Two weeks dragged by slow. Jax kept his foot light on the gas, stuck to the limit, even took the long way home some nights just to avoid 47 after dark. He told himself he was done that the last time had scratched the itch too deep, left him shaky for days after. But the memory kept sneaking back. Amara's weight on his face, Lena's thighs clamping tight, the way the lights painted everything red and blue while he came so hard. He didn't text. Didn't drive fast. Didn't look for the Charger in his rearview. Until tonight. He was coming back from a late drop in the city, windows down, radio low. The road was empty again, same stretch of scrub and oil rigs. Headlights caught a black and white parked sideways across both lanes, blocking the way. Not hidden this time. Bold. Lights off, but he knew. Jax slowed, pulled over, killed the engine. Heart already hammering. Doors opened. Amara first, same uniform, same walk. Lena right behind, smirking like she'd won something. He stepped out
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