Chapter 19 · Tug of War

"Get your hand off me, Jax. Now."

I didn't just pull away; I twisted, the cold metal of my sidearm clicking into place against his ribs before he could even blink. My breathing was ragged, tasting like ozone and burnt plastic, but my grip was steady.

Jax froze. He didn't even look at the gun. He just looked at me with that annoying, protective squint, his hand still hovering where he’d tried to haul me back from the ledge.

"You're shaking, Maya," he said, his voice too calm for a man with a barrel pressed into his side.

"I'm fine," I snapped. "And I'm not your cargo. Stop treating me like a package you need to deliver to safety."

"You're a liability with a target on her back the size of a billboard," Jax countered. He didn't move, but I could feel the heat radiating off him, that oppressive Alpha energy that usually made people in the Underbelly scramble for cover. "And right now, that target is making my men nervous. We can't move you if you're playing guerrilla war in the middle of a war zone."

"Then leave me here," I spat. "I'm not asking for a ride.