Chapter 85 - 0085: To Check If You’re Still Breathing

Chapter 85: Chapter 0085: To Check If You’re Still Breathing

Jaxx’s Point Of View

The afternoon sun was unforgiving, spilling molten, suffocating gold across the concrete pavement as I stepped out through the heavy glass double doors of her corporate headquarters.

I stopped on the broad granite steps, taking a slow, deep breath of the hot city air, my lips curving into a dark, crooked smirk I didn’t bother to hide. She still hated me.

Every single sharp glare, every breathless, sharp-edged insult, every desperate attempt to project executive authority... hell, even the shameless, trembling way she’d just knelt for me on her office floor while her department heads stood three feet away, it all screamed pure, unadulterated hatred.

But whether she liked it or not, Elena was going to have to get used to my presence in her life again. I wasn’t going anywhere. I had tasted her, I had ruined her, and now she belonged to me.

I tugged my black shirt straight, smoothing the cotton over my chest, and flipped open my aviator sunglasses, sliding them over my eyes as I let the brutal afternoon heat settle into my skin.

The sound of my heavy leather boots against the pavement was sharp, deliberate, and loud. Each step echoed the absolute, terrifying certainty thrumming in my chest.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers locking around the key fob of my custom vintage Dodge Charger, popping the locks as I approached the sleek, matte-black muscle car parked in the VIP executive slot.

I opened the driver’s side door and was just about to slide inside when the heavy brass vibration of my phone buzzed against my thigh.

I paused, pulling the phone out, my thumb swiping the screen to answer as I rested my arm over the roof of the car.

"Speak," I grunted into the receiver, my voice still low and raspy from the dark acts committed in Elena’s office minutes ago.

"Boss," my second-in-command, Roman, came through the line, his tone heavy, rushed, and laced with distinct tension. "I’m calling about the incident with Miss Elena’s car from two nights ago. We got the mechanic’s report back and ran the diagnostics from the brake lines."

My jaw flexed violently. The dark smirk instantly vanished from my face, replaced by a cold, murderous stillness that turned the air in my lungs to ice.

"Have you looked into the car crash?" I demanded, my voice dropping an octave into a lethal, quiet growl that made a passing pedestrian flinch and pick up their pace. "Who tampered with it?"

"It was a clean sabotage job, Jaxx," Roman explained, his voice crackling over the receiver. "The brake lines were sliced cleanly, and the front right tire had a hidden sidewall puncture designed to blow out at high speeds on the highway. Someone wanted her dead, boss. This wasn’t a warning, it was an execution attempt. We managed to pull the security camera footage from the private garage, traced the payout, and matched the informant’s leak. I just sent the name and details directly to your encrypted line."

I swiped the phone screen open, my eyes narrowing behind my sunglasses as I glanced at the single, covert name burning on the dark display.

A dark, lethal rage surged hot and bitter through my bloodstream. My grip on the frame of the car tightened so hard the metal creaked beneath my knuckles.

Oh... it’s her.

That vicious snake actually thought she could strike in the shadows. She wanted Elena dead, but she had no idea who she was playing with. No one touches what’s mine and goes scot-free. No one.

"Keep a strict shadow tail on her," I commanded, my tone terrifyingly calm. "Don’t move until I give the word. I’m going to make sure she pays for every single drop of blood she tried to spill."

"Understood, boss," Roman replied. "I’ve locked down the footage. But Jaxx... that’s not the only reason I’m calling."

I shifted my stance against the car door. "What else?"

"It’s the old man, boss," Roman sighed, his voice dropping into a cautious, weary whisper. "He’s been relentless all morning. His main assistant, Harrison, has called my private line six times in the last hour alone. He’s leaving frantic messages, demanding to know your coordinates. He said the old man’s health is declining, that he’s calling in every favor he holds in Texas to track your car down. He said if you don’t show up at the estate today, he’s going to send his private security detail to drag you there himself. He refuses to leave you alone, Jaxx. The man is spiraling."

I let out a harsh, bitter scoff, my chest heaving as I leaned against the heavy black door of my car.

That old bastard just didn’t want to leave me alone. I knew this was going to happen. It always happened. Every single time I set foot back on Texas soil, every time I breathed the same air as his empire, the ghosts of my past came crawling out of the dark to drag me back down into the pit.

"Tell Harrison if he sends a single one of his hired dogs near me, I’ll send them back to the estate in body bags," I spat, my voice laced with venom.

