Chapter 16

Jax checked the heavy, expensive watch on his wrist, the diamonds catching the dim, red light of the bar’s entrance. It was late. He was more than an hour past the time he had told Eva to meet him.

For any other woman, this would have been a deal-breaker. An hour late to a birthday date? That was a slap in the face. But Jax wasn’t worried. He adjusted his leather jacket, a smirk playing on his lips as he pushed through the heavy door of Tony's Bar. He was confident—arrogantly, completely confident—that she would be there.

He pictured her: sitting at the bar in that slutty red dress he had practically forced her into, legs crossed, probably nursing a single glass of wine, checking her phone nervously every thirty seconds. She would be annoyed, sure. She might even try to scold him with that motherly frown she used when he pushed her boundaries. But she would be there. She needed him too much not to be. She needed the shield he provided against the city, against the League, against her own paranoia.

The blast of noise and heat hit him as he stepped inside. Tony’s was crowded tonight, a sea of bodies moving to the thumping bass. Jax moved through the crowd like a shark through a school of minnows. He didn't say "excuse me"; he just walked, his broad shoulders and the sheer, violent weight of his presence parting the patrons without effort.

His eyes scanned the bar, bypassing the regulars, looking for the flash of red.

He checked the corner booth. Empty. He checked the stools near the register. occupied by a couple of bikers. He checked the shadows in the back. Nothing.

Jax stopped in the middle of the room, his brow furrowing. The smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of genuine irritation. She wasn't here.

He walked up to the bar, leaning over the counter to flag down the bartender—a guy he knew, a guy who knew better than to make Jax wait.

"Where is she?" Jax asked, his voice a low rumble that cut through the music.

The bartender looked up, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked nervous. People usually did when Jax asked them questions they didn't have good answers for.

"The lady in the red dress?" the bartender asked, glancing at the empty stool where Eva had been sitting. "She left, Jax. About... maybe forty minutes ago?"

Jax stared at him, his mind processing the information. "She left? Did she say where she was going?"

"No," the bartender shook his head. "She left... abruptly. Like, in a hurry. She was talking to that guy, Marco, and then she just... bolted. Didn't even settle her tab."

That stopped Jax cold.

Leaving was one thing. Maybe she got pissed off about the wait. Maybe she got a call from the kid. But leaving without paying? That didn't track.

He knew Eva. He knew her better than she realized. She was pathological about keeping a low profile. She overthought everything. She lived her life trying to be invisible, trying not to leave a mark, trying not to owe anyone anything. Walking out on a tab was a loose end. It drew attention. It made the bartender remember you. It was the kind of petty social infraction that would keep Eva awake at night.

For her to leave like that, without closing out, meant something had happened. Something big.

"How much?" Jax demanded, pulling a roll of cash from his pocket.

"Uh, just two wines. Twenty bucks."

Jax peeled off a fifty and threw it onto the wet wood of the counter. "Keep the change. And if anyone asks, she paid. She was never here. You got it?"

"Got it, Jax," the bartender said, snatching the bill.

Jax turned away, his irritation curdling into suspicion. He wasn't settling her debt out of the kindness of his heart. He was managing his asset. If Eva was getting sloppy, if she was drawing scrutiny because of some panic attack or drama, he had to clean it up. He couldn't have people looking too closely at his woman, especially not when he knew what she was hiding under her floorboards.

He pushed his way back out of the bar, stepping onto the sidewalk. The night air was cool, biting. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

“Hi, this is Eva. Leave a message.”

Voicemail.

He tried texting. Where are you? I’m at the bar.

He watched the screen. Sent. No Read receipt. No typing bubble. Just digital silence.

Jax swore, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He stood on the curb, looking up and down the dark street.

There had to be a compelling reason. Eva didn't have the spine for rebellion, not like this. She wasn't the type to stand him up to teach him a lesson. She was the type to wait, stewing in her anxiety, until he showed up and swept her away.

Was it the kid? Did Erik call her with some emergency? That was the most likely scenario. The boy was a constant tether, dragging her back to domestic mediocrity whenever Jax tried to pull her into the dark.

Or was it something else? The bartender said she was talking to Marco. Had Marco said something? Had he spooked her? Or had the paranoia she carried around like a heavy coat finally snapped?

Jax made a decision. He wasn't going to stand here on the street corner like a jilted lover.

He walked to his car, the sleek black muscle car parked illegally in a loading zone. He slid into the driver's seat, the leather creaking under his weight. He fired the engine, the aggressive roar echoing off the brick buildings.

He would drive to her house. He would check up on her.

If something was wrong—if she was hurt, or in trouble—he would handle it. He was her shield, after all. That was the deal.

But if she was just sitting at home, moping, or coddling that boy... well, then the night wasn't a total wash. He had promised her a birthday celebration. He had plans for that red dress. If she wasn't at the bar, he would bring the party to her.

He pulled away from the curb, tires chirping on the asphalt.

The drive was short, but Jax’s mood darkened with every block. He drove aggressively, weaving through the thin late-night traffic of Darklight City. He hated having his plans disrupted. He hated chasing people. He was the one who was supposed to be waited on.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his mind replaying the image of the cameras he had found in her room. He had leverage. He had control. So why did it feel like she was slipping through his fingers tonight?

He pulled onto her street. It was quiet, lined with old, tired apartment buildings. He spotted a space right in front of her building—a small mercy. He parked, cutting the engine.

He looked up at her window. The light was on.

She was there.

Jax felt a surge of possessive anger mixed with relief. She was home. Safe. Which meant she had bailed on him.

He got out of the car, slamming the door. He didn't bother buzzing the intercom. He caught the front door just as a neighbor was leaving, shouldering his way into the lobby before the latch could click. He took the stairs two at a time, his heavy boots thudding on the concrete steps.

