Chapter 2

Jax approached me with predatory grace, his boots echoing against the marble floor of the church. My heart hammered against my ribs as he stopped inches from where Grizz held me suspended. The wedding dress that had symbolized my future now felt like a mockery, the delicate lace and satin useless against these men.

"Let me see you," Jax commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Grizz adjusted his grip, turning me to face Jax fully. I struggled against him, but it was like fighting a wall of solid muscle.

Jax reached out with deliberate slowness, his calloused fingers wrapping around my chin. The contact sent a jolt through me—not desire, but pure, primal fear. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, but the gentleness somehow made it worse, like the calm before a storm.

"Look at me," he ordered when I tried to turn away.

I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes were black as obsidian, cold as the winter sky. They bored into mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face—recognition, pain, anger—a ghost of emotion quickly buried beneath that mask of ice. His jaw tightened, the scar along his temple whitening as he studied me with merciless scrutiny.

"Isabella," he whispered, the name falling from his lips like a prayer or a curse.

I didn't know who Isabella was, but the way he said it made my skin crawl. His fingers tightened slightly on my chin, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who held the power here.

"Take her," he said suddenly, releasing me and stepping back. His voice had hardened, all trace of that brief vulnerability gone. "Load her up."

"Jax—" I started, not even sure what I was going to say.

His name in my mouth made him freeze. He turned back, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't," he warned, the single word heavy with threat.

Grizz set me down, but before I could run, another biker grabbed my arm. This one had yellow eyes like a wolf and a grin that promised violence.

"Mom!" I screamed as they dragged me toward the exit. "Dad!"

My mother's wail cut through the chaos. "Aria! Don't take my baby!"

I twisted in the biker's grip to see her lunging forward, only to be restrained by yet another leather-clad figure. My father was shouting, red-faced and furious, but two men held him back easily.

"Ethan!" I called desperately, searching for the man who was supposed to protect me.

He stood frozen by the altar, face pale with relief rather than concern. Our eyes met for a moment—his filled with cowardice, mine with dawning horror at what he'd done.

The biker yanked me through the shattered doors and into the blinding sunlight. Outside, a row of gleaming motorcycles waited, engines rumbling like predatory beasts. Jax's bike sat at the front—a massive Harley Davidson, all chrome and black leather, with the club's snarling wolf emblem painted on the gas tank.

"Get on," Jax ordered, swinging his leg over the bike.

I hesitated, and the biker behind me shoved me forward. "Do as he says."

With trembling hands, I climbed onto the back of Jax's motorcycle. My wedding dress billowed around the chrome, a surreal contrast to the machine's brutal power.

"Hold on," Jax said flatly, not bothering to look at me.

Before I could respond, he twisted the throttle. The engine roared to life beneath us, vibrating through my bones. I grabbed his leather jacket instinctively as we lurched forward.

The church—my family, my old life—disappeared in the mirrors as we tore down the street. The wind whipped my veil away, carrying it high into the air like a surrender flag. Tears streamed from my eyes, not from sadness but from the sting of wind and betrayal.

We rode for what felt like hours, though it might have been minutes. The city gave way to industrial lots, then to open road. I clung to Jax's back not out of desire but out of terror, my fingers digging into his jacket as we swerved through traffic.

Finally, we turned onto a private road marked by a sign bearing the Dark Night Wolves' emblem. A massive gate swung open as we approached, revealing a sprawling compound—warehouses, garages, and a central building that looked like a fortress. High fences topped with razor wire surrounded everything.

The motorcycles lined up in formation as we entered. Men and women emerged from various buildings, drawn by the commotion. Dozens of eyes tracked our arrival—some curious, some amused, all predatory.

Jax killed the engine and dismounted without a word. I slid off after him, my legs shaking so badly I nearly collapsed.

"Look at this," a female voice drawled. "Jax brought home a princess."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone whistled.

"White dress and everything," another woman commented, eyeing my wedding gown with undisguised contempt.

Jax ignored them all. He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the main building—the clubhouse. I stumbled after him, aware of every eye on us, on my ridiculous dress, on my tears.

The clubhouse door swung open to reveal a cavernous space that smelled of motor oil, cigarettes, and spilled beer. The walls were adorned with weapons, motorcycle parts, and framed photographs of grim-faced men—fallen members, I realized with a chill.

Jax pulled me past them all into what appeared to be his office. A massive desk dominated the space, covered with maps and documents. He shoved me into a chair and walked to a cabinet, pouring himself a generous measure of whiskey.

His movements were controlled, precise—but I could feel the violence simmering beneath his skin. He turned to face me, glass in hand, and for the first time since he'd looked at me in the church, I saw something crack in that cold facade.

"You," he said quietly, "are going to pay for what your brother did."