Chapter 2 - The Shadow Standing Behind The Throne
The whispered words hung in the damp air of the Manhattan rooftop lounge like a physical blade, freezing Jax in complete stillness.
His tattooed fingers remained locked around her bruised wrist, his grip tightening just enough to register the terrifying reality of her confession.
Behind Jax, the imposing bodyguard in the dark gray suit—whose name was Victor—did not shift his stance by a single inch.
The vintage neon American flag on the brick wall cast a soft, red-and-blue glow across the polished marble floor and the wet glass table.
Jax did not break eye contact with the female agent, whose name was Maya, even as his internal computer processed every threat variable in the room.
"Say that name again, Maya," Jax said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet it was almost lost beneath the rain.
Maya’s breath caught in her throat, her pale face glistening with rainwater as a single tear cut a clean path down her cheek.
"I can't, Jax," she whispered, her light blue button-down shirt clinging to her chest as she trembled under her leather jacket.
"If I say it here, on this roof, we don't make it down the elevator alive."
Jax slowly let go of her wrist, his hand moving with deliberate, terrifying calm toward the dark leather folder lying next to his whiskey glass.
He flipped the leather cover open, revealing classified surveillance photographs stamped with the seal of the New York Field Office of Homeland Security.
The top photograph showed Victor—the very bodyguard standing six feet behind Jax's shoulder—meeting a high-ranking syndicate broker in a parking garage in Queens.
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Jax did not flinch, nor did his eyes widen; ten years in elite covert operations had taught him never to give an enemy a free reaction.
He simply closed the folder, picked up his silver Zippo lighter, and struck the wheel with a sharp, metallic spark.
