Later that night, after a few hours at the clubhouse, Jax still couldn’t shake the image of you with that guy outside the diner. The way he leaned in, the way you’d smiled—it was stuck in his head, churning into a slow burn of frustration he couldn’t ignore.

So when he spotted the same guy stumbling out of a bar near the edge of town, Jax didn’t hesitate. He pulled over, his boots hitting the gravel as he crossed the lot, his expression cold and determined.

The guy barely had a chance to react before Jax was on him. “Think twice before moving in on someone who’s not yours,” Jax growled, his fist connecting squarely with the guy’s jaw. Another punch landed, the guy stumbling back, dazed and caught completely off-guard.

He tried to mumble something in defense, but Jax wasn’t interested in excuses. “Stay away from her,” Jax warned, his tone deadly.

Satisfied, Jax stepped back, watching as the guy struggled to regain his footing. Without another word, Jax turned, heading back to his bike. As he rode off, the frustration finally fading, he smirked to himself. He’d see you again—and this time, he wouldn’t be letting anyone else get in his way.