Nia Jax Ethnicity Novels & Stories

of the Disconnect: a group of people who lived in the spaces between the rules. Jax sat in the center of the glow. He was twenty-four years old with messy hair and eyes that hadn't seen a full night’s sleep in a week. To the rest of the world, Jax didn't exist because he had no bank account, no driver’s license, and no social media profile; however, to those who knew where to look, Jax was the best "eye" in the city. On his main screen, a simple graph of weather data from Oakland was dancing. The wind speed was jumping in a pattern that made no sense for a storm.

Dax I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes when Nalena tells us what she is doing and who she is talking to. Of course, Jax and I know Wasp. I have dealt with him in the past. So far, he has not done anything to make me not trust him. Everyone calls him Wasp because he is tall and thin, and his hair is long and blonde with black streaks in it. Although it doesn’t surprise me that he knows Zavian. Jax and I had heard the same rumours. No one knows if it is true or not.

She padded barefoot across the floor, her curvy hips swaying with each step, ass cheeks peeking just below the hem of her shorts. Peering through the peephole, she saw him… Jackson “Jax” Moreau. Her childhood neighbor from down the road, the boy who used to chase her through the sugarcane fields. Now a man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with smooth deep-brown skin and intense hazel eyes that seemed to carry every storm he’d ever weathered. He worked as an architect, splitting time between New Orleans and Houston. His white button-down was plastered to his chest, outlining every ridge of muscle. Water streamed off his short-cropped hair and down his sharp jaw.

"I'm not really feeling up for a dirty house party tonight." "Good. Neither am I. You know how his family is, like... kind of rich?" Jax comes from some money, though nothing like Harlan. That being said, his talent and success in life is mostly earned all on his own. Sure, privilege always helps, there’s no doubt about it, but instead of skating by in life, which he could have done, he’s pursuing an undergrad degree in aviation studies and working on his flight certification on the side.

That was a huge thing. Something that no one should take lightly. If we married, he would have to meet her family and she would have to meet his. Would we all even get along? Her dad was a cop, a man’s man from the south. Jax’s father was upper crust, uber rich who’d probably never done anything normal in his life—not sweep a floor or fix a sandwich. She bet he’d never made a bed.

Amelia might be furious with me, but in time, she’d see I had her best interests at heart. The way things were unraveling between her and Ethan, only one person could mend their bond. I smiled, caressing Etha’s cheek, noting how she was growing into a beautiful young woman, blending her mother’s and father’s striking features. “I know the reason you’re feeling like that.” “You do? Why?” Etha asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “It’s because you originate from here.” “What?” Her eyes widened. “Yes, my dear, your father is a New Yorker. You are from New York.”

His jaw was sharp, mouth still flushed from the cold, eyes steady and dark as they locked onto Ryder first, and then shifted to his parents. “Hi,” Jax said, voice calm, easy. “I’m Jax Calloway.” His mom blinked. “Oh,” she said faintly. His dad cleared his throat. “You—play center?” Jax’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. I do.” “We’re—yeah, we’re both centers,” Ryder added, a little too quickly. Jax shot him a brief look, something amused, and then faced forward again, steady. There was another pause. A long one.

He didn't even look like a shifter. “Who are you?” Faith asked. “My name is Jax,” the boy said, sitting down before she could say no. “I’m new. My family moved up from the South after the towers fell.” “You shouldn't be talking to me, Jax,” Faith said. I’m the most hated person in the school right now.

His guilt and worry added another weight to my already heavy heart. “I’m sure he appreciates your beauty,” Dad said quietly. I kissed Dad’s cheek, and he reluctantly moved away to make room for Jaxon ’s parents. I’d never talked to them and had only seen them from afar at a couple of social functions. Mr. Moretti shared Jaxon ’s dark blue eyes, but his were clouded and his impressive size was diminished by the fact that he supported his weight on a cane. Jaxon ’s mother was elegant and beautiful with dark blond hair pulled up into a perfect chignon. Behind her, Jaxon ’s sisters waited, no less graceful and poised. That was how I was