Coyote was about to get into his car instead of standing under the hot sun, still trying to wrap his head around what the cryptic hand gesture from the men in the black sedan meant, when his phone rang. The screen lit up with Jax’s name.He pressed the answer button. “Yo.”“Hey, bro,” Jax's voice came through, breathless and hoarse, like he’d been running, or, more accurately, thrusting. “I just saw that you called me. What’s up?”Coyote smirked. “I hope you finished before you called me? Did you finish?”There was a pause, then Jax laughed, instantly catching on. “Dude, are you at my apartment?”“Yeah, I was. I’m downstairs by the curb now, and I heard what you were doing with your woman. The whole of Miami heard what you were doing with her. Dude, you’re going to wear her out.”“Man, shut up. You act like I should be sorry,” Jax replied, chuckling. “Taissa says hi, by the way.”Before Coyote could say anything back, the line went dead. Quite typical of Jax to hang up before he could

Jax was pacing like a caged animal, muttering “fuck” every other breath, each one louder than the last. His fingers kept dragging through his messy hair, shoulders tight, jaw locked.Coyote leaned against the Chevy, watching him like you’d watch a fuse burn down.“Dude, cut it out,” he finally said, voice low but steady. “What do you mean when you said, “I’m marked?””Jax stopped mid-step. He looked like he’d just run ten blocks, breathing hard, eyes sharp. “The Lucci family just staked their claim on you.”Coyote frowned. “Claim?”“They own you now,” Jax said, like he hated every word. “The Luccis run the underground racing scene here. You know, that race you won? The one you barely walked away from? That’s theirs. And now… so are you.”It immediately dawned on Coyote slowly, like ice water seeping under his skin.“You’re serious?”“I’ve been trying to tell you!” Jax’s voice cracked with frustration. “I warned you not to race that night. And I have been warning you for weeks. But you

Coyote eventually pulled his lips away from Gwen’s, but before he could come up with what to say Gwen planted her cherry red lips back on his again. This time more forcefully than earlier, pinning him against his car and giving him no space to even think of rejecting her. Coyote wanted to push her away, the logical rational part of his brain wanted him to stop this before it goes any further, but his body had other ideas, especially with Gwen’s breasts pressed against his chest.Gwen ran her soft hand down Coyote’s pants, squeezing it through the waistband and grabbed his hard throbbing member, and Coyote groaned into her mouth. She stroked it for a few seconds before pulling away from him, she knelt down, holding on to his pants. He didn’t get what she was doing until the cool night breeze hit his bare ass. He wanted to stop her there and then. The right thing to do was to stop whatever this was from going further at the parking lot of a restaurant. Someone walking by might see the

Traffic was ordinary, too ordinary for the way his mind raced. He rolled past a school bus, a bakery with the door propped open, a guy in a puffy jacket arguing into his earbuds. The closer he got to the prison, the more the city thinned out, wider lanes, lower buildings, a long run of chain-link fencing with weeds puckering through the gravel. Half a mile out, he saw them: vans nosed along the shoulder, camera tripods like thin metal insects unfolding at the curb. A few reporters checked their hair on phone screens. A boom mic hung sideways over a coffee cup. His pulse ticked up. He pulled into the small lot across from the main gate, where a black SUV already sat idling. Isabella stepped out as he parked, beige trench cinched, sunglasses in her hand, not on her face, and somehow that choice alone told him exactly how the morning would go. Visible, present and intentional. She crossed to him with a small smile. “You look perfect.” “I feel like I’m walking into a dentist’s offic

Coyote stepped out of the visitor’s room with his fists still clenched at his sides. The metal door slammed behind him, leaving the sound to echo in the concrete hallway like the last word in an argument. His pulse was still pounding, a steady, relentless drumbeat in his ears. Not from fear, not from shame, but from something heavier, the raw aftertaste of control. For once in his life, he had walked away from Marty McNaulty without feeling like the broken kid who had once been tossed into the street. For once, he wasn’t dragging his father’s venom around like chains.The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, throwing a sickly yellow wash over the corridor. The prison always smelled the same, metal, bleach, and something sour in the air you could never quite identify. And yet, there she was, waiting for him like she didn’t belong in this place at all. Isabella. Arms folded across her chest, posture regal even under the harsh lighting, her dark hair catching the dull shine and turni