Page 31 of The Auction (The Black Ledger Billionaires #4)

T he studio is dark except for the silver wash of moonlight spilling through the windows. It paints the floor in long, cold streaks, glinting off the jars of brushes and the edges of my easel.

Some of the canvases are gone.

The big one—the one I’d shoved behind other pieces so no one, especially him , would see it—it’s gone. And not just gone but on display. Hanging on a wall for anyone to look at.

The others too. The pieces I paint when I can’t breathe. When the air feels thick and heavy, and I need somewhere to put the memories before they eat me alive. The ones that bleed my pain in color and shadow. My prison, my invisible scars.

My brother never left a mark that would last on the outside. He was too smart for that. A bruise here and there, gone in days. But inside… inside they never faded.

These paintings—they’re my only way to bleed without breaking skin. And Jaxon just… took them. Put them up like they were trophies.

Tears sting my eyes and slide down my cheeks before I can stop them.

Tonight was so perfect. He was so perfect. The way he looked at me at dinner, the way his touch lingered like it meant something more.

It feels like it’s more than the contract. And it can’t be.

I want it to be. God, I want it. But there’s something he doesn’t know. The reason I keep refusing him, no matter how badly I want to give in. The reason I started this whole thing in the first place.

And then there were his words, out on the street.

“It was about showing you what I see when I look at you.”

He didn’t see the jagged, ugly pain in those strokes. He didn’t see the bruises that never made it to skin. He saw me . And maybe—just maybe—he was trying to show me that it isn’t ugly. That it’s worth something. Worth showing. Worth being proud of. Even if he doesn’t know the truth of it all.

And now I feel… stupid. Like I was so wrapped up in my fear that I couldn’t see his intention until it was too late.

Like a jerk, because he did all of this for me. Every bit of tonight. Not as part of some deal to get me into his bed, not as leverage, not for the contract.

Just because he cares about me.

And I didn’t let myself realize it until now.

It just feels like this is all too much. My mom’s treatment. The possibility of what may be out there… I don’t know if I can risk it.

But what if he can fix this. What I need fixed. What if he can do it?

If I only told him.

“Jaxon?”

My voice echoes into the stillness, but the penthouse stays quiet—too quiet. The city hums faintly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but in here, it feels like everything’s holding its breath.

I’m still in the dress. My heels are abandoned at the elevator door where I bolted away from him, like a coward. Barefoot, I pad over the polished floors, each step a soft whisper in the dark.

The kitchen counter catches my eye—a single sheet of paper sitting in the middle like it’s been waiting for me.

I’ll be back later. I’m sorry.

That last line makes my chest tighten. I trace the words with my fingertips, slow, like maybe I can feel what he was feeling when he wrote them. My throat burns. One tear escapes and slides down my cheek before I can stop it.

I don’t even know how to tell him everything I’m holding inside. But I need to.

I almost want to.

The thought of it knots my stomach. Not yet… but soon. I have to find him first. I have to tell him I’m sorry.

Slipping my heels back on, I call the elevator. The metallic doors glide open, and I step inside, pressing the lobby button. Maybe he’s downstairs—at the building’s restaurant or the bar. It’s late, but it’s Friday night in New York City. People will still be out.

I check both places, scanning for his tall frame, but he’s nowhere. I text him as I walk, my thumb flying over the screen, but there’s no reply.

Then I see his driver standing near the concierge desk and he spots me immediately.

“Miss Hayes,” he says politely. “Did you need some help?”

I fidget with my hands, embarrassed. He saw me earlier, red-faced and trembling. He knows we fought—if that’s even what this was. No… it was just me being ridiculous. Now I have to make it right.

“Where would Jaxon go if he needed to… decompress?”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “He only goes one place, ma’am. He’ll be at The Gym.”

I exhale, relief mixing with nerves.

“Would you like me to take you there?”

“Yes, please.”

I t’s only a fifteen-minute drive before we pull into a small lot beside a two-story brick building. The words The Gym are painted in block lettering across the front windows—but the place looks dead. No neon, no flicker of light from inside.

The driver comes around to open my door and tilts his head toward a narrow side entrance where light spills out into the dark.

My eyes sweep the lot—and there’s his bike. Relief floods me so fast I feel weak for a second.

“Thanks,” I tell him quietly.

“You want me to wait here?”

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

He gives me a look, half protective, half wary. “Okay. You look out in there. It can be a rowdy crowd.”

I nod, murmuring another thank you before making my way toward the side door.

The closer I get, the louder it is—a roar of sound spilling out into the night. Music. Shouting. The thump of energy that bumps against you.

Inside, the space opens up to a crowd pressed around a fighting ring, the air thick with sweat and adrenaline. Two men circle each other inside the ropes.

And one of them is Jaxon.

His skin glistens under the harsh overhead lights, muscles coiled and moving with precision. He’s in shorts, knuckles wrapped, fists high. His opponent lunges, but Jaxon’s quicker—slipping aside, driving a hit into the man’s ribs.

I edge closer, drawn in, when someone suddenly presses up beside me. I shift a few inches away without taking my eyes off Jaxon. He doesn’t see me. He’s locked in, all sharp focus and quiet violence.

“You need a drink, sugar?”

The voice is too close, too loud, and reeks of cigarette smoke. I glance over—a tall man, bald, with a long beard and a worn leather jacket. Definitely the Harley Davidson type.

