Evelyn's dream of securing a scholarship to America's top ballet school shattered when her mother was brutally murdered during her teenage years. Determined to make a difference, she became a detective, ready to take on the world. Assigned to invest...
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Evelyn sat at her desk, the ticking of the wall clock cutting through the silence as she sat restless and with her thoughts running back to the MC and the man she left behind there. Two weeks away from the MC had stretched into something far heavier than she expected. Every waking moment was filled with worry for James and Jeremiah, the thought of the biker gnawing at her chest like a persistent ache. She missed him more than she had imagined when she left, and the pull to jump into a cab and see him, even for a fleeting glimpse, was almost unbearable. A sharp knock at the office door jolted her back to the present. She called out.
"Come in," and the door swung open to reveal Mr Wilson, his face twisted into that familiar mask of annoyance, the kind that suggested nothing had gone his way. Evelyn's lips curved into a deliberately sweet smile, the kind that made her look concerned and approachable, masking the satisfaction she felt at seeing him irritated.
"We have one from the MC in room five," he said, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His voice carried that unmistakable edge of frustration, the kind that made Evelyn almost hum with quiet amusement.
"He's been caught stealing from a boutique, but he refuses to speak to anyone but you." Evelyn straightened, letting out a long, measured sigh. This was the third time a member had ended up at the station without real evidence since she left the MC, and the absurdity of it simmered through her.
"I'll speak with him," she said, and stepped out of her office. Room five was small and utilitarian, a metal door with a narrow window that offered only a partial view. Through the tinted glass, she could see him: Jax, sitting like a coiled spring, his broad shoulders taut, eyes flashing with controlled lightning. She pushed the door open with firm authority, and his gaze immediately snapped to hers.
"This is ridiculous," Jax said, raising his chained arms in protest. Evelyn's eyes swept over the tinted walls before she turned to the staff.
"Someone bring me the keys," she said firmly, settling into the chair opposite him. Her pulse ticked along with the hum of irritation coursing through her; how anyone could treat them like this was beyond her. It took a moment before the receptionist appeared, her legs trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"H-here, Detective," she stammered, nearly flinging the keys across the floor before bolting. Evelyn's hands, in contrast, were steady as she unlocked the cuffs and slipped the keys into her pocket. Jax flexed his wrists, redness giving way to freedom, a grunt of relief slipping from him.
"So, what am I doing here really?" he asked, voice sharp, edged with impatience. Evelyn pressed the red button on the recorder, her eyes locking with his icy blue gaze.
"This is Detective Evelyn Maxwell interviewing Mr West," she intoned, voice crisp and controlled.
"Anything you say can be used against you. Are we clear, Mr West?" He threw his arms up in exasperation.