He reached her apartment door. He didn't knock politely. He pounded on the wood with the meat of his fist, three heavy, demanding blows that rattled the frame. Open up.

He waited, listening. He heard footsteps inside. Light, hesitant footsteps. Not Eva’s heels.

The lock turned. The door opened a crack, the chain still engaged.

A face peered out. It wasn't Eva.

It was Erik.

The boy looked confused, his hair messy, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats. He blinked at Jax, his eyes widening as he recognized the man looming in the hallway.

"Jax?" Erik asked, his voice cracking slightly. He looked past Jax, scanning the empty hallway. "What are you doing here?"

Jax stared at him, his face a mask of cold contempt. He didn't answer. He just looked at the chain lock, raising an eyebrow.

"Weren't you..." Erik stammered, realizing his mother wasn't there. "Weren't you supposed to be with my mom?"

The question confirmed it. Eva wasn't here. Or if she was, she hadn't told the boy.

"Open the door, kid," Jax growled.

Erik hesitated. "But... she's not back yet. She went to meet you."

"I said," Jax repeated, leaning closer to the crack, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "Open. The. Door."

Erik swallowed hard. The threat was palpable. The boy fumbled with the chain, sliding it free. He opened the door, stepping back, his body language screaming submission and fear.

Jax didn't wait for an invitation. He pushed the door open fully, brushing past Erik with a hard shoulder check that sent the boy stumbling back against the wall.

Jax walked into the living room, claiming the space instantly. He looked around. The TV was on, playing some garbage sci-fi movie. A half-eaten pizza box sat on the coffee table. The apartment smelled of cheese and teenage boredom.

Eva wasn't here.

Jax turned back to Erik, who was rubbing his shoulder, looking at Jax with a mix of fear and confusion.

"Where is she?" Jax demanded.

"I... I don't know," Erik said, his voice small. "She left hours ago. In that... that red dress. She said she was meeting you for dinner."

Jax narrowed his eyes. So she hadn't come home. She left the bar, stiffed the bartender, and vanished into the night.

Despite being the one who was late, despite being the one who had kept her waiting, Jax felt a flare of righteous anger. How dare she? How dare she disappear without checking in? Without asking for permission?

He unzipped his jacket, tossing it onto the armchair. He wasn't leaving. He was going to wait right here. He was going to sit in her house, eat her food, torment her son, and wait for her to walk through that door so he could demand an explanation.

And if her excuse wasn't good... if she didn't have a damn good reason for making him worry and making him chase her...

He looked at Erik, a cruel smirk touching his lips.

"Well," Jax said, loosening his collar. "Looks like we're gonna hang out for a bit, boy."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jax sat down. He didn't sit like a guest. He sprawled. He spread his legs wide, manspreading to the extreme, claiming two-thirds of the sofa. He leaned back, resting his arm along the top of the cushions, his hand dangling inches from Erik’s head. The springs of the old couch groaned under his bulk, shifting the center of gravity so that Erik slid slightly toward him.

Jax picked up the remote control from the table, not to change the channel, but just to hold it. To control it. He tapped it against his thigh, staring at the TV screen with bored contempt.

He was angry, yes. The fact that Eva wasn't here, that she hadn't texted, that he was sitting here babysitting her adult son instead of fucking her in a hotel room—it burned. But as he sat there, feeling the boy’s nervous tremors radiating through the couch cushions, Jax realized this wasn't a waste of time.

This was an opportunity.

He needed to re-calibrate the boy. The "talk" they had had about the cameras was effective, but fear had a half-life. It needed to be topped up. He needed to remind Erik exactly who ran this house, and exactly how precarious his position was.

Jax leaned forward, his eyes locking onto the pizza box. He reached out, grabbing a slice that Erik had clearly been saving—the biggest one, loaded with toppings. He folded it in half, grease dripping onto his fingers, and took a massive bite, chewing loudly.

He didn't ask. He didn't say thanks. He just took it.

He swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Erik sideways, his eyes flat and dead.

"Grab me a beer, boy," Jax yelled, his voice a sudden, barking command that shattered the quiet of the room.

Erik jumped, his eyes darting to the kitchen. He hesitated. It was a micro-rebellion, a split-second of resistance where his pride tried to fight his survival instinct.

Jax saw it. He didn't move. He just raised an eyebrow, his hand drifting toward his pocket—the pocket where he had stashed the two small, black cameras he had found in the bedroom. He didn't need to show them. The threat was in the air, heavy and suffocating. Remember what I have on you. Remember what you are.

The fight drained out of Erik instantly. His shoulders slumped.

"Yeah... okay," Erik mumbled.

He got up, his movements stiff and jerky, and walked to the kitchen.

Jax watched him go, a smirk curling his lips. It was too easy. The boy was broken. He was terrified that his mother would find out he was a pervert, a creep who spied on her intimacy. Jax held the keys to Erik’s entire moral identity, and they both knew it.

Jax took another bite of the pizza, savoring the taste of stolen food. He wondered what Eva was doing right now. Was she hurt? Was she in trouble? Or was she just hiding, paralyzed by one of her neuroses?

If she was hurt, he would find who did it and tear them apart. That was his job. But if she was hiding... if she was playing games...

He looked at the empty hallway where the boy had disappeared. If she was playing games, he would make sure she regretted it. He would use everything he had—the boy, the cameras —to clamp down on her so tight she wouldn't be able to breathe without his permission.

Erik returned. He held a bottle of beer in his hand, condensation slick on the glass. He didn't look at Jax. He looked at the floor, his expression sour, a mix of humiliation and suppressed rage.

He held the bottle out.

Jax didn't take it immediately. He let Erik stand there, arm extended, serving him like a waiter. He let the moment stretch until it was awkward, until Erik’s arm started to tremble slightly.

Then, Jax snatched the bottle. He didn't say thank you. He twisted the cap off with a sharp hiss of escaping gas and took a long, deep pull, draining half the bottle in one go.

