Misjudging Jax

Copyright © 2024 by Lakelynn Dunn

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

e-Book ISBN: 979-8-9898053-0-3

Introduction

A steamy, instant attraction, protective bodyguard romance.

Muscle-packed Jax Judge is the CEO of Judge Defense and Protection security firm in Nashville, Tennessee. Security has become the family's primary business, protecting not only wealthy clients, but also funding the extensive security needs for the Judge family and their cattle farm.

Jax's father was murdered years ago on the very land he vowed to protect, but the killer won't stop until the remaining Judges have joined the patriarch in the afterlife.

During the delivery of a warning message to the Judge brothers, a quirky, intelligent woman stumbles into the path of the murderer whose identify is still unknown. Now, the sole witness, Belle Vaughn is the latest target for a cunning killer, and she's become the most important person to the cold case.

Though Belle is an independent, clever woman, her difficult past has dictated her life for so long, she's settled for second best, believing an awkward, introverted lifestyle is the key to her emotional peace. But, from the moment she meets Jax, he motivates Belle to step outside of her comfort zone and accept the parts of herself that she desperately and shamefully tries to hide.

Dangerous circumstances and an undeniable interest keep the pair intertwined and off balance. They are forced to acknowledge more than the rising feelings between them. As Jax shields the reluctant, beautiful woman from a common enemy, he also struggles against the increasing desire to become more than her bodyguard.

***

Disclaimers

Mature Audiences Only: This book is intended for mature audiences only (18+ years). It contains intense situations, including: explicit sexual content, intense violence, and adult language.

Trademark & Product Acknowledgement Disclaimer: The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and/or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Trigger Warnings: Please review the list of trigger warnings. If any of these topics are too disturbing, then this book may not be for you.

Violent physical acts (shooting, stabbing, fighting)

Fictional crime scene description

Intense sexual play between consenting, fictional adult characters. (Light bondage, spanking, and domination)

The Good Stuff: These are included or excluded from the book:

NO cheating between MMC and MFC

Consensual sex and romance

Intelligent, strong female character/heroine

Bossy, southern alpha male

Some humor

Happily ever after

Can be read as a standalone book. (The story is the beginning of a series.)

Dedication

Thank you for taking time to read this debut novel. These characters impatiently waited to come alive. May their story bring you entertainment and inspiration.

