Page 16 of Jax (The Kansas City Reapers #3)

I gave him my most demure smile. “If I start baking, you should worry.”

Deacon took his glass with a grunt that might’ve been a thank you. Or a warning. With him, it was hard to tell.

I sat on the edge of one of the stone benches, posture open, shoulders loose.

Non-threatening, breezy. Like I hadn’t rehearsed this exact scene in my head a dozen times in the last thirty minutes.

They chatted for a bit about storm proofing one of the sheds, and who was supposed to do it.

I let their voices blur into the background texture, waiting for the right moment to steer the conversation without making it obvious I was doing it.

Then I saw my chance, after Deacon said something about having to disconnect the power to one of their security cameras to finish the work on the shed in question.

I kept my tone light and unassuming as I spoke.

“I was watching the cameras earlier, and I was curious. You guys use motion sensors, right? Not heat signatures?”

Sully paused mid-sip. “Depends on the camera.”

I made a thoughtful sound and nodded slowly, like that was just another piece of trivia I’d tuck away and never use. “They’re good though?” I asked, tone casual. “I mean, if someone came through the woods, would the system pick it up before they were in the yard?”

Deacon’s eyes lifted to mine, slow and deliberate.

“Every time,” he said.

“Wow. Impressive.” I smiled, tilting my head slightly. “Power grid’s reinforced, too?”

Deacon didn’t answer. But Sully did. “It is,” he said. “Surge-protected, backup generator, the works.”

I leaned back a little, letting my hands cradle the cool glass. “That’s good. I just… I’ve been thinking, you know? I keep flashing back to when they took me. It was so fast. No warning. It made me wonder if this place is really as secure as it feels.”

Sully’s eyes narrowed just a little. “You casing the place, or just curious?”

I blinked. Gave a quick, sheepish laugh. “Shit, sorry. That sounded sketchy, didn’t it?”

“It sounded like someone with a brain,” he said, but his voice held more amusement than suspicion.

I shrugged. “I’ve been jumpy since I got here. Probably normal, right?”

Sully nodded. “Sure. Normal. Especially when you’ve been through hell.”

That word—normal—tugged something loose in my chest. I didn’t let it show.

I sipped my lemonade and kept my voice light. “I guess I just hate not knowing where I am, you know? What’s around? How close the neighbors are. What kind of cell signal would I have if something happened.”

There it was.

Sully caught it, too. His smile curled at the corners, a little more feral than before. “Nearest neighbor’s a couple miles. Cell signal’s garbage unless you’re near the router inside. But don’t worry. Someone’s always watching.”

I met his gaze. “I don’t find that comforting.”

“Then you’re smart.”

Deacon still hadn’t said anything else, but I could feel his eyes on me the whole time. Not warm. Not cold either. Just aware.

“Don’t wander past the perimeter,” he said finally. “You won’t like what’s on the other side.”

I nodded, letting my fingers tighten just slightly on the glass. “Message received.”

They didn’t know they’d just handed me more intel than I’d expected to get in one afternoon. And the best part? They thought I was scared. Let them. Fear made people talk.

After the backyard recon and the lemonade interrogation, I headed back to my room, planning to lock the door and recite my mental blueprint until I could see every exit with my eyes closed. That was the plan.

But then Maddy, all cleaned up from the earlier gardening, caught me walking by the living room and said, “You look like someone who hasn’t had her nails done in a war zone,” and before I knew it, I was sitting cross-legged on the couch while she sorted through a small basket of nail polish like it was a tactical kit.

“Pick your poison,” she finally said, fanning out a range of colors that all looked like something I wouldn’t normally touch with a ten-foot pole.

“I don’t really do nail polish,” I muttered, glancing toward the front door like it might open and let me escape.

“Too bad,” Bellamy called from the kitchen. “You’ve officially been drafted.”

She came around the corner a moment later with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a smirk that said she was far too pleased with herself. Her hair was piled on top of her head like she didn’t give a shit about appearances, and somehow she still looked better than most people did on red carpets.

Maddy tapped my knee with a nail file. “C’mon. I’ve got a shade called ‘Gunmetal Tease.’ You’ll like it.”

I gave her a look. “That sounds like a stripper who moonlights as a hitman.”

“Exactly,” she said brightly, unscrewing the cap. “My kind of woman.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Just a little. Too fast, too loud, like it startled me on the way out.

Bellamy flopped into the armchair across from us, watching as Maddy began applying the polish to my nails with careful precision. “Don’t let her paint hearts on your pinky. That’s how she gets you.”

“You’re just jealous,” Maddy said, blowing lightly on my fingers. “Some of us know how to spread joy.”

I watched them. These two women, who had every reason to be shattered, but still managed to tease and push and laugh like the world hadn’t knocked their teeth out.

They were starting to feel like more than strangers already.

And that scared the shit out of me. Because for a second, just one, I wasn’t thinking about the fence line.

I wasn’t calculating the best time to test the lock on the sliding glass door.

I wasn’t counting how long it took Deacon to finish his shift before Sully took over.

I was just here. Breathing. Laughing. Pretending.

