Chapter 178 - 0178: You’re Completly Unhinged Over This Girl

Chapter 178: Chapter 0178: You’re Completly Unhinged Over This Girl

Jaxx’s Point Of View

The call dropped.

I stared down at the phone for a long, heavy moment, watching the screen fade to black, its dim reflection catching the storm brewing in my eyes. Silence settled back over the vast penthouse like thick smoke, curling into every corner, pressing against the walls.

But inside my chest, the noise was deafening... a war of instinct and dread that no amount of quiet could soothe. My heartbeat thundered against my ribs, each pulse a countdown I couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow, couldn’t silence no matter how many times I told myself she was going to be fine.

The memory of our conversation from earlier that afternoon flashed back through my mind, vivid and unrelenting, playing out like a high-stakes film I couldn’t pause no matter how hard I tried.

The sun had been setting across the city skyline, painting the office in brutal, bleeding streaks of deep orange and bruised purple. The light streamed through the glass walls like liquid fire, casting long, menacing shadows over my desk, stretching them toward the door as if even the room itself sensed what was coming. I remembered thinking, absurdly, that the sky looked like it was bleeding out along with my patience.

I had leaned back in my leather chair, my heavy silver ring tapping a rhythmic, impatient cadence against the polished mahogany, the restlessness coiling in my gut like a live wire. Every second of stillness had felt like an insult, a reminder that she was still out there, still within his reach.

I remembered staring at the empty chair across from my desk, the one she used to sit in during the rare visits when things between us hadn’t yet fractured into whatever fragile, dangerous thing they’d become. I hated how much that empty space still meant to me.

"I want you to follow behind Elena with a full tactical team to Graham’s estate." My voice had been low, measured, but the underlying command was razor-sharp, unmistakable. "She’s going to get her clothes and her papers, but I doubt that pathetic fucker will let her walk out that easily."

My fingers had tightened around the phone, the casing groaning under the sudden pressure, my knuckles whitening as if the plastic itself might absorb the fury simmering beneath my skin.

"He relishes whatever sick, suffocating hold he thinks he still has over her. He won’t give it up without a fight."

On the other end of the line, Roman had chuckled, a rich, deep, knowing sound that taunted me in a way only a man who had bled alongside me for a decade could get away with.

"You’re really serious about her this time, huh?" His voice had dropped into something mocking, almost disbelieving. "I’m shocked, Jaxx. Truly fucking shocked. I thought she was just a temporary itch you were dying to scratch after all these years."

I hadn’t bothered to hide the low, dangerous growl vibrating in my throat, but before I could shut him down, Roman’s voice came again, cutting deeper, striking somewhere I hadn’t braced for.

"If I remember clearly, boss, you weren’t exactly a saint to her back in high school."

The words had come out sharp, accusatory, dragging up the ghosts of a past I’d spent years trying to drown in liquor, money, and blood. For a moment, I was seventeen again, reckless and cruel, too blind to see what I was destroying. I could still smell the cheap perfume of that god-awful gymnasium where I’d humiliated her in front of everyone who mattered, still hear the way her voice had cracked when she’d called me a monster and meant it.

"You destroyed her peace back then, Jaxx. You made her life a living hell just to get a reaction out of her. Any sensible woman would never want to have anything to do with you ever again after the shit you pulled."

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. I had closed my eyes, dragging a hand down my face, rubbing my temples like I could manually erase the knot of guilt and obsession coiling behind my eyes. Old wounds, I realized, never truly closed; they simply waited for someone to press against them again. And Roman, damn him, always knew exactly where to press.

"I don’t know," the admission had burned in my throat, raw, harsh, and devastatingly honest, the kind of vulnerability I never allowed myself to speak out loud to any living soul. "I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t know if she’ll ever look at me without seeing the ghost of who I used to be."

I opened my eyes, staring at the fading light outside, my jaw setting into granite, something hardening in me even as the confession left me feeling strangely hollow. For a moment, I hated myself more than I’d ever hated Graham, because at least he’d never had the chance she’d once given me, the chance I’d thrown away like it meant nothing.

"But she’s mine, Roman. My name is written in her skin whether she admits it or not. She’s mine, whether she wants me or not."

Roman had whistled over the line, a low, impressed sound, equal parts disbelief and something close to respect.

"Damn, boss. You’ve got it bad. You’re completely unhinged over this girl."

"If she stays inside that house for more than two hours, you breach." My tone had turned to sheer ice, cold, unforgiving, and absolute. "Go in and get her. And I don’t give a single fuck about who stands in your way. Security, family, cops... flatten them. Just bring my woman back to me alive and breathing."