He belched, loud and unapologetic.

Erik didn't sit back down. He stood by the coffee table, shifting his weight. He looked at the TV, then at Jax, then at the door. The worry was radiating off him.

"You didn't answer me," Erik said, his voice quiet, gaining a little bit of trembling courage from his anxiety. "Where is mom?"

Jax lowered the beer bottle. He looked at Erik. He saw the genuine fear in the boy's eyes—not for himself this time, but for Eva. It was pathetic. The boy loved her, sure, but he was useless. He sat here eating pizza while his mother was missing. He installed cameras to jerk off to her instead of protecting her.

Jax felt a surge of disgust. He decided to play with his food.

He didn't answer. He didn't even acknowledge the question.

He turned his head back to the TV screen, watching a spaceship explode in a shower of bad CGI sparks. He took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly, deliberately. He took another sip of beer.

He treated Erik like a ghost. Like he didn't exist.

"Jax?" Erik pressed, his voice rising a pitch. "Is she okay? Did she... did she make it to the bar?"

Jax picked up the remote. He turned the volume up.

VROOOOM-PEW-PEW-PEW. The sounds of the space battle filled the room, drowning out the boy's voice.

Erik flinched at the sudden noise. He stood there for another few seconds, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream. He wanted to demand an answer. But the weight of Jax’s presence, the memory of the blackmail, the sheer wall of indifference... It crushed him.

Erik turned away, disgusted and defeated. He walked back to the other end of the couch and sat down, but he didn't relax. He sat on the edge of the cushion, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tight, staring at the door.

Jax smirked into the neck of his beer bottle.

This was perfect. He had the apartment. He had the beer. He had the boy under his thumb. Now, all he needed was for Eva to walk through that door.

He checked his watch again. She had been gone a long time. If she wasn't back soon, he might actually have to start making calls. He might have to act like the concerned man.

But for now, he was content to wait. He was content to let the tension build. Because the more worried Erik got, and the guiltier Eva felt when she finally arrived, the easier it would be to manipulate them both.

He finished the slice of pizza and reached for another, settling in for the long haul. The hunter was in the den, and he wasn't leaving until he got what he came for.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jax didn't get to savor the grease of the pizza slice, nor did he get the chance to twist the knife further into Erik’s anxiety. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the living room was shattered by a sound from the hallway.

Clack-clack-clack-clack.

It was the distinct, sharp rhythm of high heels hitting the floorboards outside the front door. Fast. Heavy. Not the walk of a woman strolling home from a date, but the march of someone running a gauntlet.

Erik was off the couch like a shot. The lethargy of fear vanished, replaced by desperate relief. He practically sprinted to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared into the small entryway.

Jax didn't move. He stayed sprawled on the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other, listening. He heard the murmur of voices—Erik’s frantic, hushed questions, and Eva’s voice, low and soothing, trying to put a lid on a pot that was boiling over.

"...I'm fine, baby, really..." "...why didn't you call? I was so..." "...just a mix-up. Go to your room, okay? I need to talk to Jax. Everything is fine."

She was dismissing him. She was doing damage control.

Jax smirked. He took a sip of beer. She was back, she was alive, and she was already trying to manage the situation.

He waited until he heard Erik’s footsteps retreating down the hall, followed by the soft click of the boy’s bedroom door. Then, before Eva could compose herself or come up with a speech, he called out. He didn't shout; he just projected his voice, lazy and commanding, claiming the space.

"In here, babe!"

Silence for a beat. Then, the heels started again.

Eva walked around the corner of the couch. She stopped in the middle of the room, standing between the TV and the coffee table.

She looked... wrong.

The red dress was still there, tight and slutty, but it looked lived-in now. Her hair, usually perfect, was a little wild, windswept. Her chest was heaving slightly, as if she had run up the stairs. But it was her posture that tipped him off. Eva usually stood tall, shoulders back, radiating that quiet, annoying strength she clung to.

Tonight, she stood meekly. Her shoulders were hunched forward slightly. Her hands were fidgeting nervously with the hem of her micro-skirt, tugging it down in a futile gesture of modesty. She looked like a teenager caught sneaking past curfew.

It was completely out of character.

Jax looked her up and down, taking his time. He let the silence stretch, let her sweat for a second. He kept his eyes on the TV screen, watching a laser battle he didn't care about, forcing her to wait for his attention.

Finally, he flicked his eyes to her.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice flat. "You seem to have stood me up for some reason."

Eva flinched. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the beer bottle in his hand, then to his face. She looked troubled. Not just guilty—haunted.

"Ummm," she started, her voice faltering. She cleared her throat. "I kinda had to leave suddenly... to help out a friend. I'm sorry that I bailed on our date..." She paused, looking desperate to fix this quickly. "I can pay you back for the motel room booking, though. I know it was expensive."

Jax snorted. He waved the beer bottle dismissively.

"Ohhh, I don't care about the money... you know that, Eva," he said, his tone light but edged with a razor. "Though I do care about how I'm gonna make you pay for disappearing on me like that."

He sat up slightly, leaning forward, the springs groaning. "You know how much I hate waiting for people... I'm sure you know what I mean."

The irony wasn't lost on him—he had made her wait for an hour at the bar. But that was a power move. Her leaving was an insult.

He expected her to argue. He expected her to say, 'You were late too, Jax,' or 'It was an emergency.' He expected the usual push-and-pull, the negotiation of her dignity.

To his absolute surprise, Eva jumped on his comment immediately.

"Well," she said, stepping closer, her voice breathless and eager. "Let's go to my bedroom. I'll make it up to you, Jax. Right now."

Jax froze. His eyes narrowed.

The bedroom?

That was the biggest tip-off she could have possibly given him.

