Page 37 of Switch

“Okay, baby,” he says, his voice warm and understanding. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

I smile at the phone, even though he can’t see me. “Thanks, Jax. I’ll talk to you later.”

The sun is just starting to set when I pull into my driveway. I grab my bag, head to the door, but freeze when I see a piece of paper taped to it.

A note.

Frowning, I pull it down, unfolding it to read.

Bella,

I’m sorry for what happened at the carnival. I hope you can forgive me. And maybe we could still be friends.

-Mike

My stomach twists, and I can feel my face scrunch into a look of disbelief.

“Is he serious?” I mutter, glaring at the paper as if it’ll answer me.

I crumple it up, my hands shaking slightly, and toss it into the trash bin by the door. The nerve of him—after everything he pulled, after the way he acted—thinking he could just write a half-hearted apology and ask to be friends?

The absurdity of it makes me laugh bitterly as I unlock the door and step inside.

Once I’m inside, I kick off my shoes and drop my bag on the couch, still fuming. I know I should just brush it off, but the whole thing leaves me feeling off.

Mike getting drunk at the carnival drunk and acting like a complete jerk was bad enough. But this? Leaving a note like nothing happened, like he didn’t scare the hell out of me that night—it’s crossing a line.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and try to shake off the anger bubbling inside me. The quiet of my townhome should be comforting, but tonight, it feels heavy.

I sit on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest, and stare at the blank TV screen. A part of me wonders if I should tell Jax about the note, but another part hesitates. I know how protective he is, and the last thing I want is for him to feel like he has to fix this for me.

For now, I decide to keep it to myself. I just hope Mike gets the message that whatever chance he had with me—friendship or otherwise—is long gone.

FIFTEEN

JAX

When I pullup to the clubhouse, the first thing I notice is the usual crowd—some of the guys hanging around, shooting the shit by their bikes, sharing beers, and talking about whatever nonsense keeps them entertained.

Nothing unusual.

Except for who’s in the middle of it.

Butch.

And he’s got a crew of the older guys with him, standing in a tight circle while he rants, his hands flying through the air like he’s giving some kind of goddamn sermon. What gets me isn’t just that he’s talking. It’s that the guys around him are nodding, watching him, looking like they actuallyagreewith whatever bullshit he’s spewing.

I knew this transition was going to be tough, but looking at this?

Yeah. We might have a coup on our hands.

I peel off my helmet, swing my leg over my bike, and head for the front door, angling my stride just enough to catch the last bit of Butch’s speech. “Our time is now. We don’t have to take this shit. We’re the original members.”

Well, fuck. This is going to hell fast.

Inside, I walk straight back to Mason’s office, not even bothering to knock before I push the door open.

He looks up from his phone, his brows drawing together at the look on my face. “Jax?”

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