Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 154

I wake up first, though it feels like I never really slept. Not with the weight of him wrapped around me like this, his arms locked tight across my middle, his breath warm and soft against the back of my neck. The light slipping in through the curtains is too bright, so we must’ve slept in far later than usual.

I try to shift, just enough to turn and face him, but Jax doesn’t budge. His hold is like steel, unyielding, as if he spent the whole night convinced I might vanish if he let go.

I breathe out a low laugh and try again, prying at his forearms, but he doesn’t loosen. If anything, his hold tightens.

And then, his voice....deep, rough from sleep, unfairly sexy in the way only his could be, slips against my ear.

“Where do you think you’re running off to?”

The sound of it slides straight down my spine. I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

“I’m just trying to turn around. Improve my morning view. But some stubborn bastard’s got me locked up like a flight risk.”

There’s a pause, then the faintest huff of amusement in his chest against my back. He finally relents, loosening his hold, but only just enough for me to twist in his arms. The moment I’m facing him, he pulls me to him again.

His eyes stay closed, lashes casting soft shadows over his cheeks, his features carved in that rugged, untamed way that never fails to undo me. Strong lines and rough edges. Every day he softens a little more. And every day, I see more of him, the man who breathes me in like I’m something he can’t lose.

Without opening his eyes, he murmurs, voice laced with that slow drawl that always makes me feel like he’s inside my head.

“You done staring?”

I shake my head, my smile curving against his cheek before I answer. “Never.”

His eyes finally flicker open then, heavy-lidded and stormy all at once. And the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing worth waking for, makes something lodge sharp and certain in my chest. I rest my head on his chest and his fingers comb slowly through my hair, over and over like he can’t stop touching me.

It should be simple, perfect even, but my head won’t let me rest. Not with everything he said last night.

The anger still coils in me, anger for how much he had to carry. Most of what he admitted guts me, but there’s one thing, one detail, that keeps digging its claws in deeper the longer I think about it.

I press a kiss to his chest, needing the grounding, then tilt my head up. He’s already looking at me, those dark eyes cutting straight through, narrowing slightly when he catches whatever’s written all over my face.

“What is it?” he asks, but not like he’s running through every worst-case scenario in his head. It’s curious, like he actually wants to hear what’s eating at me.

My throat tightens. I start to ask if it’s even okay to bring this up, but the thought dies halfway out. I can’t dance around it. Not with him.

So I just ask. “Were you scared.... in prison?”

I don’t know why I need to know. I just do.

Last night, after we both came, Jax passed out fast, but my head didn’t stop. It circled back to that single revelation. I wasn’t going to ask why he was in there, what he’d done, the shit he probably had to do just to get through it. None of that. But I want to know how it felt.

I’m bracing for the look, that flicker in his eyes that says he doesn’t want to go there, but he will anyway because it’s me asking. But it never comes. He just blinks once. Twice. And then....

“No. I wasn’t.”

It knocks me a little sideways. My brows pull in, because I don’t buy that for a second. He catches the doubt in my face and shakes his head faintly.

“It’s true,” he says. “I didn’t have it in me to be scared. I was.... angry. And resigned to whatever the fuck happened.”

“Angry?”

He hums low, his hand falling back into my hair, stroking strands like they keep him grounded. His gaze stays fixed there instead of on me.

“Angry at the world. At everyone. Plus Dorian used to work at The Pit before me....”

I feel my whole expression shift, frown tightening before I can stop it. But Jax doesn’t falter, he just keeps talking.

“He taught me how to throw a punch. And I was pretty good at it. Too good. I hated everything that breathed at that point. First couple weeks, I got into more fights than I could count. They threw me in solitary so many times I lost track.”

Something breaks in my chest at the flat way he says it.

“I liked it there,” he goes on. “It was quiet and empty. So I kept picking fights just to get sent back.”

My throat burns, and I try to push myself up, to look him in the eye, but his arm tightens across me, keeping me pinned against him. “Stay,” he murmurs.

So I do.

“After the fourth....maybe fifth time I got out, people started steering clear.” He lets out a sound that’s almost a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Shame.”

“That’s not funny,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the edges.

He chuckles anyway, a hollow sound with nothing behind it.

Then he shifts, tone flattening. “I eventually came across some assholes roughing Adam up. He wasn’t even fighting back. Just stood there with this look on his face, like he didn’t give a fuck if they killed him. And that... that pissed me off even more. Because it reminded me of—”

His words cut, like they always do when he's involved.

“Andrew?” I finish for him, my voice quiet.

His jaw ticks once before he nods.

“This was after he....passed?”

Another pause, a beat that stretches heavy between us. Then another small nod.

He exhales like he's starting to hate where this road is taking him. “I wanted to walk away. But I couldn’t. Something in me wouldn’t let me. So I stepped in. Fucked those guys up. Got them off Adam.” He shakes his head faintly. “Didn’t like him at first. He gave off that pretentious rich kid vibe. Like he’d never worked for a damn thing in his life. I hated people like that. People who had it all, every door open, and still managed to torch it all to the ground. But trouble followed him around like a shadow. And I needed...well...”

He stops again, like the words catch on glass.

“Like now?” I ask. “Like how you need that place.”

His eyes flick down to mine, and then he nods. “Yeah. It helped. And since I wasn’t a target anymore, I stuck with him cause he always was.”

“I can’t picture Adam in prison,” I admit, the thought slipping out before I can reel it back. It's almost laughable, the polished edges of him in that place.

Jax’s mouth twists faintly. “Yeah, well. He was.”

My pulse jumps. “Do you know why?”

“Yeah.” He nods once, eyes fixed on the ceiling like the weight of it’s still pressing down on him. “But I can’t tell you that.”

I nod in understanding. I won’t push on that, so I let it go, burying it under the way his thumb strokes through my hair again.