Chapter 3 CHA

"If you don't stop kicking the seat, Leo, we're going to end up in the ditch before the engine even dies."

I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned a ghostly white. My palms were slick, sliding against the worn plastic as the old sedan chugged and wheezed like a dying animal. The heat in the cabin was stifling-a thick, humid weight that made my skin feel too tight for my bones.

"But I'm hungry, Mama," Leo whined from the back.

I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, and my heart did that familiar, painful somersault. He had the same stubborn set to his jaw that I saw in my most beautiful nightmares. Every time he pouted, I saw a ghost. My chest felt hollow, a cavernous ache that five years of hiding had never truly filled.

"I know, baby. Just a few more miles," I lied.

The engine gave a final, rhythmic metallic clank-a death rattle that vibrated through the floorboards and up into my teeth. White smoke began to billow from the edges of the hood, obscuring the winding mountain road. I steered the dying beast onto the narrow shoulder, the gravel crunching like breaking glass beneath the tires.

I stepped out into the mountain air. It was sharp, smelling of pine and damp earth. My pulse was a frantic hammer in my throat, rhythmic and suffocating. I popped the hood, and a cloud of bitter, oily steam engulfed me. I coughed, my lungs burning, until a sound in the distance stopped the breath in my throat.

It started as a low, tectonic hum. It wasn't the wind. It was the roar of a predator.

"Mama? What's that noise?"

I couldn't answer. The vibration grew, shaking the very ground beneath my boots. It was a rhythmic thunder, the sound of a dozen high-displacement engines screaming in unison.

The Vane Reapers.

Rounding the bend was a black tide of chrome and leather. At the head of the pack was a bike forged in the depths of a furnace. The rider was a shadow against the setting sun, but I would know that silhouette anywhere. Even in the dark. Even in another life.

Jaxson Vane.

The pack slowed, the roar transitioning into a predatory growl as they circled my broken car. The heat from their exhausts joined the rising fever in my blood. My stomach twisted into a hard, agonizing knot. Jaxson killed his engine, and the silence that followed was louder than the roar had been. He kicked the stand down with a deliberate, heavy thud and sat there, a dark god on a throne of steel, watching me through a tinted visor.

"You're a long way from the city, Elena."

His voice bypassed the air and vibrated directly into my marrow. It was rougher than it had been, a jagged edge that tore through my fragile composure.

"The car died," I said, trying to sound defiant. My voice was a flickering candle in a gale.

"Cars don't die on this road by accident," he said.

He pulled off the helmet. My breath caught-a sharp, physical pain. He looked older. There were fine lines around his eyes, and his jaw seemed carved from granite. The silver scar on his eyebrow stood out starkly against his tanned skin. He swung his leg over the bike and walked toward me. The scent of him-leather, cold mountain air, and that intoxicating bourbon spice-hit me like a physical wave. I felt dizzy, my vision swimming with the sheer power of his presence.

"What do you want, Jaxson?" I asked, backing up until my spine hit the hot metal of the car.

"I want to know why a ghost is standing on my mountain," he growled. He stopped inches away. The heat radiating from his body was immense. I could see the pulse jumping in his neck, a frantic, rhythmic throb that betrayed the calm of his obsidian eyes.

"I'm just passing through," I whispered.

"Liar," he breathed. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face. I flinched, my heart leaping. His fingers didn't touch me, but the heat from them scorched my skin.

"Mama? Who is the man?"

The back door of the car creaked open. Leo stepped out, squinting against the sun.

Jaxson froze.

The world seemed to stop spinning. I watched the blood drain from Jaxson's features. He looked at Leo. Then he looked at me. Then back at Leo. The boy walked closer, his small hand grabbing the hem of my shirt. He stared up at Jaxson with wide, curious eyes-eyes that were a perfect, haunting mirror of the man standing before him.

"He has a big bike," Leo noted.

Jaxson didn't speak. He couldn't. His Adam's apple bobbed in a hard swallow. I saw his hands tremble-the Great Jaxson Vane, shaking. It was a sight that should have made me feel powerful, but it only made my heart bleed.

"Jaxson," I started, my voice cracking.

"Don't," he hissed.

He stepped toward Leo, kneeling on the gravel. He was at eye level with the boy now. "What's your name, kid?" Jaxson asked, his voice raw and stripped of authority.

"Leo," my son replied. "My mama says I'm a brave lion."

Jaxson's eyes shut tight for a second, a flicker of pure agony crossing his face. When he opened them, they were swimming with a dark, turbulent emotion-a mix of worship and a desire to burn the world down. He reached out, his large, calloused hand trembling as he brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Leo's forehead. The touch was so tender it made my throat tighten until I could barely breathe.

"You look just like someone I used to know," Jaxson whispered.

"I look like me," Leo said.

Jaxson let out a short, choked laugh that sounded like a sob. He stood up slowly, and the tenderness evaporated. The air turned freezing as he turned his gaze to me.

"You kept him from me," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a death sentence.

"I had to," I snapped, my own anger flaring up. "You weren't a father, Jaxson. You were a man who lived in the shadows and broke things for fun."

"He's a Vane," Jaxson growled, stepping into my space until his shadow swallowed me. "He belongs in a palace, not a rusted-out piece of junk on a highway."

"He belongs with me!"

"He belongs where he's safe," Jaxson countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous frequency. "And he's safer with me than he is with a woman who lies for a living."

I didn't think. I reacted. I pulled my hand back and slapped him-a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the pass. His head snapped to the side. Behind him, the Reapers shifted, hands moving toward their waistbands. Jaxson slowly turned his head back. A red mark was blooming on his cheek.

"Do it again," he whispered. "Give me a reason to take him right now."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hand burned. I looked at Leo, who was watching us with wide, terrified eyes.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, though my heart was a trapped bird.

"You should be." He turned his back on me and spoke to one of his men. "The car is scrap. The boy is hungry. And we have a lot to talk about."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Jaxson stopped. He looked at me with a mask of cold, unyielding power. "Thorne sent me the GPS coordinates an hour ago. He told me exactly where you'd be. He sold you out, Elena. Just like you sold me out five years ago. The only difference is, I'm the one holding the leash now."

My world shattered. Thorne. My client. The ten-million-dollar man. It was a setup.

"Leo!" I moved toward my son as he was led toward a black SUV, but Jaxson's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a grip of iron.

"He's safe. For now," Jaxson growled. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. His breath was cold, smelling of winter. "I want the truth. And then, I'm going to make you wish you had died in that garage five years ago."

He shoved me toward the SUV. As the lock clicked-a heavy, final sound-I looked at my son, my heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. I wasn't the hunter. I was the prey.

"Mama?" Leo whispered, clutching my hand. "Are we going to the party now?"

"Yes, Leo," I whispered. "We're going to the party."

I looked out the window as the mountains swallowed us. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Check the boy's pocket.

I reached into Leo's tiny jacket. My fingers curled around a small, cold object. A hard drive. The very one I had stolen five years ago. My heart stopped. If I had the drive... then what did Jaxson have?