Page 67 of Switch

We’re shutting this shit down. Permanently.

Mason looks around the table, making sure we’re all in agreement. “This is our only play. Either we put Butch in his place, or we let him keep running his mouth until someone gets hurt.”

No one argues. Because we all know the truth. If Butch wants to make this a fight, he’s not going to like how it ends.

The guys start to filter out, but Piston lingers, tapping his fingers against the table. “Hey, Switch,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I raise a brow. “What?”

“You ever think about how much shit’s changed for you?” He jerks his chin toward Mason and Dagger, who are deep in conversation by the door. “You used to be just Jax. Now you’re Switch, running a fucking security business.”

I shake my head, but I can’t help the small smirk tugging at my lips. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

They laugh as they head out, leaving me alone with my paperwork. I stare at the numbers, trying to focus, but my mind drifts to Bella. I’ve been pulling long hours, coming home late, crashing hard. She hasn’t complained, but I know she’s feeling it.

I grab my phone and pull up her contact.

Me:You on lunch?

A few minutes later, my phone buzzes.

Bella:Yeah, just sat down. You okay?

I smirk, shaking my head. She worries even when she doesn’t say it outright.

Me:Yeah. Just thinking about you.

A pause.

Bella:Thinking about me? Or thinking about how you haven’t taken me on a date in weeks?

Shit.

She’s not wrong.

Me:That obvious?

Bella:Painfully.

I run a hand over my face, guilt gnawing at me.

Me:I’ll make it up to you, baby.

Bella:Damn right you will. But I gotta get back to work. Call me later?

Me:Always.

I toss my phone onto the desk and lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly.

I need to fix this before it becomes a bigger problem.

Because the last thing I want is to lose the best damn thing in my life.

After leaving the clubhouse, I make a stop at Bella’s favorite pizza place, grabbing a large, loaded with everything she likes—extra cheese, mushrooms, and those little crispy pepperonis she swears taste better than regular ones. I grab a bottle of that red wine she loves, the one she always gets when we go out, even though I don’t have a damn clue what it’s called.

By the time I get home, the place feels too damn quiet. Too empty. Bella’s been working late shifts, and I’ve been tied up at the security office and the clubhouse, barely seeing her. It’s been wearing on me, wearing on us.

I set up in the living room, spreading out pillows and blankets on the floor, making it as comfortable as I can. A fire crackles on the TV screen, and I turn on some low 90s rock—just background noise, something easy, something familiar.

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