Page 118 of The Souls We Claim

I’m not a member of a motorcycle outlaw group, but you don’t have to be to know what that means.

My guess is that they are going to get her.

I try to decide if I mind.

The reality is, I do, a bit. She could be an innocent bystander, about to be drawn into this mess by her foster brother. Worse, she could be killed. Yet, she could also be complicit. She may have helped orchestrate any part of this. She could be encouraging this monster.

I guess the question is, how far would I go to keep Lola safe?

And the truth is, there isn’t anything in this world I wouldn’t do to annihilate a threat to her.

Then there is Jax. I want him safe and whole too. I want the threat against him permanently removed so we can embrace these feelings we have for each other. So we can live a life where I get to ride on his bike and have friends like Rae and the other old ladies. And most importantly, I get to be a mother to Lola.

“Jax, sweetheart,” I say, shaking him gently.

“What?” he says, almost instantly alert. The speed at which he wakes up makes me jump, and I put my hand to my heart. “Sorry.” He reaches for my hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Were you awake?”

He shakes his head, then yawns. “Operational necessity. We had to grab sleep whenever we could, so I learned to fall asleep and wake up quickly. How long was I out?”

I place my hand on his arm, grounding myself back in this moment. “About an hour.”

“An hour?”

“You fell asleep while I was massaging your shoulders.”

An eyebrow rises. “I feel like this was part of your master plan to get me to sleep.”

I shrug. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Too well.” He looks around, clearly for his phone, so I hand it to him.

“You got two messages from King. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t read them. King found West’s foster-sister; she lives an hour away from Asbury Park.”

Jax takes the phone from me and rereads the messages. “I fucking knew it. There had to be a reason why he was coming to Jersey so often.”

“I don’t know how I feel about another woman being dragged into this mess.”

Jax tugs me onto his lap. “I hate to say this, kitten. But this life is like a game of poker. Sometimes you’re only as good as your hand. Some hands you’re only as lucky as the flop of cards. Some hands it doesn’t matter how the cards fall if you haven’t got the stack to bet. And therefore, some days you’re only as good as your bluff. None of us like hurting women. But out of all the women on the planet, I will always protect you first by any means necessary. We stole something from him. Money and weapons. But that was when we thought the fight between us was business. Now that we know it’s personal, we need to tackle it differently. And if that involves having his sister as insurance, we’ll do it.”

“I used to think I was a bigger person. That I’d offer to exchange myself if someone else was taken hostage. Or, if a grenade was thrown into a crowded room, I’d be brave enough to dive on it to save others. But I’m starting to think I’m not that person.”

Jax takes my hand and holds it. “First, if there’s a grenade, I want you nowhere near it. And second, ninety percent of the population is braver in their heads than they are in real life. Fuck, even the cops and security guards. You hear about school shootings where those fuckers hid rather than take action. The truth is, we all want to survive. We all want to make it through whatever it is we’re trying to get through with the lowest body count and fewest possible scars.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to go home tomorrow?”

Jax shakes his head. “Not until my brother is dealt with. He saw Lola at the store, but I have no idea if he even knows she’s Dad’s daughter or wants to get at her, but it’s on us to keep her safe, and it’s on you to look after her while I take care of him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jax’s phone vibrates, and he looks down at it. But before I have a chance to catch what the message says, he’s on his feet. “Quick, go get Lola and whatever you need and get in the safe room. Grab your shoes, your phone. Go.”

As he’s speaking, he’s reattaching all his weapons. Knowing that this can’t mean anything good, I do exactly as he instructs. I slip on my sneakers in case I have to run at some point.

Gently, I lift Lola out of her travel crib and carry her into the living room with her thin blanket. Halo is throwing cushions and blankets from the sofa into the safe room. “I don’t have time to do any more than that,” he whispers. “You remember the code?”

“154154,” I say. The number of Shakespeare’s sonnets, one hundred and fifty-four. Twice.