Novels by jutt

The words hung in the cold air like smoke.Ask him why he really cares about that girl, sweetheart.Sienna’s heart was still racing from the adrenaline, her fingers white-knuckled on the bike seat. “What does he mean?” she called, voice shaking.Jax didn’t answer. He vaulted onto the bike in one smooth motion, grabbed the handlebars, and started the engine with a roar that drowned out everything else.“Jax!” she tried again.“Hold on,” he barked.She did—more because she had no choice than because she wanted to. The bike shot forward, tires spitting gravel as they tore out of the alley. Wind slapped her helmet, the city blurring past in streaks of neon and shadow.She kept replaying that blond man’s smirk in her head, the way he’d said that girl like it meant more than just Emily Reyes.They didn’t stop until they were across the river, the hospital and its questions far behind. Jax pulled the bike into the covered space behind an old brick warehouse. The engine cut out, leaving them

The figure under the streetlamp didn’t move. Just stood there, the glow catching the edge of a hood, hands shoved deep into pockets.Sienna’s mouth went dry. “Is that—”“Not a friend,” Jax said quietly.Her fingers dug into the curtain. “What do they want?”He gave her a look that made her feel stupid for asking. “Same thing they wanted when they sent that photo. To scare you into shutting up.”“It’s working,” she whispered.“No,” he said, stepping back from the window. “Scared people make mistakes. We don’t.”We. Like she was part of this now. She wasn’t sure when that happened, but it had.“What do we do?” she asked.“We wait,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. “If they try the door, I’ll handle it.”“And if they don’t?”“Then they’ll try something else.”She stared at him. “That’s not comforting.”“It’s not meant to be.”They didn’t wait long.Five minutes later, a faint scrape echoed from somewhere below. It was the kind of sound you wouldn’t notice unless you

Sienna stared at her phone until the screen dimmed, the photo burning into her brain. Her own silhouette framed in the glow of her living room lamp, taken from outside her building. Someone had been close. Close enough to see her through the sheer curtains she kept drawn at night.She felt sick.The air in her apartment suddenly felt too thin, like she was breathing through a straw.Jax’s voice cut through her panic. “Show me.”She didn’t move.“Sienna.” He stepped closer, his tone more command than request. “Show me.”Her hand shook as she turned the screen toward him. His eyes narrowed at the image, his jaw locking. He took the phone from her without asking and zoomed in, studying the reflection in the glass. “Street level,” he muttered. “They were parked across the road. Probably using a long lens.”“Don’t tell me that,” she said, voice cracking. “Tell me who.”“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”Her arms wrapped around herself before she realized it. “This is insane. This is a

The photo in Sienna’s hand felt heavier than paper had any right to feel. The little girl’s smile was lopsided, like she’d been caught mid-laugh. Her hair—thick, chestnut curls—framed a face far too innocent to belong in any conversation with a man like Jax Maddox.Sienna’s fingers tightened around the edges before she could stop herself. “Missing? How do you even know her?”“That’s not the right question,” Jax said, peeling his wet leather cut off with a hiss of pain. “The right question is why no one’s looking for her.”Rainwater dripped onto her floor. Her doctor’s brain registered the way he favored his right side, how his shirt was sticking to his skin where blood seeped through. He’d been shot—or stabbed—again. But instead of focusing on that, her eyes stayed locked on the picture.“Where did you get this?” she asked.“Her aunt gave it to me,” he said. “Right before she turned up dead.”The words hit like ice water. Sienna blinked at him, trying to piece together the jump from g

Dr. Sienna Blake hated Tuesday night shifts. Not because they were busy—they weren’t. That was the problem. Nothing but quiet corridors, half-lit trauma bays, and the soft, unsettling hum of fluorescent lights overhead. It left her alone with her thoughts, which were often worse than the blood and broken bones.She sat at the nurses' station, sipping stale coffee and flipping through an old patient chart just to stay awake. Her scrub pants were a size too loose, tied tight with a knot she’d retied twice already, and her ponytail was doing its best to fall apart. Still, she looked like she had her life together—because that’s what people expected from a trauma surgeon. Calm. Clean. Controlled.The ER doors slammed open with a bang so loud her coffee jumped out of the cup.“Coming in hot!” a paramedic shouted, wheeling in a gurney that looked like it’d barely survived a warzone.Sienna was on her feet instantly. “Vitals?”“BP’s crashing. GSW to the abdomen. Lost a lot of blood before we