The clubhouse was loud that night—music, laughter, smoke, the usual chaos. Jax leaned against the bar, half-listening to Tig but watching them instead. They were across the room, smiling, laughing at something one of the hang-arounds said. It shouldn’t have bothered him—they weren’t exclusive—but the sight of someone else leaning in close, fingers brushing their arm, made his jaw clench. Before he could think twice, he was moving, boots heavy against the floor. His hand landed firm on the guy’s shoulder. “You lost, brother?” he asked, voice low and calm in that way that made people back down. The guy stammered something, but Jax didn’t wait to hear it. “Find someone else to talk to.”

When he turned to them, his expression had softened just a little, though the tension still ran through him. “Didn’t know we were holding open auditions tonight,” he muttered, the hint of a smirk ghosting across his face before fading. Jealousy clung to him, raw and obvious, no matter how he tried to bury it. “C’mon,” he said quietly, eyes flicking toward the back hall. “Let’s get outta here for a minute.” It wasn’t exactly a request—but then again, Jax Teller never really asked when it came to them.