Page 29 of Undisputed Chaos
Jax just grinned, cocky as ever. “Anytime, Killer.”
We kept at it, sweat slicking our skin, muscles burning in the best way. Between rounds, I glanced at the iPads—Estelle making breakfast with Leo, Sierra feeding Toffee treats.
My chest tightened with something fierce and possessive, but also... hopeful. These two had found their peace, their balance. Maybe I could too.
Jax caught me looking, and his expression shifted, something almost concerned flickering across his features. "Already planning your iPad setup, huh?"
I shrugged, not bothering to hide my satisfaction. "Damn right. I'll have the prettiest view in the gym. Isla painting in her little sundresses while I work out? Paradise."
Connor huffed, but his voice wasn’t rough. “If she doesn’t run again.”
"She won't," I said with absolute certainty, the predator in me purring with confidence. "Not when I'm done with her. I've already started leaving breadcrumbs. She's following the trail."
They eyed me, one of those silent conversations that came from years of friendship and shared fun.
I could read it easily enough: hope that I'd finally found something to anchor me, mixed with wariness for whichever poor girl had caught my attention.
Jax cleared his throat. "Just... don’t scare her, seriously.”
My chest twisted in response to his concern. They'd seen what happened when I fixated on things, when the obsession took hold. They'd helped clean up the mess more than once.
"I'm not going to hurt her," I replied, and meant it. "She's different. She makes me want to be better."
Connor nodded, relief in his eyes.
“She’s different. She looked at me like she saw through me. Likemaybe all this chaos could be channeled into something good instead of just destructive."
Jax tossed me a towel, his smile sharp but genuine. "Just don't get hit by a car, psycho. That's my move."
We all laughed, the sound rolling through the gym; three monsters, three men who'd found their way back from the edge.
They'd stick by me no matter what, but I could see the silent prayer in their eyes: Let this one save him.
After practice, I drove home just long enough to shower and change, the adrenaline from sparring still singing through my veins.
My muscles ached from exchanging blows with the guys, but the pain was pleasant as usual.
I opted for dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. No bright colors, no crop tops, nothing that screamed "Adrian the Psycho is watching you."
Tonight wasn't about being seen. I would be a voyeur in her world.
I kept the old car for occasions like this. It was parked in the back of my garage—the same black SUV with heavily tinted windows I used to hit Jax.
It was nothing like my lime green Lamborghini that announced my presence from three blocks away.
This car was a ghost, designed to blend into shadows and slip through security systems unnoticed.
Isla’s address was already programmed into my GPS, though I'd memorized the route anyway.
She lived in one of those gated communities that gave people the illusion of safety, a laughable concept. The security code at the entrance took me less than thirty seconds to bypass.
Four-digit codes were child's play; I could have done it blindfolded.
I cruised through the neighborhood at exactly three miles under the speed limit, the perfect speed to avoid attention.
Her building finally came into view, a modern white structure with clean lines and balconies facing a small artificial lake.
Second floor, unit 201. The lights were on.