Eva never offered sex when Erik was awake and in the apartment. She guarded that boundary like a hawk. She was paranoid about the noise, about the boy hearing, about the "example" she was setting. She fought him on it every single time.

And now? She was practically dragging him in there?

His mind raced, calculating. Why?

It wasn't her desire. He could see the tension in her neck. It was a distraction. She was terrified he was going to ask more questions about the "friend." She was terrified he was going to dig into where she had been. She was trying to plug his mouth with her pussy so he wouldn't ask why she smelled like fear and alley grit.

She was hiding something huge.

Jax smirked. He wasn't going to let her off that easily. If she wanted to play the whore to distract him, he was going to make sure she played the part all the way.

He shook his head slowly.

"No..." he said, his voice firm, shutting down her escape route.

Eva stopped, looking confused. "No?"

"I think I need to know how sorry you are," Jax drawled. He spread his legs wide, gesturing to the space between his knees. "So why don't you get on your knees right here?"

Eva’s eyes went wide. She glanced nervously toward the hallway where Erik’s room was.

"Jax..." she whispered. "Erik is—"

"I don't care," Jax interrupted, his voice hardening. "You made me wait. You made me worry. I'm gonna need some convincing with a sloppy blowjob with those dick-sucking lips of yours before I even think about taking you to the bedroom, Eva."

He leaned back, crossing his arms, his face a mask of challenge.

"Right here," he commanded. "Now."

He watched her face. He fully expected her to snap. He expected the scolding, the refusal, the indignation. He was ready for the fight.

But Eva didn't fight.

She looked at the hallway one last time, a look of pure, agonizing desperation. Then, she reached up. With trembling hands, she gathered her hair, tying it up in a tight, messy bunch, exposing her neck.

She stepped forward. She lowered herself.

Jax watched in disbelief as she sank to her knees on the living room rug, right between his spread legs.

Was this the same woman? Was this the moralizing, over-thinking Eva? Or was she really going to give him exactly what he wanted, right here in the open, just to keep her secrets?

It seemed the night was about to get very interesting.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jax leaned back against the cushions, spreading his knees wide, a king on a throne of cheap upholstery. He watched Eva settle onto the rug between his legs, her movements stiff but compliant. He still couldn't quite believe it. The woman who usually lectured him about propriety, who guarded the sanctity of her home like a fortress, was kneeling on her living room floor, ready to service him while her son was just down the hall.

It was the ultimate confirmation. She was terrified he was going to ask where she had been. She was trying to buy his silence with her mouth.

Smart girl, Jax thought, a cruel smile touching his lips. But you're paying a hell of a price.

He watched her tie her hair back, her fingers trembling slightly. Her eyes met his, and for a second, he saw the flash of the warrior beneath the submission—a glare of defiance. But it was swallowed instantly by a glossy, desperate lust. It was an intoxicating mix: the powerful super-heroine reduced to a desperate slut, bargaining with her body.

She reached out, her delicate, manicured hands undoing his belt, lowering his zipper. She freed him, his cock springing out, already hard and heavy with anticipation. She stroked it gently, her fingers tracing the sensitive underside, the contrast of her soft skin against his throbbing erection sending a jolt through him.

Then, she leaned in. Her tongue traced the tip, a wet, teasing promise, before her mouth opened wide and she engulfed the head.

Jax let out a low groan, his hands instinctively going to her head, weaving into her silky black hair. The sensation was electric. She wasn't just going through the motions; she was putting in work. Her tongue swirled, her suction was tight and rhythmic. She was using every trick she knew to keep him focused on the pleasure and away from the questions.

"You're such a naughty girl, aren't you?" Jax murmured, his voice husky, the vibration rumbling in his chest. "Sucking me off right here in the living room... I love it when you become so submissive."

Eva didn't answer; she just sucked harder. She took him deeper, her throat constricting around his shaft, bobbing her head with a dedication that made his hips twitch. Her hand moved down to massage his balls, sending pleasurable shocks through his system.

He looked down at her. She maintained eye contact, looking up through her lashes. Her eyes were glistening, glassy with arousal and the forced intimacy of the act. She pulled back slightly, exposing the wet, shining crown of his cock, before plunging back down, taking him to the hilt.

"Fuck, Eva," he moaned, tightening his grip on her hair, guiding her rhythm. "I'm close...!"

"Mmmhmmm," she hummed against his skin, the vibration traveling straight to his groin.

Jax knew she hated this. He knew she hated the mess, the lack of control, the way he insisted on finishing deep in her throat. But tonight, she wasn't complaining. She wasn't tapping out. She was all in.

He was about to make a comment about her sudden enthusiasm, to twist the knife a little when a movement in his peripheral vision stopped him cold.

The hallway.

It was dark, the light from the living room fading into shadows near the kitchen. But Jax knew what to look for. He saw the silhouette.

It was Erik.

The boy was standing just inside the hallway, half-hidden by the doorframe. He wasn't moving. He was frozen, staring. Watching his mother on her knees. Watching the man he hated getting pleasured in his own home.

A surge of wicked, dark delight flooded Jax's chest, stronger than the sexual pleasure. This was the cherry on top.

He glanced down at Eva. Her eyes were closed now, focused on her task. With her super-hearing, she should have heard Erik’s door open. She should have heard his breathing. But she was so focused on distracting Jax, so consumed by the act and her own panic, she had missed the one thing she was trying to protect.

Jax smirked. He wasn't going to tell her. Not yet.

Instead, he decided to improve the view.

"Wait," Jax said, his voice rough.

Eva stopped, pulling back, looking up at him with confusion and a hint of fear. Had she done something wrong? Was he going to ask about the evening?

"You're too dressed up," Jax said, his eyes flicking to the hallway for a split second before locking back onto her. "If you're going to be my slut tonight, you need to look the part. Take it off."

"Jax..." she whispered, glancing at the window, the door. "Not here."

