Chapter Seven: First Blood

The Saints returned to the clubhouse just before dawn, their bikes rumbling through the gates like mechanical thunder. Raven had been unable to sleep, pacing the halls and nursing cup after cup of bitter coffee while she waited for word. When she heard the engines, she rushed outside, her heart hammering with a mixture of relief and dread. Jax was the first through the gates, his Harley gleaming despite the dried blood spattering his kutte and the torn sleeve of his t-shirt. Even injured and exhausted, he was magnificent—his long dark hair whipping in the wind, his powerful frame radiating lethal confidence. When his hazel eyes found her waiting by the clubhouse entrance, something primal and possessive flashed in their depths. He killed the engine and dismounted in one fluid motion, stalking toward her with predatory grace. Before she could ask if he was hurt, he had her pressed against the brick wall of the clubhouse, his hands braced on either side of her head, his body caging her in. "You waited up," he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and something darker. "I was worried," she admitted, her blue eyes searching his face for signs of serious injury. Up close, she could see a cut along his jaw and bruising around his left eye, but he was whole. He was alive. "Worried about me?" There was something vulnerable in the question, as if the idea of someone caring about his wellbeing was foreign to him. "Yes," she whispered, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Beneath her palms, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart and the solid warmth of muscle. The fabric of his shirt was torn, revealing glimpses of the intricate tattoo work that covered his torso—a guardian angel on one side, a demon on the other, locked in eternal battle across his ribs. "We sent a message," he said, his voice dropping to a growl. "Hit three of their operations, took out two of their enforcers. They'll think twice before coming at us again." But even as he spoke of violence and war, his eyes were focused on her lips, on the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. The adrenaline of battle was still pumping through his veins, and she could see how it was affecting him—the way his pupils were dilated, the tension in his muscled frame, the barely controlled energy that radiated from him like heat. "Jax," she breathed, and the sound of his name on her lips seemed to snap something inside him. He kissed her then, hard and desperate, pressing her back against the wall with the full weight of his body. His mouth was demanding, taking what he needed from her, and she gave it willingly. Her fingers tangled in his long hair, messing the dark strands further, while his hands roamed her curves with a hunger that made her knees weak. She could taste copper on his lips—blood from the cut on his jaw—and the danger of it, the reminder of the violence he was capable of, only made her want him more. This man was power incarnate, muscles and ink and barely leashed savagery, and he wanted her with a desperation that was intoxicating. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers. "This is insane," he murmured. "You're supposed to be infiltrating the enemy, not getting tangled up with me." "Maybe I like being tangled up with you," she replied, her voice husky with desire. Her hands were still fisted in his shirt, and she could feel the heat of his skin through the torn fabric. "Raven..." He started to pull away, but she held him close. "Don't," she said fiercely. "Don't you dare shut me out now. Not after everything." Something shifted in his expression, and she saw the moment he made his decision. His hands came up to cup her face, thumbs stroking across her cheekbones with surprising gentleness given the violence he'd just returned from. "You don't know what you're getting into with me," he warned. "I'm not a good man. I've done things—" "So have I," she interrupted. "We're both broken, Jax. Maybe that's why this works." He studied her face in the pre-dawn light, those incredible hazel eyes seeing more than she was comfortable with. But instead of pressing for details about her past, he simply nodded. "When this is over," he said quietly, "when the war with the Diamondbacks is finished, we'll figure out what this is between us." "And until then?" "Until then, you stay alive. You do whatever you have to do to maintain your cover with Venom, but you don't take unnecessary risks. I won't lose you to this fight." The possessiveness in his tone sent shivers down her spine. She'd never had a man care about her the way Jax did—not the fake identity of Raven Steele, but the real woman beneath all the lies and deception. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. "I should go," she said reluctantly, aware that the other Saints were beginning to take notice of their intimate position against the wall. "Venom's expecting me to start work today." Jax's jaw tightened at the mention of the Diamondback president, but he stepped back, giving her space. "Be careful. Trust no one. And if anything feels wrong, you get out. Understood?" "Understood," she agreed, though they both knew that if things went wrong with the Diamondbacks, there might not be time to escape. As she walked toward her car, she could feel his eyes on her, could sense the effort it was taking him to let her go. The connection between them was growing stronger with each encounter, and she knew it was dangerous. In their world, caring about someone made you vulnerable. It gave your enemies a weapon to use against you. But as she drove away from the clubhouse, heading toward whatever assignment Venom had planned for her, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. For the first time since creating the identity of Raven Steele, she felt like someone truly saw her. And if that made her weak, if it put them both in danger, then so be it. Some things were worth the risk. Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Storage unit 247, Industrial Park. Pickup at noon. Don't be late. - V The game was beginning in earnest now. She was officially working for the Diamondbacks while secretly reporting to the Saints, walking a tightrope between two deadly organizations with her heart increasingly tangled up with the man who could destroy everything if he discovered her true past. As she pulled into traffic, Raven caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her lips were still swollen from Jax's kiss, her dark hair mussed from his hands, and her blue eyes bright with a combination of fear and excitement. She looked like a woman falling in love with a dangerous man. And in the world of motorcycle clubs and gang wars, that was the most dangerous position of all.