by Ashley Lane
We both nod and smirk, because… obviously.
“And one of me,” she reminds us.
I chuckle. “We’re quite aware, sweetheart.”
“Maddox—” she growls her adorable little growl that only makes her sound like a needy little sex kitten.
Jax clears his throat. “I think what Oakley is trying to say, Madd, is if she gets pregnant, obviously only one of us will be the biological father.”
Ah, now it makes sense.
Oakley nods, her teeth digging into her lip. I drop down and pull the abused flesh into my mouth and soothe it with my tongue. “Sweetheart… being in love with both of you means that even if Jax were to father our child, I wouldn’t love him or her any less.” Jax nods in agreement, and I continue, “If anything, I would love them more because they would be the embodiment of two parts of my soul.”
A choked sob startles us, and we all turn in time to see Mama rushing into the room, arms wide and tears streaming down her face. “I’m going to be a grandmama!” she screams, acting for all the world as if we just announced that Oakley is already carrying our child.
Oakley stares at her future mother-in-law and grins before she picks up the second bowl of soup and starts to drink.
***
I stare out at the abandoned warehouse that for so many years was like a second home to the Guardians. Brought together by fate, held together by something more than friendship and loyalty—inside these walls, we release the beasts that hide within. Freeing them from their cages and allowing them to feast and ravage the souls of sinners until they’re sated.
Until the need rises again.
Now I stand here, wondering if this will be the last time I enter through these doors. Wondering if it is, what will satisfy my monster when he needs to feed.
Gravel crunches behind me at the same time Jax steps up and places an arm around my waist. I jerk suddenly, still getting used to the idea of him being here.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
I’ve never hidden the truth about what goes on in here from Jax. Though it’s never been discussed, he’s known for years what we do in the dark of night when God is asleep and the world is lulled into a false sense of security. But knowing and seeing are two different things, as are seeing and doing. I can’t help but fear what will change once we walk inside those doors. Will he ever be able to look at me the same? Or at himself?
“It’s no secret to me what goes on here, Maddox. I’ve known for a long time about the blood that stains your hands,” he says, “I’m here for you… and with you.”
I glance down at said hands and they fist in shame. How can he even look at me?
Jax reaches out and pulls my fingers back to loosen the tension. “Talk to me,” he says.
“This isn’t who you are, Jax. You’re not a murderer. You spend your life fixing the broken people… I—I can’t let you do this. I can’t let my monsters breed darkness in you too. This is my burden to bear, not yours.” How can I want him here with me with every fiber of my being, but at the same time, want him so far away that he’ll never witness my sins?
Jax’s hands fist my shirt roughly. “You’re right,” he says, and my heart plummets. “I’m a fixer. I will always want to give you and Oakley the most perfect version of the world that I have to offer. That’s what you do when you love someone, Madd.”
Jax leans forward, his breath ragged as he sweeps a kiss across my lips. “But loving you isn’t my only job. And if God requires it of me, I will give my dying breath to keep you both safe.”
Heart pounding, I grip his jacket and pull him into me, welding us together until there’s no space between us.
He growls into my ear. “That’s what love is, Madd.” Leaning back, he continues, “It’s putting yourself last but still feeling like you came in first because they’re happy. If tonight gives birth to a darkness inside me—so be it. I can and will live out the rest of my days finding harmony between the light and dark, as long as you’re both by my side.”
I thread my fingers through his hair and bring his head forward until his lips meet mine. When I slide my tongue along the seam of his lips, he opens for me and our tongues begin the twirling dance of tasting one another. Before things heat up too much, Bullet’s voice breaks the silence.
“Think maybe y’all could pull apart long enough to get this done? Or do I need to grab a crowbar?”
Jax laughs, and I lean in for one last kiss, biting at his lip to hear his groan before I suck and lick it to soothe the sting. Behind Jax’s back, I flip Bullet off and hear him chuckle as the door closes.
“Let’s get this done so we can get back to our girl,” Jax says.
“Yeah, we should probably hurry, or we’ll get home to find Mama has figured out how to perform an immaculate conception.” I laugh and Jax shakes his head, still smiling.
When we walk into the warehouse, everything changes in an instant. The atmosphere is so cold it’s almost as though the chill of death himself has descended upon us.
Like all sinners before him, Malcolm is in the middle of the room, on display, waiting to pay the ultimate price for his sins.
Instead of the usual steel table, he’s hanging from two large hooks suspended from the roof by chains.
He’s already bruised and beaten which means my brothers had some fun before Jax and I arrived. Seeing as he’s also been here since Oakley’s attack over a week ago, they’ve had plenty of time to play. And play they have… Randomly scattered over his torso, ice picks protrude from bleeding wounds that make him appear as if he were a human dart board. One pick has missed its intended target—or maybe not—and is embedded into the flesh about an inch or two from his shriveled balls.
Jax and I walk toward the others. Bullet is standing to the side, completely uninterested in Malcolm’s swinging body, giving his phone his attention instead. Priest and Patch’s fists are covered in blood, and their shirts are splattered in the same crimson drops.