"Here," he commanded. "Top down. Now."

She hesitated. He could see the war in her eyes. But the fear of the alternative—the questions, the confrontation—won out. With shaking hands, she reached for the straps of the red dress. She pulled the bodice down.

Her breasts popped free, heavy and pale in the living room light. Without the support of the dress, they fell naturally, their weight settling against her chest. The sight was raw, intimate, and undeniably erotic.

In the hallway, the shadow shifted. Erik had seen.

Jax felt a rush of power that made his head spin. "Perfect," he growled.

He didn't let her settle. He stood up abruptly, towering over her. He grabbed her head with both hands, his grip firm, controlling.

"Up," he ordered. "Take it standing. I want to see you work."

He stepped back, turning slightly, repositioning himself so that Eva had to turn as well. He angled her perfectly. Her back was now to the TV, her profile clearly visible to the hallway. Erik now had a front-row seat to his mother’s degradation.

Eva, oblivious to the audience, moved to her knees again, shuffling forward to meet him. She opened her mouth, and Jax didn't wait. He thrust into her.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't romantic. It was a claiming.

He started to fuck her face, his hips snapping forward, driving his thick meat rod deep into her wet mouth. He could tell she was struggling. His girth stretched her lips wide, his length hitting the back of her throat with every stroke.

He looked over her head, straight into the shadows of the hallway. He couldn't see Erik's face clearly, but he could imagine it. The shock. The hurt. The paralyzing realization that his mother was not the saint he thought she was.

Watch this, boy, Jax thought, his rhythm increasing. Watch what she does for me.

"Take it," Jax grunted, slamming into her. "Deep."

Eva made a choked, gurgling sound, her hands clutching his thighs for balance. Spit leaked from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin, dripping onto her bare chest. It was sloppy. It was messy. It was degrading.

And she was taking it.

She tapped his leg, a signal to slow down, to let her breathe. Jax ignored it. He grabbed her hair tighter, holding her in place, forcing her to endure the rhythm. He wanted her to gag. He wanted Erik to hear the wet, choking sounds of his mother being used.

Eva gagged, her body convulsing slightly, tears squeezing out of her eyes. But she didn't pull away. She swallowed him, over and over, fighting her own reflex to keep him happy.

Jax felt the pressure building, the tension in his balls reaching the breaking point. The image of the spy cameras, the boy in the hallway, the woman on her knees—it was a perfect storm of dominance.

"I'm cumming," he warned, his voice a guttural roar.

He didn't pull out. He didn't let her finish him with her hand. He grabbed her head, locking her in place, and drove himself as deep as he could go.

He erupted.

Hot, thick jets of semen shot down her throat. Eva’s eyes went wide, her body tensing as she was forced to swallow wave after wave. She gulped, struggling to accommodate the volume, but Jax held her there, ensuring she took every drop.

He held the position for a long moment, trembling with the aftershocks, savoring the total submission.

When he finally pulled out, with a wet pop, Eva slumped forward, coughing and gasping for air. Her face was flushed, smeared with saliva and stray fluids. She looked wrecked.

Jax looked up at the hallway.

The shadow was gone.

The boy had fled. He must have run back to his room, unable to watch the finale.

Jax wiped the sweat from his forehead, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He looked down at Eva, who was wiping her chin, looking up at him with a mix of shame and hope—hope that she had done enough, that the transaction was complete.

Jax reached down, caressing her hair, smoothing it back from her messy face.

"Good girl," he said, his tone condescending.

Then, his face hardened. He wasn't done. The blowjob was just the appetizer.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping the playful edge, becoming cold and serious. "I still need to know where you went when you left the bar."

Eva’s face fell. The panic returned instantly.

"But..." she stammered. "I just..."

"I'll get the answer out of you one way or the other," Jax interrupted. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled, her dress bunched at her waist, her breasts exposed.

"Now let's get to your bedroom," he growled, steering her toward the hall. "I'm going to fuck some sense into you. You can't manipulate me so easily, Eva."

He marched her down the hallway, past the closed door of Erik’s room. He noticed a slight movement in the gap under the door—a shadow shifting. The boy was in there, listening, probably crying.

Jax smirked with wicked amusement. He pushed Eva into her room and kicked the door shut. The night was far from over. He had broken the son; now it was time to break the mother.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bedroom door slammed shut, sealing them in a private world of sweat, musk, and impending confession. Jax didn't waste time with foreplay; the living room display had been the warm-up. He pushed Eva onto the bed, her red dress already ruined, her body exposed and trembling.

Tonight, sex wasn't just an act of pleasure; it was an interrogation.

He took her with a relentless, punishing rhythm. He used her superhuman endurance against her, pushing her harder and longer than any normal woman could withstand. He cycled through positions not for variety, but to find the angles that made her feel most helpless, most possessed. He wanted to drive the secrets out of her body with every thrust.

It took him an hour and a couple of condoms before she was broken.

Jax pulled away, stepping back to survey his handiwork. Eva lay sprawled on the mattress, a portrait of total devastation. Her pillows were soaked with tears and sweat. Her makeup was a smeared tragedy around her eyes. Beneath her hips, a massive wet spot stained the sheets—evidence of the multiple, intense times she had squirted, her body betraying her will over and over again. She was breathing in ragged, hitching gasps, her eyes unfocused, staring at the ceiling as if trying to remember who she was.

Jax walked to the dresser, grabbing his lighter and a pre-rolled joint. He sparked it up, the flare of the flame illuminating his smirk. He took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before blowing a thick, grey cloud into the room.

The pungent, skunky smell of weed filled the air instantly. Normally, Eva hated this. She hated the smell clinging to her curtains, and hated the disrespect of him smoking inside her sanctuary. But tonight? She didn't say a word. She was too far gone to object, too wrecked to care about the rules of her own house.

