Chapter 209 - 0209: Make A Choice

Chapter 209: Chapter 0209: Make A Choice

Jaxx’s Point Of View

I pulled up to the club in record time, the valet barely managing to open my door before I was out, my strides long and purposeful as I stormed toward the entrance. Something had been clawing at my chest the entire drive over, an itch beneath my skin that refused to settle, a certainty that something was wrong even though I had no proof of it.

The bouncer took one look at me and stepped aside without a word, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as I pushed through. My gaze swept over the sea of bodies, searching, hunting, every muscle in my body wound tight with a need I couldn’t name, a restlessness that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with instinct.

I stepped into the club, and the music hit me like a wall, the bass thrumming through my bones until it felt like my own pulse had surrendered to its rhythm. The air hung thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, the lights flashing in time with the beat, the crowd a writhing mass of bodies that blurred together into something indistinguishable.

None of it mattered. None of it existed beyond the single thought circling my mind like a vulture.

The club was a living, breathing beast, pulsing with neon and noise, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sin. I pushed through the crowd, my gaze sharp, my body coiled tight with anticipation. I should have seen her immediately. I’d memorized the way she moved, the way she carried herself in a room, the particular tilt of her chin when she laughed, and yet tonight she eluded me entirely. The absence of her gnawed at something primal in me, something I’d spent years trying to bury.

She was the kind of woman who commanded attention, who made the air around her vibrate with energy, who turned heads without even trying. But the dance floor was packed, the lights flashing, the bodies moving in a sea of rhythm and chaos that swallowed her whole, erasing every trace of her from view.

And she was nowhere.

My jaw clenched, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. Where the hell was she? The thought alone sent something cold and sharp twisting through my chest, a feeling I refused to call fear. Fear was for men who had something to lose, and I’d long ago convinced myself I didn’t. Elena was quickly proving me wrong.

Then came a voice: "You’re here."

Roman’s tone cut through the noise, smooth and knowing, carrying that familiar edge of amusement he wore like armor. I didn’t even glance at him, my gaze still sweeping over the crowd, my mind racing through every possibility, each worse than the last. "Where is she?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he fell into step beside me, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable, though I caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that told me he found my panic entertaining. "Upstairs," he finally said, nodding toward the VIP section. "Better view from there."

I didn’t wait. I stormed toward the stairs, my strides long and purposeful, Roman following close behind, his laughter barely suppressed at my back. The bouncer at the top took one look at me and stepped aside, the velvet rope parting like silk beneath an invisible hand.

The VIP section greeted me with quieter air, the music muted to a distant throb, the temperature noticeably cooler against my heated skin, though it did nothing to cool the fire building beneath my ribs.

The balcony overlooked the entire club, the crowd below a writhing mass of bodies, the lights flashing in time with a beat that now felt miles away, distant and irrelevant compared to the singular focus narrowing my vision.

And there she was.

Elena.

She stood at the bar, her back to me, her dress clinging to her like a second skin, her hair a wild halo of curls catching the light. My chest tightened, my breath catching in my throat at the mere sight of her, as though the room had been holding its breath alongside me and only now remembered how to exhale.

She was laughing, her head tilted back, her smile bright, her energy electric enough to steal the air from my lungs. God, she was beautiful, infuriatingly so, the kind of beautiful that made rational thought nearly impossible.

Then a man approached her.

My fingers tightened around the railing, my knuckles turning white. He said something to her, his smile easy, his posture radiating a confidence that made my blood simmer low and slow, like a fuse catching flame. He rested an elbow on the polished mahogany of the counter, tilting his head as though they shared some secret between old friends. She didn’t look at him at first, her attention fixed on her friend, her laughter ringing out over the music.

But then her friend slipped away into the crowd, heading toward the restrooms, leaving her entirely alone with him. The timing felt deliberate, almost staged, though I knew better than to credit the universe with such cruelty. This was simply bad luck, the kind that seemed to follow Elena and me everywhere we went.

