It's Hard Not to Hate - An Outlaw Love Story

Chapter Forty-Six.

Jax allowed his bike to idle in the drive for a few minutes before he cut the engine and headed into the house. The porch light was on, the curtains all pulled shut, Rat's Harley resting along the curb.

Jax's blood was still boiling, and he knew he had to get his rage under control before he went inside and faced Taylor. The situation had been resolved, though not in the way he had wanted, nor planned, and it left Jax feeling unsettled.

After showing up at the clubhouse Jax, and a group of his brothers, had sped off towards the home turf of the Mayans—Jax was prepared for a showdown, prepared to make an example out of the son-of-a-bitch who had the nerve to mess with his old lady, to exact his revenge and make him fear for his life as Taylor likely had hours before.

Bobby—always trying to keep the peace—had called Alvarez and filled him in on the situation, a move that infuriated Jax to no end. It took away the element of surprise, and as Jax had weaved through traffic, turning the normally forty-five minute drive into no more than thirty, he had a bad feeling that Bobby's action would hinder Jax's plan.

And it did.

Alvarez had the two offenders front and center when the Sons arrived, down on their knees in the dirt behind the clubhouse. Jax had strode over with purpose, determined to send a message, but as his fingers wrapped around the cool butt of his pistol two shots rang out, one after another, the bullets not coming from Jax's gun as he had planned.

The two Mayan prospects lay dead in pools of their own blood, Alvarez standing close by holding a smoking gun.

"What the fuck!" Jax had yelled, frustration dripping from each word.

"They had to pay," Alvarez began, holstering his beretta. "I don't tolerate families being brought into our shit—especially women and children. I know you had other plans, esé, but this way the blood isn't on your hands. And when your old lady asks you what you did, you won't have to lie to her."

The engine groaned to a stop, the scraping of the kickstand against the pavement the last sound before silence settled around Jax. He hitched his leg over the bike, fisting and unfisting his hands as he stalked towards the side door that led into the kitchen.

Rat was at the old oak table, facing away from Jax, though he could see a beer bottle in his hand, his shoulders hunched in a tense square. The sound of Jax's keys clinking on the counter stole Rat from his thoughts, and he turned to face him.

"Where is she?" Jax asked, pulling a beer from the fridge and taking a slow pull of the amber liquid.

"Putting Abel down," Rat responded as he rose to his feet. "You guys take care of business?"

Jax nodded. "Not the way I had hoped, but yeah, it's done." Rat dipped his chin in understanding and disposed of his empty bottle in the garbage.

The beer was a little too hoppy for Jax's liking, but he was desperate for anything to distract him from the negativity that surrounded the last twenty-four hours, and he wanted to wait to break out the hard stuff until after he had a chance to talk with his girl.

"You need anything before I head out, man?" Rat
asked, this time breaking Jax free from his thoughts.

"No, man, we're good," he responded with a shake of his head. "Thanks for keeping an eye on them."

"Anytime, Jax."

With that Rat headed for the door, his boots pounding against the hardwood, silence resettling once he had disappeared through the door, leaving Jax alone. He shucked off his kutte and his holster and sunk into a wooden chair at the table, finishing his drink in just a few swigs. Jax rose, retrieving another beer before settling back down in the hard chair.

Minutes later he heard the soft sound of footsteps padding across the hardwood floors. Taylor crossed the threshold into the kitchen and Jax followed her movements with his eyes.

Her eyes were puffy, a sign she'd been crying, her cheek tainted with a painful red welt. It was a stark contrast compared to her pristine, creamy skin.

Without a word Taylor sunk into the chair across from Jax. She reached forward and snatched the beer bottle from his hand, tipping it against her lips and downing a third of it in one long gulp. She slid it back to Jax and ran her hand through her hair and down over his face, wincing as it brushed the raised skin.

"Is he dead?" Taylor croaked our after a while. Her voice was low, each word void of any emotion.

Jax nodded. "He is." He wasn't going to lie to her. He may be a lot of things, but he wasn't a hypocrite, and lying to Taylor would make him exactly that.

"Did you kill him?" She looked him straight in the eye.

"No," Jax said. "But if I would've gotten there first I sure as fuck would have."

Taylor was silent a moment, studying Jax's face while he studied hers. He reached for her hand and squeezed it in his, eliciting a sly smile from her lips.

"I'm glad," she whispered, a single tear sliding from her eye.

"I will never let someone hurt you again, baby," Jax said assuredly, but Taylor shook her head.

"You can't make those kinds of promises, Jax. You promised me that weeks ago, and look what happened."

"I know, baby, and I'm so sorry."

"I'm never going to feel safe enough to leave the house alone again, Jax. Something has to change."

Taylor pulled her hand from Jax's and rubbed her palms over her thighs.

"What do you mean?" Jax asked, his voice wavering with concern.

"I don't know, Jax. But something has to. I can't live like this."