“I see you started without us,” I say.
Priest shrugs. “A little here and there throughout the week. Nothing too serious until tonight. Patch is the one that went Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with the ice picks.”
Patch huffs out a laugh. “What?” he says with a shrug. “I made sure to miss anything vital that would cut our time short.”
I approach Malcolm who’s been coherent but silent since Jax and I entered. Jax moves to stand near Priest, allowing Malcolm to glare down at me. Unveiled hatred bleeds from his dark eyes.
I’m about to speak when Malcolm beats me to it.
“How’s the change of view, boss?” he hisses.
I cock my head, confused. Is this guy for real? Apparently, he is because he just keeps going, digging himself a deeper hole.
“What a perfect fucking Angel, always looking down on everyone like we’re beneath you… like you’re better than us. Well, how’s it feel, faggot? To be the one looking up at me?”
His slurs mean nothing to me, but even if they did, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of thinking otherwise. From the corner of my eye, I see Jax straighten beside Priest, and his eyes grow dark.
Keeping my voice low, I move closer to Malcolm and say, “Seeing as I’m not the one hanging from hooks, slowly bleeding out onto the floor, I’d say it feels pretty fucking good right about now. Tell me, Malcolm. Did he shove any of those ice picks up your ass yet?”
He thrashes violently, causing blood to seep from his wounds as he screams. “I’m gonna fucking kill you! All of you! You’re fucking—”
The last word dies on his lips. The first thing that registers is the single red hole that appears in the middle of his forehead. The second is the deafening sound of a gun firing in the hollowed warehouse. It takes several seconds for the ringing in my ears to subside, but when it does, a voice I haven’t heard in months echoes through the space.
“Always fucking hated that guy.”
I spin around to see none other than Demon
standing in the doorway, gun in his hand as he looks around the room. “So what, we’re doing sinners again and I don’t get an invite?”
No one speaks, we’re all too busy staring at our brother who’s been missing on and off for months, and who also just cut a moment I’ve been waiting for, too motherfucking short.
“Well that was anticlimactic,” Jax says staring at Malcolm’s body. Is he seriously pouting right now?
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Do you have any idea what the fuck is going on here?” All the rage I was waiting to unleash on Malcolm, suddenly has a new target.
Demon shakes his head as he tucks his gun into its holster. “Don’t know… Don’t really care. I’m not sticking around.” He shrugs.
“Demon,” Priest says, but Demon raises a hand to stop him.
“Don’t. Just came by to grab some things and say goodbye.” And with those parting words, Demon walks out into the darkness.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m about to chase after him when Priest stops me. “Let him go, Maddox. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
He says the words he wants to believe himself, but I can tell that Priest knows as well as me. Something about Demon’s words sounded a little too much like a final goodbye.
CHAPTER 26
OAKLEY
Three months later
“Holy shit!” Angel yells at the TV.
Jax jumps up, ready to kick someone's ass, and my phone goes flying across the room when he jerks me up and throws me behind him.
He was protective before my attack, but now I’m honestly not sure how we haven’t somehow become joined at the hip.
“What the fuck, Maddox! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Jax growls, stalking over to pick up my phone. We were deep into a game of Words with Friends, and I was finally winning. Now we’re both too shaken up to even enjoy it.
“Shit sorry, babe.” Angel turns up the TV as Jax sinks down between us, glaring at Angel.
When he doesn't catch his attention, Jax smacks him on the back of his head, then jerks his chin at me. Angel runs a hand through his hair and regret flashes in his eyes.
Damn it. Here we go again. Both of them are still treating me like glass after what happened. While I appreciate the sentiment, it's getting on my nerves. I love them both, and I owe them my life, but sometimes a girl wants a little rough sex and they’ve both been so careful since the attack. I’m ready for them to finally lose control and fuck me like they mean it, not like I’m a fragile virgin on her wedding night.
My injuries are healing just fine, but no matter what I tell them, or how hard I try to entice them to lose control, all I get is sweet, tender lovemaking. I come like always, more than my share, but I miss how domineering they can be. I only got a taste of what they had to offer before I was hurt, now I’m ready for the whole bite.
"Wait... isn't the story coming up about your team?" I ask, interrupting. There's a news story breaking in a few seconds. And one thing I’ve learned about Angel is, the only thing he loves more than me and Jax is baseball.
Jax tightens his grip on my hand like he's afraid to let me go. “That doesn't fucking matter, he needs to be more careful—”
Before he can finish the news starts to blare.
“Startling news in Major League Baseball today as first baseman for the Colorado Cobras, Colt Weaving was suspended indefinitely following a drug arrest two days ago. As of now, Weaving has yet to address the media, though his agent has stated Weaving maintains his innocence concerning the incident. More on this story as it develops.”
As soon as the story ends, Angel starts typing up a storm on his phone and Jax narrows his eyes. "Who are you texting?" he asks in a possessive tone.
