Page 87 of Shadows of Obsession
When I reached the top, I found Jaxon standing in his bedroom doorway, frozen. He was staring down at a gun case that had been ripped from the closet and tossed onto the floor. The case was battered, its hinges bent, the latch twisted from its proper position, but still closed.
Jaxon flipped the case open, his shoulders stiff with worry. He examined the contents with meticulous care, checking each weapon with practiced precision. I stayed back near the doorway, letting him focus, though the tension in the room was suffocating.
The once-orderly space was now in ruins. Drawers yanked out, their contents dumped across the floor. Clothes strewn everywhere as if someone had torn through them in a frenzy. His desk overturned, papers and personal items scattered like debris from a storm. They hadn't just robbed him; they had destroyed everything.
Jaxon methodically removed each firearm from the damaged gun case, placing them one by one on what remained of the bed. My breathcaught when I saw the mattress. It had been slashed open, foam spilling out like the aftermath of a vicious battle.
As he worked with quiet efficiency, I stood frozen, my mind racing through the implications of the wreckage around us. Someone had done this. To Jaxon's place.To him.
Shock crept over me slowly, tightening my chest until I could barely breathe. My vision blurred with a mix of anger and fear. My hands began to shake with the frightening possibilities. Could it have been Jared? Or the drug dealers he had mentioned—the ones who'd come after Jaxon if he didn't pay? Was Jared even still alive if this was their work?
"What's going on?"
My voice cracked, breaking through the heavy silence. The words came out smaller than I intended, revealing just how scared I really was.
Jaxon froze, his eyes snapping to mine. Something in my stance, the trembling I couldn't quite hide, the way I'd wrapped my arms around myself, caught his attention. In seconds, he was at my side, wrapping me in his arms.
His embrace was strong and grounding, his body a solid wall of comfort amid the destruction. The familiar scent of him cut through the musty air of the violated cabin. He rested his chin on top of my head, holding me until the trembling eased, urging me to just breathe.
"I don't know, baby," he said quietly, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles along my back, anchoring me to the present moment.
After a pause, he drew back slightly, meeting my gaze. Concern filled his eyes. Concern for me, I realized, even now.
"I want to call the police from Connor's house, but I don't want to leave the guns or anything else important here," he said, his tone gentle despite the urgency. "Can you grab the big duffel bag from the closet for me?"
I nodded, grateful to have something concrete to do.
He hugged me again, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, a warm and reassuring touch before he moved to the far side of the room, sifting through the debris where his desk had fallen.
I made my way to the closet, my legs unsteady beneath me. Each step revealed more of the catastrophic damage done to Jaxon'sbelongings. Clothes were strewn across the floor in heaps, and the walls bore scars of violent destruction, dents and gouges that made me wonder what kind of rage had fueled this.
The gun case must have been mounted to the wall, because there was clear evidence of where it had been ripped off, splintered wood and jagged edges marking the spot. I dug through the piles of clothing, the fabric soft beneath my fingers, until I finally located the large duffel bag buried beneath a heap of jackets and shirts.
The bag was heavier than I expected as I pulled it free.
When I handed it to him, Jaxon gave me a tight smile, a silent thank-you that didn't quite reach his eyes. He carefully checked each firearm to ensure it was unloaded before placing it in the bag, his movements deliberate and focused. But I could see the underlying tension in his body, the way his jaw flexed, the tightness around his eyes. He was clearly trying to stay calm for me.
After securing everything, Jaxon attached his Colt .45 to his hip, the holster clicking into place with a sound that made me jump slightly, and then grabbed my hand. His palm was warm and calloused against mine as he led me downstairs to the living room.
Amidst the debris, he took a more deliberate look at the damage. I watched his eyes scan the room, his expression growing darker with each passing second.
The living room had suffered extensive destruction. Anything that had once hung on the walls was now on the floor, smashed to pieces. Framed photos, some of them must have been of Nikki, I realized with a pang, lay shattered. Artwork was torn. Even a mirror had been smashed, glass scattered across the floor like deadly confetti.
But it was more than that. Several sections of the drywall had been punched through, leaving gaping holes that exposed the wooden framework beneath. The holes were deliberate. Methodical.
They were searching for something.
This wasn't random vandalism. It wasn't just rage or revenge. Someone had been looking for something specific, tearing through walls to find it.
Jaxon's grip on my hand tightened almost painfully, and I squeezed back, offering what little comfort I could. I could practically see his mind racing, piecing together what this meant.
"Jax?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His gaze drifted across the wreckage, his eyes narrowing. When he finally looked at me, there was something cold and dangerous in his expression that I'd never seen before. I was sure he knew who did this.
"We need to go," he said, his voice low but firm, leaving no room for argument. "I need to call the police. We'll figure things out from there."
He led me toward the front door, tension radiating off him, his senses on high alert. The breeze through the shattered window felt threatening now instead of refreshing, carrying with it the violation of this space.