The difficulties of life are many, but keep seeking, keep living, and never, ever give up on your dreams.

~~~ Lakelynn ~~~

Contents

Prologue

1.Jax

2.Belle

3.Jax

4.Belle

5.Jax

6.Belle

7.Jax

8.Jax

9.Belle

10.Jax

11.Belle

12.Jax

13.Belle

14.Belle

15.Jax

16.Belle

17.Jax

18.Jax

19.Belle

20.Belle

21.Jax

22.Belle

23.Jax

24.Belle

25.Jax

26.Jax

27.Belle

28.Belle

29.Jax

30.Jax

31.Belle

32.Jax

33.Belle

34.Jax

35.Belle

36.Jax

37.Belle

38.Jax

39.Belle

40.Belle

41.Jax

42.Belle

43.Jax

44.Epilogue - Holden

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue

Jax - 8 years ago

It's the wrong color. Tennessee dirt should not be crimson, but there is no denying the sinister shade of blood pooled under my father's motionless body. Anguish drags me to my knees, and I fall by his side.

I roll Pop to his back and swallow hard against the queasy trembling of my stomach. His gray shirt is thoroughly saturated with dark red. The Judge Farm logo printed on the fabric is no longer decipherable. Long, deep cuts in his torso have turned the shirt into ribbons. A mournful roar painfully tears from my throat.

Being raised on a cattle farm my entire life, I have seen plenty of gory sights. Nature is not always pretty. Animals suffer injuries or die from attacks from natural predators all the time.

But this… There is nothing natural about what has happened here. In my twenty-two years, I have not seen anything that comes close to this level of brutality.

My head knows he's already gone, but a part of me refuses to believe this is his end. With apprehension, I move my fingers along Pop's bearded neck in search of a pulse. Nothing. Christ, please. No!

Frantically, my eyes dart up and down his torso, unable to comprehend the gashes that score his body, from collarbone to abdomen. Some sick motherfucker has executed him.

In a state of panic and rising anger, I shake his shoulders as if the action might miraculously bring him back to life. I need him to wake up, to tell me this isn't real. But it is real.

Benjamin Judge is our family's foundation, a devoted father and husband. He loves my mother and the three of us boys, never skimping on the words to remind us of that fact.

Staring down at his dark, trim hair and full beard, he's an older version of me and my brothers. Each of us inherited the same midnight hair, blue eyes, and broad frame. Pop taught us everything about tending the farm but encouraged us to seek our own paths to happiness. After today, there is no path to happiness. Any chance at a content life has passed away alongside the Judge patriarch.

Lost in grief, I barely recognize the sound of my brother, Holden. He yells as he runs towards me. Paramedics are on the way!

Don't let them see. The powerful thought is an instruction from beyond the grave. I know in my soul that Pop would never want his wife and children to have this nightmare be their last memory of him. It's too late for me. The wounds carved in his chest are now carved into my memories, but there is still time to spare my brothers and mother from seeing the full extent of the attack.

Holden races toward me. I scream, Don't come any closer! Keep Ma away!

I position my body over Pop's torso to shield Holden's view. The damage is so extensive that I can't hide it all.

Glancing over my shoulder again, I see Ma and my youngest brother, Spencer. They are farther away, only just stepping down from the back porch.

Seconds later, Holden arrives, pausing a few feet behind me, gasping. Holden spots a laceration that I'm unable to fully conceal. His knees buckle, and he kneels at Pop's feet.

Is he… Holden can't finish the question. His eyes are fixed on the partially exposed wound. Jax? Is he?

He's gone. I hate the words, forcing my mouth to say them aloud. Fighting against the emotions, I hold my position, but I'm close to breaking under the gravity of loss.

Holden's eyes are wide and his face pales visibly. I need Holden to keep Ma away. With my arms protectively bracketed over Pop, I extend my leg out and use the tip of my boot to nudge Holden's arm, trying to get his attention. Holden! You have to stop Ma and Spence.

His watery, blue eyes shift to meet mine. He doesn't respond, as his lower lip quivers. There is no time to offer him comfort. Tapping at his arm a little harder with my boot, I plead with him. Hold, we don't have much time. You hear me? He nods once in recognition.

"Hold, you cannot let Ma get close. Pop wouldn't want her to see him like this. Protect her. Understand?"

My eyes burn and reflect the tears streaming down Holden's dejected face. He nods twice, swipes at the tears, and pushes up from his knees. I understand.

Holden runs back across the long field, managing to intercept Ma and Spencer. Helplessly, I watch. They are too far away for me to hear him break the horrific news. Guilt surges through my gut for placing this responsibility on him. He is nearly twenty, but as the oldest, it should be my responsibility.

Looking down, I examine Pop's face. There is no expression to indicate the pain he surely endured in those last moments.

Who could do this? Why would anyone hurt him?

Dad is a simple cattleman. We raise cows in the middle of Tennessee, for fuck's sake. Pop isn't a threat to anyone.

Ben Judge's life is a small-town cliché. He married his high school sweetheart, bought a farm, and has worked until his fingers bled to pay the mortgage and provide for this family.

My thoughts are ripped away at the sudden sound of Ma's grief-stricken cry slashing through the autumn air. Looking over my shoulder once again, I witness Ma crumple against Holden's body and they sink down. Spencer bends to pat her back. Ma looks so fragile and small between her two sizable sons.

Again, the guilt multiplies inside. I'm not among them, not consoling them in the worst moment of our lives.

Sarah Judge is no timid woman, especially after raising the three of us rowdy, country boys. As she sits in the tall grass, still dressed in her Sunday best, my heart hurts as much for her as for the loss of Pop. She will never be the same without him.

My breath catches when Spencer rises and strides with determination in my direction. Holden yells for Spencer to stay put, but Spencer ignores him.

No, Spencer! I yell, Stay back!

He ignores both commands and proceeds closer. Spencer is no child, but he is the youngest. Please Spence, stay with Ma! My voice cracks, Spence, go.

My entire upper body has grown heavy causing my chest to press lower. Blood seeps through my button-up shirt. Hoping to appeal to Spencer's soft spot for our mother, I continue pleading, Spence. You gotta go back to Ma. She needs you to be strong.

Spencer looks older than his eighteen years. His face is etched with sadness. Speaking low, Spencer talks to our father as if I'm not here. Pop... He takes a shaky breath in. I'll watch over Mama and the farm for you. His fists are so tight, the knuckles are white. I am gonna find out who hurt you. I swear. Whoever they are, I'll make them suffer.

The sounds of emergency vehicles are audible in the distance. Spencer's last words are soft, a private goodbye. I love you, Pop.

He stomps back to Ma's side. She continues to wail in misery at the loss of her true love.

The ambulance and police sirens increase in volume. I can't stop myself from checking for a pulse one last time. Beyond desperate, I hope for a miraculous sign of life.

No pulse. And with that, the last speck of hope disappears.

In a rough voice, I bellow out instructions to Holden and Spencer before the sirens make it impossible for them to hear. Take Ma inside! Cover the windows while the police are working. Don't let her watch! Go!

Ma is unable to stand alone. Holden scoops her up easily, carrying her inside the house. Spencer closes the door and the wooden blinds. She can't be allowed to see what the EMT and police must do.

With the three of them inside, I sit back on my heels and stare at my father's blood covering my hands. Some unknown enemy is walking around free, after spilling Judge blood.

Why would someone execute my father?

No matter the reason, the bastard's days are numbered. Judgment is coming.

Chapter 1

Jax

My cell phone lights up a split second before a chime and vibration indicate an incoming text message. It's only five fucking thirty in the morning. I've been awake for half an hour, but I'm irritated all the same.

The message is from the lead security officer. This can't be good.

Sinclair: Incident at the office. Get here asap.

Frowning at the message, this is not a typical, client issue. It's rare to have trouble at the main office, and unheard of for Sinclair to notify me that I am needed in person.

Not wanting to waste time, I decide against changing into a suit, having already dressed in workout clothes. My plan to use the office gym could still pan out if this mysterious incident can be resolved before business hours begin.

In the garage, I climb into my custom Ford F-350 truck. The bluetooth connection is established, and I fire off a reply to Sinclair as the garage door rises.

Jax: Be there in 15. Police on site?

Backing the massive, black truck out of the garage, I pause in the driveway. I complete a routine, visual check of my house and yard. All the exterior lights bathe the one-story, red brick home with copious amounts of light to make potential intruders think twice before breaching my property. Nothing is out of place.

A response comes in before I pull away from my house.

Sinclair: No police yet. U need to be here 1st.

Shit. Something is definitely wrong.

Maneuvering through the streets, my destination is the Percy Plaza Business Building, located on the outskirts of Nashville.

The eastern horizon begins to transition from indigo into pale yellow, warning that daybreak is on the way. The city street lights haven't gone out, and the roads are covered in shadows.

Despite the early hour, the July temperature promises another humid day. The truck's air conditioning blows a cool breeze at my face, making me more alert for whatever awaits.

Turning at the final intersection, the seven-story building stands ahead. The rectangular structure has windows on all four sides, most of which are still dark since the majority of its business occupants maintain traditional, daytime hours.

Surrounding the Plaza, the lush landscape and roadways invite visitors to enter from each direction.

I drive straight to the Judge Defense and Protection's reserved parking, situated immediately beside the west entrance of the building.

A quick review of the property shows no obvious signs of vandalism or disruptions. The only questionable sight is a single vehicle parked in the employees' west side lot. It is a badass, gray Wrangler, complete with lift kit and meaty tires.

I've been admiring it the last couple of months. Being a Tennessee farm kid, I grew up off-roading and getting dirty in the east Tennessee mountains.

Seeing the 4x4 ushers in memories of my family's trips to the backwoods, bouncing around fields, and crossing shallow creeks.

God, what I wouldn't give to take a long weekend away from the constant pressures that come along with being the head of the family's security business.

The company has grown rapidly in the last two years, exceeding every milestone my brothers and I set. Judge Defense and Protection started as a way to fund our family's extensive security needs at the farm.

It ballooned into so much more. In fact, we outgrew the last office and relocated here. The entire top floor belongs to JDP, as well as a large, first-floor office for our command center's technology team.

My brothers and I negotiated a hefty contract with the Plaza's management group to provide all the on-site security monitoring, too. It's been very lucrative.

But like all growth, it came with some pain. Controlling asshole that I am, I took the lead on redesigning the layout of the corporate office to meet my family's unique needs. Between the expansion and the additional hours I've spent overseeing the remodel, there has been precious little downtime. Three months ago, the renovations were finally complete, and we officially moved into the building.

Scowling at the Jeep, the vehicle represents a freedom I can't have. My sour mood deepens as I speculate that its owner is probably the reason I've been summoned here before dawn.

JDP is the only company at the Percy Plaza Business Building that works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If the Jeep's driver is giving my team shit, he picked the wrong man to piss off today. I'm itching for an outlet to help rid me of this foul disposition. An old-fashioned fist fight might do the trick, since my workout is on hold.

As a CEO, I no longer have time to work the personal protection assignments, but it doesn't mean I slack off. My muscles are not for show.

I adhere to a strict workout regime and practice martial arts to stay fit. Being in charge also means I set the standard, and the standard here is high.

JDP clientele expect the men and women who defend them and their property to be tough and intimidating. They fork over an extraordinary amount of money to be guarded by no nonsense, tough motherfuckers. And, I don't disappoint.

When clients meet me, they are greeted to six foot four inches of a big, bad 230-pound enforcer, with skills to take down threatening assholes, as well as running the fucking company.

Parking the truck, I scan the area before removing a Sig Sauer from the truck's console vault and securing it in a duffel bag. My eyes complete a final sweep of the area before stepping out of the truck. It's the same ritual everyday. The consistency keeps me alive.

I arm the anti-theft device and activate the video cameras mounted inside. If anyone tries to mess with my vehicle, I'll know it instantly.

One of the security team is standing guard at the west side door. Based on the close-cropped red hair, I can tell it's Ryder, one of the seasoned members of my team. He lifts his chin in a common greeting, Hey, bossman.

Hey, Ryder. What happened?

Ryder lifts a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of the hallway. Sinclair has the details. She's writing up an injury report. She made it clear she wants to fill you in personally.

Injury? Damn.

I'm more than a little disappointed that I won't get a chance to punch some troublemaker in his face.

Thanks, Ryder. I advance down the long corridor, with my piss-poor attitude in tow.

The enormous lobby comes into view. The JDP guard desk is centrally located for visitors and employees to sign in.

Who the fuck is that?!

My eyes widen at a feminine, hourglass body standing at the desk. This is not what I expected to see, but I'm not complaining.

The female talking with Sinclair is unaware of my arrival. She awkwardly hikes a cumbersome backpack higher onto her shoulder.

Long, wavy lengths of golden hair waterfall against dark clothing. As she adjusts the backpack again it causes her tunic top to bunch up revealing the shapely curves of her hips.

Holy fuck.

A snug pair of black leggings wrap around a well-defined ass. The blonde is nothing like the uppity businesswomen that usually traipse down the halls in designer sky-high heels.

No, this woman is dressed more like a college student who got lost on the way to the library. Or, maybe she's been caught trying to commit a crime on Plaza property. What a shame if we have to call the police to cart her away.

Scanning her backside from head to toe again, she's certainly dressed the part of a thief. She's clad in solid black from the backpack down to a pair of hiking boots. She belongs either at a college or in jail, but definitely doesn't fit in at this prime business locale.

Feeling a stir in my groin, I can't curb the physical reaction my body has to her voluptuous form. Even though I have yet to see her face, my gut says she's going to be equally gorgeous from every angle.

I chastise myself for such a carnal reaction. It's my own damn fault. I wouldn't be so hyper aware of her if I hadn't neglected my own sexual needs. In the last year, I've had a single one-night stand.

Many months ago, I was the lucky rebound fuck for a newly divorced Alabama teacher. She and her gal pals traveled to Nashville, celebrating her official release from marital hell. No last names. No phone numbers. Good, hard fucking and gratifying orgasms for each of us.

One-and-done are the only types of encounters I've allowed myself to have in the past eight years. I refuse to have a romantic relationship or make promises to a woman that I can't keep. The best way to shield a woman from the dangerous conditions in my life is to eliminate the possibility altogether.