Angel snickers, even though my man looks to be nearly in tears. “Just letting Bullet know his brother-in-law is on the news. He already knew, though. Told us to keep our fucking mouths shut around the boys unless we want to be eating through a straw for the next six months. He and Holly don’t want them thinking anything less of their Uncle Colt.”
Angel looks up from his phone for a second and his lips drop down into a pout. "Fuck! Well, there goes our season tickets."
Jax must have noticed too because he leans over and pulls it into his mouth. Angel answers with a rough kiss.
I snort and shake my head at how genuinely upset he looks. "There's a guy that could be getting framed and potentially going to jail, and you two are worried about season tickets? You're adorable and ridiculous."
Angel shrugs as Jax settles back. "Priorities, babe…"
"Well, at least he's honest," Jax says before attacking Angel and wrestling him on the couch. They fall to the floor and the two of them collapse into a heap of laughter with a few less than PG hip movements before they come back to the couch.
Jax wraps one arm around my waist, the other gripping my ass as he picks me up and sits with me in his lap. He presses his lips against my temple and breathes me in. I close my eyes and soak up the affection he so freely gives.
“Are you gonna share?” Angel pouts, then huffs out a breath that blows my hair across Jax’s face, making him laugh.
“I think your pouting has rubbed off on him,” Jax teases in a whisper.
Angel crosses his arms over his chest and pouts again. I continue laughing until Jax sits me in Angel’s lap and pulls my legs over his thighs.
Their quarrel over who gets to hold me is nothing new. Both of my men are affectionate creatures and dote on me more than I probably deserve. A huge wave of contentment settles in my bones.
At first, what Angel and Jax had was intimidating. Their knowledge of each other and years together, gave them a sense of security that I as a newcomer, didn’t feel. I mean, how could I ever expect to find my place when their connection to each other was already so strong?
One night, my fears slipped free from my heart. According to them, they felt like this was how it was meant to be. Because of their steadfastness with each other, they were able to turn all of their focus on me. Pouring every ounce of their love into proving to me that a relationship between the three of us could work. Somehow, through everything, they've managed to love me hard enough that I've even started loving myself.
For a long time, when I looked in the mirror, the only thing I could see were my scars. I lost who I was, and no matter how hard I tried to swim to the surface of my grief, I was always drowning.
Goosebumps spread over my skin as Angel's innocent nuzzles turn into kisses. Jax’s hand moves to my lap and I bear down into his touch. His fingers move to open the button on my jeans when the news once again has us freezing in place.
“Breaking News coming from Iron Gate Correctional Facility today. It has just been confirmed that Chad Manningham, more commonly known as the infamous Holy Sabre, was found dead inside his cell early this morning. Police have yet to comment on the specific details pertaining to his death, but sources say it was a ‘ritualistic style killing’. It’s rumored that similar style killings were committed in a number of unsolved murders surrounding Holy Sabre and his followers.
The story of the Preacher turned Arms Dealer first hit news outlets 11 years ago when it was discovered Manningham was using his church as a front to store, sell, and trade weapons and ammunition. Unfortunately, before he could be detained by police, Manningham set fire to his home, killing his wife Diane and their daughter Elizabeth Oakley.
After evading authorities for more than ten years, Manningham was recently caught and arrested on multiple charges, including two counts of murder. Court documents show that testimony from a classified source made jury deliberations swift; taking less than thirty minutes to decide Manningham’s fate.”
As the reporter continues listing the crimes of my dad, my mind races through the past few months and the actions that brought us here.
Thanks to an anonymous call, authorities were notified that Renshaw, my father’s right-hand man and the person responsible for most of my scars
, was hiding out at a truck stop motel just outside of town. Once he was apprehended, he later confessed that he knew where my father was and had actually been sent to kidnap and deliver me to him. After giving up my father’s location, Renshaw was taken into custody and my father was captured by a SWAT team, still alive after all these years.
My father's confession only further proved what a vile and deplorable human being he truly was. Apparently, he and Renshaw had received word that I had not perished in the fire. From this news, his master plan was born. Find me and silence me for good so that I would never be able to incriminate either him or Renshaw.
The day the FBI knocked on our door, I thought Angel was going to have a stroke. Then the agent opened his mouth and revealed that my father was alive, and they needed me to testify to put him away once and for all. Suddenly the roles were reversed, and I was the one about to have a stroke.
After six days of private video calls with an attorney, I’d shared my side of the story. After that, my part was done. From our couch, we watched as the story unfolded for the world to see. The day his sentence was handed down—Renshaw receiving the same—was one of the happiest days of my life.
I’m pulled back to the present when an image comes up on the screen and I freeze. The photograph is merely a single moment captured in time, but the memories it brings send me hurtling back into the past.
My dad's church was always one of my most favorite places in the world. In the photograph on the screen, our congregation stands, surrounding my dad—Pastor Chad Manningham—who stands beside my smiling mom, his face blurred out because of his crimes.
Tucked in close to my mom’s side, wearing a pale blue dress dotted with daisies, is me. The beautiful, unscarred, flawless skin of my childhood remained with me into my early teen years. My friends said I was lucky… I took it for granted, certain my face would always be that way.
