Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 7

XANDER'S POV

There’s a sweet kind of silence that settles after I finish a piece, that hum in my chest when the needle’s quiet, and the world’s still watching. I live for it.

My fingers flex as I stretch my arms overhead, shoulder blades popping. Layla exhales like she’s just come out of a trance, and I smile to myself. She took it like a champ, didn’t even flinch once. I grab a quick photo for my portfolio, the soft lighting glinting off the fresh ink on her skin, a serpent, coiled through a shattered rose, delicate but dangerous. Just the way I imagined it. Just the way I like it.

Compliments drift in from the crowd, a couple people pausing to ask what inspired it. I shoot a few answers back with a grin. I don’t mind the attention....hell, I kind of crave it. Especially when it’s earned. Especially when I know I deserve it.

Layla stands up from the table, jeans folded over her arm. Addy tosses her a skirt, thank God, and I trail behind as she heads to the mirror. She turns, twisting to get a look at the ink, and I hover behind her, watching her expression like a hawk.

I like this moment... the reveal, the reaction. It’s a high all on its own.

But then it hits me.

That itch. That slow, prickling sensation creeping up my spine like someone lit a match and dragged it down my neck.

I blink, turn, scan the crowd. I felt it earlier too, just a flicker of something, but I chalked it up to the buzz of the room.

Now I know better.

And there he is.

Motherfucking Jax

He’s across the room, head slightly tilted, arms crossed, eyes locked on me like I’m something he’s about to set on fire. Or maybe like he already has, and he’s just watching the flames.

My throat tightens. My heart... traitorous, dumbass organ that it is...kicks up a notch. I curse under my breath, shifting my weight like it might help shake the tension crawling under my skin.

" What the hell is he doing here? " I ask.

Layla follows my gaze, stiffens instantly. She mutters something under her breath, already marching away, skirt swishing around her upper thighs.

I don’t have time to call her back before he grabs her arm.

“Hey—” she snaps, trying to wrench free. “Let me go, you psycho.”

He doesn’t.

I’m already moving, every nerve in my body lighting up.

“Jax!” My voice cracks like a whip. “Let her go.”

He doesn’t even look at me. Just clenches his jaw and drags her across the floor. I’m close on their heels, teeth gritted, fists curled. He shoves open a supply closet and pulls her inside, slamming the door behind them.

My palm hits the wood a second later.

“ What the fuck do you think you're doing?!”

Silence.

“Jax!”

I pound again, adrenaline buzzing so hard I can barely think.

Still nothing.

I press my forehead against the door, breathing hard, heart thundering. Why does he do this? Why does he show up like a storm ready to drown everyone?

But mostly I’m furious that my hands are shaking. Because even now, after everything, he still gets under my skin.

And I really fucking hate that.

I hear voices inside before the door even opens, muffled, heated. Not Jax’s. Mostly Layla’s. She sounds pissed. I should probably walk in there, see what the hell is going on. Hell, I actually consider breaking the damn door down, but I don’t. I just stand there, jaw tight, waiting.

Because for all his narcissistic bastard energy, I don't think Jax would never hurt Layla. Not physically.

It feels like forever before the door finally swings open and Layla storms out. Her face is flushed, eyes shining with something sharp. When I ask her what’s wrong, she throws out a “I’m fine,” like it’s supposed to mean anything. She doesn’t look fine. Doesn’t sound it either.

I start to follow her, but then Jax steps out too, sliding his phone into his pocket. I turn on him. “What the hell was that about?”

He shrugs, casual as ever. “ Just doing my job. What can I say, some of us fuck their pretentious little clients. Some of us shove people into closets to deal with theirs.”

I blink. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I’m not even in the mood. I pivot to follow Layla, heart already racing, but I don’t get far....Jax’s arm shoots out, looping tight around my waist like a damn vice.

“And where do you think you’re going?” His voice is low, taunting. His breath grazes my ear, and it shoots straight down my spine.

“Let go,” I grit out, already trying to twist away.

He doesn’t.

He hauls me back like I weigh nothing, which is definitely not the case, dragging me into the goddamn supply closet before I can even register what’s happening. The door slams shut with his foot, and then he's in front of it, blocking it like a smug bastard.

“No,” I say, already shaking my head. “No. We’re not doing this. I’m not doing this again.”

My back hits a shelf. He’s still by the door, arms folded, watching me with that look I can’t stand, that devouring look, like he’s seconds away from tearing into me just to see what color I bleed.

And God help me, I’m already half-hard.

I don’t want to be.

“You gonna keep lying to yourself?” he asks, voice like smoke.

I swallow. My throat’s dry. My palms are slick. I fucking hate him for doing this to me. For making me want something I can’t control. My body doesn’t listen. Not when he looks at me like that.

I try to look anywhere but at his mouth. It’s already triggering flashes of last night, his lips on mine, the taste of him.

“I said I’m done with your games,” I snap, even though I don’t sound convincing. I sound wrecked.

He smirks, eyes trailing down my chest like he knows exactly how fucked up my head is right now.

I hate the way I’m already picturing his hands on me, his mouth, hate the fact that just being this close makes my knees feel loose. My heart’s thudding in my ears. My dick’s already betraying me.

His eyes lock on mine....sharp, unreadable, dangerous. “If you want to leave,” he says, voice low, “you’ll have to kiss me first.”