My vision went red.

I took a step forward, my body coiled tight, my mind screaming at me to move, to intervene, to drag her away from him right then and there. But I forced myself to stay still, my jaw clenched so tight it ached, watching the way he shifted his balance, cutting off her exit route toward the main floor with practiced ease. He’d done this before. The realization only fed the fire building in my chest.

Roman’s voice cut through my fury, low and amused. "You don’t know how you’ll do it, but you want to hear everything they say?"

I didn’t look at him. "Yes."

He chuckled, the sound dark and knowing. "Goodness, she’s gotten you whipped. Don’t tell me you’re jealous right now?"

My gaze snapped to him, my eyes narrowing, my voice dropping to a low growl. "Jealous? Of course not."

Roman smirked, pulling a small, sleek device from his pocket, clearly having anticipated this exact scenario before I’d even known I needed it. "I believe you," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But just in case..." He tossed the device to me, the chip glinting in the dim light. "You owe me big time for this, boss."

I caught it, my fingers tightening around the tiny earpiece. "Get out."

He didn’t argue. He simply laughed, shaking his head as he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with my fury and my fear in equal measure, two emotions I rarely allowed myself to feel, let alone together.

I slipped the earpiece into my ear, adjusting the connection as the audio stabilized. The directional feed snapped into focus, cutting through the ambient club bass, and the sound of Elena’s voice filled my head, sharp and clear, close enough to feel like she stood beside me. The intimacy of it, hearing her this way while watching her from a distance, sent something strange and unsettling through my chest.

"I’m fine," she was saying, her tone cautious, her shoulders squaring slightly as she took a small step backward. "Really. My friend will be right back."

The man leaned in, his voice smooth, carrying that predictable, lazy confidence of a guy who thought a nice watch made him irresistible. "She left, sweetheart. And it looks to me like you could use some actual company while you wait. Let me get you another drink."

"I have a drink," she replied instantly, pointing her glass toward him like a shield. "And I don’t recall asking for your company."

"Come on," he coaxed, his smile widening as he reached out, his hand brushing against hers where her fingers rested on the bartop. "Just one dance. You’re standing by the bar looking like you own the place, but you haven’t stepped onto the floor once."

My fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms until the skin nearly broke. I watched from above as she hesitated, her gaze flicking away from him toward the crowded floor, her expression unreadable under the strobe lights. She didn’t pull her hand away immediately. She simply stared at him, weighing something in her head, before a slight, sharp smile touched her lips. That smile. I knew that smile. She wore it when she was testing someone, when she wanted to see how far they’d push before they broke.

And something inside me snapped.

I stood there, my body tense, my mind racing, caught between the urge to descend those stairs and the equally powerful urge to see exactly how far this would go. Some twisted part of me needed to know if she’d entertain him, needed the confirmation that she belonged to no one but me, even if that confirmation came wrapped in torment.

The man kept talking to her, his posture closing in on her personal space, his smile too familiar, too intimate for a stranger. And she stood there, indulging him, letting him believe he actually had a chance, oblivious to the storm gathering above her.

Jealous?

No.

Because she was mine, and some primitive part of me had already decided the matter was not up for debate.

The earpiece carried her voice like a whisper, a thread of tension woven through the chaos of the club. I watched her from the shadows of the VIP balcony, my body coiled tight, my gaze locked onto her like a predator stalking its prey, patient and merciless, savoring the slow burn of anticipation even as it threatened to consume me whole.

The man beside her leaned in closer, his lips moving as he said something else, something that actually made her laugh. A low, husky sound carried straight through the feed, sending a jolt of something dark and possessive straight down my spine, settling low in my gut like a brand. That laugh belonged to me. I’d heard it in my bed, against my skin, and the thought of another man earning it, even accidentally, made something feral claw at my composure.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers hovering over her contact. The screen lit up beneath my touch, her name glowing like a taunt. I hit call, and the phone rang once, twice. She didn’t pick up.

