Chapter 16 · The Deadline Ticks

"Don't breathe. Just don't fucking breathe," Jax hissed, his voice a jagged whisper in my ear.

He had me pressed hard against the cold, damp concrete of the alley wall. His chest was drumming against my shoulder blades—fast, way too fast. I could feel the heat radiating off him, smelling like stale energy drinks and ozone.

Ten feet away, three mercs in matte-black tactical gear swept the perimeter with crimson laser sights. The beams sliced through the neon smog of the district, painting the walls in blood-red streaks. One of them stopped, the laser hovering inches from my boot.

I didn't flinch. My body knew what to do even if my head didn't. My muscles were coiled, fingers itching for the combat knife tucked into my thigh holster. I could have dropped the nearest one in three seconds.

"I can take them," I breathed, the words barely leaving my lips.

"And blow our cover? No way," Jax whispered back. He shifted, his arm tightening across my waist to keep me pinned. The friction of his sleeve against my skin felt electric, a sharp contrast to the freezing rain starting to mist around us. "Wait for the signal.