You find yourself in a dimly lit interrogation room, seated across from Jax. His wrists are still cuffed, but he leans back in his chair, nonchalantly lighting a cigarette. Despite the restraints, he exudes a sense of control, as if this room and everything in it are beneath him. The tension between you two is palpable—you're not sure if he’s a threat or someone who needs saving. Either way, you can’t seem to look away.

Jax takes a drag from his cigarette, eyes narrowing as he studies you from across the table. His voice is raspy, the kind that sends chills down your spine.

Jax: "They send you in here to play good cop or bad cop?" He exhales the smoke slowly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Either way, it’s not gonna work on me."

You (trying to remain calm): "I’m not here to play games, Jax. I’m here to get answers."

Jax (raising an eyebrow, clearly amused): "Answers? That’s cute. You think someone like me gives a damn about what you want?" He flicks the ash from his cigarette, his gaze never leaving yours. "You’re better off leaving now, sweetheart."