She merely glanced down at her bag, ignored the buzz, and kept her eyes on him.

I pressed red, tapped her name again, and called a second time, my patience thinning with each unanswered ring.

This time, she excused herself from the stranger, stepping a few inches back toward the rail near the edge of the bar, pulling the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

Her voice sounded breathless, hesitant, the sound sending a shiver down my spine despite every effort to remain unaffected. I didn’t speak right away. I let the silence stretch, let the acoustic delay between the room below and the earpiece in my ear bridge the space between us, letting the tension coil between us like a live wire ready to snap. I wanted her to feel it too, that same unbearable anticipation currently tearing through me.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Bambina," I said at last, my voice a low growl, the words dripping with warning.

Her breath caught. I could hear it through the mic, the sharp inhale, the precise second her spine straightened and her body tensed. "What..."

"Except you want him dead," I finished, my voice dark, the threat hanging between us like a blade suspended in midair.

She went still. Completely still, her hand freezing where it held the phone against her ear.

I watched as her gaze darted around the club, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. She spun slowly on her heel, checking the booths, looking toward the main entrance, searching, as though she thought she could find me in the sea of bodies, as though she believed I’d let her see me before I was ready to be seen. The sight of her fear, mingled with something like desire, only deepened the ache spreading through my chest.

I chuckled, the sound low and dangerous against the receiver. "Looking for me, princess?" My voice dropped into a purr, a taunt, the words sliding over her skin like a physical touch. "You can’t see me. But I can see you perfectly."

Her fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles turning white under the blue neon overhead. "What games are you playing, Jaxx?" Her voice sharpened, laced with irritation, but beneath it I could hear the distinct tremor, the realization that I stood closer than she thought. "Where are you?"

"I’m somewhere you can’t reach," I said, watching the stranger step up behind her again, completely oblivious to the target now painted across his chest.

"You don’t control where I go," she snapped, her voice low as she turned her shoulder away from the stranger, trying to keep her tone down despite the noise around her. "I came out with my friend. I’m having a drink. I’m allowed to exist without you standing over my shoulder."

"Is that what you call it? Existing?" I took a slow step closer to the VIP railing, resting my forearm against the cool glass, looking straight down at the crown of her head. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re letting some useless bastard touch you just to see if I’m paying attention."

"He just bought a drink, Jaxx," she hissed, her eyes darting back toward the crowd, still trying to spot me somewhere in the dark. "He was being polite. Which is more than I can say for you."

"Polite?" I spat the word out, a harsh, humorless laugh bubbling up in my chest. "He has his eyes on your hips, Elena. He’s looking at the dress you’re wearing, thinking about how easy it would be to slip his fingers under the hem. You call that polite? Because I call it a reason to put a bullet through his chest."

"You’re insane," she whispered, her voice tight, a mix of genuine anger and genuine panic bleeding through her words. "You’re actually crazy. You can’t just kill people because they talk to me at a bar."

"Try me," I warned, my tone dropping an octave, dead serious, every word deliberate. "Give him another smile. Let him put his hand on your waist like he’s about to ask you to dance. Watch what happens to him before he even reaches the floor."

"Leave him out of this," she said, her chest heaving as she tried to maintain her composure. "This is between you and me. If you’re here, then stop hiding in the shadows like a coward and come down here."

"I’m not hiding, Bambina. I’m watching," I said, leaning against the railing, my gaze tracing the curve of her dress, the way it clung to her hips, the way it dipped low over her chest, the way it made my fingers itch to touch her. "I’m playing zero games with you," I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper. "But one thing I know is that if you step onto that dance floor with him..." I let the words hang, let the threat settle over her like a shroud. "I’m shooting him dead. And that’s no threat, baby." My voice turned into a blade, sharp and final. "It’s a promise."

She gasped, the sound sharp and startled. "Jaxx..."

"It’s up to you, baby," I said, my voice a dark caress. "Make a choice."