“I used to do this with my sister,” Maddy said softly, brushing the last coat on. “Back when we thought high school was the worst thing that could happen to us.”

Bellamy didn’t look up, but her voice was gentle. “I always hated nail polish. Still kind of do. But I let Maddy do it once when we were having a girl’s movie night. Said it made her feel normal.”

“Did it?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Maddy smiled. “No. But it made me feel seen.”

That word. Seen. It landed too deep, lodged like shrapnel somewhere behind my ribs. I swallowed it down, smiled like I meant it, and flexed my fingers. The polish shimmered in the light.

“Gunmetal Tease,” I said, shaking my head. “Sounds like a weaponized flirtation tactic.”

Maddy grinned. “That’s the idea.”

Bellamy kicked her feet up on the ottoman. “If you’re flirting with anyone in this house, aim high. Sully’s sweet, but Carrick knows what to do with a woman.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience?”

She didn’t blush. Didn’t look away. Just gave a lazy smile and said, “Let’s just say, if he comes up for air tonight, I’ll let you know.”

Maddy let out a gasp-laugh and covered her mouth with one hand. “Bellamy!”

Bellamy shrugged, pointing at me. “What? She brought up the flirting.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

That was the danger. The seduction of comfort. The illusion of being normal again. It slipped in through soft laughter and shiny nails and bowls of popcorn shared between women who had every reason to hate the world, and didn’t.

I should’ve been focused. I should’ve been building a case file in my head on every single one of them.

Instead, I felt like I was falling.

And that’s when the guilt came roaring back. Not because of them. Because of Violet. Every second I spent here pretending to belong was a second I wasn’t getting her back.

“I’m gonna head up,” I said quickly, standing before I could overthink it.

“You okay?” Maddy asked.

“Just tired,” I said, forcing a smile again. “Thanks for the war zone manicure.”

Bellamy raised her brows. “Just wait till Maddy wants to do facemasks.”

“I had a fever that day.”

They laughed, and I walked away faster than I needed to, heart thudding, head buzzing. Their laughter clung to me like smoke. I wasn’t here to make friends. Forgetting that, just for a second, could get someone killed.

I waited for the house to settle. Not the artificial quiet people adopt when they think someone’s sleeping, but the deeper hush that sinks in when guards go down and comfort takes over.

I lay fully dressed on top of the covers, fingers laced over my stomach like I could keep everything inside if I just held still enough.

The polish on my nails caught a sliver of hallway light. Still tacky. Maddy had done well, all things considered. My hands looked like they belonged to someone who cared.

I stared at the ceiling, then shut my eyes.

The plan I’d made unfolded behind my eyelids.

The sliding door downstairs was reinforced and tinted, with an electronic lock that would require a code or blackout to breach.

The front door saw too much traffic. The pantry window on the side was small, but I’d squeezed through it once. That wouldn’t happen again.

Upstairs, there was a hallway camera near Deacon’s room with a small blind spot high in the corner by the attic hatch.

Jax and Carrick’s doors stayed shut, maybe locked.

I hadn’t tried either. Not worth the risk.

As for the guards, Deacon walked early, Sully patrolled late.

Their shifts didn’t overlap, at least not visibly, leaving maybe a ten-minute window in between.

I’d confirmed it tonight. Right after painting my nails.

I rolled to my side. The comforter was still folded. The room smelled like cedar and sterilized dust—untouched, unused, like something meant to be preserved rather than lived in.

My gaze swept the walls automatically. No displaced furniture. No light bounce. No obvious glint from a hidden lens. But I still felt him. Jax. I hadn’t seen him since the night I ran, but his presence lingered under my skin like a bruise that hadn’t fully bloomed.of

I exhaled and dragged my thumb along my thigh.

The outer fence was double-lined. The first layer stood at standard height, with motion sensors disguised as birdhouses and painted to blend with the trees.

Beyond that was a clearing, then dense woods, thirty yards deep at minimum.

No lights past the boundary, which meant night-vision, or the illusion of isolation.

The laundry room window was still the most viable exit. There was a shallow dip in the terrain behind the garden that might provide brief cover if there weren’t aerial feeds. I hadn’t confirmed whether the outermost line was reinforced.

My nails bit into my palm, just enough to anchor me.

Even under all that planning, past the layered logic and tactical grind, something pulsed beneath the surface. Something raw.

Violet.

She felt further away tonight. Maybe because I’d let myself laugh. Maybe because I let them be kind to me. Maybe because I’d stopped thinking about her for a moment, and that felt like betrayal.

I sat up slowly, elbows to knees, hands to face. The room was too still. Too deliberate. Like someone had tried to make it livable. I hated that it worked.

“If I stay too long,” I whispered, “I won’t want to leave.”

That was the danger.

Not the cameras. Not the guards. Not the quiet man with glacier eyes who hadn’t spoken since pinning me in the dark.

The danger was in the comfort. The warmth. The illusion that this place could be home.

If I stayed too long, I might start to believe it.

And Violet didn’t need someone comfortable.

She needed someone who could burn the world down to get her back.