“No. Thank you.”

I turn back toward the ring, hoping the hint is clear.

Jaxon looks incredible. Efficient. Lethal. My chest tightens when his opponent’s fist connects with his cheek, snapping his head to the side.

The bearded man sidesteps, appearing on my other side. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m not interested.” I meet his eyes when I say it, flat and direct, before looking back to Jaxon.

“See, that’s where we have a problem.”

He moves in front of me, blocking my view of the ring completely. If Jaxon were looking this way, he probably couldn’t see me at all.

“Because I am interested,” he says, crowding me. I take a step back, but he matches it, closing the distance again.

Now I’m closer to the door than I want to be, the cold edge of night air licking in from outside. My pulse spikes. I try to angle around him. “I’m sure you can work out your confusion in therapy, but I said no.”

“Maybe I don’t care what you said.”

He pushes forward again, forcing me to keep retreating, his size cutting off my line of sight to the ring. A knot of real fear starts to form low in my stomach.

And then there’s a heat behind me. A presence so solid, it steals the air from the room.

“I care very much what she says.”

Jaxon slides an arm around my waist, pulling me back into him. His rich, dark voice sends relief rushing through me.

“And she said fuck off.” he growls.

He steps fully in front of me, chest to chest with the guy, who’s suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. Jaxon’s taller, broader, and still slick with sweat from the fight he clearly abandoned—the other man still standing in the ring watching this unfold.

The bearded man throws up his hands. “My bad.”

Jaxon doesn’t move until the guy turns away, melting into the crowd. Then his head whips back but he doesn’t look at me and keeps his eyes dark and unreadable.

He catches my hand, sharp and sure, and whistles toward the door. A man near it nods.

“Let’s go,” Jaxon says.

At the door, the man hands him his helmet, a black backpack, and his shoes. Jaxon makes quick work of pulling on his black jeans and sneakers, still shirtless, hair damp, adrenaline radiating off him in waves.

Then he tugs me outside into the night, not loosening his grip once.

Someone hollers after him as we step into the cool night.

“What about the fight, Kane?”

“I’m done,” Jaxon calls back without slowing.

“That’s a hundred grand you’re walking away from!”

“Keep it.”

“Jaxon!” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, but he doesn’t stop. He’s moving fast, his hand locked around mine, practically dragging me. I have to half-jog in my heels to keep up.

“Jaxon—your fight?—”

He stops so abruptly I almost crash into him. He’s shaking, and not just from the fight. Full-body, bone-deep tremors. The helmet and bag drop to the asphalt with a dull thud before he turns on me.

“I don’t care about a fucking fight, Cassidy. I care about you.” His voice is rough, almost breaking as he rips the tape from his hands. “Did he touch you? Are you okay?”

He looks like he’s unraveling right in front of me, and my mind flashes back to the barn. The horses. The men he saved me from. His desperate plea in the dark— Don’t let me go, Cass. Don’t let me go or I’ll go kill them.

And right then, I know I never want to let him go. I let myself finally admit it and I’m not going to.

He hastily tugs his black tee over his head, and I step into him, my arms looping around his neck as I rise on my toes.

“Hey. I’m okay.” My nose brushes his, and he fists the fabric of my dress at my hips like it physically hurts him to touch me. His eyes squeeze shut.

“What if I didn’t see you?” His voice is low but jagged. “He was pushing you toward the door, Cassidy. What if he took away from me? Where I couldn’t find you?”

“Shh.” I stroke the back of his neck, threading my fingers into damp hair. “I’m right here. Touch me.”

I need to pull him back from whatever edge he’s standing on. I know exactly what’s running through his mind—how easily I could have been hurt. I want to strip that thought away from him, even if only for a moment.

“Kiss me, Kane.”

I whisper it against his lips, and he does.

The world narrows to the heat between us as our mouths part, tongues sliding together. His hand curves to the back of my head, pulling me deeper into him. He tugs my hair, angling my face so he can take more, and I give it willingly.

He steps forward, and the hard edge of his motorcycle presses into me. His palms smooth down over my ass, fingers tracing bare skin at my thigh before he hooks my leg up over his hip. The slow, deliberate grind of his body into mine makes my breath catch.

“I want you so fucking bad, baby,” he growls against my skin. His mouth trails from my neck to my collarbone, down the line of my chest. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close.

If I weren’t a virgin, I’d let him take me right here, in the shadows, with the fight still raging next door. But I know he wouldn’t—not my first time, not like this.

“If anything ever happened to you…” His gaze locks with mine, so intense it steals my breath. His hand cups my jaw. “It would be the end of me. Cassidy, I?—”

“I’m okay,” I cut in. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.” I press my lips to his again, softer this time. “I don’t ever want to go anywhere.”

Something in his expression shifts, and I think he gets what I’m saying because his arms lock tighter around me, his face buried in my neck.

“Jaxon,” I murmur.

He pulls back, and I can feel a smile curve my lips.

“Take me home and fuck me.”

I run my tongue along his lower lip before he can reply, but he fists my dress again and leans his forehead against mine.

“Say that again.”

My smile grows. “I want you to fuck me.”

“No… the first part.”

I can’t stop grinning now and my eyes bounce back and forth between his. “Take me home.”