Chapter 7: Paige
Jaxon Steele. His name alone is enough to make a person shudder, and the stories I’ve heard are enough to turn my stomach. They say he’s more weapon than man, someone who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, who’s been known to kill with his bare hands if it’s the quickest way to get the job done. The Crimson Circle men whisper about him, mostly in low, dark tones, the way one talks about a myth or a curse. They claim he killed his own parents. Ruthless, heartless—that’s how they describe him. A man who’d kill anything in his path, including his own blood, just to satisfy whatever cold ambition runs through his veins.
I watch him from across the table, a quiet disgust simmering beneath my mask of indifference. My own relationship with my father is strained, even toxic, but I can’t imagine being so hollow, so utterly devoid of humanity that my own family wouldn’t matter to me.
Jaxon sits a few seats away, his broad shoulders stiff as he settles back, and for a second, I think he glances my way, his eyes a piercing, unreadable gray. He’s watching everything, every flicker of movement, every breath. I force myself to hold his gaze, to keep my own face blank as he scrutinizes me, his expression hard and emotionless.
The room hums with tension as both sides finally sit, settling into their positions around the table. Tobias, head of the Vipers and Jaxon’s adoptive father, speaks first, his voice low and calm, but with a bite that lingers just below the surface. “We’re here to talk about the north side of Alderstone. Let’s keep this short and…civil.”
Across the table, Marcus, the head of the Crimson Circle, leans forward, a smug smile spreading across his face. “Civil? Coming from the Vipers, that’s rich.”
The room is thick with tension, each second tighter than the last. The Crimson men across from me wear their anger like a second skin, each glare or sneer aimed at the Vipers a barely restrained threat. The Vipers, of course, mirror the energy back, coolly amused, every insult met with a smirk or a low, mocking laugh. I feel my fingers twitching with the need to intervene, to pull these idiots back from the brink before things spiral out of control.
Marcus is already leaning forward, teeth clenched as he addresses Tobias. “You think the Crimson Circle will just stand by and watch you muscle into our territory? We own the north side, and I’m not about to let your thugs—”
I step forward, clearing my throat, and in the pause that follows, every head at the table turns toward me. The men’s eyes are hard, flat, uninterested, but I don’t flinch. I’m used to this. I keep my gaze steady as I speak, forcing my tone to be calm, reasoned.
“Both sides benefit if we avoid unnecessary conflict,” I say, addressing Tobias and Silas directly. “There are ways to manage the north side that would allow each of us our fair share without jeopardizing resources or risking bloodshed.”
The room falls silent, and a few low chuckles break out among the Vipers, their amusement obvious. One of them, a man with a scar cutting across his cheek, gives me a lazy smirk, leaning back in his chair. “Is that right, sweetheart?” he drawls. “You think the north side is yours to split like some birthday cake?”
Another laugh, louder this time, ripples through the table, and even a few of the Crimson men shift uncomfortably, casting me dubious glances.
I tighten my jaw but don’t back down, letting my gaze move slowly over each man, daring them to continue. I focus on Tobias and Silas again, keeping my voice level. “The north side can be patrolled and managed as an equal territory between the Crimson Circle and the Vipers, without either side losing ground.”
Silas raises an eyebrow, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “She’s serious,” he says, sounding almost surprised.
Marcus, seated beside me, huffs and mutters, “Waste of time.” But I keep my gaze steady, ignoring his lack of support.
Tobias’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his face, but he nods, gesturing for me to continue. “We’re listening, Miss Taylor,” he says, his voice almost mocking but tempered with the barest hint of respect.
I take a steadying breath, feeling every gaze on me, watching, waiting for me to crack. “We propose that the Vipers monitor the north side, with Crimson resources available for backup. We’d have access to your reports, your findings on the area—full transparency,” I say, directing the last words at Tobias. “This way, the area’s stability is mutually beneficial, and the balance of power remains intact.”
The room goes quiet again, and this time, there’s no laughter. Just silence, heavy and cold, weighing down the air between us. Tobias watches me, his eyes dark, calculating, and the faintest flicker of approval sparks in them. He leans back, nodding as he considers the words.
But before he can respond, a loud bang shatters the air.
A gunshot.
The man two seats down from me slumps forward, his eyes glassy, blood already pooling onto the table. His lifeless body slams against the wood, and I feel the instinctive jerk of my muscles tensing, my pulse spiking. I manage to bury the reaction quickly, keeping my face carefully still, but a slight flinch escapes. I glance up and catch Jaxon’s gaze across the table. He’s watching me, his gray eyes fixed on my face, a slight narrowing in them as he assesses the movement, scrutinizing me like a predator waiting for a tell.
But I hold his gaze, clenching my teeth to force the reaction down. I can’t show any weakness. Not here. Not now.
Then, a gunshot rings out, deafening, cutting through the air like a blade. I see the flash before anything else—the gun still raised in the hand of one of the Viper men, a cruel grin stretching across his face as he watches a Crimson Circle man crumple to the floor, blood pooling around him.
The room explodes. It takes only a second before another shot fires, this time from a Crimson man, and the Viper shooter goes down, his twisted smile fading as he hits the ground. Panic seizes me as the table overturns, chairs scrape back, and chaos erupts around me. Blades flash, more guns are drawn, fists fly as men from both sides launch into each other, rage boiling over, spilling into blood.
I stumble back, barely processing as warm blood splatters across my face, the sickly metallic scent filling my lungs. My heart pounds, a frantic beat against my ribs as I try to blink through the haze, trying to get my bearings. It’s no use. Men fall around me, blood and fury mixing in the air, a deadly storm I can’t escape.
Through the chaos, I spot Jaxon Steele, still seated, his fingers resting under his chin as he watches the carnage with cold indifference, a slight curl of disinterest in his mouth. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move—just watches, completely unmoved as men tear into each other around him.
My stomach churns at the sight. This is nothing to him. Just another brawl, another night. The same ruthless look in his eye, the same detached calm as he surveys the destruction like it’s a show put on just for him.
But then I feel a brutal grip on my arm, yanking me backward, slamming me against the wall. The impact rattles through me, knocking the breath from my lungs as a hand clamps around my throat, squeezing just hard enough to make my vision swim.
I look up, gasping, and meet the eyes of a Viper, his gaze fierce, lips twisted in a scowl. “Everyone! Back off, or the girl’s dead!” he shouts, his voice rough, booming over the chaos. But no one stops. No one even glances our way, too busy with their own fights, with drawing their own blood.
The man’s grip tightens, and he laughs darkly, leaning in, his hot breath brushing against my ear. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he sneers, voice low and mocking. “Looks like no one cares if you live or die.”
I claw at his hand, struggling to breathe as his fingers dig into my throat, the room spinning in dizzy circles. Panic surges through me, but I fight to stay calm, to think, to find a way out. I can’t scream, can’t breathe, every sound around me fading under the rush of blood in my ears.
He tightens his grip, and I can feel myself fading, slipping closer to the edge. My vision blurs, my body weakening, but in that moment, something cold and hard fills my gaze.
Jaxon.
His gray eyes flick over to me, still seated, completely untouched by the chaos, yet I swear there’s the faintest glint of interest in his gaze, like he’s finally found a reason to stand. I see his fingers tap against the table, the barest movement, and as my captor’s grip tightens further, it’s the only thing I have left to hold onto in the darkness pressing in.
Just before my vision blinks out entirely, I see Jaxon Steele rise, his gaze fixed directly on me.