Jax leaned against the dresser, smoking, watching her chest rise and fall. His mind drifted back to the earlier conversation Eva had mentioned during their breathless intervals—her "coincidental" meeting with Marco.

So she wants the choker, Jax thought, tapping ash onto the carpet. She wants to turn it off.

It baffled him. He looked at her—a woman who could probably lift a car, who could hear a pin drop three rooms away—and she wanted to be normal? If he had that kind of power, he would be the king of this city. No one would dare question him. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted. But Eva... She viewed it as a curse.

And that, Jax realized, was his greatest advantage. Her hatred of her power made her crave his control.

He finished the joint, stubbing it out on the nightstand, leaving a black mark on the wood. He turned back to the bed. His cock was already twitching, hardening again. He wasn't done. He still didn't have the full story.

He climbed onto the bed, crawling over her like a predator stalking wounded prey. Eva flinched as his shadow fell over her, but she didn't move away.

He reached out and delivered a sharp, stinging spank to her ass. Smack.

The sound was loud in the quiet room. Eva gasped, her eyes snapping open, a flicker of awareness returning.

"Please, Jax..." she moaned, her voice a wrecked whisper. "I can't take it anymore... I'm too sensitive now."

"Too sensitive?" Jax mocked softly. "We're just getting to the good part."

He didn't listen to her plea. He grabbed a fresh condom, rolling it on with practiced ease. He positioned himself between her legs, lifting her hips. She was wet, gushing, her body prepped and ready even if her mind was exhausted.

He slid inside her.

Eva shuddered, a full-body twitch that rippled from her toes to her neck. His cock glided in halfway, the friction intense on her over-stimulated nerves. She let out a high, keen whine, a mini-orgasm hitting her just from the penetration.

Jax grinned. He grabbed onto her love handles—the soft flesh at her waist that he loved to mark—and started a slow, steady pace of thrusting. Schlop... schlop... The wet, squelching sounds of their union filled the room.

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. It was time to play the ace.

"You know," he whispered, his voice low and dark, "I always wonder how your other hole will sound like when it's gaping."

Eva stiffened instantly.

"Maybe I should try that tonight," Jax threatened, his hand drifting down, a finger tracing the crease of her buttocks. "While I'm at it? Since you're in such a giving mood."

Eva was quick to object this time. The terror cut through the haze. She knew his size. She knew his cruelty. If he put that monster inside her ass, he would wreck her.

"Jax, please..." she pleaded, her hands finding his shoulders, trying to push him back but lacking the will. "I can't take it... Just cum already! If I cum one more time... I'm gonna lose my mind."

Jax stopped thrusting. He held himself deep inside her, a heavy, filling presence. He reached up, caressing her damp hair, pushing it back from her face with a tenderness that was more terrifying than his anger.

"Well then," he said, his tone caring, reasonable. "You shouldn't hide things from me, Eva. That's what naughty girls do."

He looked deep into her eyes. "Why don't you just tell me where you were when you were supposed to meet up with me in that bar? Tell me the truth, and I won't stretch that pretty little ass of yours."

Eva squeezed her eyes shut. She struggled. He could see the hesitation, the frantic calculation behind her eyelids. She wanted to protect the secret. She wanted to protect the girl.

But Jax didn't give her time to think. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, harder this time, hitting her deep.

"Tell me," he grunted, driving the point home.

"Okay!" she cried out, her resistance shattering under the physical and psychological pressure. "Okay! I'll tell you!"

Jax slowed his rhythm, but didn't stop. "I'm listening."

And she spilled it.

Between gasps and moans, the story came out in fragments. She told him about the psychic cry for help. How it hit her in the bar. How she ran. She told him about finding the two men in the alley, about the girl—Lana.

"She's... she's Hayley's daughter," Eva gasped. "My old friend from the League. They... they were hurting her."

Jax listened, his face impassive, analyzing the intel. So it wasn't another guy. It wasn't the police. It was a rescue mission. A stray cat she had picked up.

"I took her... somewhere safe," Eva confessed, her voice trembling. "I hid her. I'm just... I'm trying to help her get back on her feet. Until she can handle it."

She didn't say where. Jax noted the omission—she was still guarding the location of the hideout. But he didn't press for coordinates. He didn't care about the girl. Some traumatized teenager wasn't a threat to him.

What mattered was that Eva had broken. She had given him the truth. She had submitted.

"See?" Jax said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming brutal, reclaiming her fully now that the secret was his. Eva cried out, her release coming simultaneously with his, a final, shattering wave that left her limp and sobbing beneath him.

When Jax finally pulled out, tying off the condom and tossing it onto the pile, Eva was truly wrecked. She curled on her side, drifting into the darkness of exhaustion.

Jax stood over her, dressing quietly. He was satisfied. He knew where she had been. He knew she was vulnerable. And he knew she was looking for a way out of her powers.

He looked at her one last time, a plan forming in his mind regarding Marco and those chokers. He left the apartment, leaving Eva to her rest. He had work to do.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The week that followed the interrogation was a strange, tense interlude in the apartment. The dynamic had shifted. Eva, usually so careful to maintain the facade of normalcy, began disappearing for long stretches of the day. She refused Jax’s offers to drive her to work, leaving the apartment early in the morning, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, carrying a duffel bag that looked heavier than gym gear.

She told him she was training the girl, Lana. Teaching her self-defense. Helping her regain her confidence.

Jax watched her go from the window, his expression dark. He didn't like it. He didn't like the independence. He didn't like that she had a project, a purpose that wasn't him. Training a victim to fight back sounded suspiciously like The Shadow trying to resurface, trying to build a legacy.

But he let her go. For now. Because he was busy with his own project.

While Eva was off playing mentor in some hidden warehouse, Jax was at the club, obsessing over the solution she had unwittingly handed him: the choker.

