everything easier.”

“Damn, you’re a real snoop. You know about that lot?”

“You’re not the only one who’s good at his job.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t also make good money,” Pharo accuses. “What are you doing with it?”

“What are you doing with that lot?” I counter.

Pharo laughs, realizing he’s been beaten. He pops a forkful of potato in his mouth, chewing slowly to keep me in suspense. “I’d planned on building a garage.”

That’s it? That’s all he’s gonna give me? It’s been niggling at me for weeks and just when I’m close to an answer, he keeps me dangling, loading up his fork with more potato.

“Oh, come on!” I snap, grabbing his fork before he can take another bite. “What kind of garage?”

Pharo snatches the fork back from me, casually using it to cut a piece of pork. Watching him eat is enough to drive me crazy. He’s so methodical, so meticulous, so damn neat! Unlike me, who just shovels it in like it’s a means to an end.

“A place to restore vintage motorcycles.”

“Damn, that’s impressive. I can totally see you doing that.”

“I’m tired of destroying things. I want to create something, save something from the trash.” His eyes gleam with excitement. “Think of it. Salvaged brick walls, lots of chrome, steel, and glass. Bikes on display in various stages of restoration. Screens on the wall running videos of classic bikes, nostalgic footage of early manufacturing plants and shit. I can see it in my head clear as day.”

I choke up a little, watching him light up over something so close to his heart. “That sounds amazing, Pharo. Why haven’t you done it yet?”

He shrugs, the spark in his eyes dimming. “When would I have the time? I’m always crossing continents, always jet-lagged.”

I lean in, my tone sounding sharper than I expected. “A dream’s just a dream until you make it real. What the hell are you working so hard for if you die before you can build your garage?”

Pharo scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “I can’t believe I’m getting life lessons from Jaxon James . What the hell is this world coming to?”

I roll my eyes, trying to hide the flicker of annoyance beneath my calm exterior. “Hey, sometimes even the best need a little guidance. It’s why I have a habit of talking to myself. I like to hear expert advice.”

Pharo leans back, his grin never fading. “Yeah? Well, when you’re right, you’re right. But don’t expect me to start taking advice from you every day.” He chuckles, but there’s something behind his eyes—like he's not entirely joking.

I let out a breath, my mind spinning with everything we’ve talked about. “Whatever, Pharo. Just don’t wait too long. Life doesn’t wait for anyone, not even you.”

He stares at me for a moment, his expression softening, before he changes the subject. “So, tell me. What’s your dream, Jax? Or are you too busy shoveling food into your face to think about that?”

I pause with the sloppy burger halfway to my mouth, blobs of barbecue sauce and grease dripping from all sides. I glance at him, resisting the urge to wipe my face on my sleeve. “My dream? You really want to know?”

Pharo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I’m all ears, Jaxon. Surprise me.”

I sigh, dropping the burger back onto the plate. He came clean with me, so the least I can do is return the honesty. “You know that last surgery Mandy had? The one the VA rejected?”

Pharo squints, his brow furrowing as he tries to recall the details. “Yeah. They said it was experimental because of the stem cells, so they rejected it.”

I raise my brows, silently implying the rest.

He stares at me for a beat, the pieces slowly clicking together. “Wait. Are you saying you…?”

I tilt my head, swallowing hard. “I paid for it. All of it. Out of my pocket. Every last cent.” I try to sound casual, but my chest twinges where my heart lies.

Pharo leans back, his expression unreadable. “Jesus, Jax. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” My voice cracks a little. “But I couldn’t let him suffer because some bureaucrat couldn’t bother to give a damn. It wasn’t their decision to make. It was mine.” Pharo appears shell-shocked. “There’s more,” I admit, drawing in a deep breath and bracing myself. “West and Brandt’s boot camp? The recent increase in revenue? That’s from some strategic advertising I did.”

“Seriously?” He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.

I bob my head, swallowing hard. “Yeah, but it’s nothing. Less than half a day’s work. I just narrowed down their target audience, ran some analysis on the data, figured out where to hit these people with the ads… and voila! Targeted ads.”

Pharo blinks, processing it all. “Damn. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”

I let out a humorless laugh, shrugging it off. “I guess not.” Wait, did he just say he likes my face? “Don’t call me pretty. I’m fucking rugged.”

Pharo’s grin widens, clearly savoring the jab. “Rugged, huh? Sure, if you say so.”

Then he leans forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “When are you gonna stop pricking me with your porcupine quills and let me fuck you, Jax?”

Shit. My pulse jumps, but I keep my face cool. “Not today, Pharo.” I pop a French fry in my mouth, swallowing it down with a little too much force. “And not tomorrow, either.”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little dangerous. “You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?”

I meet his gaze, trying to stay steady. “Nope. Where’s the fun in that?”

“You know what I think?” Pharo says, leaning back with a smirk. “I think you love to hate me.” I’m starting to think he’s right, but I keep my face tight, hiding any reaction. “It certainly makes it hotter when you’re in my arms, doesn’t it?” he adds, his voice a low tease. “I wonder how much hotter it’ll be when we fuck. All that hate, heating up the sheets, making you sweat.”

The bastard licks his lips slowly, like he just tasted the most delicious dessert.

My traitorous cock twitches in my jeans. Great! Now I'll be imagining that all night. I guess I have to thank him, though. It’s an improvement from the dark shit I usually dream of.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought, but I can't quite shake the image of Pharo's lips, the way he looks at me. It's distracting as hell, but somehow... I don’t hate it.