Roman had laughed again, but the teasing edge was gone, replaced by a dark, deadly respect, the sound of a soldier recognizing when a line had been crossed for good.

"You got it, boss. Consider the front door already kicked off its hinges."

The memory faded, snapping like a stretched wire and leaving me standing alone in the quiet expanse of my penthouse. The phone was still clutched tightly in my fist, my pulse hammering against my ribs. The restlessness inside me didn’t fade; it coiled tighter, hotter, demanding immediate blood, demanding action.

I glanced toward the window, toward the city that hid her somewhere within its glittering, indifferent sprawl, and felt something close to panic claw at the edges of my composure.

I knew Roman was lethal. I knew he was the most capable man in my orbit, that he wouldn’t fail me. But the not knowing, the blind waiting, ate away at my nerve endings, gnashing at my patience like a starved beast trapped in an iron cage.

Every passing minute felt like a small betrayal, a reminder that I wasn’t the one standing between her and Graham. I should have been there already. I should never have let her walk into that house alone in the first place, no matter how many assurances she’d given me about closure and courage and finishing things on her own terms.

Buzz.

The phone vibrated violently in my hand, jarring me out of my dark thoughts. I snapped it up instantly. A text from Roman appeared on the screen, the words doing little to loosen the vice around my chest:

On it. Don’t worry, boss. She’ll be back where she belongs soon enough. Tactical team is already staging two blocks out.

I exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath through my nose, my thumb flying furiously across the glass screen as I fired back:

’I don’t want broad updates. I want real-time intelligence. Every. Single. Step.’

His reply came back within seconds, light and taunting, completely unfazed by the fact that he was about to orchestrate a high-risk extraction on one of the most prominent estates in the city.

You’re such a fucking worrywart when you’re worrying over that woman. Since when do you not trust my entry protocols?

I didn’t even bother typing a reply. My patience was completely gone. I hit speed dial, pressing the phone to my ear as I paced toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the glowing veins of the city traffic below, each light a reminder of how far away she still was from me.

Somewhere out there, in one of those houses swallowed by darkness and manicured hedges, she was breathing the same air as a man who thought he still owned a piece of her.

"Roman," I barked the moment the line picked up, not giving him a chance to breathe.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know." Roman’s voice came through, the sound of heavy tactical gear rustling and the distinct, metallic clack of a sidearm slide racking back filling the background. His tone retained that infuriating tease, but beneath it lay the razor-sharp, lethal focus of a soldier preparing for a breach. "I’m already moving. The boys are suited up in the van. We’re dark."

"Good," my voice was clipped, final, vibrating with restrained violence. "And Roman?"

"Yeah, Jaxx?"

"If Graham so much as laid a single finger on her skin... if there is a scratch on her face, a bruise on her arm, or a tear in her eyes..." My voice dropped an octave, turning thick, heavy, and dark with a promise of utter ruin. "You have my explicit permission to break every single bone in his pathetic body. Leave him breathing just enough for me to finish the job when I get there."

A heavy beat of silence stretched over the line. The casual rustling in the background stopped for a brief second, as if even Roman needed a moment to absorb the weight of what I’d just promised.

"Damn, boss." Roman’s low, dark laugh came through, genuinely approving. "Remind me never to get on your bad side over that woman. The guy won’t even know what hit him."

"Just get her out," I snapped.

I ended the call, my thumb jabbing at the glass with so much force the screen threatened to crack. I tossed the phone onto the leather seat of my desk, grabbed my shoulder holster, and pulled my heavy jacket over my arms, each motion sharp and mechanical, fueled by an urgency I couldn’t afford to examine too closely.

My hands, usually so steady in moments that demanded precision, trembled faintly as I checked the weight of the pistol at my side, a small betrayal of just how much control I was fighting to maintain.

The silence of the room pressed in on me one last time, heavy, taunting, and suffocating. But the wait was over. Action was finally moving. Roman was on the ground, the team was converging, and Elena was coming home.

And Graham?

He was a dead man walking, running out of borrowed time in a house that was about to burn down around his ears.

I paused at the door, rubbing my temples one final time, feeling the relentless thrum of tension pulsing against my skull. The unknown still gnawed at me, the fear of what condition I’d find her in, the terror of her looking at me with hatred instead of relief. Roman’s words echoed back through the dark corridors of my mind, sharp and haunting:

You really think she’s forgiven you? After everything?

I didn’t have an answer, not one I could speak aloud without it cracking down the middle. All I had was the certainty that I would burn the world down trying to find out, that I would spend whatever was left of my miserable, violent life proving to her that the boy who broke her had become the man who would die keeping her safe.

When we got to that bridge, we’d cross it. I only hoped that when we did, she’d still be standing beside me instead of walking away.