He sat in his office, the door locked, staring at the architectural blueprints of the VIP section. Eva wanted the choker to become normal. She wanted to turn off the noise, to stop the paranoia. It was a pathetic, weak desire for a woman with the power of a god, but it was a desire he could exploit.

However, getting it wasn't as simple as asking Marco.

Jax knew the rules of the underworld. Information was currency, and leverage was life. If he went to Marco and asked for a power-dampening collar, Marco—who was a sharp, dangerous operator—would ask why. He would connect the dots. He would look at Eva, the woman with the "anomalous" biology, and he would realize exactly what she was.

If Marco found out Eva was a super, she wouldn't be Jax's woman anymore. She would become an asset for the gang to abuse. She would be dragged into the back rooms, fitted with a collar by force, and put to work in the VIP section alongside the other trafficked women.

Jax would lose his fucktoy. He would lose his masterpiece.

No, Jax decided, the thought hardening into resolve. She belongs to me. Not the family. Not Marco.

He had to steal it.

He spent the next few days stalking the back corridors of his own club like a ghost. He needed a window. Marco was meticulous; he treated the chokers like diamonds, keeping them locked in a secure case, counting them in and out. Taking one off a girl was impossible—the neural link would trigger an alarm, or the girl would scream. He needed to get to the supply before it was cataloged.

His patience was a discipline honed by years of climbing the ladder. He waited. He watched.

Finally, late on a Thursday, the opportunity arrived.

A delivery van pulled into the rear loading dock. It wasn't liquor. It was "livestock." A new batch of women, acquired by the boss, fresh for the VIP section.

Jax watched from the shadows of the hallway as the women were ushered in—frightened, disoriented, some drugged. Chaos erupted in the containment wing. Marco was everywhere at once, barking orders at his guards, organizing the processing, preparing the containment cells.

It was the perfect storm of distraction.

Jax moved. He slipped away from the main corridor, taking the service route that led behind the dressing rooms. He moved silently, his large frame surprisingly light on his feet. He reached the door to Marco’s temporary office—a converted storage room near the VIP rooms.

He pressed his ear to the wood. Silence. Marco was down the hall, dealing with a girl who was screaming.

Jax tried the handle. Locked.

He didn't panic. He pulled a tension wrench from his pocket—a trick he’d picked up years ago—and worked the lock. It was a standard tumbler, not the high-tech biometrics Marco used for the vault. Click.

Jax slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The room smelled of antiseptic and ozone. It was sparse: a desk, a laptop, and a row of monitors displaying the feeds from the VIP rooms.

And there, on the desk, sat a small, open shipping crate.

Jax approached it, his heart beating a steady, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He looked inside.

Dozens of them. Sleek, matte-black bands nestled in foam cutouts. They looked innocuous, like high-end fashion accessories, but Jax knew better. These were leashes for gods.

He reached in. His fingers brushed the cool, synthetic material. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. This was theft from the mob. If Marco caught him, there would be no conversation. There would be a bullet.

But the reward... the reward was total ownership of Eva.

He grabbed one choker. Then, a thought struck him. If he broke it? If he needed to understand how it worked? He needed a backup.

He grabbed a second one.

He shoved them deep into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, the bulge undetectable against his broad chest.

He turned to leave, but a sound stopped him. Footsteps. Heavy and fast, approaching the door.

Jax froze. His eyes darted around the room. There was no closet. No second exit.

The footsteps stopped right outside. The handle jiggled.

Jax’s hand went to the knife in his boot. If Marco walked in, Jax would have to kill him. It would be messy. It would start a war. But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Marco!" a voice shouted from down the hall. One of the guards. "We have got a problem in Room 4. She's biting."

The handle stopped moving. A sigh from the other side of the door. Then, the footsteps retreated, hurrying away toward the crisis.

Jax exhaled, the breath hissing through his teeth.

He waited five seconds, then ten. Then he cracked the door, checked the hall, and slipped out.

He walked calmly back toward the main club, his pulse hammering but his face a mask of bored indifference. He made it to his own office, locked the door, and collapsed into his chair.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the prizes. Two black bands lay on the mahogany desk, gleaming under the lamp.

He grinned. A wicked, feral expression of victory.

He had done it. He had bypassed the mob, outsmarted Marco, and secured the ultimate weapon.

He picked one up, turning it over in his hands. He imagined it around Eva's neck. He imagined her eyes going wide as her strength evaporated, as the paranoia vanished, replaced by a dull, docile obedience.

It was the perfect gift. A gift that would give her the "normalcy" she craved, while giving him the control he demanded.

He opened his desk drawer, tucking the chokers into a hidden compartment beneath a stack of invoices. He locked the drawer.

Now, he just needed to figure out how they worked. And then... he needed to set the stage for the presentation. It had to be special. It had to be intimate.

It had to be a trap she would walk into willingly.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jax sat in his own apartment, a space he rarely used for anything other than storage and sleeping off benders. It was sparse, cold, and smelled of stale takeout. But tonight, it was a laboratory.

He sat hunched over an ancient, whirring desktop computer, the glow of the CRT monitor illuminating his focused frown. Connected to the tower via a nest of spliced wires was one of the stolen chokers.

Jax wasn't a tech genius—that was the kid's department, or Marco's—but he was street-smart and persistent. He had spent hours on dark forums and digging through the leaked manuals Marco had carelessly left on the server, figuring out the interface. He didn't need to understand neuro-science; he just needed to know where the off switch was.

He tweaked a slider on the screen. The choker on the desk hummed faintly, a microscopic vibration.

He didn't want it to lobotomize her. He didn't want a vegetable. He wanted Eva, just... turned down. He wanted the edge taken off. He wanted the paranoia silenced so that the only voice she listened to was his. He wanted her to be compliant, pliable, and grateful.

