JAX
The reason why he'd been wearing his mask for almost twenty-two years wasn't due to a coincidence.
Or because his parents, teachers, or any adults paid no attention.
It wasn't accidental or something he had instinctively grown into.
It was something he'd opted for when he was young, and he'd done all that was necessary for the image to stay in position.
Mainly because he was always a planner.
Far ahead.
He left without a plan for each of the variables in the equation. Several plans. In case one failed, he had a few to fall back on.
But not tonight, he didn't expect Sofia to be replaced.
It's not like him. Not one bit. Had he known he roofied his drink, he would've stood him up to face-to-face and tried to bash his head in.
He is not a coward, and he certainly loves fighting with his fists.
So it was not Sofia who was the culprit behind this accident. It was the man with a gun pressed to his temple, his chest radiating nauseating heat at his back.
He better not lay hands on him.
Jax considered opening the door and going ahead and doing it, but he was only going to die in his sixties, so killing himself now would be cutting into that agenda.
Dropping his knife, he turned around in one swift movement and sliced his knife, carrying it round to his throat. A silenced bullet pierced through his ear and the knife was knocked from his hand. His wrist flickered and he let it dangle at his side as drops of blood fell upon the beige carpet.
Herence.
Splick.
Drip.
Motherfucker shot the handle of the knife, and though the bullet missed him, it shaved him.
Pain throbbed on the side of his hand, and he briefly closed his eyes, trying not to get consumed with the pain. If he did, he'd have this urge to inflict it ten times worse.
"Look what you've done." Sofia's imposter's deep voice rang out like a calm mock. "That wasn't necessary, now, was it?"
When Jax opened his eyes, he was close.
Closer than anyone ought to have gotten to his body after attacking him. For he was staring at his pulse point, and he wished to bite and rip the flesh out like a rabid dog.
His jaw set and he shoved the demons back where they belonged and glared at him.
Not at his chest or the peculiar snake tattoo, but at the mask of golden serpents that are exclusively Sofia's.
Was that a setup?
"Now, why don't we start where we left off?" His whiskey-breath, with a splash of mint, assaulted Jax's senses through gaps in his mask. It was every shred of will he possessed not to slam his head into his so he'd back the fuck off.
The silencer on his firearm caught Jax's mask and remained at his lips, the icy metal against his burning skin for a second too long. It pushed into his mouth, the cold soaking into his flesh, but it didn't elicit any emotions.
He didn't possess the idea of fear. That switch just didn't exist in his mind. Not even if a gun was being held against his head.
Anger, however? Yeah, he had a lot of that and it was increasing by the second the more this motherfucker waved a gun in his face.
Jax did freeze, though, taking as deep of breaths as he could.
Any sudden movement could kill him, and because there was a silencer, none of these people would be any the wiser. This goddamn piece of nothing proved that he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and Jax didn't want to take his chances.
The silencer left his lips and he threw off Jax's mask, hearing it hit the ground.
Here we go again.
His favorite shit.
Unmasking.
Grasping his beautifully proportioned face. Blond hair gleaming with a silky sheen and 'breathtaking green eyes,' as so many describe them—though the hue was brown today.
He'd been labeled repeatedly the epitome of a Prince Charming with his classically handsome features, dimpled grin, and charming face.
They're all tools in his quiver.
The man paused as he watched Jax. They all do. Men and women both. He was just so unyielding.
This one, however, didn't appear to desire to screw him. His gray eyes, rainstorm gray and hurricane gray, didn't flicker as he slammed his face back and forth with the gun.
As if he was looking for something. What, he had no clue, and he wasn't interested in finding out.
Because he didn't enjoy those eyes.
Call it hate at first sight. Why?
They weren't painted, and it wasn't simply because of the fogged gray. They actually appeared dead, and he wasn't—dead, of course. He would have respect for the dead and keep those eyes from appearing so empty. That way, he would be able to dream of making them lifeless.
His gun kept Jax's chin up and he struggled to continue staring at him and not the ceiling. "So pretty a face for a hideous personality."
Hideous.
Did this motherfucking piece of shit really call him hideous?
Him? The most good-looking man he knew?
Maybe he needed to rip his pulse the fuck off, anyway. "It seems you abhor my wording." A smile slipped into his tone and Jax found something else he hated.
The low growl of his voice. The unfeeling, detached, and even flat way he spoke, as if he can't be bothered to infuse any emotion into it.
It came out again when his breath skittered against Jax's lips. "But I would not have employed it if it were not true."
Jax glared at him as if he were a machine—and maybe he was.
"Let me tell you. You came here with a wicked plan in your head. It started with drugging Sofia's drink and waiting for him to get distracted from the rest. I waited to see what you were going to do to him, but you took off in the middle of it. So suspense is killing me."
Jax started to raise his thumb to his mouth, then left his hand down.
He'd been watching him.
While Jax was busy with Sofia, this fucking bastard was watching him.
The audacity to follow the stalker.
The damn fucking audacity.
"Are you one of his bodyguards?" Jax finally said this evening. "You don't have a Russian accent."
The majority of Sofia's bodyguards, as are theirs, are sourced by the Russian mafia and usually have an extremely heavy accent.
He didn't.
If anything, he was more cultured and spoke slowly and deliberately. He sounded and appeared older than Jax, too, so he could be a retired soldier who had become a security guard. Though his words were a bit too polished for someone with stereotypical military schools.
"Why?" That sneering tone reappeared in his voice. "You like Russians?"
"I'd rather go if you don't mind." Jax grinned, spreading out his charming self with those apparently irresistible dimples.
It didn't phase the prick at all. There was no easing of his gun nor any flicker in those nasty dead eyes of his.
He leaned in to one side of his head, so close that Jax could smell the filthy male scent of him, like amber with the faintest hint of wood. "Not until you tell me what you had in mind for Sofia."
"Just some friendly fun."
"Drugging and slashing clothes is not friendly fun." His gun dug deeper into Jax's skin, and he clenched his teeth against the pain. "You know what I think?"
"None of your business. Thanks."
He ignored Jax's comment and stepped into his area. "I think you arranged for something to be repulsive."
Jax gazed downward and ceased. He was half-clothed. He must have removed the parts of his shirt and now had on black pants only. He was taller by a couple of inches compared to Jax and obviously broader. The snake appeared menacing coupled with his mask, and Jax desired to mask him as well. To glimpse the face of the guy who had been stupid enough to chase after him. "Something that'll be fitting for that disgusting personality of yours," he continued, shoving his gun into Jax's mouth.
Jax let his lips fall open so that he wouldn't crack his teeth, while simultaneously questioning whether his plan to die at age sixty was all that important, as he was starting to think dying from a gunshot wound would be worth it if he could manage to punch this motherfucker who'd insulted him as grotesque.