Page 45 of Switch

Piston stretches his neck, then pulls a knife from his belt. “Let’s make sure heunderstandswhat it feels like to be scared.”

Mike starts sobbing, but it’s too fucking late for that. He wanted to terrorize Bella? Now, it’shisturn to be afraid.

It’s been a long fucking night.

When we’re done, there’s nothing left of the man Mike used to be—just a broken, bloody mess on the ground, barely holding on. His screams stopped an hour ago, his pleas before that. Now, he’s just a wheezing, sobbing shell of the piece of shit who thought he could take what wasn’t his.

But we aren’t sloppy.

We clean up the mess. Make sure there’s no loose ends. Tank and Piston work like pros, and I move on autopilot, my body running on adrenaline and exhaustion.

By the time we’re finished, the air is thick with silence, the weight of what we did settling over the warehouse. Tank wipes his hands on a rag, eyeing me.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, man.”

I exhale, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah… I didn’t either.”

Piston leans against the van, smirking. “You sure as hell do now.”

I nod, rubbing a hand down my face. “Look, thanks for coming.”

Tank shrugs. “You’re our brother.”

Piston claps me on the back. “Club business,Switch.”

I pause, frowning. “Switch?”

Piston grins, lighting a cigarette. “Yeah, man. The flip has switched… you’re not just Jax anymore.”

Tank nods. “Ain’t no going back now.”

I let that sit for a second, letting the weight of it settle in my chest. Maybe they’re right. Maybe somethinghaschanged. I don’t feel bad about it. I just feeldone.

I ride home, the wind cold against my face, but it doesn’t touch the heat still burning in my veins. Mike will never touch her again. Never look at her. Neverexistin her world. He’ll never have the chance to hurt her.

When I step into my house, Oreo lifts her head from the couch, wagging her tail sleepily before stretching and hopping down to greet me.

“Hey, girl,” I murmur, rubbing her ears.

The exhaustion hits me all at once, the weight of the night settling in my bones. I strip out of my clothes and take the hottest shower I can stand, scrubbing away the blood, the sweat, the grime of what we did.

When I’m finally clean, I throw on a pair of sweatpants and don’t even make it to my bed.

I crash on the couch, Oreo jumping up beside me, her big head resting on my chest.

As my eyes close, my last thought isn’t about what I just did. It’s about Bella, knowing she’ssafe. Knowing she’s mine.

EIGHTEEN

BELLA

I’ve calledand texted Jax a few times over the last two days, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. I tell myself not to keep reaching out, but I dial his number one more time. When it goes straight to voicemail, I groan and toss my phone onto my bed.

I feel like aclingy AFgirlfriend, and Ihateit. I’m not one of those girls. I make fun of those girls.

His silence should be message enough. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. But something in my gut won’t let it go. This isn’t like him. He’s always checked in, even if it was just a quickmiss you, babytext. Maybe there’s some club business going down, and he’s caught up in it. Maybe I’m overthinking.

Either way, sitting around waiting for my phone to light up is driving me crazy. So, I throw myself into cleaning. And not just tidying up—I gofull deep clean mode. Scrubbing floors, wiping down baseboards, washing every dish in the sink that I could have just put in the damn dishwasher. By the time I’m done, the house is spotless, sparkling, and smells like a mix of lemon and lavender.

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