He adjusted the settings, fine-tuning the dampening field. Not too weak, or she’d still be The Shadow. Not too strong, or she’d lose the fire that made fucking her so interesting. He wanted it perfect.

When the green light on the screen blinked SYNC COMPLETE, Jax grinned. He disconnected the device, holding it up to the light. It was sleek, innocent-looking.

He was ready.

But first, he had to clear the stage.

He picked up his phone. He needed total isolation. No interruptions. No sullen teenagers moping in the next room.

He typed a text to Erik. He didn't need to be subtle. He had the nuclear codes.

Jax: I’m coming over tonight. I want the place to myself. Make yourself scarce. Go see a movie. Go sleep in the park. I don't care. Just be gone. Unless you want me to show your mom your little video collection?

The reply came in ten seconds.

Erik: I’ll be gone.

Jax chuckled. The boy was so easy. He had successfully weaponized the son’s shame to facilitate the mother’s entrapment.

He grabbed a small, black velvet box from his dresser—something he’d kept from a watch he bought years ago—and coiled the choker inside. It fit perfectly.

Just like a magician saving the best trick for the end, Jax was ready for the reveal.

When Jax arrived at Eva’s apartment, the silence was golden. The air felt lighter without the kid’s anxious energy cluttering it up.

Eva was standing by the window, looking out at the street. She was dressed in casual clothes, her arms wrapped around herself. She seemed distant, her mind miles away. Jax knew exactly where she was mentally: she was in that warehouse, worrying about the stray girl, Lana.

He walked up behind her, his movements confident. He didn't announce himself; he just slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

She stiffened slightly, a reflex she hadn't quite unlearned, but then she relaxed, leaning into him. She smelled of soap and worry.

"So, beautiful," he drawled, running his fingertip lightly over her high cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Eva replied curtly, her eyes darting away from his reflection in the glass. "Just... worried about Lana."

Jax nodded, resting his chin on her shoulder, feigning deep concern. "Well, you shouldn't worry so much. You taught her how to punch, didn't you? I'm sure she's safe and sound."

He reached out, his hand moving to her bare shoulder, squeezing gently. He needed to shift her focus. He needed her out of the warehouse and in the room with him.

"Besides," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "We've got other things to talk about."

He felt her pulse pick up under his hand. "Like what?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh, nothing much," Jax teased, turning her around so she had to face him. His eyes sparkled with mischievous, predatory intent. "Just something special I've prepared for you."

Eva arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. Jax had been acting strange all week—possessive, yes, but also distracted, like he was holding onto a secret.

"Really?" she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest, a weak defensive barrier. "What could possibly be so special?"

Jax grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Why, my dear woman, it's a small token of my appreciation. For everything you've done for me. For telling me the truth."

He moved closer, crowding her space, his presence overwhelming. "But if you insist on playing games, I suppose I'll have to prove myself worthy of your acceptance."

He leaned down, his voice dropping to a hushed, enticing whisper. "It's a surprise. One that I hope you'll appreciate."

Eva’s curiosity was piqued. She searched his face for clues. He looked excited, almost boyish, but there was that dark undercurrent she knew so well.

"Very well," she conceded, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice. "What do I have to do to receive this unexpected gift?"

Jax chuckled softly. "Ah, you know me too well, my dear." He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing over her soft skin. "But I promise, it's worth the wait."

Eva’s breath caught. She wasn't sure what he had planned, but the intensity of his gaze was hypnotic. "Very well, then," she sighed. "But you'd better not disappoint me, Jax."

He nodded, his expression turning serious.

"In order to claim your prize, my dear, you must agree to my terms."

Eva raised an eyebrow. "And what terms would those be?"

Jax smiled slyly. "First, you must submit yourself to me willingly," he declared, his voice commanding. "Second, you must trust me utterly and completely. And third, you must be ready to experience pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."

It was vague, seductive, and dangerous. Eva felt a jolt of excitement coursing through her veins. The prospect of surrendering control, of stepping into the unknown, was a powerful aphrodisiac for a woman who spent every waking moment hyper-vigilant.

"Agreed," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Jax’s eyes sparkled. He reached out, clasping her hand tightly. His grip was firm, reassuring, and inescapable. He guided her toward the bedroom, his movements purposeful.

As they entered the dimly lit space, Jax closed the door firmly behind them, shutting out the world. Eva stood by the bed, her heart pounding. She expected him to push her down, to tear her clothes off, to claim her with the usual ferocity.

But he didn't.

Jax stood in front of her, the tension in the room thickening. He reached into his pocket.

Eva watched, confused, as he pulled out a small, black velvet box.

Her eyes went wide. It looked exactly like a ring box. For a second, a terrifying, absurd thought crossed her mind: Is he proposing?

Jax saw the shock on her face and flashed a devilish smile.

"Don't worry," he said, enjoying her confusion. "It's not a ring. Well... this one goes around your neck, not your finger, I guess."

He popped the lid open.

There, nestled in the velvet, was the choker. Sleek, black, and technological.

Eva stared at it. It was the device she had seen on the bar. The prototype. The thing she had been fantasizing about stealing, the thing she had almost risked everything for.

She looked up at Jax, stunned. "Jax... how?"

"Well," Jax said, his voice dripping with casual arrogance, "I had to swipe it off of Marco. Risky business. But I still had to get it out of there for you..."

He stepped closer, taking the choker out of the box. He held it up, the metal clasp glinting in the low light.

"I know how much you wanted to try it out," he whispered. "I know you want the noise to stop. So... I got it for you."

He moved behind her, brushing her hair aside, bringing the cold material against the skin of her throat.

"Happy birthday, Eva."

As the clasp clicked shut with a definitive, mechanical sound, Eva felt a sudden, strange sensation wash over her. But before she could analyze it, Jax’s hands were on her shoulders, heavy and claiming.

She had the silence she wanted. And Jax... Jax had the means to control.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued ……