Author's Preface
Monday morning brought rain.
It wasn't the suffocating, humid downpour of July. It was a cool, steady September rain that washed the dust off the factory roof and turned the parking lot into a field of black mirrors .
The heatwave had finally broken, and with it, the fever that had gripped Department 4 seemed to have broken too. The air inside the plant was breathable again. The fans were off. The tempers had cooled .
Jax walked onto the floor at 6:00 AM. He looked like a new man.
He was clean-shaven again. His shirt was pressed. He was wearing his wedding ring, and he made a point of checking his phone every hour to text Stacy .
Jax: Good morning. Love you
He was the model husband. He went home every night. He mowed the lawn on Saturdays. He took the girls to dance class. He even listened when Stacy complained about the neighbors, nodding at all the right times .
But underneath the polish, he felt hollow.
He walked past the Maintenance Cage. Ryder was there, rebuilding a gearbox.
"Morning, boss," Ryder said, looking up cautiously.
"Morning."
Things had been weird with Ryder for a few weeks, but they had settled into a new, unspoken understanding. Ryder had confessed to sleeping with Misty—panicked and sweating—expecting Jax to punch him.
Jax hadn't punched him. He had laughed.
"She's your problem now," Jax had said. "Just keep her away from me."
And Ryder had. He and Misty disappeared into the Compressor Room occasionally—maybe once a week—but it wasn't an affair. It was just scratching an itch. It kept Misty quiet, and it kept Ryder busy.
Jax grabbed his radio. "I'm doing rounds. Call me if Line 2 goes down."
"You got it."
Jax walked away. He didn't look at Line 4. Misty was there, running her press. She didn't wave. She didn't text him. She just watched him pass with cold, dead eyes, then turned back to her machine.
The game was over. The board had been cleared.
Jax walked his rounds, checking gauges, signing logs. It was peaceful. It was boring .
He missed the adrenaline. He missed the secret texts. He missed the feeling of walking into a room and knowing two women were fighting for his attention .
He checked his watch. 10:00 AM.
He headed up to the glass office. Preston had called a meeting.
Preston was sitting behind his desk, looking out the window at the rain. He looked bored.
"Jax," Preston said, turning around. "Have a seat."
Jax sat. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Just checking in," Preston said, tenting his fingers. "How's the family?"
"Good," Jax said automatically. "Stacy is great. Kids are good."
"And the... atmosphere on the floor?"
"Quiet," Jax said. "Production is up. Scraps are down." .
Preston sighed. "Yes. Efficiency. It's wonderful for the bottom line. Terrible for entertainment."
He stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the workers moving like ants below.
"I was a little disappointed, Jax," Preston admitted. "I thought we were building up to a grand finale. The cookout had so much potential." .
"I'm just trying to do my job, sir."
"Of course you are. And you're doing it well. But tell me..." Preston looked back at him, his eyes gleaming. "Do you ever miss the fire?"
Jax held his gaze. "I like a quiet life, sir."
"Liar," Preston smiled. "You're a hunter, Jax. You can wear the collar for a while, you can play fetch, but eventually? You're going to want to run." .
He turned back to the window.
"Go back to work. And keep your eyes open. The seasons are changing."
Jax walked back down to the floor. He felt restless. Preston’s words itched under his skin.
You're a hunter.
He walked past the loading dock. Barb and Tammy were there, taking their break. They were huddled under the awning, watching the rain .
"Morning, ladies," Jax said, nodding.
"Morning, Jax," Barb said. Her voice was dry, knowing. She looked at his clean shirt, his ring. "You look... domesticated." .
"Just tired," Jax said.
"Bored," Tammy corrected. "You look bored."
Jax didn't answer. He walked to the edge of the dock, looking out at the parking lot.
A car pulled in.
It wasn't a truck. It wasn't an SUV. It was a beat-up Honda Civic, blue and rusted around the wheel wells. The muffler was hanging low, held up by a coat hanger. It parked in the visitor spot .
The driver’s door opened.
A girl stepped out.
She was small, maybe five-foot-four, but she didn't look fragile. She had a tight, athletic build that showed through her black tank top.
Her hair was bright red—not dyed, but a deep, natural copper—tied back in a messy bun. Her left arm was covered in tattoos—sleeve of ink that disappeared under her shirt .
She wasn't carrying a purse.
And on her feet?
She wasn't wearing shiny new boots like the temp workers. She was wearing a pair of battered, oil-stained Red Wings. The leather was scuffed white at the toes, the soles worn down from miles of walking on concrete.
Those were working boots.
She slammed the car door and looked up at the factory. She didn't look nervous. She looked ready.
Jax watched her. He felt a familiar spark in his chest. A little jolt of electricity.
He checked his phone. A text from Stacy about picking up dry cleaning.
He looked back at the girl. She was walking toward the side entrance—the employee entrance—not the front office. She walked with a stride that said she knew exactly where she was going.
He could go help her. He could open the door. It would be the polite thing to do. He was the Head of Maintenance, after all .
He took a step forward.
Then he stopped.
He touched his wedding ring. He thought about the quiet nights on the patio. He thought about the peace he had bought with his silence .
"Not today," he whispered.
He turned around and walked back inside the plant.
Up in the glass office, Preston watched. He saw the Honda. He saw the redhead. He saw Jax take that one step forward before turning away.
Preston smiled. He took a sip of his coffee.
"Rhonda," he called out.
"Yes, Preston?"
"Who is the new hire?"
"Lena," Rhonda said, checking her clipboard. "Operator trainee. We're putting her on the floor. Line 1 needs a feeder."
"Lena," Preston tested the name. "She looks... capable."
He watched Jax disappear into the shadows of the factory. He watched Lena walk toward the side door .
"Put her on Line 4," Preston said. "Right in front of the Maintenance Cage. I want to see how long the 'Good Husband' act lasts.".
"You're terrible," Rhonda said, shaking her head.
"I'm a patron of the arts," Preston corrected. "And Season Two just started.".
***
Barb and Tammy watched the new girl walk in.
"Oh, honey," Barb whispered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "She ain't from around here." .
"She looks tough," Tammy noted. "Did you see those boots? They've seen some miles."
"She's got tattoos," Barb said. "And not the cute butterfly kind. She looks like she can change her own oil."
"Jax didn't even look at her," Tammy said. "He walked right back inside.".
"He looked," Barb corrected. "I saw him. He looked. He thought about it. And then he remembered his leash.".
"So he's changed?"
"A wolf doesn't change, Tammy. It just waits for the cage door to open.".
Barb looked up at the glass office. She saw Preston standing there, watching.
"And Preston?" she added. "He just found the key.".
She flicked her cigarette into the rain.
"Here we go again."
END OF BOOK ONE