"Are you going to ignore him again?" Roman asked carefully. "Or should I have the boys prep the suite in Dallas?"

I stood there in the blistering Texas sun for a long, agonizing beat. My first instinct was to tell Roman to go to hell, to block the numbers, to go back up to Elena’s office, throw her over my shoulder, and drive us both far away from this godforsaken city. The old monster didn’t deserve a single sliver of my time. Not a breath. Not a word. Not a glance.

But as I looked at my own reflection in the tinted glass of the car window... jaw set, eyes shadowed with a violent, dark storm, something cold and unyielding twisted in my chest.

I’d ignored the bastard for years, buried the memories, chained the rage, and pretended the blood in my veins didn’t belong to him. But every time I turned my back, his shadow lingered, creeping into my life, threatening the few things I gave a damn about.

This time was different. Tonight, I had something to protect. Tonight, I had her.

"No," I muttered softly under my breath, my thumb sliding over the screen to disconnect the call. "It’s high time I pay the old hag a visit."

I tossed the phone onto the leather passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the heavy door shut. The supercharged V8 engine roared to life with a deafening, metallic scream that shook the concrete floor of the parking lot.

I threw the Charger into gear, stomped on the gas, and left a cloud of burning rubber trailing behind me as I tore out onto the highway, letting the city blur into violent streaks of concrete, glass, and steel.

Twenty minutes later, the dense urban sprawl gave way to rolling green hills, manicured iron fences, and suffocating, elitist wealth.

I slowed the Charger as the massive, fortress-like gates of the Sterling Estate loomed into view. The sight of the towering stone pillars, the arched wrought iron, and the sprawling plantation mansion in the distance made my grip on the leather steering wheel turn bone-white.

My stomach turned with a sickening mixture of raw disgust, suffocating hatred, and volatile fury.

Memories clawed violently at the edges of my mind... poisonous memories I had buried, starved, and chained in the darkest corner of my soul.

The icy basements. The brutal beatings disguised as ’discipline.’ The cold, calculating eyes of a father who viewed his son as nothing more than a weapon to be broken and molded.

Not a single good memory. Never a good memory in this place.

I cut the roaring engine, letting the heavy silence of the estate settle around the car. The mansion’s tall glass windows gleamed in the afternoon light like cold, unblinking eyes, judging and hollow. Hatred surged, thick and raw, heating my blood until it pulsed loudly in my ears.

I opened the car door, stepped out onto the gravel driveway, and stared at the massive iron gates.

"This place should’ve burned to the ground twenty years ago," I muttered under my breath, slamming the car door shut with a heavy thud.

As I approached the private entrance, two heavily armed security guards stationed at the guardhouse shifted uncomfortably, their eyes widening as they recognized my towering frame and the dark, lethal aura surrounding me. One of them, a massive guy with a shaved head and a tactical vest, stepped forward, his hand resting directly over the leather holster at his hip.

"Stop right there!" he barked, his voice loud and authoritative. "Private property! Who the hell are you?"

I didn’t answer. My silence was deliberate, sharp, and cold like a steel blade pressed against the raw skin of his nerves. I kept my hands casually in the pockets of my dark trousers, my eyes sliding over him as if he were less than a speck of dirt beneath my boots, and continued walking forward with steady, unhurried strides.

"Hey! I said stop moving!" the second guard yelled, pulling his collapsible baton from his belt with a metallic clack.

Both men moved quickly to block the narrow iron archway, their heavy footsteps thudding against the stone pavers.

The first guard made the fatal mistake of reaching out, his thick, gloved hand grabbing my left shoulder to shove me back. "Listen here, pal..."

Big mistake.

The absolute instant his fingers brushed the fabric of my shirt, my hand shot out like a striking viper. I clamped my fingers around his wrist with bone-crushing force, twisted his arm backward until his joint popped loudly, and violently slammed his heavy body face-first against the jagged, cold stone pillar of the gate.

BANG!

A sharp, strangled gasp tore from his throat as blood sprayed from his broken nose, painting the white stone red.

Before he could even fall, I grabbed him by the back of his tactical vest, hauled his massive frame up, and drove my knee directly into his solar plexus with terrifying, brutal force. The air exploded out of his lungs in a wet, pathetic wheeze, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as I tossed his limp, unconscious body onto the manicured grass like a sack of trash.

