Chapter 148: Jaxon

Chapter 148: Jaxon
The moment I spot the black SUVs, I know exactly who they belong to.

The Black Vipers have never been subtle. They don’t do incognito, don’t believe in quiet entrances or blending in with the crowd. No, they want people to know when they arrive. They want the fear to settle before they even step out of the car.

And they’ve always been easy to spot.

Each of their cars has the same signature design—sleek black exterior, dark-tinted windows, and a tiny coiled snake carved into the rims. It’s not noticeable unless you know what to look for.

I know.

And now, they’re here.

I scan the storage unit’s small, dirty window again, watching as the doors swing open.

Four men. No—five. One still inside, talking on the phone. The others stepping onto the pavement, boots heavy against the ground, their movements controlled, precise. These aren’t just random men from the gang.

These are killers.

The Crimson Circle and the Black Vipers have always ruled differently. Paige’s gang, for all its corruption, still prided itself on strategy. Deals, negotiations, finding ways to pull people into their web without resorting to unnecessary violence. That’s why Paige was trained the way she was—to be persuasive, cunning, valuable.

The Black Vipers?

Fear. That’s what they trade in.

Where the Crimson Circle manipulates, the Vipers terrorize. They don’t want allies—they want obedience.

That’s why both gangs have managed to stay on top for so long. And that’s why they’ve always hated each other.

The irony of this whole thing isn’t lost on me—me, raised as a Viper’s weapon and Paige, trained to be the Crimson Circle’s negotiator—now standing here, backs against the wall, hunted by the very people who made us what we are.

But I don’t have time for irony right now.

I snap back to reality when I see one of the men reach inside his jacket.

They’re moving fast. Too fast.

We don’t have time.

"We have to go," I say sharply, shifting my hold on Paige to support her weight better. "Now."

She doesn’t argue.

She’s hurting, I can tell by the way she grits her teeth, by the slight hitch in her breath every time I move too fast. But she keeps moving.

I guide us toward the back exit, my mind already running through every possible scenario. We don’t have time to grab more weapons from the stash. We work with what we have.

Paige stumbles slightly, but I tighten my grip, keeping her steady.

We push forward, every step deliberate, controlled—but still, she mutters under her breath, low enough that I almost don’t catch it.

"I knew I didn’t like that bitch."

A laugh almost slips out.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the guns, the men, the danger closing in around us—Paige is still Paige.

And fuck, I love that about her.

But we don’t have time to dwell on that, because the second we reach the back hallway, I hear it.

The sound of the front doors bursting open.

They’re inside.

And they’re coming for us.

We’re almost there.

The back exit is in sight, the backup car parked exactly where I left it, waiting for us to get the hell out of here. Every step forward feels like a victory—like we might actually pull this off.

And then—

Gunfire.

The sharp, deafening crack of bullets splitting the air.

Before I can think, before I can react, I grab Paige and shove her to the ground, shielding her body with mine as the bullets shred through the air above us.

The shots are coming from above.

I snap my head toward the storage facility, eyes scanning the second-floor windows. Sure enough, there they are—two of them, rifles aimed right at us.

Fucking snipers.

Another shot rings out, this time hitting the car.

Glass shatters.

A tire bursts.

Fuck.

We’re sitting ducks out here.

I look down at Paige—her green eyes wide, her breath shallow—and I know what she’s thinking.

Our backup car is useless now.

We’re going to have to fight our way out.

I grab Paige hard, pulling her behind the damn-near useless car, pressing her against the cool metal with one hand while I reach for my gun with the other.

"Stay low," I order, my voice rough, urgent. She nods, her breathing quick and uneven, but she doesn’t fight me on it. She trusts me.

I turn, pivoting sharply, gun already raised, my body moving on instinct.

The first shot misses. The second one clips the sniper’s shoulder.

A pained yell echoes from the second-floor window, the guy stumbling back, his rifle clattering against the rusted metal ledge. It slips from his hands and drops into the darkness below.

One down.

But the other?

He’s still aiming right for us.

Fuck.

Another crack of gunfire slices through the air, and I barely manage to duck back before a bullet slams into the hood of the car.

Too close.

Way too fucking close.

I grip my gun tighter, pulse hammering, mind working fast. I don’t have the same range as they do—I’m working with a basic pistol, while they’ve got sniper rifles built for accuracy. The fact that I managed to hit one at all is pure luck and desperation.

I should’ve grabbed more weapons from the stash.

Fucking stupid mistake.

Another sound.

It’s the click-click-click of a trigger being pulled with no ammo left.

Empty.

The sniper is out of rounds.

For half a second, there’s silence.

Just the sound of distant traffic, of Paige’s shallow breathing next to me, of the sniper shifting, realizing too late that he’s fucking out of bullets

This is it.

This is our only chance.

I don’t hesitate.

I push off the ground, pivoting out from behind the car, gun raised.

The sniper’s still fumbling, reaching for a sidearm—but he’s too slow.

I fire before he even grips the handle.

The bullet slams into his chest.

He lets out a short, choked noise, his body jerking backward before disappearing from the window.

I don’t stay to watch him hit the floor.

I don’t need to.

I already know he’s dead.

I exhale, adrenaline still surging through my veins, my body still ready for a fight.

But it’s not over.

Not yet.

I turn back to Paige. She’s watching me, her green eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t have to.

"We have to move," I tell her, my voice still edged with raw urgency.

She nods, gripping onto the car for support as I step forward, tucking my gun back into my waistband.

Our backup car is wrecked.

We’re outnumbered.

And if the Black Vipers sent snipers, that means they’re not fucking around.

They came here expecting a fight.

They came here to kill us.

I’m not about to let that happen.