Chapter 3 – Under Watch

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 actually insane. I didn’t sign up for—”

“You did the second you saved me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “And now someone’s telling you to stay out of their business.”

“I was staying out of it,” she shot back. “Until you—”

“They already see you as a problem,” he cut in. “That means you’re in it whether you want to be or not.”

Her breath came fast and uneven. She hated that what he was saying made a horrible kind of sense.

Jax tossed her phone back, the screen lighting with another buzz. No message this time—just the reflection of his face over hers. “Pack a bag,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not staying here tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Then stay and wait for whoever’s behind that camera to knock on your door.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she said, but her voice wavered.

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to stand her ground, keep her normal life stitched together by sheer force of will. But her brain kept flashing back to the photo. Her. Alone. Lit up like a target.

“You’ve got five minutes,” Jax said, heading toward her kitchen like he owned the place.

“I’m not—” she started, but then she heard the sound. The faint crunch of tires outside. Not the normal city traffic hum—slow, deliberate, stopping.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She crossed the room to peek through the blinds.

A dark sedan idled across the street.

The driver’s face was just a shadow.

“Pack. The damn. Bag,” Jax said behind her.

She didn’t remember throwing clothes into a backpack. Just the blur of grabbing jeans, a sweatshirt, her toothbrush. Her hands shook so badly she dropped her charger twice.

When she emerged, Jax was at her window, peering out like a wolf scenting the air. “We go out the back,” he said. “Stairs, not the elevator.”

“This feels illegal.”

“It’s not illegal to stay alive.”

She followed him into the dim hallway, the hum of the building’s old fluorescents buzzing overhead. Her apartment door shut with a soft click, and for the first time in five years of living there, she didn’t lock it.

They moved fast, Jax’s hand resting on her back like he was steering her without even trying. At the rear exit, he paused, checking the alley before nodding for her to move.

A motorcycle waited under the rusted fire escape, black as night, rain-slicked and hulking. She stopped dead.

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” he countered.

“I’m not getting on that.”

“Would you rather get into their car?”

She looked back toward the front of the building. Somewhere out there, the sedan still waited.

Jax swung a leg over the bike, holding out a helmet. “It’s this or you walk. And walking’s a bad option right now.”

She cursed under her breath and took the helmet.

The seat was narrow, forcing her close against him when she climbed on. She could feel the heat of him even through her jacket, the steady, solid weight of his body. His scent was leather and rain and something darker she couldn’t name.

“Hold on,” he said.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, fingers brushing the hard plane of muscle under his shirt. He didn’t react, but her pulse spiked all the same.

The bike roared to life.

The ride was a blur of wet streets and flashing lights, the city whipping past in streaks of gold and red. Sienna held on tighter every time they leaned into a turn, the engine’s vibration running up her legs. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, and the mix of fear and adrenaline was dizzying.

When they finally slowed, it was into a part of the city she didn’t recognize—industrial buildings, half-shuttered warehouses, graffiti-tagged brick walls. Jax pulled the bike up to a nondescript metal door and killed the engine.

“Where are we?” she asked, pulling off the helmet.

“Safe,” he said. “For now.”

He unlocked the door with a key that looked like it belonged to a bank vault. Inside was… not what she expected. A loft space, clean but sparse, with a worn leather couch, a small kitchen, and a wall of windows covered by heavy blackout curtains. A couple of framed black-and-white photos hung on the wall—cityscapes, nothing personal.

“This yours?” she asked.

“Club safehouse,” he said. “No one outside Hellborn knows about it.”

Her stomach twisted. “I don’t think being in an MC safehouse qualifies as safe.”

“It does tonight.”

He tossed her backpack onto the couch. “Shower’s through there. Get some rest.”

She didn’t move. “You’re not even going to explain what’s happening?”

“I already told you,” he said, pulling a gun from the back of his waistband and setting it on the counter like it was a wallet. “Someone doesn’t want you asking about Emily.”

“That’s not an explanation, that’s a threat.”

He met her gaze, unblinking. “Good. Means you’re listening.”

The hot water helped. A little.

Sienna stood under the spray, trying to wash off the rain and the fear and the fact that she was standing in a biker gang’s safehouse with a man who’d been shot in her ER three nights ago. She kept telling herself she’d leave in the morning. She’d go back to her apartment, to work, to normal.

But “normal” had a hole in it now.

When she came out, wearing borrowed sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt Jax had tossed her way, he was sitting at the small kitchen table, cleaning his gun.

“You ever sleep?” she asked.

“Not when I’m working.”

“You consider this working?”

“I consider this keeping you alive,” he said without looking up.

She sat across from him, arms crossed. “Why me?”

His hands didn’t pause. “Because you’re the only one who can walk into that hospital and not get patted down.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the click of metal and the soft patter of rain against the roof.

Finally, he slid the gun back into its holster and leaned back. “We’ll go to the hospital tomorrow. Quiet. See if we can find anything they didn’t scrub.”

She didn’t say yes.

She also didn’t say no.

She must’ve dozed off on the couch, because the next thing she knew, the room was dark except for the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside. The blackout curtains blocked most of it, but not enough to hide the outline of Jax standing by the window, watching.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

“Late,” he said, not turning.

Something in his voice made her sit up. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer.

She got up and crossed the room. When she reached him, he tilted his head toward the smallest gap in the curtains.

Her breath caught.

Across the street, under the shadow of a streetlamp, the same dark sedan sat idling.

Only this time, the driver’s door was open.

And a figure stood there.

Watching.

Directly at them.