It isn't hard to find a tourist who wants a quick roll in the sack while listening to my southern drawl. The ladies love a deep, country voice describing dirty things to make her erupt in pleasure. When the sex is over, the women go back to their lives. Far away from me.

The sexy woman talking to Sinclair has my undivided attention. Her hand, wrapped haphazardly with a bandage, gestures toward the north side entrance. Grimacing, I'm irked to see she is the injured party. What the hell is she doing at this posh corporate building?

Reaching the desk, I stop to the left of the vixen. A soft scent of vanilla entices me to inhale deeply.

Oblivious to my presence, she is in the middle of thanking Sinclair. … glad you are working today. Thanks again for helping me out. Her voice is steady and calm, in spite of any injury. Her other hand is curled around a balled up, bloodied paper towel.

I hold back a growl, wondering what the fuck happened here.

Sinclair uses a pen to point towards me, informing the blonde doll that the two of them are no longer alone.

Good morning. Jax Judge meet Miss Belle Vaughn.

As Sinclair speaks, the beauty gasps, turning abruptly to face me.

Sinclair continues with the introduction, Belle is a financial specialist at Pope & Treado, located on the fifth floor. She was involved with the incident I texted you about.

The first full look at Belle Vaughn is spectacular. To control my reaction, I clinch my jaw and grip the duffel bag tighter.

Fuck me. I was wrong, she isn't simply hot, she's a bombshell.

Thank Christ, she appears older than I initially assumed. Mid-twenties, I'd say. I can't believe she's an employee working for one of the corporations here. She doesn't look like any corporate finance employee I've ever met.

My eyes narrow when I notice the red scratches on one of her cheeks. Faint bruising already tints her fair skin. Other than the small markings, her face is flawless.

Miss Vaughn is at eye-level with my broad chest. Given our close proximity, her initial look is limited to my muscled chest, covered by a fitted athletic tank.

In slow motion, her head tips back, eyes moving higher to my neck and bearded jaw. Her visual tour pauses a second longer than is appropriate to study my mouth. A mouth that is now turned up in a knowing smirk.

She likes what she sees.

When those brilliant, green eyes have completed their journey, our gazes lock.

I suppress a visceral groan. Her inquisitive eyes are framed by a pair of black-rimmed glasses, giving her an academic, naughty school-girl appearance. Our impromptu staring contest ignites a few wicked fantasies to take shape in my mind.

A loud thud breaks our connection. The cause of the thud is that giant-ass backpack. It's now on the floor by her feet. She reacts to the noise with a jolt, but keeps her eyes locked with mine.

Green eyes blink behind the glasses and one word slips from between her plump lips, Fuck.

A sly, gratifying grin stretches across my face. Fuck, indeed.

Chapter 2

Belle

Shit! I-I-I mean sorry. Blurting out an apology, I am mortified at my unladylike response. My hand instinctively rises to cover my lips, but the stupid covering is in the way. Aw, dammit.

Dressed in dark blue, the man beside me is smoking hot. His shirt molds to his impossibly thick muscles like a second skin. His hair and beard are nearly onyx, giving him a mysterious, bad boy vibe. Women probably lose their common sense around him all the time, so maybe I'm justified in reacting like a loser.

I try to tame the thoughts before shaming myself further. Embarrassment is an old enemy, and the last thing I need today is a reunion.

I look down at the overstuffed bag resting against my foot. It's a reminder of my inadequacies. The backpack contains a plethora of items to provide a hasty clean-up or to fix something I've broken.

To say I am woefully lacking in gracefulness would be an understatement. I'm a total klutz, and I compensate by being prepared for frequent fuck-ups.

Leaning down to pick up the backpack, I'm interrupted. The herculean man retrieves it first, then places it on the visitor's desk.

I mutter a simple, Thank you, before clamping my teeth over my lower lip to silence myself.

In addition to being a klutz, I tend to over explain and spout off nonsense when I'm nervous. And, this man has my nerves twerking.

Is he closer than before? Why is he so close? Did someone turn off the AC?

I can't shake the scrutiny of those penetrating blue eyes. It's overwhelming and leaves me feeling exposed, as if he sees exactly who I am.

Attempting to deflect his stare, I look to Sinclair. She exhibits a cool certainty and a sureness in her abilities that I envy.

Shuffling my feet, I wish I could be more like her. She's tall, strong, and pretty. Her tan skin doesn't have a single blemish and her dark hair is styled perfectly in a smooth, high ponytail. Even in the JDP logo uniform, she looks more feminine than I do.

I like myself well enough. I'm decently attractive, but I see attributes in her that I have always wanted to possess, too.

I am the definition of a bungling, self conscious nerd. The falls and spills of my youth are legendary, and provided a great source of comedy for my classmates. Eventually, the cause of my accident-prone behavior was identified as poor vision. While my eyesight was improved with glasses at the age of thirteen, it was too late to correct my confidence issues.

My insecurities have followed me into adulthood. I have adapted by keeping most people at arm's length and living an introverted lifestyle. After everything I've been through, dealing with ridicule and hurt isn't worth the risk