His partner froze dead in his tracks, his eyes wide as saucers, his face draining completely of color. His hand trembled violently over his holster, paralyzed in a terrifying limbo between pulling his firearm or dropping to his knees to beg for his life. He chose neither, standing completely rigid, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

I turned my head slowly, wiping a speck of the first guard’s blood off the back of my hand, my dark eyes locking onto the terrified guard.

I took one slow step toward him, leaning in until my face was inches from his pale, sweating skin, my voice dropping into a deadly, velvet whisper that sliced through the afternoon quiet.

"Don’t you ever dare think of laying your filthy hands on me again," I purred softly.

The guard swallowed hard, a drop of cold sweat running down his temple, unable to form a single word.

"Now," I added, my tone turning chillingly calm, "go inside that damn house... and tell the old fart I’m here."

He blinked rapidly, his jaw working as if he were unsure if he’d heard me right through the ringing in his ears. "W-who... who should I say...?"

I leaned a fraction closer, my smirk returning—all razor-sharp teeth and zero warmth.

"Tell him his greatest mistake has come home."

The words echoed through the silent courtyard like a dark, ancient curse.

The guard scrambled back in pure terror, turning on his heel and sprinting up the wide marble steps into the mansion, stumbling over his own boots in his desperation to escape me.

I exhaled slowly, pulling a silver cigarette case from my back pocket. I tapped a cigarette against the metal, placed it between my lips, and clicked my zippo lighter, letting the orange flame light the tip.

I took a deep, slow drag, letting the thick tobacco smoke fill my lungs, staring at the double oak doors like a predator watching its prey cower in a cage. Every nerve in my body thrummed with dark anticipation, every drop of blood in my veins turning to pure, concentrated venom.

A minute later, the massive wooden door creaked open again. The guard reappeared, his face pale, his voice trembling violently as he gripped the doorframe.

"He... he says you can come in, sir."

"Of course I can," I murmured smoothly, flicking the ash off my cigarette onto the pristine marble porch.

I stepped inside without another word.

The interior of the mansion was exactly as my nightmares remembered it... lavish, suffocating, absurdly expensive, and entirely devoid of life. Gold-trimmed silk drapes hung over high arched windows, mahogany shelves lined the walls filled with untouched, leather-bound books that existed only for status, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, dripping lead glass like frozen, expensive tears.

Money everywhere. A fortress built on blood, corruption, and absolute power. Money everywhere... but not a single soul.

My heavy leather boots echoed with loud, rhythmic authority against the polished white marble floor as I walked with unyielding certainty down the wide hallway. I didn’t need a guide. I didn’t need direction. I knew every single inch of this gilded prison. I knew exactly where he’d be sitting. In his glorified cage. His dark, oppressive study.

I stopped before the heavy, carved oak double doors at the end of the hall. I didn’t knock. I didn’t ask for permission. I simply reached out and kicked the doors open with a sharp, heavy shove that slammed them against the interior walls.

And there he was.

Sitting behind a massive, dark walnut desk, his posture rigid, his hands resting flat on the mahogany surface, his face half-hidden in the deep shadows cast by a single brass desk lamp.

Age had not been kind to Sebastian Sinclair. His skin was sallow and sagging, deep sunken hollows carved beneath his sharp, icy blue eyes, his hair silver and thin. Yet despite his frail frame, that same poisonous, oppressive aura radiated off him in thick waves.

And beside him, sitting gracefully in a high-backed velvet armchair like a dark queen on a throne, sat his wife.

Matilda.

Her sharp, cat-like frown was instantaneous as her cold eyes snapped toward the doorway. Her lips thinned into a tight, pale line, absolute disgust and venom dripping from every inch of her heavily jeweled, manicured posture.

"What on earth are you doing in this house?" Matilda spat, her tone sharp, aristocratic, and laced with unadulterated venom, every syllable like a poisoned dagger thrown straight at my chest. "Who gave a street rat like you permission to cross our threshold?"

I said nothing.

Instead, I casually reached into my pocket, took one last long, deliberate drag from my cigarette, the tip glowing a bright, angry cherry red in the dim lighting of the study. I held the smoke in my lungs for three agonizing seconds, then slowly exhaled a thick, grey cloud that drifted lazily across the expensive desk, blowing it straight into her face.

Only then did I finally drop my hand, my dark, hooded eyes locking onto her horrified face.

And with a slow, wicked smirk that exposed my teeth... a smile entirely void of human warmth, I replied, my voice smooth, deep, and dripping with malicious mockery:

"Oh... don’t mind me. I just came by to check if you’re still breathing, Matilda."