Chapter 3: Under Fire

“Down!” Jaxson roars.

Before I can process the silhouette outside, Jaxson leaps across the glass counter, grabbing my waist and slamming us both onto the hardwood floor.

A sharp muffled popping sound rings out, followed by the violent shatter of glass.

Thousands of tiny shards shower over us. Bullets punch through the front display window, tearing through the drywall and smashing my framed tattoo flash sheets into splinters. Plaster dust rains down into my hair and eyes.

Jaxson covers my body completely with his heavy frame. One of his broad hands presses the back of my head flat against the floorboards, while his other arm wraps around my ribs like a steel beam. He smells like engine oil, leather, and sweat. His massive chest expands against my back as he breathes.

“Stay fucking down,” he growls in my ear, his voice deadly steady despite the chaos.

“My shop,” I choke out, coughing on the rising dust. “They’re destroying my fucking shop!”

“Your shop is gone, sweetheart. Your life is next if you don’t move your legs.”

Another round of suppressed gunshots tears through the room. A bullet hits the heavy oak desk right above our heads, sending wooden splinters flying across the floor.

Jaxson shifts his weight, grabbing my arm and yanking me up to my knees. “When I say run, you run to the back door. Do not look back. Do not stop.”

“I have my bag behind the counter—”

“Fuck your bag,” Jaxson snaps, his dark eyes burning into mine. “Run!”

He shoves me toward the narrow hallway leading to the back alley. I scramble to my feet, my boots slipping slightly on the broken glass covering the floor. I sprint down the dark corridor as another volley of shots shatters the remaining glass in the front room.

Jaxson is right behind me, his heavy footsteps pounding against the floor. He shoves the heavy metal back door open, bursting into the cold night air of the alleyway.

His custom motorcycle sits idling in the shadows, its dark exhaust pipe emitting a quiet, deep rumble.

“Get on!” Jaxson demands, swinging his long leg over the heavy bike and gripping the handlebars.

“I don’t ride motorcycles!” I yell back, standing frozen on the wet pavement.

Jaxson reaches out, grabs the collar of my jacket, and yanks me onto the small leather seat behind him. “You do tonight. Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight unless you want to paint the asphalt with your brains.”

I don’t argue. I wrap my arms around his thick torso, pressing my chest flat against his broad back. My fingers dig into the leather of his jacket.

Jaxson kicks the gear shift, twists the throttle, and the motorcycle shoots forward out of the alley like a missile. The rear tire screeches against the pavement, sending up a cloud of burning rubber as we lean sharply around the corner onto the main street.

The cold wind whips against my face, stinging my eyes and blowing my hair wildly. I squeeze Jaxson tighter, my heart hammering like a trapped bird inside my chest.

“You okay back there?” Jaxson calls out over the roar of the engine, glancing back slightly.

“I’m going to kill you if you drop this bike!” I scream back over the rushing wind.

“Then hold on tighter, Sienna!”

I turn my head slightly to look over my shoulder, looking back at the block where my business sits.

My breath hitches in my throat.

A loud explosion echoes down the street, shaking the air around us. Orange light bursts into the night sky as a massive ball of fire erupts from the front of my shop. The entire glass storefront blows outward into the street, and thick black smoke pours out of the building.

Within seconds, the studio I built with my own two hands, my art, my equipment, and my livelihood are completely engulfed in roaring flames.